I was excited to read The Time Keeper, Mitch Albom’s latest novel, because I’ve enjoyed his previous novels. It’s a quirky book, based on the life of I was excited to read The Time Keeper, Mitch Albom’s latest novel, because I’ve enjoyed his previous novels. It’s a quirky book, based on the life of the man who became Father Time — the first man to mark the passage of time. I’d never thought of time as a “discovery” before. I knew, of course, that there had been a time before proper tracking. Cavemen certainly didn’t have clocks. But I didn’t realize how much we rely on marking time now, and I hadn’t given any thought to how people viewed their days, their lives, when something as basic as the days and seasons went unmeasured. No wonder people prayed to their gods for the return of summer, the sun, etc. They had no notion of patterns to predict its return.
As with all of Albom’s work, he tends to narrate above the story, rarely descending into the emotional, visceral guts of the characters’ experience. At times The Time Keeper reads like a gloss, and though there are moments of great feeling and sympathy, these are broken up by sections that alienate the reader with a cool, almost flippant style of writing.
It begins with Dor, the man who first measured time, and his family living in the shadow of the Tower of Babel. The book ends with two other lost souls finding their way home: Sarah Lemon, nerdy girl in the midst of her first (unrequited) love, and Victor Delamonte, a wealthy man at the end of his very successful life. Each of these characters has a very different relationship with time, and it is up to Dor to show them the value of their days. In teaching them, Dor too learns what it means to value time. He measured it, but it is only at the end of the novel that he understands what it is truly worth.
The Time Keeper is a thought-provoking read, and short enough to be consumed in a day. It’s a great conversation starter, good for book clubs, and will make you think long after you’ve finished reading....more
This was a book that was outside my comfort zone. Its characters belong to places and cultures that I’ve never been or never encountered, so I was looThis was a book that was outside my comfort zone. Its characters belong to places and cultures that I’ve never been or never encountered, so I was looking forward to learning something about a different way of life. I didn’t know what to expect from the narrative, since its synopsis implies an emotional drama but its cover art is utterly banal. I kept an open mind when it came to plot and style — but I was still disappointed by A Cupboard Full of Coats.
That violent murder mentioned in the synopsis? You’d never know that was a plot point without first reading the back of the book. In the very first paragraph the narrator, Jinx, mentions that she killed her mother fourteen years ago. But given the tone of the story and the way it reads, I thought her death was an instance of euthanasia, possibly after a long illness, and not a violent murder.
The style of narration constantly and casually alienates the reader from the key issues of the narrative. Written in first person from Jinx’s perspective, the book is limited to what Jinx knows, feels, and deigns to tell the reader. She doesn’t tell outsiders much. There are endless paragraphs about how she wears her makeup, how the walls in her house are papered, how to make soup, etc., but basic questions aren’t answered in a timely fashion — like who the heck is Lemon? He shows up in the first page of the book after a long absence. Clearly he and Jinx have some sort of complicated history, but none of that is explained to the reader. While Jinx waxes poetic about home decor and the basics of showering, her audience is left to wonder what is going on between her and Lemon and why anyone should care. Who is this Berris that they keep mentioning so cryptically? How are any of these people connected? The book conceals its raison d’être, and therefore bores its reader.
As a narrator and protagonist, it was hard to like Jinx. She has a pessimistic outlook and isn’t a very good person. Her relationship with her four year old son, for example, is strained because Jinx just isn’t good at being a mother. She just can’t relate to her kid and is easily frustrated or baffled by his behaviour. He, in turn, rejects his mother and feeds her resentment by attaching himself to every adult except her. It’s easy to sympathize with how difficult it is to be a parent, but Jinx’s habit of easily giving up on anything that is difficult, including her son, makes her a bit repulsive as a person.
The one truly good thing about this book is Edwards’ knack for infusing her scenes with the flavours of the Caribbean. It permeates dialogue, food, mannerisms, etc., and makes the text richer. Unfortunately these things seemed to be more of a distraction than anything else at times, what with all the unanswered questions and unexplained circumstances vying for the reader’s attention.
Overall A Cupboard Full of Coats was a frustrating book, and not one that I would recommend to fans of contemporary, emotionally charged fiction. I was given a copy of this book by the publisher via TLC Book Tours: The Sky’s the Limit, in exchange for an honest review. ...more
Shadow Show is a collection of short stories by some of the best writers of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries in celebration of Ray Bradbury, aShadow Show is a collection of short stories by some of the best writers of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries in celebration of Ray Bradbury, an author who has had profound influence on American literature. Shadow Show was published not long after Bradbury’s death, and at first I thought this would be a commemorative collection. However, the anthology was put together long before Bradbury passed away and is intended to celebrate his work, not honour him posthumously. Bradbury himself even wrote a secondary introduction, giving credit to his dearest source of inspiration: Edgar Allen Poe. Bradbury wrote across a wide variety of genres, and the stories in Shadow Show are just as eclectic. Some are contemporary and focus on internal crises, others are futuristic science fiction, but what they all seem to have in common is a healthy dose of literary macabre.
One of my favourite stories comes from editor Sam Weller: “The Girl in the Funeral Parlor,” about a flower delivery man who meets his soulmate after she has already expired. Margaret Atwood’s contribution, “Headlife,” reminded me of Matt Groening’s Futurama cartoon — the main character ends up with his head preserved in a jar, his memories exposed for the entertainment of others. In some stories the science fiction element is subtler, as in John Maclay’s “Max,” a story about a Masonic Tiler with saintly qualities.
After each story, the authors are given the opportunity to explain their inspiration for the short stories and discus the ways in which Ray Bradbury has influenced them. It quickly becomes clear just how pervasive Bradbury’s influence is, since each of the authors in this collection has experienced unique interactions with his work. Some admit to not realizing just how much Bradbury had influenced their writing until they were approached about contributing to Shadow Show. These personal anecdotes go beyond celebrating Ray Bradbury and instead provide acknowledgement of these quiet, unremarkable moments in which he touched so many.
Fans of Bradbury’s work will definitely not be disappointed by this collection of short stories. They’re weird, dark, sometimes surprisingly funny, and the components of this collection fit together as though all the writers were working in the same room. It was a pleasure to read, and will likely be read many times over....more
My Dear I Wanted to Tell You is being re-released in paperback today, with the nifty new cover pictured above. This is a novel I loved. It wasn’t loveMy Dear I Wanted to Tell You is being re-released in paperback today, with the nifty new cover pictured above. This is a novel I loved. It wasn’t love at first sight, but once I got into it I absolutely couldn’t put it down.
There are many things to be admired about My Dear I Wanted to Tell you — its subtle, sensitive portrayals of pain, loss, changing gender roles, and the zeitgeist of 1914-1918 England, for a start, but my favourite thing about this book is that it contains the greatest explanation of World War I that I have ever read:
Someone had shot an archduke. It was in all the papers. Everybody was talking about it. “What’s it about?” Nadine asked Riley. “A Serbian shot the Austrian archduke so the Austrians want to bash the Serbians but the Russians have to protect the Serbians so the Germans have to bash France so they won’t help the Russians against the Austrians and once they’ve bashed France we’re next so we have to stop them in Belgium,” said Riley, who read Sir Alfred’s paper in the evening. “Oh,” she said. “What does that mean?” “There’s going to be a war, apparently.”
And later:
Last year we had many smallish hopes, made many smallish attempts, suffered many smallish failures, and we died one by one. This year a change of plan! One big hope, one big push, one bug fuck-up, and we all die at once.
At the heart of My Dear I Wanted to Tell You is a beautiful love story, fraught with distance, classism, injury, and pain. The novel focuses mainly on two relationships: the marriage of Peter and Julia Locke, and on young lovers/childhood friends Riley Purefoy and Nadine Waveney. Young has created a marvellously sympathetic cast of characters, and together they bring the era of the first World War to life.
I enjoyed the way Young explores the many changing roles of women throughout the war. The war did a great deal to level class structures and loosen moral standards. Social hierarchies and expectations that once held people in line no longer applied. Women could no longer afford to be delicate — they were needed in factories, hospitals, ambulances, etc. Those who were ornamental housewives, as main character Julia Locke finds out, are left behind and set adrift when the world around them mobilizes for war. One must participate or be abandoned.
For these women, participation in the war effort comes with its own costs and advantages. Rose Locke, a plain and unmarriagable woman who was once an embarrassment to her family, suddenly has great purpose in the VAD. She has moved from being an object of pity to an instrument of use. Another nurse, Nadine Waveney, is of good family and through her experiences in military hospitals, completely frees herself from the sheltered world of her upbringing.
The only thing the bothered me about the women in My Dear I Wanted to Tell You is the role that mothers play. Three mothers play significant roles in the plot, and all of them are controlling, classist, and strictly against most forms of progress. Most of their controlling, occasionally abusive behaviour is directed at their daughters. In a world gone mad, they cling to the things they can control — and try to control the people they should let go. Perceptions of masculinity and the definition of manhood also changes over the course of the war. Riley, a keen and perceptive narrator, comes up against existential questions during his time on the Western front: what does it mean to even be human? What is the value in life, or in death?
The reason I rated the novel four stars instead of five is that it did take me a while to get into it. This isn’t a book that grabs you by the throat on the first page. It has a slow burn that builds in intensity as the story (and the war) goes on. The reader begins to identify with the character mainly through suffering, which means that suffering must first take place.
Despite the suffering that takes place–and there is a lot of it, as there should be in a war novel–there are moments of great tenderness and humour as well. I had quite a laugh reading about youths born at the turn of the century trying to openly discuss sex — their urges, their experiences, their plans. It makes them so wonderfully human, so relatable, and made me grateful to live in this era.
My Dear I Wanted to Tell You is a wonderful book. It captures the spirit of the age it represents, offers up human characters to pull the reader in, and is told with such grace that the reader cannot help but be satisfied at the end. If you’re looking for an inspiring, at times moving historical fiction, then this is the book for you....more
Samuel Crimson and his wife Magdalene have a problem: their stash of corpses is on the verge of being discovered. Thus begins The Crimson Crimes, withSamuel Crimson and his wife Magdalene have a problem: their stash of corpses is on the verge of being discovered. Thus begins The Crimson Crimes, with the Crimsons and their partners in crime — Derek, Kevin, and David Three Rats — bagging skeletons for removal in the dead of night. This clean up operation doesn’t go as smoothly as planned, sending the characters into new depths of trouble at every turn. I liked The Crimson Crimes as a story, but as a book I struggled with every page. I think that the potential greatness of the storyline is undercut by the writing style. Written in long, convoluted sentences with far too many — often superfluous — subclauses that distract the reader and obscure meaning, this is a novel that demands careful attention to understand. Between adverb overload and use of rare words, The Crimson Crimes is composed with a style and vocabulary high above the norm in genre fiction — and that’s where it alienates its audience.
The language and sentence structure tends to get simpler as the book goes on, once the scene-setting of Part I is complete and background stories are established. But by the time I got that far I was already so fed up with having to reread sentences and paragraphs to get the point, that I had a hard time enjoying the rest of the book.
The Crimson Crimes contains erotic elements, but these I found largely dissatisfying. The pacing and placement of intimate scenes was excellent, but I’m a firm believer that the time to show off one’s extensive vocabulary is not during a sex scene. Words like “vaginal walls” and “cervix” aren’t all that sexy. Their use made the intimate scenes read like driving directions.
I was also confused by the inconsistent use of dingbats. In some places they merely mark a dramatic pause or a short passage of time before the narrative resumes in the same place, focusing on the same characters. In other places, dingbats are used to mark shifts between characters and locations. It was a little disorienting, never knowing whether a dingbat was meant to signal a full stop or a brief pause.
What I do have to give The Crimson Crimes points for is that McCarthy knows how to write suspense. When things go wrong in this novel, they go spectacularly wrong, and it keeps the reader on the edge with superb pacing. I’m familiar with almost all of the locations mentioned in this book, but a lot of the time I found myself trying to block that out. The Crimson Crimes is set in Ottawa, which isn’t often used as a setting in crime novels. As the capital city, Ottawa has an interesting mix of old European charm and Canadian modernity. It’s a rather refined urban centre, and I think that’s what made it difficult for me, as a local, to suspend disbelief. If it had been set in a place like Hamilton (often used as a stand-in for downtown Detroit in movies and TV shows), I wouldn’t have had a problem. There’s something about Ottawa that just doesn’t lend itself to murder.
Because The Crimson Crimes is part of a series, the ending didn’t have a firm conclusion. This is no big deal if you intend to read the entire series, but I wouldn’t recommend experiencing The Crimson Crimes as a standalone. It’s a quirky book, definitely refreshing for fans of vampire fiction who have read it all. I’d recommend it to fans of vampire paranormals — it just takes a little patience to get through....more
Pyg is a novel written to look like a genuine memoir, assembled and edited by Russell Potter from original late eighteenth-century manuscripts, allegePyg is a novel written to look like a genuine memoir, assembled and edited by Russell Potter from original late eighteenth-century manuscripts, allegedly held in the Bodleian, University of Edinburgh, and the National Library of Ireland in Dublin. This is all established with great care, including a doctor’s endorsement that the author is indeed, “anatomically and in every other sense, a pig.” By the time the narrative begins, the reader is expected to have suspended disbelief that this is a work of fiction, and to interact with the text as though it is a genuine memoir.
The book is set in Calson Antique, a font meant to imitate the old printing fonts of the late eighteenth century. This adds some dimension to the text in the same way that costumes contribute to a play, but Calson Antique is a bit hard on the eyes. Its rough edges are intended to mimic the chips and cracks that lead letters would acquire with frequent use, and I found my eyes getting tired much more quickly than usual.
Pyg is narrated entirely in first person by Toby, using the language and capitalization common to the time and place when he lived. Toby’s life is initially unremarkable, but by luck he has a series of encounters with humans who view pigs as something more than bacon-in-waiting. These characters elevate Toby above the fate of a common pig and give him the tools and knowledge necessary to become The Sapient Pig — his claim to fame.
The premise of this book is very interesting, and the manner in which Potter establishes its context makes it easy to suspend disbelief, but by the last third of the book I found Toby tiresome. He pontificates so quietly, padding his opinions with manners and professions of gratitude, that his hubris would be easily missed if he didn’t repeat himself so often.
For example, Toby makes his opinion on the practice of eating animals clearly known on many occasions. Animals are represented as intelligent, emotional beings whose earthly remains are cut up according to the whims of Man’s tables, so if you’re teetering on the edge of vegetarianism, this book might just push you over.
Toby frequently compares the behaviour of animals and humans in terms of moral quality, and always finds the innocence of animals superior, to the point of painting anything non-human with the same brush used to render the Noble Savage. Toby’s statements imply that the the casual cruelties engaged in by animals are somehow better because they are not premeditated and are undertaken for survival, whereas human cruelties are engineered and endlessly justified.
Toby’s entire life is spent consorting with humans. First with Sam, his Benefactor, and then with Mr. Bisset, his trainer, and with many other teachers, handlers, and businessmen — some of them men of note, whose names the reader will recognize. Throughout all these anecdotes, Toby is careful to imply that, though he is grateful to these people for their generosity and skill, their race is flawed and he is somehow above them for possessing both animal innocence and human knowledge.
Though Toby got on my nerves, he’s not all bad. I was somewhat amused by Toby’s interactions with Miss Seward, the closest thing to a love interest in Pyg. I think it’s fair to say that Toby has an intellectual crush on Miss Seward, which is quite sweet.
Later in the novel, after Toby has stopped performing in order to pursue his education, his pride — one of the character’s most humanlike faults — is wounded by word that other performers are imitating his act and profiting by it. Toby endeavours to retain his title of The Sapient Pig against imitators and successors, with mixed results. He struggles with the opposing desires to retire from the stage and to remain relevant to the public. To accomplish the latter, he must be in public, something that Toby eventually accomplishes on a more permanent basis by publishing his memoirs. If Toby had no pride, he would have never cared enough to have written the book. I daresay he has not totally escaped human vice, despite his preaching.
As a novel / pseudo-memoir, I’d recommend Pyg to fans of the classics. The writing style and vocabulary aren’t the most easily accessible, and casual readers of fiction might struggle to get into the book unless they’ve already trained their brains with eighteenth and early-ninteenth century works. Other than that, Pyg is an interesting representation of England and Ireland at the end of the eighteenth century — its social geography, its economy, even its morality. Give it a try if you’re in the mood for something totally outside the box (but remember: vegetarianism may result).
(I received an advance copy of Pyg from Viking, an imprint of Penguin Canada, in exchange for an honest review.) ...more
The Strange Case of Finley Jayne is the prequel to The Girl in the Steel Corset (The Steampunk Chronicles). At just 78 pages Originally reviewed here.
The Strange Case of Finley Jayne is the prequel to The Girl in the Steel Corset (The Steampunk Chronicles). At just 78 pages it's a quick, fun read about a young girl's adventures in nineteenth-century London.
The characters made me love this book. I like Finley in particular because she is an unapologetic hell-raiser and fiercely independent. Prone to fits of aggression, Finley is capable of performing feats of strength and speed abnormal for a teenage girl. When she is let go from her job as a maid, Finley soon finds herself employed as the companion/protector of Phoebe Morton, an aristocrat engaged to Lord Vincent -- the novella's villain.
While I enjoyed Finley for her kick-butt-and-take-names attitude, she is a bit of Mary Sue character. She has marvellous advantages and though Cross does give her a few disadvantages, they never really get in the way of Finley's goals. She succeeds in everything she attempts and encounters few obstacles along the way.
The Strange Case of Finley Jayne is a morbid little mystery, reminiscent of the detective novels of the Victorian era. Like all good steampunk, it has a healthy dose of automation and mad science. Finley is frequently inspired by Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, given to her by her stepfather. References to the classic were inconsistent, though. On more than one occasion I wondered if Cross was referencing the movie(s), not the book.
All in all, The Strange Case of Finley Jayne is a good introduction to steampunk for those who have yet to dip their toes into the genre. It's not a standout example of what steampunk is, but rather what it can be. The steampunk elements in this novella are hyperbolic -- if it can be done over-the-top, it is. I have yet to read The Girl in the Steel Corset, but I'm eager to read it so that I can learn more about Finley Jayne and see if the first novel in the series is a little more balanced than its prequel novella....more
There are many other popular YA novels that use apocalyptic disease as a plot device (Wither, Bumped, etc.), but I liked the reasonableness in Rogers’There are many other popular YA novels that use apocalyptic disease as a plot device (Wither, Bumped, etc.), but I liked the reasonableness in Rogers’ world-building. The disease, Maternal Death Syndrome (MDS), was a bio-terrorist development that targets pregnant women. The premise is that as a woman’s immune system steps back to allow for insemination, implantation, and gestation, her body becomes vulnerable to MDS. It’s like Mad Cow meets AIDS, and the women don’t survive long enough to give birth. The entire population has the disease in their system where it lays dormant, so any woman who becomes pregnant after the initial wave of infection will also become ill and die.
The Testament of Jessie Lamb reminded me of Drew Magary’s The Postmortal, in which a man blogs about and records his life after the cure for aging is discovered. (Unfortunately, death is still a factor. Read my review here.) So many books of this type provide only a general overview of how the world is managing and then focus the rest of the plot on the heroine and her family/friends (again, Wither, Bumped). Jessie Lamb is a very ecologically, socially, and politically conscious young woman. Her interest in protest groups and news reports contextualizes her in a world gone wrong. The story isn’t just about Jessie Lamb’s little world.
Unfortunately, Jessie Lamb is all about Jessie Lamb’s little world. Rogers has written the teenage mindset to a T. In the beginning of the novel she is a child and goes through life thinking that she is invincible and all the bad things she hears about on the news can never touch her life. As she outgrows that she takes on the mind of a teen — she wants to change the world, thinks all adults are stupid, accuses others of being self-obsessed in the middle of her self-obsessing, makes impulsive decisions, glorifies the idea of a heroic death, and so on. As a character she is solidly written, but I expect that what a lot of people will find annoying about her is that she acts like the teenager she is. If you can’t stand the deep self-absorption of teens, you won’t care for Jessie Lamb. However, if apocalyptic endemic novels are your thing, definitely give this book a whirl. ...more
All the Roads that Lead from Home is a collection of short stories set in or around Dunston, Pennsylvania. I never know whatOriginally reviewed here.
All the Roads that Lead from Home is a collection of short stories set in or around Dunston, Pennsylvania. I never know what to expect with short story collections, but I found All the Roads that Lead from Home to be an excellent read. Parrish crafts her stories with a touching, homegrown honesty in regard to human behaviour and suffering.
Many of the stories in this collection highlight the suffering of women. Topics include mother-daughter criticism, the burden of parenthood, domestic abuse, miscarriage, young love, etc. The male characters suffer too, but there is something more immediate and personal about what the female characters experience.
My favourite story was "Pinny and the Fat Girl," about a girl who pretends to be dumb to avoid her critical mother (Pinny, short for Pinhead) and Eunice, the fat girl. The two girls navigate young love and high school dating, and in the process learn that what people perceive them to be can be more damaging than any fault they genuinely possess. Even the reader is implicitly encouraged to view these girls through the eyes of their classmates, as Penny and Eunice are referred to as Pinny and "the fat girl" throughout the story.
The writing reminds me of Alice Munro, except Parrish is quicker to cut to the heart of the matter. I think All the Roads that Lead from Home would be a good book club pick. Its topics are relatable and the understated yet stark writing is sure to spark discussion....more
This is the second book in the YA dystopian Chemical Garden series. Much like Wither, Fever is a quick read. I'm a slow readOriginally reviewed here.
This is the second book in the YA dystopian Chemical Garden series. Much like Wither, Fever is a quick read. I'm a slow reader and I managed to finish it in a day after I got rolling. Fever picks up right where Wither left off, with Rhine and Gabriel making a break for freedom. Liberty lasts for about five seconds, and then it's back to the life Rhine knew before she was Gathered: avoiding kidnappers, con artists, and fending off assaults.
Though I enjoyed Fever and found it entertaining, I rated it three stars because I had a lot of the same issues with it that I had with Wither. In Wither it felt like the characters were bursting into tears every other page, especially by the end of the book. In Fever the characters are constantly stoned with only brief periods of lucidity wherein action takes place. The youngsters are drugged against their will, take drugs to fend off withdrawal, or are delirious with fever for most of the novel. DeStefano knows how to write truly horrifying hallucinations (not that reality is much cheerier in this book), but there's only so much narration via altered state of consciousness that I can handle.
Fever ends on a cliffhanger that will make you want to read book three. Rhine is a little closer to fulfilling her goals in life, but the objects of her desire are still slightly beyond reach....more
Wentworth Hall reads like an Edwardian British drama. Fans of Downton Abbey and other BBC dramas are sure to love it. The plot involves scandal, finanWentworth Hall reads like an Edwardian British drama. Fans of Downton Abbey and other BBC dramas are sure to love it. The plot involves scandal, financial ruin, the plotting of advantageous marriages and the vengeance of those wronged long ago. At times the book veers into melodrama, but for the most part it conforms to the conventions of its genre. There’s an old but bankrupt family, a soon-to-be-rich pair of house guests, and two well-bred daughters chafing for a bit of freedom and adventure. Joining them are a French nanny, a gossipy ladies maid, and a tender-hearted groom. The action of Wentworth Hall consists entirely of social politics, leading to a series of grand reveals in the third act. It’s a delightful plot if you’re a fan of British dramas. The only thing that really got in the way of my enjoyment was Grahame’s tendency toward purple prose.
As easy as it was to get lost in Wentworth Hall, there were a few moments that confused me, such as the misuse of the phrase I am neither fish nor fowl — Grahame writes “I am neither fish nor foul.” There’s also mention of the nanny taking a bagel out of the freezer. Why does an Edwardian-era aristocratic English family have bagels in their freezer? Bagels have only been mainstream cuisine since the late twentieth century. At the turn of the century they were still distinctly — almost exclusively — a Jewish style of bread.
The chronology of the book also confused me. Some things didn’t add up, such as the age of Wentworth Hall. If the book takes place in 1912, how could the house be “nearly three hundred years old” and from the 1700s? The epilogue takes the reader approximately a year into the future, but again there’s no mention of impending war, etc. The world outside Wentworth Hall doesn’t really exist for these characters — they are an island unto themselves. In that sense it lacks the normal contextualization of historical fiction, but I get the sense that that wasn’t really Grahame’s goal. The reader is almost encouraged to be as myopic about the Darlington family as the Darlingtons are about their own lives.
The ending is a bit abrupt, even anticlimactic, but it is a happy one, which should satisfy readers. At just over 250 pages, Wentworth Hall is a quick read. It is a marvellous little distraction, just like the period dramas that inspired it. It’s not heavy or deep, but if you’ve got a rainy afternoon ahead and a thirst for period drama, give Wentworth Hall a try....more
I’m never quite sure how to properly describe Steven Heighton’s style of storytelling. It’s fascinating in a non-confrontational way, and the moving oI’m never quite sure how to properly describe Steven Heighton’s style of storytelling. It’s fascinating in a non-confrontational way, and the moving or amusing parts sneak up on you. In this collection of short stories Heighton explores human relationships and personal weaknesses. I particularly enjoyed “Those Who Would Be More”, a story about a disillusioned world traveler teaching English in Japan (or at least pretending to), and “The Dead Are More Visible.” I liked the latter story for its distinctly Canadian setting — it takes place during the preparation of an outdoor skating rink — and for Heighton’s inclusion of interesting things like prison slang and unorthodox injuries.
In “Shared Room on Union,” a couple faces a harrowing situation. Later, they live with it quietly except at gatherings, when they treat the event as a performance piece and retell it together. It’s an interesting examination of the way people deal with shared traumas.
The only story I didn’t enjoy was “Outtrip.” It’s about a hallucinating hiker and is more than a little disorienting. I had a hard time keeping track of what was going on and that lessened the pleasure of reading it.
Short stories are kind of a hard sell in today’s market. The mere mention of them takes people back to high school English classes. Regardless of what your teachers subjected you to in years gone by, consider reading The Dead Are More Visible. The short story is where Heighton excels. His spare style of writing and vivid characters bring life to a scene in so few words....more
I was looking forward to The Peculiars because I enjoy a good steampunk novel. The book begins with Lena, a self-deprecating oddball who has just turnI was looking forward to The Peculiars because I enjoy a good steampunk novel. The book begins with Lena, a self-deprecating oddball who has just turned eighteen and inherited money from her absent father. She decides to go into Scree, his home country, to find him and research her roots. The early chapters of the book contain a lot of action as Lena’s journey to Knob Knoster, the nearest border town, doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. It looked like it was going to be an exciting ride, but as soon as Lena got to Knob Knoster the action promptly declined.
The chapter titles kind of threw me off. They were the sort of thing I’d expect to see in Middle Grade fiction, where the chapter title pretty much gives away what’s about to happen in the upcoming chapter. It was the wrong move for this reading level, I think, and the self-spoilers became pretty annoying after a while.
Content wise, The Peculiars is a clean book. No swearing, violence, sex, or criminal behaviour — the things authors can get away with in small doses when the protagonist is eighteen. However, I probably wouldn’t give The Peculiars to a young teen, and I say that primarily because of Lena. I think a character like Lena would only reinforce negative body issues in young women. As a Peculiar, Lena has long narrow feet and abnormally large hands with an extra knuckle in each finger. She spends the entire book fretting over these characteristics, hiding them from view or worrying about what people think of her. Instead of turning her hands into an asset, she moans and complains the whole time. When people make crass remarks or bully her about it, she runs away and cries over her misfortune. Lena finally does stand up for herself at the very end of the book, but by the time that rolls around, readers have absorbed three hundred pages of self-flagellation and shame. I’d rather hand a young teen a book about accepting the things that make us different, owning our unique traits, and standing up for oneself. Young girls already get far too many messages about shame and imperfection in our society.
There is a sexualized undertone in the novel in response to gender roles. Lena is concerned with what everybody thinks of her body, but when it comes to behaviour her focus is on attracting a man. There is subtle commentary about what a woman ‘should’ be:
“Maybe being brave was not highly desireable in women. Normal women would have fled, like Pansy.”
The book is full of remarks on things women “don’t do,” like whistle or enjoy excitement. Granted, the story is set in an era where women’s options were very limited, but modern readers are living in a world of increasing gender equality. No young girl needs to hear a litany on all the things she can’t do just because she’s female. Lena’s character also strongly implies that women need to have a jealous streak and competitive nature when it comes to finding a man. The damsel-in-distress theme is also played upon. During a scene where Lena is getting a justly deserved scolding from another character, Lena wonders why Jimson doesn't come and "save her" from the situation.
It’s not just Lena’s thoughts that are problematic, but her actions. In many ways Lena is the villain in this story, but whenever her actions have a negative outcome, McQuerry glazes over it and Lena is back to being self-centred, frivolous, and accepted by her companions within a few pages. It’s like the reader is supposed to forget that she made huge errors in judgment and risked everyone’s safety.
The Peculiars moves at a slow pace and probably could have been trimmed by ~100 pages. Eventually the characters get to Scree and the adventure mentioned in the flap copy, nearly three quarters of the way into the book. By that point the book felt completely like a Middle Grade novel. I found the action boring. It read almost like Kenneth Oppel’s This Dark Endeavour, like the author was throwing out over-the-top “intense” and “harrowing” situations just to motivate the reader, not to move the plot forward. I think in many ways The Peculiars missed its target audience. It’s written like a Middle Grade book, but the protagonist is eighteen (she often acts like she’s twelve, though) and engages in activities that only adults would have access to.
As steampunk novels go, The Peculiars was lacklustre. I wouldn’t recommend it to fans of the genre, and I wouldn’t recommend it to Young Adult fans either (again, because of Lena’s influence)....more
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