Book Review: Blood Donor by Karen Bass

By Carly Smith

Content warning: human trafficking 

Jo McNair is a 17-year-old whose world is flipped upside down after being late for curfew. Unable to enter her home and left outside to her own devices, Jo is approached by a stranger named Mandy, who promises to give her a safe space. Unfortunately, Mandy is really an agent working for an illegal operation that kidnaps youth and forces them into blood donation. Now trapped in an unknown location with a group of teens who must give blood regularly—too regularly—Jo works hard to find a way out, not only for herself but the others being held captive too.

Bass creates Jo as a bright, clever, resourceful young woman. She is a critical thinker with a drive to overcome the many obstacles presented to her by her captors as well as by her family. She is hard-working, determined, and insightful. It's no surprise that Jo is at the forefront of the plan to escape from the illegal clinic—she is a born leader. Out to dismantle her efforts is Red, another teen whose life is actually more stable while being held hostage; she is offered adequate meals, a clean, warm place to sleep, and shelter from the other dangers that present themselves to homeless youth. While, initially, Red seems miserable, jaded, and unwelcoming, Bass develops Red's character in such a way that the reader can empathize with her point of view—being freed is more threatening than being trapped. 

Although Blood Donor is not a long read, Bass still includes all the necessary elements to create a gripping page-turner. Suspense, character development, and setting are all very well constructed early on, captivating readers right away. Even though the plot may be tricky to relate to, the way in which Bass develops the various characters helps build a sense of connection between reader and character. This book is eye-opening for people who are unfamiliar with youth homelessness and the consequences that arise from it. I look forward to reading Bass’s next publication. 

Book Review: In Spite of All the Damage by Juliet deWal

By Sara Hailstone

Content Warning: Reference to Sexual and Domestic Violence

We carry the stories of our childhood like tattoos, inking our pain or pleasures permanently, sharing or hiding these memories from others and ourselves. I recommend In Spite of all the Damage by Juliet deWal for those of us who think we carry baggage instead of colouring the world with the art of our stories, our lightning tattooed scars. In Spite of All the Damage is a compelling and self-facing narrative offered by an enigmatic protagonist working through the post-trauma of sexual and domestic violence from her stepfather. DeWal’s poignant writing pulls us into a journey with Ivy Jewel, a woman striving for asylum amongst the landmines of faces she runs from, and those warm vessels of love she gravitates to. “Inside of me, there is a trapped animal always waiting to run. I try to be someone better—one of the clean girls, the strong girls. But then, the other self takes over—she is cold and protective and running for her life.” Sometimes, this working through is not dependent on owning our tattoos, but on how others translate those stories as well.  

Ivy Jewel is married but she is on the run from her husband, Peter Stone. The perimeters of an intimate relationship with this man are too overwhelming for her. DeWal is remarkable in depicting the essence of a strong man like Peter and how he unequivocally runs with a resisting Ivy Jewel, cementing the power of a love that honours the imperfect shading and outlines of those lightning tattooed scars. They’ve been married a year, yet the love remains unconsummated and restrained. Ivy Jewel is an unprotected character to the continued abuse from her stepfather. She hides these continued attacks from Peter and decides to distance herself from her current life with the hopes of working through her trauma alone.

Peter is willing to journey the path his wife needs to take on her healing. Peter sleeps on floors, camps outside the beach house, and lives in a tent by fires anticipating the final kindle when Ivy Jewel will trust the embrace of a man not trying to own and shape her to him. “I am trying to help you calm yourself down,” is Peter’s view, “I am trying to stop you from making the same damned mistake you’ve made over and over and over again.” We want to believe that we must work through trauma alone, but deWal depicts two emotionally resilient characters triumphing in owning these stories, together.

Author of the Stone Heart Book Series (In Spite of All the Damage, Broken As I Am, We All Fall Down, While My Love Lies), deWal offers powerful texts that show how we can keep our hearts open “in spite of all the damage.” She had once been labelled “Damaged Goods” herself, and In Spite of All the Damage is a heartfelt apology that echoes amongst those with the tattooed scars—how we each carry that fear of the ripple of our stories in those broken places. 

Book Review: Star-Crossed by Minnie Darke

By Robyn Rossit

Star-Crossed by Minne Darke is a fun romantic comedy that is bound to make the reader smile. Justine and Nick, childhood sweethearts, lose touch after Nick's family moves away when they are kids. When they bump into each other as adults, love seems on the horizon—at least, that is how it seems to Justine. Astrology plays a huge role in this story: Justine is a Sagittarius and skeptic, while Nick is an Aquarius and true believer. Nick is an astrological devotee, who takes his favourite horoscope—which coincidentally is in the magazine Justine works at—very seriously when it comes to making life decisions. Frustrated by the lack of romantic progress with Nick, Justine takes his horoscope into her own hands and makes some tweaks. However, Nick is not the only astrological devotee using what is written in the stars to guide their life choices.

I loved how unique this story was. The astrological themes and references certainly make Star-Crossed stand out in a sea of romantic comedies. While astrology is one of the major themes, you don't have to be a believer to enjoy this cute story. I really enjoyed the little side stories about other people who were impacted by Justine's modifications to her newspaper's horoscopes. It just goes to show the larger scale impacts of impulsive decisions. The more she meddles, the bigger of a mess she seems to make.

I really enjoyed Darke's writing style. Her thoughtful method of storytelling, in my opinion, makes it stand out. The character development experienced by Justine and Nick had me rooting for them, even while, on occasion, I was rolling my eyes at some of their dodgier choices. Even the smaller characters, who are in the story show the ripple effect of meddling with horoscopes in a large publication, felt like full, well-rounded characters. As a reader, I appreciated the attention to detail.

I would definitely recommend Star-Crossed to anyone who is looking for a fun read that will make you smile, laugh, and occasionally, lovingly cringe. Fans of romantic comedies, both in print and on the screen, will delight in Star-Crossed. Even if you're not into astrology, it is still an enjoyable read.

Book Review: Portrait of a Scotsman by Evie Dunmore

By Meghan Mazzaferro

Content warning: Trauma-induced flashbacks 

Portrait of a Scotsman is the third book in Evie Dunmore’s A League of Extraordinary Women series. These books follow female suffragists in England during the fight for women’s right to vote, and each woman’s struggle to find the balance between their feminism, freedom, and their individual quests for love. 

Hattie Greenfield’s only goals in life are to be taken seriously as an artist and to have an epic and tender romance. Unfortunately, her art is constantly dubbed “lovely,” and she finds herself tricked into marriage to Lucian Blackstone, a ruthless financier who seems hell-bent on destroying the peerage. To make matters worse, Lucian is the opposite of the romantic gentleman Hattie always imagined. Suddenly, all her dreams are disappearing in front of her eyes, and Hattie is powerless to stop them. 

Hattie doesn’t exactly meet Lucian’s standards either. She’s spoiled, entitled, and naive. But as the daughter of Lucian’s business rival, Hattie is the key to opening doors in upper-class British society that Lucian’s humble upbringing has kept locked until now. Unfortunately, in spite of all the ways these two don’t fit, they can’t seem to resist being drawn to each other, to want each other in ways that are dangerous to both of their goals. Now, forced to spend time together in the Scottish Lowlands, they might have to face the fact that opposites do attract, and passion can sometimes be better than a fairytale. 

I don’t know why historical romance books keep surprising me, because all the ones I’ve read so far this year have been amazing! This book is romantic and sexy, but it is also witty and critical, taking the time to develop both the romance between the characters and the political climate and struggles that they exist in. Both Hattie and Lucian have causes they fight for, and they educate each other, and the reader, about the problems that were prevalent in Europe during this period. The book is particularly critical about the Suffragist movement and addresses some of the problems with first-wave feminism. Hattie comes to learn that while her suffragists are doing good work fighting for a women’s right to vote, they need to be conscious of the needs of not just upper-class women, but also the working class, and those minorities who do not have the same goals that the upper-class suffragists initially fought for. 

Now, onto the actual plot of the book. While this book isn’t free of the tropes of the romance genre, Portrait of a Scotsman executes the conventions of the genre well. The enemies-to-lovers romance is full of angst, banter, and a gradual growing of trust, all of which are well-explained and justified by the plot. The romance is steamy and passionate, while still respecting the boundaries of the characters; they don’t know if they can trust each other, they’re practically strangers, and in Hattie’s case, she has to unlearn years of conditioning defining what a “proper” lady is and how she should behave. This book takes the time to explore all of that, allowing for a romantic and gradual development of trust and feeling between two polar opposite characters. 

If you’re looking for a historical romance book that is angsty and passionate, while also being feminist and progressive, this is definitely the series for you. Portrait of a Scotsman is the first book in the League of Extraordinary Women series that I’ve read, and while I can say that the book is enjoyable to read as a standalone, the cameos of the rest of the League have me convinced that this series will be even more impactful when read in order. I, for one, am on my way to pick up the first two books in the series, and I encourage you to add all three to your TBR if you haven’t already. 

Book Review: Providence (Compendium) by Alan Moore and Jacen Burrows

By Shantell Powell

Content Warning:  sexual violence, harm to children, racism, eugenics, homophobia, misogyny 

Providence was written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Jacen Burrows. It was first released as a monthly/bimonthly comic book series in 2015 and was rereleased in July 2021 in compendium form. Alan Moore is famous for such graphic novels and comic books as The Watchmen, Swamp Thing, and V for Vendetta. Providence is his final foray into comic books, and what a swan song it is. The back cover blurb declares Providence to be the Watchmen of horror, and I agree with that assessment. I believe this graphic novel will become a classic of literary horror.  

Alan Moore is a ceremonial magician, and his nuanced knowledge of the occult is on full display in Providence. He is also a filmmaker, and his visual direction is cinematic and specific. Jacen Burrows’s crisp, clean illustrations are crucial to the magical realism of the setting. Kurt Hathaway’s lettering is put to good use: Providence is in epistolary form and contains pages and pages of dense, handwritten text. Juan Rodriguez did the colour work, and his sombre palette adds to the unease of the book. The story plays with a lot of tropes (cursed books, creepy cultists, ancient evils, descent into madness, breaking the third wall), and does so with surgical precision.  

The story takes place in New England not long after World War I, but it does not remain stuck in time or place. The protagonist is Robert Black—a queer Jewish reporter whose ex-lover has just died unexpectedly. Shaken by the death, Black takes a sabbatical from his job at the newspaper. He is researching an urban legend about a book called Sous Le Monde. Supposedly, anyone who reads the book ends up dead. He is intrigued by this and thinks researching the story will inspire him to write a novel. His research takes him throughout rural New England where he meets Howard Phillips Lovecraft and experiences increasingly unsettling events. 

In case you are unfamiliar, Lovecraft was an extremely influential horror writer. His sense of horror was on a cosmic scale but was influenced heavily by his xenophobia and ideals of racial purity.  Providence is a metafictional Lovecraftian story containing Lovecraft himself. Over the past decade, his fictional entity Cthulhu has become a kitschy part of pop culture, inspiring bobblehead and kawaii incarnations.  

Providence strips away all the kitsch to reveal just how disturbing and terrifying the Cthulhu mythos actually is, and just how dehumanizing things like eugenics, class warfare, and homophobia are. If you would like to revisit the Cthulhu mythos with fresh eyes, you need to read this. But be warned—you may want a brain-bleach chaser.

Book Review: For the Wolf by Hannah Whitten

By Megan Amato

Content warning: bloodletting, violence 

I’m a simple girl. Give me a pretty cover, a fairytale retelling set in an enchanted forest combined with mysterious and complicated political happenings, and I will happily give you my money. Hannah Whitten’s debut YA fantasy, For the Wolf, delivers on all these themes, spinning classic myths like Beauty and the Beast and Little Red Riding Hood and weaving them into her own original and highly imaginative tale. 

As the only second royal daughter born in a century, Red has been promised to the ravenous Wolf since her birth. Despite her bond with her sister, Red is almost eager to go and spare those she loves from her out-of-control magic that scares her more than the Wolf himself. However, upon entering the woods, she learns that the Wolf is not the villain he is made out to be, and that the dangerous Wilderwood, the only thing keeping the monsters from descending upon her kingdom, is dying. Red will have let go of her bone-deep fear, join forces with the Wolf, and learn how to use her magic to save everyone she loves—but the cost might be the one person she loves most: the sister who will do anything to get her back.

One of my favourite genres is fairytale retellings. I love to find the familiar wrapped up in a new or unfamiliar environment. Whitten knew her genre well, and she combined iconic imagery—like the cloak from Little Red Riding Hood—with the tale everyone loves to reimagine: Beauty and the Beast. However, what I appreciate most about Whitten’s version is that she said “NO” to the Stockholm Syndrome found in the original fairytale—which can also be found in countless retellings—and built the romance on Red’s will to stay within the Wilderwood despite the Wolf’s reluctance. 

Whitten’s characters pulled me into the story from the very beginning. As a protagonist, Red’s inner turmoil, motivations, and fears about her magic and sacrifice were very believable, and I felt her weariness in the marrows of my own bones as she resigned herself to death at the Wolf’s hands to protect her loved ones. And later, when her buried will to live resurfaces in the face of her own mortality, I was immersed in her first real fight for herself—just because she was  “for the Wolf,” didn’t mean she would go down without a fight. However, despite his reputation, the Wolf is a cinnamon roll wrapped up in a rough exterior, and as Red witnesses him selflessly spill his blood for the greater good time and time again, she has to readjust from her readiness to die to the ability to fight for everything she holds dear. 

Overall, this is a fantastic read full of magic, love, sacrifice, and power, shown through the progression of the plot, through the political workings of multiple players, and through the sacrifices Red and those around her make—especially her sister Neve, who virtually sacrificed her soul to get Red out of the Wilderwood and away from the Wolf. I am eagerly awaiting Whitten’s second novel featuring Neve’s story, which promises to be more morally grey and features one of my favourite tropes: angry girls destroying others’ expectations. 

Book Review: The Removed by Brandon Hobson

By Lauren Bell

The Removed by Brandon Hobson follows the Echota family as they are preserved by the speakers of the dead; those known as drifters, illusions, or dreams. Those who reveal themselves to only those who look.

With that, the foundation of The Removed by Brandon Hobson is laid. The novel follows the Echota family as they reconnect with their spirituality during the week prior to the anniversary of the death of Ray-Ray Echota, their beloved brother and son who was shot and killed fifteen years earlier. The plot is told through multiple perspectives of the family, as each character must process their own healing. The parents, Maria and Ernest, are struggling to manage Ernest’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis which mysteriously begins to subside after they take in a foster child. Nearby, their adult daughter Sonja struggles with her personal relationships. Edgar, their astray adult son, is battling addiction as he tries to find his way back home. The fourth voice is of family ancestor Tsala, who connects the plot to traditional Cherokee stories. 

The themes of healing and storytelling are apparent through the novel’s progression, yet  Hobson addresses contemporary issues such as racism and police violence in more subtle ways, using animal and nature symbolism to convey the messages together. 

I found that although each character’s individual perspective was shared, the novel had a collective voice—the voice of people who never quite moved on, all unremarkable in their own way. Ray-Ray, although deceased, is the most captivating character, and pieces of him are apparent in each of the characters the family interacts with, demonstrating how significant his loss was. While I can appreciate how Hobson wanted to tie spirituality in with vulnerability and healing, I struggled to enjoy aspects of the novel because of this. Some of the changes to the characters, such as the sudden pause in progression in Ernest’s Alzheimer’s and Edgar’s lack of withdrawal symptoms, seemed too unrealistic me. That being said, I enjoyed the conclusion, as Hobson was able tie each character’s storyline together without being explicit and left room for the reader to ruminate about what will happen next in the Echota family. 

Book Review: The Death of Francis Bacon by Max Porter

By Meredith Grace Thompson

 Mussolini or Bacon? 

He is fundamentally a colourist, in the childish sense. He draws simple pictures and he colours them in. 

Max Porter is a strange and wonderful writer. His novels are quick and sprawling. Fast moving and yet in a near-permanent standstill of philosophising, each novel exists in the back of the reader’s mind long after it has been put down. He has a gift for capturing the immediacy of poetry in the larger narrative format of a novel, even if relatively speaking, his novels are short. Without his distinct self-declaration and identification of this work as novel, The Death of Francis Bacon could be labeled purely as experimental, climbing, ardent, grim, needful poetry. 

Living inside the moments of the 1992 death of Irish-born painter Francis Bacon, Porter luxuriates in the strains of human consciousness without stepping into the cliché of a “life flashing before one’s eyes.” His words peak and fall, disintegrate and rebuild themselves as a human heartbeat, as human brainwaves. As much a comment on the speaker’s own obsession with Bacon—both as subject and as artist—Porter’s narrative voice floats evenly throughout the world of the novel. Moving from the speaker to Bacon himself without explanation or handholding, Porter creates an amalgamated self: a self inside itself, undifferentiable between writer and subject, speaker and spoken. 

Playing with the implicit assumption of his subject’s namesake, Porter moves as effortlessly as human thought through taxi cabs and marital fights and lost cigarettes. Each section is differentiated by sequential numbering as well as the material and dimensions of the painting which follows, rather than chapter titles. Porter writes through each painting, creating each poetic prose piece as a potentially painted poem inside the larger context of a novel. These are paintings. These are colourings-in. These are movements within the strand which connects the multiplicity of selves. Porter’s speaker is reaching out to Bacon and Bacon is radiating towards the speaker. 

This structure is Porter’s strength and is consistent throughout several of his novels. He does not seem to judge himself as a writer, rather takes that which he understands or seeks to understand and allows himself to climb through and over and under it. He looks at it from all angles. He holds it close and pushes it away. He is remarkably free in his writing. 

Porter excels at using the art of others to better understand and create his own art. The paintings of Francis Bacon are grotesque and layered, their colours bright and unknowable. They sit inside the mind, reaching out towards you without hesitation. They are images of popes and kings, portraits beyond all else. They are stark and frightening, and if you look at the paintings only after reading this book, they will click into place as that which Porter has created—not models but rather interpretive dances. Porter is a weaver of images, a reader, an art historian, a lover of creation more than anything else. His book is a love letter, a disintegration of love, a recognition of love: the reception of a genius in ingenious terms. Porter manages to capture the moment of no longer knowing, the breakdown of human thought. The painting that is left behind. And after it all intenta descansar. Try to get some rest. 

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

Book Review: The Forest of Vanishing Stars by Kristin Harmel

By Hayley Platt

The Forest of Vanishing Stars, published in July 2021, is a World War II historical fiction novel set mainly during the 1940s. It is a captivating story about the Jewish people who survived the Holocaust by moving into the dense Polish forests and living off the land.

The protagonist, Yona, is two years old when she is taken from her bed in Berlin by Jerusza, who is almost eighty years old. The two of them live in the Polish forests, where Jerusza gives Yona an unconventional education that covers learning multiple languages, practical first aid, how to survive in the wilderness with few traditional supplies, and significant self-defence, including how to kill someone. Shortly after Jerusza dies at the end of the winter in 1942, Yona begins finding other Jewish people who are fleeing the Nazis and attempting to survive by living in the woods. Yona dedicates herself to helping the people she encounters survive the war. 

This novel follows a chronological timeline, beginning in 1922 and quickly moving into the expected years of WWII. It is told from the third person perspective, but there is still significant character development on Yona’s part, and it is easy to understand her perspective and reasoning. It is particularly interesting watching Yona learn what it is like to interact with other people, as she has spent almost two decades with only Jerusza in the woods. Readers get to see her adapt to living in a communal setting with a group of people who have differing opinions and a need for both leadership and compromise. We also see her learning about romantic love and heartbreak, which can be unexpected in this subgenre of historical fiction.

Another unexpected, yet welcome, aspect in this book was the magical realism that Jerusza and, to a lesser extent, Yona are surrounded by. Jerusza believes that she knows things that other people don’t, and many of her actions are based around what she knows the future will hold. Her reason for kidnapping Yona at the beginning of the book is tied to her knowledge of far off events. Yona is less connected to this magical aspect. She knows when dark things are looming, but her foresight is not as prominent.

Harmel ends this book with a lengthy author’s note detailing where pieces of this story come from and where she did her research while writing. She outlines conversations she had with a Holocaust survivor who spent years in the Black Forest and survived some similar events to Yona and the people she travels with.  From a reader’s perspective, this is greatly appreciated. It helps ground the story by separating the historical from the totally fictional.

Those who seek out the lesser known Holocaust stories and World War II historical fiction will appreciate this book.

Book Review: The Family Way by Laura Best

By Christine McFaul

Content Warning: Abuse (mental, emotional, verbal, child neglect and child abuse), Death of a child, Kidnapping, Misogyny, Pregnancy (child taken after birth, miscarriage), Racism, Trauma  

The Family Way, by Canadian author Laura Best, is a middle-grade historical fiction novel tackling a “dark chapter in Nova Scotia’s history.” Though technically a prequel to Best’s larger Cammie series (Flying with a Broken Wing, 2013 and Cammie Takes Flight, 2017), The Family Way has been written as a standalone story and reads well as such. 

“If it wasn’t for Finny Paul, I’d have spent a lonely childhood at the old farmhouse in East Chester, just Ma and me.” 

This first sentence is an excellent introduction not only to the main character, twelve-year-old Tulia May but also to the setting, which is a character unto itself in this novel. With much of rural Nova Scotia still recovering from the Depression, life for Tulia May and her widowed mother towards the end of the 1930s is not easy. Rather, it is lonely, stark, and demands a heroic amount of grit and hard work from both mother and child in order to survive 

To fend off poverty, Tulia’s mother works in the laundry at the nearby Ideal Maternity Home, a place where unwed mothers go to give birth discreetly and where adoptions to rich Americans can be arranged for a fee. Tulia often accompanies her mother to help scrub the constant piles of dirty diapers, and it doesn’t take the reader long to discover that Tulia has a rebellious streak as she sneaks off to visit babies in the nursery and befriends Finny Paul (a boy she knows from school) which are both against the express wishes of her mother. 

“I’m not by nature an overly curious person, but it was hard for me to mind my own business when Finny was around.”  

It is both her rebellious streak and friendship with Finny that leads Tulia to finally acknowledge the sinister idiosyncrasies she would prefer to ignore at the Ideal Maternity Home. And Tulia and Finny’s further investigations yield tragic results when they learn that babies are being starved to death and disposed of—a discovery that takes on new meaning when Tulia’s older sister Becky becomes a resident of the home.  

Set against the backdrop of the Depression and Canada’s entrance into WWII, the narrative does an excellent job of confronting the complicated history of adoption, infant death, pregnancy, stigma, and limited women’s rights that existed during that time period. It also includes a subplot facing the racism and bigotry of the time, and to that end, the Publisher and author include a note on language…

“The Family Way is set in a time—the 1930s—and a place—rural Nova Scotia, Canada — when hurtful words used to describe certain members of a community would have been common…” 

A helpful inclusion, but in my opinion, this particular subplot could have been further strengthened by giving Finny Paul, a First Nations character, more depth and agency within the story itself. 

That said, Tulia May’s voice is strong and engaging, the setting beautifully revealed and the story of the Ideal Maternity Home still relevant today. I would recommend this book for readers at the higher end of the middle-grade age range, and due to its subject matter and historical roots, I believe this book would also appeal to both YA and adult readers. 

Thank you, Nimbus Publishing, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Motor Girl Omnibus by Terry Moore

By Dahl Botterill

"I don't need any help! Okay? I carry my own load! No one has to help me! I help them! I'm the strongest person in the room! That's how it works!"

Samantha Locklear lives and works in a junkyard in Nevada, pulling parts from old cars with only the company of a 600-pound gorilla named Mike. It's a reclusive life, and it suits her just fine, until late one night, a flying saucer crashes into the junkyard. She quietly helps the aliens get on their way, and the next day assumes it was all a dream until her tiny little world is suddenly filled with new faces trying to get in on the UFO game.

Sam Locklear is also a veteran with three tours behind her, having survived two bombings and ten months of torture as a prisoner of war. She suffers from debilitating headaches, hasn't contacted her family since returning home, and her best friend in the world exists entirely in her head. 

Terry Moore's Motor Girl layers comedy and drama over one another in a moving exploration of psychological trauma, focusing on Sam's intentionally small slice of the world and the way that slice is shaped and defined by the physical and emotional injuries she sustained as a Marine in Iraq. Sam is both incredibly strong and tragically broken, and each of these aspects sometimes gets in the way of the other. Her PTSD makes it difficult for her to help all the people she wants to, or even to stare reality full in the face, and her refusal to be anything but “the strongest person in the room” at all times prevents her from dealing effectively with her trauma. Moore's character work is on full display here, with everybody playing dual roles; most are developed both as individuals and as reflections of Samantha's own personality.

Terry Moore is probably most famous for Strangers in Paradise, and in Motor Girl, his cartoonist's sensibilities are on full display as he returns to a style of art that will feel particularly familiar to readers of that other work. It's a little rougher style than some of his more recent titles—he apparently returned to primarily using a brush for this title—and it fits the work perfectly. Moore's art is minimal without being simple, each line full of emotion and gravity, and it does a masterful job of tying the serious and silly aspects of the book together. Motor Girl is a great book that packs a huge amount into its relatively short length. It's an obvious recommendation for anybody that's already a fan of Moore's previous work and a great introduction to Moore's style and writing for anybody a bit overwhelmed at the idea of diving into one of his lengthier titles. 

Book Review: Ace by Angela Chen

By Megan Amato

Content warning: discussions about trauma, rape, and abuse 

Even though I primarily dated men as a teenager, I’d had sexual and romantic experiences with women. After talking to a bisexual friend in my early twenties, she showed me a picture of a very beautiful woman in an evocative pose and asked if I felt anything when I looked at it. I said no, and she declared me straight. I believed her. It wasn’t until years later that I realized I didn’t feel anything sexual when I looked at any gender’s body and spent years wondering if I was truly broken. In the last few years—thanks to Twitter—I stumbled upon the words bi/panromantic and demi/greysexual and finally felt something unlock. It was freeing. 

In Angela Chen’s Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex, she discusses her own experience coming to terms with her asexuality while highlighting the responses she received from other aces she interviewed. One of the things that became clear immediately is that no two experiences were the same—from their knowledge and understanding of what asexuality means, to their dating experiences, to unlearning biases and stereotypes, and to accepting that there was no “normal” when it came to sexuality.

As an avid reader, I often find something relatable in the books I read, but I found myself on the verge of tears while reading Ace. It was a revelation of re-finding myself, of the vocabulary and feelings that I’ve often felt when coming to an understanding—or lack thereof—of my sexuality and the complexities within the community itself. I especially connected with Chen’s own experience of confusing sexuality with the desire to feel special and cherished. As a hypersexual teenager, it took time to realize that I rarely felt sexual attraction. Because of my own traumas, I equated sex with the need to be a part of something, to mean something to someone. Chen’s discussion of compulsory sexuality (like compulsory heterosexuality)—that the societal portrayal of the “normal” way of being is to feel sexual attraction—also hit home because I had no other understanding of how to show my love but through access to my body. 

What I really appreciated in this book, and I think is often missed when talking about asexuality, is the consideration of intersectionality. Chen, who is Chinese American, talks to others from different cultural and economic backgrounds; those with different abilities and sexualities and races and ages; and those with and without trauma. All these factors influence how one experiences attraction and one’s understanding of sexuality. Chen explains how the majority who identify as asexual are white, and these people dominate discussions around asexuality. White folks have more societal power to be able to explore their sexuality safely. In contrast, BIPOC have more layers to unpeel in their identities before getting there, including community beliefs, racial stereotypes, racial trauma, fetishization, societal expectations, access to information and queer comminutes, and the fear that asexuality is another way for white people to control sexuality. 

Chen wrote this book for everyone. Not just aces like me who can recognize themselves and learn more about the nuances of asexuality, but also those who don’t identify but want to learn more, those in relationships with aces or even those who might relate to aspects that fit into their own sexual desires. Angela Chen’s Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex is an important read with topics that anyone can find value in, and I hope this review encourages people to pick up a copy.  

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

Book Review: A Slow Fire Burning by Paula Hawkins

By Sarah Murray

Content Warnings: sexual and physical abuse, murder, kidnapping, car accident-causing major injury, death of loved one, substance abuse

A Slow Burning Fire is my first by author Paula Hawkins and most certainly will not be my last! I plan to go back and revisit her backlist of two previous works after reading this one! A Slow Burning Fire begins with the brutal murder of Daniel Sutherland on his houseboat and tells the story of the people connected to him and his murder. It is based in London, and I always enjoy reading stories that take place in this location.

A Slow Burning Fire is told through the multiple people connected to Daniel and the different ways they interacted with him.  Within the story they share their connection to Daniel and the various aspects of their pasts that have affected their present. The characters we hear from are Carla (Daniel’s aunt and the sister of Daniel’s mother Angela), Laura (a girl who connected with Daniel while visiting the neighbour of his mother), Irene (the neighbour and friend of Daniel’s mother), and Theo (Carla’s ex-husband, and Daniel’s Uncle through marriage). Lastly, we have Miriam who was Daniel’s neighbour and the one who found his body after his murder. 

All the characters are vastly different from one another, and I enjoyed reading all their POVs. They also are all connected in various ways and not just through Daniel, so seeing these interactions and relationships added to the mystery of the murder. This feels like a very character-driven story and I very much enjoyed this about the book. I also enjoyed how unlikable and unreliable the characters were as this kept me on the edge of my seat and changing who I believed was responsible for Daniel’s murder. Due to the character’s interactions with Daniel we can see who he was as a person and I know my feelings changed multiple times throughout the telling of the book. Hawkins also tells multiple stories within this book which I found fascinating and I wanted to know the conclusions to these mysteries as well. One example is that Theo is an author and one of his novels has several chapters contained within.

Throughout the story I felt many emotions and degrees of interest. In the beginning, I felt unsure of the story and if I would connect with the writing and the way the story was being delivered as I had been in a reading slump. Luckily, after the beginning, I became entranced with the story, its characters, and the way it was being told and I literally could not put this book down. For example, it was Thanksgiving, and I was visiting my in-laws and had to go into the bedroom to sneak a few chapters in. Hawkins has a unique and captivating writing style and, as I previously stated, I cannot wait until I can read her other two works.

Thank you, to Penguin Random House Canada, for the e-book copy for my honest review!

Book Review: Five Little Indians by Michelle Good

By Larissa Page

Content warning: child sexual assault/abuse, abuse by church authorities, kidnapping, residential schools

Michelle Good’s Five Little Indians is a uniquely told story of five residential/Mission School survivors. Following Lucy, Maisie, Clara, Kenny, and Howie from their years before the residential school, then at the same Mission school in British Columbia, and then during the decades that followed their various departures from the school, Good expertly crafts a multi-voiced, intersecting, heart-wrenching story that is equally full of trauma, healing, heartache, and hope.

My favourite thing about how Michelle Good created this story is how individual each of the characters feel. All stemming from the same “school” with the same authority figures and at points even the same abuse, each child copes vastly differently through their adult years. In doing this, Good shows us that coping with trauma is an incredibly individual experience. In the same vein, each of the characters also heals (or doesn’t heal) differently. I appreciated that each individual story/experience was both dependent and independent of the other characters/storylines and that they all varied in length and closure but not in impact.

I came to love these characters for both their flaws and for their strengths. In particular, the love between them all made my heart swell. The way these characters created a family where they had none, the way they were linked together by trauma but stayed together by love and friendship and mutual understanding, even when they needed to escape their pasts. This, in particular, is what will stay with me the longest from this story.

One other thing I thought was incredibly done was the way the Mission school was used as a defining factor in each character’s story, but that it wasn’t THE story. It appears both as a setting in the beginning and then in their memories as adults, the “Indian School” (as the characters refer to it) is a common thread, a setting of abuse and mistreatment, and ultimately what scars each character, but it doesn’t take over their story. Their stories here are of their lives after, the Mission school setting the scene for their life vs setting the scene for the story. The novel is certainly more character-driven than plot-driven, and I am glad for it.

Five Little Indians is a stark reminder of how recent and devastating the residential school system is for an entire culture of peoples and how the effects of the schools can be felt throughout the lives and generations after. Each character in this work shows us a different method of coping, healing, and living with the trauma inflicted by the church and the Canadian government. It is no wonder to me that Five Little Indians has been long listed (and has won!) various literary awards—it is accessible, impactful, potent, and real. 

Book Review: Jo Jo Makoons by Dawn Quigley

By Christine McFaul

Jo Jo Makoons: The Used-To-Best Friend is an exuberant new chapter book starring a young Ojibwe girl. Written by Dawn Quigley (of the Turtle Mountain Band of Ojibwe), illustrated by Tara Audibert (of Wolastoqey/French heritage), and published by Heartdrum, a Native-focused imprint of HarperCollins, this book is the first volume in the Jo Jo Makoons series. 

“Hello / Boozhoo! Meet Jo Jo Makoons Azure nindizhinikaaz.” 

“Big last word, right? You sound out that last word like this: nin-DEZH-in-i-kauz. Got it? If you can say Tyrannosaurus rex, you can say nindizhinikaaz.”  

Jo Jo is a strong, smart, and irrepressible first-grader who lives on the fictional Pembina Ojibwe reservation. Humorously getting herself into, and out of, very relatable scrapes in this series opener, Jo Jo is facing two big problems: first, she is worried that her home best-friend, Mimi the cat, will deflate like a balloon when she gets her annual vaccination, and second, that her school best-friend Fern may not like her anymore. 

Quigley writes these problems with just the right amount of hilarity, hijinks, and heart. Young readers will find themselves rooting for Jo Jo as she plots to save Mimi, frets over sitting alone at lunch, struggles with language arts, and enters a contest to have her art featured on the school yearbook. Aspects of the Ojibwe way of life are beautifully and naturally woven into the story, mainly through Jo Jo’s voice, which brims with passion and pride for her family, language, and traditions.

By the end of the story, Jo Jo has expanded her view of what it means to “be a friend,” ultimately learning, “You don’t have to try to be friends with everyone. But…you should try to be friendly with everyone.”

I love a strong-voiced character for this readership age group, and Quigley delivers. As a word-nerd, I also love how this story celebrates language which includes clever wordplay, plenty of puns, as well as the sharing of the Ojibwe and Michif languages that are special to Jo Jo. The narrative is enhanced by Audibert’s illustrations, which are modern, adorable, and fun. Paced well through the book, they really bring Jo Jo’s mischievousness and the supporting cast of characters to life. Jo Jo is depicted with long hair, big eyes, and stylish, quirky clothes that match her irrepressible personality. If you didn’t find her completely irresistible via the text alone, Audibert’s illustrations will certainly finish the job.

Heartwarming, humorous, with an unforgettable main character, I loved The Used-To-Be Best Friend from beginning to end. I can’t wait to read what Jo Jo Makoons does next in the series. 

Thank you, Heartdrum and HarperCollins, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Living with Viola by Rosena Fung

By Kaylie Seed

Rosena Fung’s Living with Viola is a graphic novel that takes the reader through the life of Olivia, a preteen who is living with anxiety and panic disorders. Fung has managed to create a very relatable story that will be easy for young readers to grasp, while also addressing the importance of mental illness and mental health. Mental illness and mental health are tough topics for most people to talk about, but starting the conversation at a young age will help preteens understand what is happening and how to seek help from a caring adult in their life.

Olivia is finding it difficult to make friends at her new school, and is also feeling the pressure to be the perfect daughter to her Chinese immigrant parents. Olivia begins to feel the pressure to be perfect both in school and at home, and begins to feel anxiety creeping into her life. It manifests itself as Viola, a shadowy twin who does everything to make Olivia’s life miserable. As the graphic novel goes on, Olivia learns to speak up about her thoughts and feelings, which in turn helps her learn how to live with Viola. While Fung is addressing a serious topic, she has managed to do so with art that is bubbly, fun, and easy on the eyes. Readers will find themselves immersed in Living with Viola not only through the words but through the beautiful art as well.

Olivia is a relatable character and I found myself seeing a lot of similarities to my own life. As someone who lives with generalized anxiety disorder, it was so refreshing to see a story about mental illness that was about learning to live alongside it rather than to cure it. I thought that Fung did an amazing job at showing preteens that having these thoughts and emotions is nothing to be ashamed of and that seeking help is something to be proud of. Living with Viola was a wonderful read.

Thank you to ECW Press for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

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Note from Kaylie:

We all have mental health, and it is important to take care of our brains when they get sick just as we would take care of our bodies. Support is out there and while mental health is still stigmatized today, talking about it is the first step to breaking down barriers. I’ve included some Canadian links below in regard to mental health and where to find resources. Please note that this list is not fulsome and we encourage you to do your own research.

https://firelight.ca/2021/01/28/indigenous-mental-health/

https://cmha.ca/

https://www.canada.ca/en/public-health/services/mental-health-services.html

https://ymhc.ngo/

https://www.crisisservicescanada.ca/en/

Book Review: Wildflower by Drew Barrymore

By Jamie Maletta

We all love Drew Barrymore. Can I say that? Is there anyone out there who doesn’t love Drew Barrymore? I didn’t have to read her book to know I’d love it. I was definitely expecting a wholesome memoir, and while Drew exudes the all-American girl-next-door vibe, the woman has an adventurous, rebellious, middle-finger-to-the-sky side that we just haven’t seen—and, to be honest, I love it.  

Drew Barrymore’s Wallflower is a tell-all-memoir beginning from her early and extremely unique childhood to her preteen, teenage, and adult years. Going back as far as her pre-E.T. days, Drew describes her life as a young child of a single mother and the simplicities of that time that brought her joy. She doesn’t skip the hard stuff either, describing the difficulties of growing up with a busy parent trying to make their own way into Hollywood, a “hippie” father that comes and goes from her life, a wild career at such a young age, and the pressures of being the breadwinner of the family. Drew goes on to speak about her time in rehab, her time spent institutionalized, and what very few of us know about her early teenage years. At a time when social media wasn’t at the forefront of news distribution, Drew managed to fly under the radar with her erratic behaviour, and she basically sums it up to life in the ‘90s. Cheers! 

Hard work, harder lessons, and following some awesome stories all accounted for in her book, Drew writes about how it felt “starting over” in her thirties as a single woman that knew she wanted more from life and the journey she took to get there. Committing to charity work, taking her career and relationships seriously, and meeting her now-husband, having children, and balancing a fire hot career—Drew includes it all: the good, the bad, the ugly, and the even better, and it does not disappoint.   

Wallflower is an easy and not-too-serious read, with each chapter telling a story of a different time in Drew’s life. The writing is beautiful and descriptive, leaving nothing to the imagination, which is exactly what I want from a tell-all memoir! If you’re a fan of Drew Barrymore, you are going to love how well this book is written, and I think even a little surprised at the honesty throughout. It did not disappoint, and I totally recommend you add this one to your TBR pile today! 

Book Review: We, Jane by Aimee Wall

By Larissa Page

Marthe grew up in Newfoundland, and like many young people, she moved to Montréal to pursue a different type of life. After terminating a pregnancy, followed by a year of living with and loving her boyfriend, she finds herself alone when he leaves. Lost and figuratively wandering, she decides to investigate how she may be able to support other women seeking abortion. She attends an info class for prospective doulas, where she meets a woman who, to her, becomes “Jane.” 

Jane tells Marthe of a woman back in their shared homeland of Newfoundland who performs abortions privately in her own home, reflective of the 1960s Chicago Jane Collective, in which women were supporting women, providing access to abortions, and the skill with which to perform them. Marthe and Jane travel back to Newfoundland together with the aim to help restart the movement.  But sometimes just because one is motivated to move something forward, not everyone else is as well.

I really enjoyed We, Jane, but it was not at all what I was expecting it to be. I was expecting, and hoping for, a little bit more information or background on the Jane movement. Or perhaps I was hoping for a bit more of that “rah rah feminism” momentum as they restarted the movement. That’s not how the plot of this novel happens though, and that’s okay! I found We, Jane to be more about a reflective change within Marthe herself. The Jane movement acts as a backdrop or a focal point for Marthe to do some of her own internal work.

I found the relationship between Marthe and the woman she refers to as Jane interesting. Marthe recognizes that it is unusual, as she describes herself being almost obsessive about her, and about the idealistic vision of restarting the Jane movement. Marthe describes it as the want to be obligated by something. I believe she latched onto it as a purpose and became infatuated with the idea of it all. Somewhere within the story she starts to realize that others have their own unique timelines, purposes, and reasons for being in the same position as she was, and that forces her to grow and recognize where she and this movement may fit in the world in a more realistic sense. 

Something else that struck me about this novel was the writing style. While the content, events, and subject matter are much different, I found the writing style to be very similar to Megan Gail Coles’s Small Game Hunting at the Local Coward Gun Club. This is interesting because the landscapes and setting of both novels are very close geographically. This type of storytelling, with its third-person omniscient narration, is descriptive but only to a limit, jumping back and forth quickly and easily between memories or events, then back to the present. No words are unnecessary and every one is chosen carefully.

While I had to adjust my expectations of We, Jane as I realized the large forceful revolution that I expected was not going to happen, I appreciated both Marthe’s and the movement’s quiet revolution. This was an introspective novel that made me think about the essential nature of abortion, the essential nature of women being crucial supports for other women, and about how we as humans can latch onto an idea so strongly that we lose sight of ourselves. We, Jane is a study in how an idea can impact our lives, and how our lives fit into an idea.

Book Review: Dark Truths by A.J. Cross

By Erica Wiggins

Content warning: explicit descriptions of violent death, murder

Dark Truths is the first book in the Will Traynor Forensic Mystery series. I always like to learn a little bit about new-to-me authors. I find it can give a little insight into the story. This one is written by A.J. Cross, a forensic psychologist who acts as an expert witness in the court system. This is apparent throughout the story.

Dark Truths is about the death of a woman on a jogging trail. She has been attacked, killed and her head is missing. Detective Inspector Watts and his team must work to find out who murdered this young woman. Assigned to help the team in their investigation is criminologist Will Traynor. Traynor has a difficult past, and DI Watts wonders how or if Traynor will be able to help to solve this crime.

We begin the story with the victim’s death. We only get a quick overview before moving into the discovery of her body and launch into the investigation. As you can guess with the author’s background, the detail is fascinating. As someone who has been interested in this field my whole life, I loved the thoroughness of it all. You feel like you are sitting beside DI Watts and experiencing the investigation. The story unfolds with little tidbits of information being revealed as the chapters progress. 

This is one of my favourite ways to tell a story. I am getting a lot of information but can’t tell where the story is headed. I stopped reading at 200 pages to write down some impressions before I got to the end. I can honestly say I had no idea where the story was going. It takes a real talent with words to write a story in this way—one where you get a lot of details but don’t feel overwhelmed by that information, only curious as to what happens next.

It wasn’t until the last thirty pages that the story begins to unravel, and we start to get some answers. What happens in these pages are some twists and a culmination of the information weaved through the first three hundred pages. Plus, the ending; let’s just say book number two is already on its way.

I loved this book and would recommend it to those who love a mystery with a slow build-up and even to those who don’t. I typically prefer shocks and twists during the story, but the author has a way of bringing you in a little at a time. The details and process of the investigation feel true to life and gets you invested in the story and characters. I look forward to seeing how the characters develop throughout this series. 

This was a FIVE STAR read for me!

Thank you, Publishers Group Canada, for the complimentary in exchange for an honest review!

Book Review: Hamnet by Maggie O'Farrell

By Larissa Page

Content warning: child death, parental abuse 

Hamnet was William Shakespeare’s son who died in 1596 at the age of 11 from “pestilence” or the bubonic plague. Approximately four years after his death, Shakespeare wrote his most enigmatic play: Hamlet. Based on records that indicate the names Hamlet and Hamnet were interchangeable at the time of Hamnet’s life and Shakespeare writing Hamlet, Maggie O’Farrell formulates a story of marriage, love, parenthood, and mostly, of grief. 

Hamnet takes place in two parts. The first jumps back and forth between the past when Agnes and William were growing up, to their meeting, initial romance, early marriage, the birth of their children, and William’s moving to London to eventually become the man we know him today, and the present when Hamnet’s twin sister Judith comes down with what is determined to be pestilence/bubonic plague. The parts committed to retelling the past are quick-moving, jumping ahead years between their parts, whereas the present-day 1596 moves more slowly, spanning only about 24-48 hours. This was a super interesting dynamic that I really enjoyed.

Part two of Hamnet takes place only in the novel’s present over the four or so years after Hamnet’s death. It is almost solely an exploration of grief and what that means to different people and how they may deal with it. The loss of a child for his mother versus for his father versus for his sisters. Each character grieves in completely different ways, and while the story focuses mostly on Agnes, his mother, we see the grief of each person reflected differently.

What surprised me most about this novel was how much I liked Agnes. I know very little, and I think most people, in general, know very little about William Shakespeare’s wife. From what we do know, though, O’Farrell constricted a fully formed, determined, strong, and incredible female character. Agnes’s role as a mother and a wife felt equal to her tenacity to hold onto her sense of self. We only see that tenacity falter when she is faced with the grief of losing a child, which felt so real and agonizing.

Additionally, the relationship between Judith and Hamnet, twins, is not given as much spotlight as the relationship between Agnes and William or Agnes and Hamnet, but the love and loss and sacrifice is felt as much there as it is in other parts of the book. This is a compliment to O’Farrell, who masterfully wrote historical fiction that is more about the relationships and emotions and character development than it is about the historical events the novel is based on.

I was surprised by Hamnet. I did not expect to become so invested in the characters and their grief, I did not expect a back story of a romance and a marriage that was very reflective of real-world relationships, and I did not expect to be given such a strong female character and such loving bonds. I can be picky about my historical fiction, but I feel that Hamnet is so much more than that. It’s an exploration of unique relationships between husband and wife, mother and child, sister and brother, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, as well as how the death of a child can affect each and every one of those people in a different way.