Book Review: Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

By Megan Amato

Content warnings: attempted rape, violence, misogyny, domestic abuse, femicide, torture, murder, alcohol addiction

"Iron Widow is both a celebration of my favorite aspects of my culture and a critique of its worst beliefs, but as you read this book, I urge you to remember that misogyny is not exclusive to Chinese culture—it is everywhere in the world." – Author's note 

Xiran Jay Zhao's YA sci-fi novel Iron Widow is an ode to angry girls everywhere. Based loosely on figures in Chinese history, including China's only female emperor, it's a breathtaking novel that doesn't shy away from topics often listed as taboo in teen fiction. In almost every way, this book defies norms that we often see in YA—and even adult—fiction.

Huaxia is like any patriarchal society: men rule, and woman are subjected to having to support the men’s whims and dreams at the cost of themselves. This is often literally the case as young and often poor women are sent as concubines to young male pilots who use the women as "co-pilots" to power their chrysalises—transforming robots made from the exoskeleton of the aliens invading their homeland. 

After 18-year-old Zeitan's sister is killed by the most famous and beloved pilot, Zeitan plans revenge and volunteers herself as his concubine. After she kills him during flight and takes over the chrysalis, she is named an Iron Widow. To silence her, the powers that be force her to co-pilot with the notorious Li Shimin, murderer, and the strongest contemporary pilot—no girl has ever survived as his co-pilot. After failing to kill him, Zeitan begins to suspect that Li's reputation isn't what it is made out to be, and they form a reluctant partnership. Threatened by the combined power of a criminal and young woman, Huaxia sends them to be sacrificed in a battle, but they come up victorious. With the help of the rich boy she left behind, they form a trio that schemes to ensure they are too valuable to kill, and to stop the needless death of girls to power chrysalises—by whatever means—and change history in Huaxia. 

Let me start out by raving about the polyamorous relationship. Yes, you read that right. Zhao doesn't make you go through the angst-filled "which one will she choose," but instead says, "why can't she have both?" and more, "why can't the men love each other too?" Of course, there are some hiccups, as these are three humans, but it has nothing to do with jealously and everything to do with respect and people repeatedly trying to kill them. 

I have a particular fondness for angry female characters. And if they stay angry throughout the novel, withholding forgiveness, even better (I'm not sure what that says about me, but there you go). Zeitan is not exactly "good." She's a morally grey character—but her anger is just. It stems from societal gender and class barriers that have shaped a life in which her parents disvalue her, abuse her, and pressure her into signing up as a concubine so they will profit from her death. Her placement in the world has molded her into a character who will do anything for freedom—but it also makes her angry, brave, and desperate enough to set out to ensure that no girl will face what she does again.

This book has quickly punched its way to one of my top three reads of the year. It's a brilliantly fleshed out story with exhilarating worldbuilding and characters who grab you by the throat and don't let go. The ending was—I won't ruin it for you, so let's just say I'm already holding my breath for book two.

Thank you, Penguin Random House Canada, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: A History of My Brief Body by Billy-Ray Belcourt

By Meredith Grace Thompson

Content warning: coarse language, violence, racism, homophobia 

Billy-Ray Belcourt’s first book of prose, defined in tiny print on a beautifully collaged cover as memoir, is magnanimous. A continuation of the strong voice established in his previous poetic works, A History of My Brief Body is a series of lingering essays, each bookmarking an event, time, idea, or moment of becoming in the weaving together of poetry, theory, social commentary, and phenomenological embodiment. Belcourt offers up an ontology of queerness, Indigeneity, and what it is to be a self inside of a body or a body inside of a self, pressing up against a world which intentionally pushes you away. The actualities of the ecosystem of racism in which all Canadians swim come starkly to light in scenes where Belcourt’s speaker comes face to face with public health systems—“Hospitals have always been enemy territory. My body, too brown to be innocent, enflames the nurses’ racialized curiosity”—as well as sexual fetishization of queer Indigenous men. Looking at the echoing and yet constantly present nature of colonialism and the deeply ingrained culture of white, cis, heteronormative supremacy, Belcourt questions and illuminates systems of dominance and oppression from both the macro and hyper-individualistic levels.   

Belcourt’s narrator is a fictionalized or perhaps intellectualized or perhaps hyper-realistic version of himself. He is expansive in his discourse. Looking at the colonial constructions of gender and enforced normative performance of a European masculinity, Belcourt examines the ways in which white patriarchal ideas of domination have colonized Indigenous lives, ricocheting throughout Indigenous communities and oppressing those within further, as men taught violent masculinity “bombard the lives of women and girls, two-spirit peoples, and queers.” Using fragmentation and philosophy rather than fiction, Belcourt recounts the lived rather than invented nature of a life in poetry, balanced precariously within a theoretical framework: “as a poet I couldn’t break the habit of trying to make the world and thus my lived life into an art object.” But “no one runs to theory unless there is a dirt road in [them]” and theory can often be our greatest and most poetic escape.  

Belcourt writes the philosophy I have always wanted to read. Connected to the intimacies of his own life and yet expansive as great ideas necessitate, Belcourt is one of the strongest voices in contemporary Canadian literature. A History of My Brief Body is a perfect example of a hybrid in-between-ness. This book, free from constraints of plot or of narrative construct, luxuriates in a sort of scholarly sharing. It is writing that could not possibly be other without damaging itself—if only slightly—answering the question of what exactly the purpose of writing is in the time of filmmaking. I feel lifted up by this book. Of course, it is easy to fall in love with a philosopher who expands your mind and makes you feel individually seen and spoken to. Billy-Ray Belcourt is such a philosopher. 

Book Review: Green Horses on the Walls by Cristina A. Bejan

By Irina Moga

Content warning: sexual violence

Cristina A. Bejan is a poet, historian, and theatre artist who hails from Denver, Colorado. An Oxford DPhil, Rhodes, and Fulbright scholar, she is also the author of eighteen plays produced in several countries. 

Green Horses on the Walls, her first collection of poems, is a 2021 Independent Press Book Award Winner and the 2021 Colorado Authors’ League Book Award for cover design—which is also Bejan's creation.

In Green Horses on the Walls, Cristina A. Bejan delivers a poignant quest for identity that transforms the rawness of everyday events and unbearable trauma into a fluid and polyphonic poetic discourse.

Some of the poems in this collection were included in the show Lady Godiva, part of the Mead Theatre Lab Program in February 2016; the chapbook's tone vibrates with immediacy and, at times, whimsical humour. It engages the reader in media res of personal experiences, reinterpreted through witty lines:

"Things could be worse
Parents with cancer
Love of your life leaves you for the priesthood
You could have more than mental health "issues" and actually be totally insane 
….
Never cry
Not sleep enough
Swear off chocolate" (2)

The bittersweet decoding of Bejan's heritage, starting with "A Tricky Diaspora," introduces us to a suite of poems that reveal the pain inflicted by the Communist regime in Romania and how this suffering echoed through generations and across geographies. It is a tortuous thread that the poet is willing to surface and, in doing so, lets readers judge for themselves the facts narrated. 

A key poem in the volume, "Green Horses on the Walls," can be read as the allegory of a tipping point in which the writer comes to realize that art is precisely what keeps her in step with her inner self:

"My truth is displayed on the open canvas of my art
My truth runs with the green horses
Through the fields, down Rockville Pike, and eventually all the way through 
            the heart of DC—14th St." (14)

But the darkest and, arguably, most daring narrative in the book comes to us towards its end, in sequences of betrayed love, rape, and its effects that Bejan recounts in a gripping monologue:

"Thank you for proving that not all rape victims look alike
Thank you for proving that there is a reason for the ‘little black dress’ 

       stereotype as I was indeed wearing one" (32)

It's a moment of gloom and dissolution. Yet, we sense that the author has surpassed it through her faith, anger, and the catharsis of writing.

This poetry volume made me think of a quote by Shelley: "Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted."

In a brave new world in flux, millennial writers like Cristina A. Bejan are likely to find their way towards this perennial aesthetic goal. 

Book Review: Lucky by Marissa Stapley

By Tyra Forde

Content warning: miscarriage, graphic scenes

Lucky, the fourth novel by Canadian author Marissa Stapley, will take you on a road trip so enthralling, pages will be turning as fast as a moving vehicle. The novel isn’t thrilling for its heists, which Luciana “Lucky” Armstrong and her boyfriend, Cary, have already carried out, but rather how long Lucky will survive once she’s left alone. Broke and using an alter ego that is now wanted across the country, Lucky gets a glimmer of hope from an old lottery ticket she purchased. With the tagline of the novel, Stapley asks the million-dollar question: 

What if you had the winning ticket that would change your life forever, but you couldn’t cash it?

From the West to East Coast, Lucky clings to the small slip of paper that could be her getaway car from the life of crime she’s always wanted to leave. But she soon learns to have a chance at the cash, she will also need to cling to her father, who she pushed away; her mother, who abandoned her at birth; and her boyfriend, with whom she has built a life with. A story about integrity, family, and forgiveness, Lucky is a novel with a character you will root for until the bitter end. 

Broken into two parts, each chapter contains both the current narrative and a flashback to Lucky’s adolescence. Now in her mid-twenties, the memories serve to round out her life story without excessive exposition weighing down the main plot. The flashbacks also allow perspectives of secondary characters to shine through, which reveals key information about Lucky’s history. Stapley is successful in this strategy. The flashbacks continue until the past catches up to the present in an exhilarating yet hopeful conclusion that had me craving a sequel even though the standalone novel is nicely bookended.   

Lucky explores the spectrum of good and evil and the importance of honesty through its titular character. Lucky may not always be on the side of right, but her eternal optimism shows her heart is in the right place even when her head makes a wrong decision. 

At just over 230 pages, the novel is fast-paced and well-timed and constantly left me curious about what would come next. Stapley’s writing style is dynamic and easily matches the personalities of the various characters both in Lucky’s life and the characters that she creates to cover her tracks as she races across the country. The novel has been optioned for television and based on my enjoyment of the book, I would gladly watch the TV show and read other books written by Stapley. 

Book Review: Magma by Thóra Hjörleifsdóttir

By Kaylie Seed

Content Warning: graphic depictions of self-harm, suicide, gaslighting, emotional abuse, mental illness

Magma is Þóra (Thóra) Hjörleifsdóttir’s debut novel and is it ever an important read. Icelandic university student Lilja has fallen head over heels for a young man and quickly learns that love isn’t always as it seems. Lilja has allowed herself to fall for this unnamed man and along the path of her destruction, she weaves a story about deceit, pain, manipulation, love, hopelessness, and the desire to be wanted. Hjörleifsdóttir has written a piece of Icelandic literary fiction that is visceral, poetic, and dark.

The reader won’t get to know other characters as well as they will get to know Lilja and they won’t even find out her lover’s name. The reason is that this is Lilja’s story to tell and the name of her lover is moot in this instance. As Magma progresses the reader will witness Lilja’s undoing as she becomes destructive to everything in her life. Love is powerful and it can make us do some things that we may not normally do; throw in a manipulative partner and you’re bound to fall faster. Hjörleifsdóttir has created a real and raw character in Lilja, one who readers will likely be able to relate to on some level.

Hjörleifsdóttir has written and published a lot of poetry, so it’s no surprise that Magma was breathtakingly poetic in its prose. While Magma doesn’t follow the rules of a traditional novel, its short chapters are powerful, and the messages that Hjörleifsdottir is trying to get across to the reader are clear. The themes throughout Magma include abusive relationships, manipulative partners, forgetting our boundaries, the failings of the psychiatric system, and our primitive desire to be loved. While the style may not be for everyone, Magma is brilliantly written and those who love literary fiction and poetic prose will find this to be a quick and powerful read.

Thank you to Publishers Group Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Girl of Hawthorn and Glass by Adan Jerreat-Poole

By Meghan Mazzaferro

Content warnings: violence, gore, homophobia (referenced), body horror, abusive parent/child relationships, drowning/suffocating, murder 

Eli is a made-thing, built by witches to be their eyes and ears in the human world. She has embraced her destiny as the Coven’s tool, one destined to hunt and kill ghosts that prey on humans and witches alike. When one of her targets turns out to be human, and the witch world begins to pull away from the human one, Eli is forced to ally herself with a group of humans desperate to steal magic from the witches. As Eli learns about her human companions, she begins to realize that there is more to life than being a tool and that being made doesn’t make her any less alive. 

The Girl of Hawthorn and Glass, by Canadian author Adan Jerreat-Poole, was a challenging book to read, and it’s not easy to review either. The book establishes a dichotomy early on between the witch and human worlds, with the human world based on linearity, the laws of cause and effect, and rationality. In contrast, the witch-world is based on emotion, sensation, and desire. This book may follow the plot I’ve provided, but it uses the witch-world laws of emotion and sensation rather than human-world cause and effect, and much of the book’s description is based around complicated and sometimes vague metaphors. They evoke powerful emotions, and I spent every page of this book feeling, but the story itself suffers a bit since we (in the human world) typically need a bit more cause and effect logic than this book provides. 

However, I cannot praise this book enough for its mastery of metaphor and evocative language, and the representation in this book is phenomenal. The book explores diverse races, gender, and sexual identities, which acts as driving motivations for each of the book’s characters. I feel like that was handled incredibly well and was one of the best-developed aspects of the story. I also really enjoyed the writing in this book; the best way I can describe it is as having Mirrormask energy—if anyone remembers that Neil Gaiman movie. 

Would I recommend this book? I’m not sure. If you’re reading the book’s plot summary and looking for a YA story about a teenage assassin rebelling against a cult of witches with her magical human friends, I would say no, maybe don’t give this book a read. However, if you’re looking for a case study on metaphors and evocative writing, or if you’re interested in a unique and experimental text that deals with identity, individuality, and the driving motivation of all living things to survive and find their place in the world even if they have to carve that place for themselves, I would say definitely consider this book! I, as an aspiring writer, plan to revisit this book and it’s sequel and break down exactly how it manages to make me feel so much while explaining so little. 

Be prepared to take your time, to not have all your questions answered, and I think you’ll really enjoy it. 

Book Review: Dear Child by Romy Hausmann

By Rebekah Dolmat

Content warning: abduction, physical and psychological abuse, rape, sexual assault, violence 

Originally written in German and later translated into English, Romy Hausmann’s debut novel, Dear Child, is a dark and disturbing but captivating psychological thriller.  

When a woman who goes by the name of Lena is brought to the hospital following a hit and run, she tells the police that she has been held captive by a man in a cabin in the woods for the past several months. As Lena divulges her story to the authorities, the reader quickly realizes that not everything is as it seems and is left wondering if Lena really is who she says she is. As the story progresses, it becomes clear that Lena is keeping secrets—both about herself and about her time spent in the cabin.

Dear Child is told seamlessly, integrating snapshots from the past and present, through three alternating perspectives: the abducted woman known as Lena; Hannah, Lena’s daughter who is born in captivity; and Lena’s father, Matthias, who has been searching for his daughter for the past thirteen years, or “4,993 days.” Hausman excels at constructing each character and in giving each of them their own distinct voice.  The most fascinating voice, however, is that of Hannah—being a captive’s daughter means that her worldview and sense of understanding is extremely limited. You can see it through her choice of words and in how she tries to describe all that is happening around her—it is absolutely heartbreaking. Lena’s and Matthias’ voices are just as tragic, but in different ways: an abducted woman whose experiences will scar her for life and a grieving father who may never see his daughter again. To put it simply, the reader can clearly feel each character’s pain and suffering and will grieve alongside them as they each tell their own stories.

Even though Dear Child is a translated novel, the translation does hinder the story in any way. Hausmann has successfully written a gripping, thrilling, and heartbreaking page-turner, with each chapter revealing just a little bit more of the puzzle. Dear Child is a book filled with numerous twists and turns that the reader will not see coming and has an ending that is so unexpected and worth every second spent reading. If you’re looking for your next read to be impossible to put down then this is the book for you!

Thank you to Flatiron Books and NetGalley for the gifted electronic ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: I Hope We Choose Love by Kai Cheng Thom

By Anusha Runganaikaloo

Content Warning: violence, racism, transphobia, suicide

I Hope We Choose Love: A Trans Girl’s Notes From the End of the World is a collection of personal essays and poems by writer, performer, and community healer Kai Cheng Thom. Interestingly, it was written in the spring of 2019 but is so timely and visionary that it could have been written in the post-pandemic era that we are entering. This book offers the perspective of a trans woman of colour on subjects that few have dared to tackle in such a candid way. From the alarming suicide rate in trans communities to the true meaning of transformative justice, the author leaves no stone unturned in her quest for authenticity.

The book is divided into three parts: “Let Us Live,” “Let Us Love,” and “Let Us Believe,” each consisting of about five essays and poems. The first deals mainly with profound crises that plague social justice communities, such as call-out culture, intimate partner abuse, public shaming, and suicide enabling. The author emphasizes that the very community proposing to provide a safe space for its members knows a lot about trauma but so little about how to heal it. In fact, much of the trauma endured by queer, racialized, or, more generally speaking, marginalized people originates from within the community itself. An example of this is the “performance of virtue,” which can be described as the never-ending struggle to demonstrate one’s adherence to the latest politically correct, albeit simplistic, terminology. Unfortunately, this “activist theatre” hides an inability to conduct meaningful dialogue that would take each person’s complex situation into consideration.

“Let Us Love” handles difficult issues like rape culture and collective responsibility for violence. Among other things, the author observes that, particularly in Montreal’s queer punk scene, in which she was immersed for several years, safety and accountability are core principles. Violence in any form is condemned, at least in theory, and perpetrators are denounced and publicly called out on social media. However, all is not black and white. The truth is, perpetrators are often survivors who reproduce the abuse they endured, and the cancel culture they are subjected in no way heals them, their victims, or the community. What can be done, then, to build a safe community, free of bodily harm and intimate violence, especially against trans women of colour, who are among the most likely to be assaulted? The author advocates for a transformative justice movement, where both survivors and perpetrators would be seen as community members worthy of love and healing. Where the focus would be on prevention of harm rather than on punishment.

Part three, “Let Us Believe,” reads almost like a memoir that provides deep insight into the author’s personal experience as a racialized trans woman who emerges, breaks under social pressure, rises, transforms, and gives birth to herself. The reader by turns laughs and cries with her as she shares memories of being an idealistic new adult who gradually sees the members of her chosen family leave her behind as they build nuclear families based on the heteronormative stereotype and raise children. Her reflection about the significance of motherhood for a trans woman is particularly poignant and relatable.

This book explores broad topics that encompass society and entreats each of us to love in an enlightened, accountable way. The author takes us on a rollercoaster ride with her alternate use of incisive prose and luminous poetry. We are left at once shaken and full of hope.

Book Review: City of Water by Andrea Curtis

By Ashliegh Gehl

The water cycle is a beautiful event happening all around us. We feel the precipitation on our skin when walking in the rain or in the thick of an icy winter, catching snowflakes on our tongues. It’s a vital recycling system providing water for all living organisms, and the act of transference is largely invisible. Even when admiring beautiful, fluffy clouds, we romanticize them instead of dwelling on the mechanics.  

Andrea Curtis’s City of Water, a 40-page nonfiction picture book published by Groundwood Books (May 2021), opens with a stunning illustration of the water cycle by illustrator Katy Dockrill. It sets a warm, interconnected tone for the book which both child and adult readers will love. Those familiar with Curtis’s work, such as A Forest in the City, will feel right at home among these pages as they are immersed in the fine needlework of Curtis’s storytelling. 

Straight from the top, Curtis and Dockrill point to an interesting juxtaposition: the movement of water above ground and the system of pipes below. To most, what’s underground is invisible infrastructure. It’s out of sight and out of mind because we merely walk on top of it, unaware of the strategic framework that brings water to, in some cities, millions of people. Throughout the book, Curtis and Dockrill make the invisible visible. If seeing is believing, then Curtis and Dockrill are reinforcing a critical reminder: not everything is as it seems. 

Throughout City of Water, Curtis and Dockrill demonstrate how there is more to water than the cool, clean stream flowing out of our kitchen faucets. In each spread, Curtis narrows the focus and further isolates the movement of water, answering all the questions one may have about how it gets from rain clouds to rivers and eventually to our homes.

Written for audiences aged eight to twelve years old, City of Water ignites a much-needed conversation about a delicate and finite resource that sustains life on earth—a resource humans wouldn’t be able to live without. It’s a sombre thought, but as Curtis so cleverly writes, “The history of cities begins with water—most urban centers grew up near rivers, lakes, or oceans. But as cities expanded, it became necessary to supply residents with drinking water and sanitation systems to get rid of waste.” 

Curtis’s sharp, to-the-point style swiftly takes the reader through the history of water and how, for many around the world, access to it is a constant challenge. A further challenge is that water that is accessible may not be suited for drinking due to pollutants and disease. 

What’s endearing about City of Water is its constant message of hope–and that it’s not too late to make change. Dockrill smartly uses raindrops with illustrations of people and animals within them. Imagine a future where children grow up to see themselves in every droplet of rain and fully understand that their behaviours and actions have an immediate impact on the water cycle. The thread of interconnectedness throughout City of Water is so beautifully fluid that it inspires active participation in making our world a better place.

Book Review: Big Reader; Essays by Susan Olding

By Kim McCullough

Big Reader, Susan Olding’s second collection of essays, winds its way through a writer’s lifetime of books and reading. Olding’s essays examine the way books and stories can bring clarity and depth to our lived experiences and how they allow the smallest details of life to resonate. 

Although this book threads through Olding’s own life as a reader, she invites and draws us along on her journey with engaging, poetic, and imaginative prose. Each essay comes with its own set of stakes addressing challenges that range from failed relationships to step-parenting to the advancing age of her parents. The topics are varied, but the importance of the written word is foundational to the pieces in the book. 

Before each individual essay are memory-rich vignettes that create a compelling sub-narrative. The second-person point of view of these sections echoes with the familiar sense of distance that often envelops remembrances of significant past events.

Olding’s skill as an essayist is not limited to her excellent storytelling. She is a master at creating structure; some essays are braided or presented as a collage, while others are more traditional but no less beautiful. No matter the form, strong imagery, and precise language elevate each piece. 

An example of Olding’s ability to match structure with story shines in her braided essay about her father’s death. She entwines various encounters with blood—blood type, the blood she shares with her father, literal blood—in a way that brings the same strength a braid can bring to individual strands of hair. Writing about this fraught relationship with her father is elevated by the relief of a separate thematic thread. It allows the reader space to step back, focus on another element, and let the deeper, more difficult parts of the story sink in.

Throughout the book, Olding guides the reader’s experience of the story—she speeds up or slows down the telling in her collaged essays—long reflections on scenes from Anna Karenina, or descriptive segments on satirist William Hogarth’s images in A Rake’s Progress, are interspersed with punchy, personal sections that keep the reader engaged.

Each piece in this book of essays has its own beauty and melancholy, its own discoveries and epiphanies. What ultimately ties this collection together is not only Olding’s experience as a “Big Reader,” but the way every essay addresses her clear and constant love for her family and the world around her.

Book Review: Everybody Else is Perfect by Gabrielle Korn

By Christine McFaul

Content Warning: Body shaming, eating disorder, homophobia, misogyny, racism, sexism, trauma

Everybody Else is Perfect is a sharp and intimate debut essay collection by Gabrielle Korn. 

Korn is currently the editorial and publishing lead of Most, Netflix’s home for 2SLGBTQIA+ storytelling on social media. Under her guidance as the former editor-in-chief of Nylon Media, Nylon became an international lifestyle publication focusing on emerging culture. To date, she remains one of the youngest and one of the only openly queer people to have worked in the upper echelons of a media masthead. 

“Like most millennials and Gen Zers, I was taught growing up that commercial beauty standards aren’t realistic…We know beauty is a myth but we still subscribe to it.”

Over a decade spent working in the beauty industry, Korn found herself constantly in conversation with women who, like her, alternated between two extremes: “Thinking other women are perfect just as they are, and quietly loathing themselves.” Korn penned these eleven essays to dig deeper into this widespread contradiction. The result is both an incisive insider’s look at women’s digital media and poignant rumination on coming-of-age in the early aughts, self-admittedly from a perspective that enjoys the privileges of being white and comfortably middle class.

The narrative follows Korn through her twenties as she navigates life, love, and career in New York City. Hot topics, jarring statistics, and personal experiences are woven together in clever and accessible ways. Some of my favourite chapters include: 

•    “Staying Out” -  A rumination on identity and the isolation of being the only out lesbian on her editorial staff.

•   “Low-Rise” -  A comparison of the ebb and flow of denim fashion to the treatment of women by and within the beauty media machine. A highly relatable essay for millennial readers, as who among us doesn’t remember the infamous “whale tale” or wide-legged woes of the early 2000s?!

•   “Happy Weight” - An open and pragmatic account of living with an eating disorder.

•   “The Cult of Empowerment” - A scathing indictment of feminist language being co-opted for profit.

One of the most revealing aspects of this collection occurs when Korn peels back the curtain to show the reader who women’s media leaves out vs who it exalts and why.

“Women like me aren’t supposed to talk about things like this, about the ways that all-female spaces aren’t automatically the feminist utopia’s we want them to be.”

Korn exposes the nuance and complications that exist and suggests several tangible ways that the industry, along with consumers of that industry, might begin to enact change. 

Reminiscent of her career’s work, Everybody Else is Perfect, straddles the line between cultural criticism and personal narrative. It is by turns humorous, exhausting, earnest, angry, beautiful—always honest and open. I recommend this book for anyone who grew up in the heydays of Nylon or who likes to keep up to speed on current and emerging issues and cultural trends.

Thank you, Simon and Schuster Canada, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review!

Book Review: If I Never Met You by Mhairi McFarlane

By Meghan Mazzaferro

Content warnings: emotional manipulation, depression, sexual harassment of a child, abuse. 

After eighteen years with her high school sweetheart, Laurie’s partner suddenly ends things. Forced to work together at the same law firm is tough enough, but when Laurie finds out her ex-partner is expecting a baby with another woman only months after their breakup, she decides enough is enough when an opportunity falls into her lap in the form of the office playboy, Jamie, desperate to improve his reputation. The result: a fake dating scheme on social media that will allow both Laurie and Jamie to get what they want. But with Laurie working to rebuild herself and Jamie contradicting her every expectation, the lines between what’s real and what’s for show begin to blur. 

When I heard the premise for this book, I expected a funny and lighthearted rom-com, but that is not what this book is. Mhairi McFarlane’s If I Never Met You is a deep exploration of the grief that comes with lost relationships, the roles other people play in our lives, and how we can rebuild and become stronger when we learn to trust ourselves, rather than shaping ourselves around the needs of others. At first, I struggled to reconcile this story with my expectations; the first section of this book deals heavily with Laurie’s grief and struggle after the break-up, which is handled in a very realistic and tragic way that I was unprepared for. Likewise, the romance and fake-dating subplot were far less dramatic than what I was expecting—in the best way. The book engages with serious topics like sexism, microaggressions, emotional abuse, and more. This book was not a rom-com. It was something much deeper, exploring the ways adults can still grow into ourselves and become the people we are meant to be with the right support and self-respect while providing commentary on all the ways the world works to stop us from achieving that growth. It achieves all of this while still being funny! 

I also struggled with the writing style, which is very colloquially British, but once I got used to the language choice, I found the style really immersive and enjoyable. About fifty pages into the story, I became obsessed and couldn’t put it down; Laurie was a strong and sympathetic character who I easily rooted for and Jamie was likeable from the beginning and grew more and more charming with each interaction. Laurie’s ex and the book’s other side characters were well-written, and I either loved or hated them as Laurie did. The story subverted my expectations in a lot of ways, setting up plot points that seemed like they would fit into rom-com tropes and then resolving them in ways I didn’t predict but which fit the story well. The end felt a little rushed to me, but I still felt the relationships in this text were well-developed, and I left the story feeling satisfied and like I had learned something about myself.

This book was a quick and immersive read that made me face a lot of emotions, both positive and negative. It was a cathartic experience, getting to go through Laurie’s journey of grief, denial, acceptance, and finally, peace alongside her. If you’re a fan of romance books, romantic comedies, and even contemporary books with romantic undertones, this is a book you should definitely read.

Book Review: Canada: Above & Beyond by George Fischer and Atlantic Seafood by Chef Michael Howell

By Kim McCullough

At-home travel is all the (mandatory) rage these pandemic days. One way I’ve found to visit other cities and countries is through books. The places I’ve discovered in novels and creative nonfiction have not quite eased the restlessness that health restrictions have brought, so I was excited to see these two very different books in my review queue.

Each book took me on a different journey-one visual, one culinary-but both provided a welcome escape from inside the increasingly claustrophobic walls of my western Canadian home. 

The first is Canada Above & Beyond, a beautiful and expansive book of aerial photography by George Fischer. Fischer captures the majestic beauty of Canada’s varied regions with a sharp-eyed, rare vision. The photos in this stunning book both ignite the desire to travel and sate it. Unique perspectives in these photographs capture the enormous beauty of Canada’s landscape and a haunting sense of inconsequentiality in the face of massive mountains, towering buildings, and endless waterways. Photos of fields and tundra and forests are a beautiful reminder of how nature triumphant and breathtaking nature can be; it is a clarion call to visit these places as soon as we are able to once again travel at will.

The second book that took me away from crushing boredom was Atlantic Seafood: Recipes from Chef Michael Howell. Before the pandemic, reading recipe books was purely imaginary escapism for me, but over the past year, I found myself actually attempting recipes as a diversion. This book of fish and seafood recipes, written by a Nova Scotian chef who focuses on local sourcing and sustainable fishing, transported me back to a past vacation in Nova Scotia, where fresh fish and seafood are plentiful. 

Once through the opening section on Chef Howell’s history and credentials, he shares what he’s learned about ethical eating. Only then does he move onto the necessities for a rookie cook like me: the basics of cooking seafood and basic terminology. As a result, before I even cook a thing, I’m more knowledgeable and confident in my ability to cook fish. 

Though the recipes seem daunting at first, most ingredients are easily sourced, and the directions are clear and concise. The biggest challenge is finding quality seafood in landlocked provinces. Howell often adds notes on techniques or tips to help guide even the most novice of chefs through the process.

By the time you finish the sections on sustainability and sauces, you’ll have enough fish-preparation prowess to impress your future guests. The recipes themselves will elevate your meal to a whole new level. When guests are once again allowed in for dinner, any recipe in this book would make a delicious, celebratory choice.

These books will resonate with readers and cooks long after pandemic restrictions ease, but in the meantime, they provide an enjoyable, wishful foray into the world beyond our own front doors. 

Thank you, Nimbus Publishing, for the complimentary copies in exchange for honest reviews!

Book Review: Generation A by Douglas Coupland

Dahl Botterill

Douglas Coupland is perhaps best known for his ability to tap into the most immediate and relevant aspects of the interplay between media and technology and capture how that interaction affects people. That ability is certainly on display in Generation A, a novel that wears its literary debts and connections on its sleeve while also attempting to tread some new ground. The story follows five individuals living all over a world without bees when, one by one, they each find themselves on the receiving end of a bee sting.

Governments and international organizations come down like a hammer, of course, and each of the protagonists finds themselves under careful study while deprived of any sort of sensory input or experience. When they are released back into the world, they discover that they've become the most famous people on the planet. Each handles this fame differently, but eventually, their shared experiences draw them all to a remote Canadian archipelago, where together they try to determine what exactly it is that they've all got in common.

There's a distinct narrative shift that occurs partway through Generation A, at which point, a story about five individuals coming together becomes five individuals telling stories collectively. The degree to which it works will probably depend on the reader. Plots and sub-plots begin to morph into one another as they fade into the background, and the characters one has invested in thus far divest their centrality to some degree as their own personal fictions take centre stage. It's interesting, and it works insofar as they're all really telling the same story Coupland has been telling all along—but it probably won't be for everybody.

Generation A is a good book. It's interesting, clever, and Douglas Coupland's writing is as enjoyable to read as ever. The novel is full of fun moments, cutting observations, and plenty of references and retrospections for the casual or committed reader. The author plays with storytelling and narrative in interesting ways and perhaps even generates some effective commentary on the interplay between desire and responsibility. But is it a great book? Probably not. If you're a fan of Douglas Coupland's writing and haven't read Generation A, you'll very likely find lots to enjoy here. If you've never read him before, there are better places to start.

Book Review: People We Meet On Vacation by Emily Henry

By Melissa Barbuzzi

People We Meet On Vacation follows two unlikely best friends, Poppy, a travel blogger, and Alex, a high school teacher, on their annual best friend “summer trips.” They met in university and quickly bonded during a drive home one summer (very When Harry Met Sally style). After years of memories and travelling together, an argument put a pause to their fun travels, and the pair hasn’t had any contact in two years. Until one day, Poppy contemplates what truly makes her happy in life. Is it her job? Living in New York City? She quickly realizes that Alex was the key to her happiness and decides to reach out to him. The pair ultimately end up on another trip together, in the hopes that their friendship can be rebuilt. But has too much happened between the two of them for that to be possible?

This was not your average friends-to-lovers trope. Emily Henry put her own spin on it which made the story feel fresh, exciting, and not like your regular rom-com. The travel aspect of the book also made me super nostalgic and want to travel, as the pair visited some really exciting places that have been on my bucket list for years.

The relationship between Poppy and Alex is a unique one. They have incredible banter, yet they are complete opposites. Poppy is an outgoing travel blogger who always wanted to get away, and Alex, a quiet high school teacher who wanted to settle down and grow roots. I think the pair always had more than just a friendship connection, but both were always too afraid that their differences would result in a failed romantic relationship.

I had two main gripes with People We Meet on Vacation, the first being that the plot was entirely predictable. From the beginning, the main question the reader has is, “what was the argument that caused Poppy and Alex to stop being friends?” As you continue reading, it quickly becomes obvious what that reason was. Generally, rom-coms are pretty predictable but I thought Emily Henry could have thrown a couple of curveballs in there.

The second gripe was Poppy’s indecisiveness and unpredictability. Poppy herself had said that having Alex in her life was what made her happy, but I felt that she was all over the place when it actually came down to it. She said she would sacrifice anything to be with him, but then followed it up with “I won’t move out of New York City.” She didn’t give off the vibe that she wanted to settle down, and that is entirely what Alex wanted. She also seemed to fully live in the past and continually brought up how much she disliked Alex’s ex-girlfriend.

Overall, I think Emily Henry did a great job with People We Meet On Vacation. I enjoyed it more than her previous book Beach Read (which most people may not agree with me on!) and thought the storyline flowed well. It was a light, fun read that made me want to book a trip immediately, and I would definitely recommend it to any rom-com lover!

Book Review: Reproduction by Ian Williams

By Carmen Lebar

Content warning: rape, cancer, alcoholism, drug use, death, racism, violence, sexual harassment, fat shaming. 

Reproduction by Ian Williams is a novel that explores the unlikely relationships that occur during our lifetime. The 2019 Scotiabank Giller Prize-winning book focuses on the relationship between Edgar and Felicia after they meet in a hospital room, where both of their mothers are dying. They spend the night talking, unknowingly connecting their lives forever. The novel is split into four parts, each exploring a different era of their lives and the people in it.Reproduction’s cast of characters all come together in the most unexpected and interesting ways. I really enjoyed this book and think its experimentation and thematic focus make it an exceptional novel—well deserving of the Giller Prize.

Williams's form in this novel is creative and experimental. The novel begins with two chapters that eventually enter mitosis—duplicating each other. It keeps reproducing, where one section has two sets of 22 chapters representing the 44 chromosomes. The story continues to reproduce and eventually gets cancer by the end of the novel. This coincides with one of the characters developing cancer, mimicking the form. Stylistically, Williams demonstrates how reproduction not only brings life, but death as well. I found it compelling how form can replicate the story of a novel. This isn’t something I’ve seen often in literature, and I think it works brilliantly in Reproduction. 

The form in this novel is also heavily integrated with its content, specifically within the theme of memory. There are many instances where the memory of a character is presented as concrete, yet other times it is feeble and malleable. Memories, and history, are repeating and rewriting themselves—a nod to the form, where things are replicating. The integrity of memory is called into question in this novel. Or, memory is being purposefully concealed. What is factual? What is to be believed? Williams makes an insightful commentary on the way we consciously and unconsciously reinterpret the things that happen to us. I enjoyed not knowing entirely what was true.

Reproduction is a novel that shows how form and content can work together to create a complex story. There are moments in the novel that really showcase how relationships can be created by the most unlikely circumstances. Being connected to, or caring about someone, does not mean that you have to be related in any way. It’s a book that is going to make me think years from now about how unreliable my memory is, but also about the memory of those around me. Even though the subject matter can be grim at times, Williams scatters moments of comedic relief in moments of darkness. Reproduction is a momentous novel that will take literary fiction lovers on a whirlwind of a journey. 

Thank you to Penguin Random House Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review. Please note that Carmen has recently acquired a new position with Penguin Random House Canada. Her thoughts and opinions are her own, but for transparency we'd like to share this detail.

Book Review: White Feminism by Koa Beck

By Christine McFaul

Content warning: discrimination, homophobia, misogyny, racism, sexism, trauma.

White Feminism, a standout work of nonfiction by Koa Beck, provides an intelligent and data-driven account of the history of feminism in America. Beck, a writer, journalist, and former editor-in-chief of Jezebel, anchors the text with thorough Harvard based research. From the formation of the suffragette movement roughly a century ago to the more recent Lean In phenomenon and Women’s March in 2017, Beck reveals how the white feminist agenda has always espoused the values and ideology of the patriarchal structures it purports to denounce. Included throughout, and particularly powerful, is Beck’s research that details the achievements of marginalized groups, typically left out of feminist history including, Indigenous, Black, trans, and persons with a disability.

The book breaks down into twenty-one chapters, organized into an introduction and three main parts, as summarized below:

Introduction: Beck’s introduction is deeply personal. More than simply listing her credentials, it impresses upon the reader the lived experiences that inspired her research and made this book so necessary to write. 

Part I: The History of White Feminism: – “White feminism is a state of mind. It’s a type of feminism that takes up the politics of power without questioning them.”

Based on thorough research, in Part I Beck contextualizes the suffragist movement and exposes their agenda of gaining “access to what cis white men have” rather than prioritizing issues for the betterment of all women. She simultaneously highlights the herculean efforts made by marginalized groups of women in the same time period, but for whom “the movement” has historically preferred to ignore or suppress in order to prioritize and promote their own agenda. 

Part II: White Feminism™: When the Movement Went Corporate: “#Feminism is abundant, particularly for marketers who would like me to purchase my politics on T-shirts, buttons, stickers, and even makeup.” 

Part II explains how white-woman-in-a-power-suit became media shorthand for women’s rights, building a “new dialogue through which to sell products” (do the terms #Ladyboss, #sidehustle, #bossbitch, etc. ring a bell?!).  Beck provides an incisive review of how capitalism profits off of feminism and then uses those profits to ensure the continuation of the same power structures that have historically sidelined marginalized groups.

Part III - The Winds of Change: “Where white feminism begins is precisely where white feminism will end: with the people who uphold it. It’s by their hands that this ideology will either endure…or die-out among other practices.”

Beck ends her research by looking toward the future and giving practical recommendations to the next generation. She makes a compelling argument for the need for the fourth wave of feminism to be inclusive, comfortable with intersectionality, and committed to effecting structural changes and reallocations of power. 

White Feminism is a timely and illuminating addition to the current discussions about race, power, and inclusion. Intelligent, illuminating, and ultimately optimistic, it is one of the most important books I have read in the past 5 years—an absolute must-read. 

Thank you, Simon & Schuster, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review!

Book Review: What the Kite Saw by Anne Laurel Carter and Akin Duzakin

By Ashliegh Gehl

What is more freeing than a kite floating high in the sky, teetering on the wind, gazing upon the world with an envious bird’s-eye view? It’s a feeling Anne Laurel Carter’s words and Akin Duzakin’s pictures evoke in What the Kite Saw, a 32-page picture book published by Groundwood Books.

War is often filled with loss, uncertainty, and unknowns. It’s a challenging, emotionally charged concept difficult to convey so clearly in picture books—and yet here we have a work of art navigating the middle ground with a fleet of kites taking flight. It’s the perfect position from which to invite young readers, ages four to eight, into a fiction that is tethered so tightly to reality. A fiction illuminated by the power of imagination during a time of great distress.

It’s also a shared reality because war is war, regardless of where it surfaces. The heartbreak of loss paired with fear slithers in the storyline’s darkest shadows only to be thwarted by a lantern of hope.  

What the Kite Saw was inspired by Palestinian children. It’s very timely and relevant given the resurgence of unfortunate conflict in Gaza. In this narrative, Carter centres the story around a young boy’s point of view. From the first spread, with the streaks of red stratus-like clouds marching with the soldiers in the streets, the story is instantly in motion. You feel the isolation associated with occupation and the devastation imposed on the little boy and his family as his father and brother are taken away. Duzakin’s use of colour in bleak, unbearable moments tells a visual story of separation and what may have transpired.  

It’s through the lifting of curfews—small breaths of air—that the story softly lightens and shows children coming together. It’s a space for the boy to mobilize his friends, to inspire them to create make-shift kites. Shaped like stars and strewn from rooftops, the kites can see the world in ways the boy and his friends cannot. It sees the city, in all of its entirety, and can find the place where the boy’s father and brother have gone. While the small joy of kite flying is but a flicker, quickly deflated by gunfire, it is through the release of a kite, one which escapes and lifts off toward the stars, that the child can see, if only in his mind, his father and brother again. 

When reading this book, read it three times. First, the words and pictures. Second, just the words to absorb the precision of Carter’s pacing and then revisit it a third time by only reading the art. There’s a story in each spread which not only complements Carter’s words but deepens the reader’s understanding of the child’s delicate perspective in ways that will strongly resonate with visual learners. Every movement in Duzakin’s art is a strategic decision to further communicate the story, unlocking another layer of emotion and truly taking this story to another level. As much as it is a story of war and loss, it upholds what we know to be true. Imagination prevails in the darkest of hours and builds just enough resiliency to carry us through to a brighter tomorrow.

Book Review: The Jigsaw Puzzle King by Gina McMurchy-Barber

By Carly Smith

Content warning: Bullying

Warren is a preteen who recently moved cities with his family, including his twin brother, Bennie. All Warren wants to do is fit in and adjust to his new life by making friends, fitting in at school, and doing some of the activities he did back home. Settling in proves tricky, though, and Warren thinks it’s because of Bennie. Bennie has Down syndrome, and some of Warren and Bennie’s peers have never met anyone with Down syndrome. One new peer, Maya, is keen to build a friendship with both brothers and learns that Bennie has a talent for completing jigsaw puzzles in record time. She encourages Bennie to showcase his skill at the school talent show, but Warren thinks this is a horrible idea. Will Bennie take part in the show? Will Warren stop it? McMurchy-Barber works hard to make a relatable and exciting piece that all ages can connect to. 

We first meet Warren, a boy who like most children his age is starting to care what others think of him. He is constantly on high alert about how others act and react around Bennie. What will others say to him? What will they say about him? On top of this, he sometimes feels like Bennie’s caretaker and not his brother. This feeling is present at home, too; Warren and Bennie’s parents often rely on Warren to be Bennie’s guardian when they cannot. We quickly learn that Warren lacks a sense of autonomy and is very self-conscious. Bennie, on the other hand, is a joyful, optimistic boy who thinks the best of everyone and does not hesitate to march to the beat of his own drum. A kind, funny preteen, Bennie is rarely upset, and when he is, he is keen to find the silver lining. As the book progresses, both boys navigate some difficult feelings, and Warren is faced with confronting his worries and deciding if they are worth more than the strong bond he has with his brother. The Jigsaw Puzzle King is written from the perspective of Warren, which offers many opportunities to empathize with him. Nevertheless, McMurchy-Barber writes the story in such a way that the reader is still able to see the story unfold from Bennie’s perspective. She intertwines both viewpoints beautifully so that the reader is equally pulled towards both boys’ feelings.

Gina McMurchy-Barber’s The Jigsaw Puzzle King touches on several themes, including self-awareness, diversity, and family. We see Warren repeatedly grapple with his role in the family dynamic and how it affects not just his happiness but that of the other members. His initial oblivion to his feelings about how others behave around Bennie plays a significant role in the storyline, keeping the reader captivated with a desire to read on to see if his sense of self-awareness will evolve. These themes, combined with the author’s writing style, makes it hard to put down The Jigsaw Puzzle King; each chapter beautifully compliments the previous one and elegantly sets the foundation for the upcoming one. A nominee for the Silver Birch Fiction Award, I can see myself reading this book again, especially with my son or students. 

Book Review: The Outlander by Gil Adamson

By Larissa Page

Content warning: rape, infidelity, infant death 

The Outlander is a backlist title published first in 2007 but followed up in 2020 by its sequel Ridgerunner. Based on the hype Ridgerunner received (shortlisted for the Giller Prize), I decided to pick up The Outlander so I could read it before diving into Ridgerunner (though they can be read separately).

The Outlander can be described as both historical fiction or western; both would be completely accurate, in my opinion, as it takes place in the Canadian frontier just after the turn of the century (1903). The first chapters I found a bit slow, with much focus being put on a solitary venture (or flee) into the forest and mountains. The nature descriptions were reminiscent of Elizabeth Hay’s Late Nights on Air. 

The story does pick up a bit when more characters enter (and leave) the story, and “the widow” (as she’s referred to) makes her way farther along on her adventure. The story becomes a bit of a western saga with her story, as well as a bit of a “cat and mouse” story with little snippets focused on the Boulton brothers and eventually the Ridgerunner, who are looking for her as she moves through the Albertan landscape.

While historical fiction has made its way into my reading list several times, it is not often I read something considered a western—this may be the second one I’ve ever read, in fact. While I wasn’t sure about it at first (as mentioned, it was a bit slow), I ultimately enjoyed it. Adamson created characters that were easy to root for despite their flaws, created adventures I was happy to join the characters on, and the ending was exactly what I wanted it to be. 

I also appreciated that this tale (because that’s almost how it seemed in its telling) included so many minor characters that, however briefly present, were all very important in different ways. Adamson didn’t waste space with these characters. They entered the story when they needed to, then promptly exited as the widow moved on or the direction changed, but each and every one had a profound impact and were completely necessary.  

I, personally, am thrilled to be able to continue this story (set 14 years later) with Ridgerunner.