The Devotion of Suspect X

Review: 3 stars

Since moving out to Oakville, I have been looking for a great book club to join. After digging around, I wasn’t able to find any group that really matched what I was looking for - acclaimed reads, literary discussion and serious book lovers. A book club based in Toronto ended up hitting the mark - and I read ‘The Devotion of Suspect X’ with every intention of making the late evening trek out to join the discussion last night…only to be foiled by kidcare duty for my two rambunctious little ones.

‘The Devotion of Suspect X’ is one in a series of sophisticated and well-written whodunnits by Keigo Higashino, featuring a brilliant professor Yukawa and his shrewd detective friend Kusanagi. After a single mother, Yasuko, murders her abusive ex-husband in the opening chapters of this mystery, the reader embarks with her on a tense and cerebral journey to avoid capture by the police. She is aided by an oddball fairy godmother in the shape of her heavyset, middle-aged, taciturn neighbour Ishigami. He harbours ritual adoration for Yasuko, and channels his affection into helping to conceal the murder and create a trail of deflection for Kusanagi to erroneously follow. The novelty and brilliance of the story surfaces in the chessboard that Ishigami has set up for the detectives and his old college compatriot - Yukawa. Ishigami consistently outsmarts them through details and tactics, ending with a mind-bending caper that has all but Yukawa fooled.

Additional tension is injected as Yasuko begins to feel affection for an old acquaintance - Kudo. Once Ishigama learns of this budding sentiment, his purist devotion is put to the test. Yasuko, who once feared the shackles of prison, begins instead to fear that she must cage her heart in order to maintain her physical freedom.

I found ‘The Devotion of Suspect X’ to be an easy, enjoyable read with a clever premise, and enough suspense to keep me engaged throughout. I did feel it to be lacking additional depth (e.g., exploration of more universal themes, innovative narration), and aside from Ishigami, the remainder of the characters were relatively flat. Not a regrettable read at all, but also unlikely to be one that I remember in years to come.

Catchpenny

Review: 4 stars

A week ago, I took my two children to the public library, and somehow managed to distract them enough to buy a few minutes to roam the adult floor. ‘Catchpenny’ was on a shelf of new books, and the premise of world redemption through witchcraft, suicide cults and a depressive anti-hero, was enough to catch my eye.

I settled in at one of my favourite coffee shops - Vereda Central Roasters - a few days later and launched headfirst into Charlie Huston’s cleverly constructed world. In his version of our today’s world, reflections can be “limned” from mirrors and transformed into real-life dopplegangers (albeit comprised of glass instead of flesh and blood.) Magic - or ‘mojo’ as it is referred to in the novel - is real. Raw emotions and revered rituals can birth powerful forces, which are channeled into inanimate objects - ‘curiosities’. This power can be tapped for many self-aggrandizing purposes, in addition to enabling travel between mirrors in disparate locations.

We meet Sid Catchpenny, our protagonist, as he is sought out by an estranged friend, Francois, to help a mother find her missing daughter, Circe. What ensues is a highly captivating and intricately woven thriller where we are constantly left wondering where the line between good and evil lies. Each of the countless characters - Monroe, Sue, Francois, Abigail, Circe, Carpenter, Sid - are desperately flawed, and also deeply misunderstood, adding to the complexity of assigning the roles of heroes and villains. Huston takes his time to unravel the twisted yarn connecting everyone, and in doing so, exposes to the reader that Sid, our guide through this narrative funhouse, fundamentally knows nothing…meaning we also know nothing until the climax of the novel.

I found the story well paced and easy to lose myself in. It was reminiscent of ‘The Matrix’ for me, with vocabulary and rules used to effectively cast the structure for an alternative reality. For example, the omnipresence of “mojo” throughout the story, establishing “courses” to direct the mojo to “vehemancers”, ‘manikins’ as the “limned” reflections, and the time-bound “Vestibule” in between mirrors. Sid is also a refreshing protagonist - self-deprecating, honest and a bit of a maverick. Popular cultural touchstones are catalysts of the plot and work very effectively to draw contemporary parallels to our current lived experiences - for example, Monroe’s parties are reminiscent of Woodstock or Coachella, Gyre is an interpretation of popular MMPORGs and youth’s timeless pursuit of meaning at all costs.

It was an excellent escapist read that also provoked discussion on how the power of emotion can be captured and used as a force. It asks whether apocalypse is evil, or if it can be seen as a renewal - the creation of something new from the dredges of a destabilizing and disintegrating world. And if renewal is possible, how can a new world order be constructed to be more equitable and selfless. ‘Catchpenny’ is definitely worth an exploration for a curious, fantasy-loving reader.

Forbidden Notebook

Review: 5 stars

During a recent business trip to London, I took a detour to the airport to visit Foyles, one of the largest and most impressive local bookstores. I was in heaven - imagine five stories of neatly stacked books, with feature tables and end-caps tiled with intriguing (not only bestselling) titles! I was specifically looking for ‘Forbidden Notebook’, which I have been wanting to read for a while.

The novel is set in 1950s Rome, and follows the inner narrative of Valeria Cossati, a committed mother to two, dedicated wife and office worker. On impulse in a tobacco shop, Valeria purchases a black notebook, in which she secretly chronicles all the things she does not say to those around her. This simple act of subterfuge - writing her thoughts in a diary - is a rare selfish indulgence for Valeria, and it sparks a re-education and re-examination of her entire life. It also unleashes a pandora’s box of deceit that infiltrates the household. Valeria’s daughter Mirella becomes ensnared in a scandalous romance with the much older Cantoni; her son Riccardo goes to the point of no return with his girlfriend Marina, and her husband Michele pursues a fraught partnership with her filmmaker friend Clara. These tribulations are tirelessly archived by Valeria in the midnight shadows. As she enters into evidence the thousand ways that her family transgresses against society, she realizes as well that they transgress against her rights to individualism. As she sheds her titles of ‘mamma’, ‘daughter’, ‘wife’, ‘friend’, ‘breadwinner’, ‘employee’, ‘paramour’, she simultaneously begins the process of reclaiming ‘Valeria’ for herself.

Elena Ferrante (of ‘My Brilliant Friend’ fame), listed Alba de Cespedes as an inspiration ina , single-handedly reviving recent interest in works that are over seventy years old. But the ideas are as fresh as ever. I would dub De Cespedes to be the 1950s predecessor to Esther Perel, a globally recognized couples therapist and love expert. The incisiveness of de Cespedes’ insights into motherhood and marriage, and how these come to define and unravel one another, was astonishing.

Throughout my reading, I found myself shaking my head in admiration for how perfectly crafted and revelatory her writing is. For example, as Valeria finds herself struggling to connect with her husband of over twenty years, she writes “I felt an uncontrollable sadness rising in me. I’m afraid that because my way of being seems so natural to him it no longer has any value in his eyes”. Then later, she attributes lack of intimacy in marriage to the following: “It’s because we feel that husband and wife who unite in an obscure, silent relationship, after talking all day about domestic matters, about money, after frying the eggs, washing the dirty plates, are no longer obeying a happy, joyful desire for love but a gross instinct like thirst, or hunger, an instinct that is satisfied inherent dark, rapidly, eyes closed. How monstrous.” Or even more poignantly, when forcing her daughter to admit a painful fault: “She spoke concisely, as if to consume as quickly as possible the need to wound herself and to wound”.

Even more interesting are the artificial narratives that Valeria constructs, even as she writes in the notebook - the one place she can be freely honest. Her reluctance and inability to piece together her husband’s infidelity, and how she conjures up a nemesis in her future daughter-in-law, become fictions that are logged as truths. The notebook in the end becomes a version of herself that Valeria vehemently denies, burning it to ashes to return to a skin she wants to wear again - that of the weary, saintly matriarch that gives everything and receives nothing.

One review of the book simply said it was “incendiary” and I cannot agree more wholeheartedly. I am in awe of how deftly de Cespedes took simple moments of everyday life and wove them into an intricate meditation on womanhood. I highly recommend this book to anyone who is a lover of fiction at its finest, and to every mother who feels even the slightest bit unmoored.

Hot Milk

Review: 4 stars

I love browsing bookstores, especially with my sisters. On a trip to Toronto last fall, my older sister shared some of her favourite reads with me as we were perusing the stacks at Type Books on Queen. The one that got me intrigued was ‘Hot Milk’ by Deborah Levy. Shortlisted for the 2016 Man Booker, the novel follows Sofia and her mother Rose, on their Hail Mary journey to Almería, Spain for a cure for Rose’s mysterious limb paralysis.

In the opening pages, we learn that 25-year old Sofia is being inducted into adulthood, awash in the jarring taste of one’s first major failure. “The dream is over for me. It began when I left my lame mother alone to pick the pears from the tree in our East London garden that autumn I packed my bags for university…It ended when she became ill and I abandoned my Ph.D.” Over the course of the novel, we see Sofia become the foil to her previous self as she wades into new shapes and forms of being. She changes her occupation from ‘Waitress’ to ‘Monster’ on a health intake form over subsequent visits to a seaside first-aid hut. The stifling heat, incessant jellyfish stings and her pent up madness and desire have swirled into a combustible being. Sofia has emerged anew. She triumphantly frees a murderous dog from an abusive owner, takes a first aid student to be a lover and then takes Ingrid, a seamstress and her muse, also as a lover.

The irresistible tide of the Andalusian pilgrimage sucks Sofia in and upends the predictable prison she has created in her mind and the physical constraints of being her mother’s legs. At one point, Rose considers amputation to rid herself of the limbs that fail her. In actuality, her limbs are already severed from her, yet tethered to her - Sofia is her only source of mobility. A daughter as an extension, yet separation of one’s own self. As the novel reaches its conclusion, the severance becomes permanent - mother and daughter are more estranged than ever. One living an ever smaller, shorter, boxed-in life, and the other bursting with possibility, melted by the hot Spanish sun into something malleable, finding its organic shape day by day.

The writing is gorgeous, experimental and bold. Passages read like poetry, and Levy plays with form throughout - bulleted lists punctuate chapters, as do grammar-defying lines such as “I was flesh thirst desire dust blood lips cracking feet blistered knees skinned hips bruised”. Just like hot milk, the writing froths over the reader, with only a pale residue remaining long past the last page, a stubborn mark that refuses to be forgotten. A searing, complex and enthralling read.

The Forty Rules of Love

Review: 4 stars

On a business trip to Rome in February, I had a bit of extra time and popped into The Otherwise Bookstore on Via del Governo Vecchio. What a charming bookshop! The entryway was flanked by clothbound classics, with deeper cuts of translated Italian texts tucked in the back, and a very robust selection of contemporary fiction and poetry in the middle sanctum. I was looking for something I could read while dining solo at Armando al Pantheon - I had managed to snag a last minute reservation.

I had never heard of the BBC’s ‘100 Novels That Shaped Our World’ list, but was intrigued by the great reviews of the novel online, and I was also looking to discover new authors. I was lucky in my selection - the complexity of the storylines, vacillating between present and past, fact and fiction, made for immensely pleasurable reading. The novel revolves around a manuscript that Ella, the protagonist, is reading about thirteenth century mystical sufism and the forty rules of life and love. Through her literary journey, she embarks on a deeply spiritual pilgrimage and encounters new sides of herself through candid and passionate exchanges with the manuscript’s author - Aziz. The foreshadowing of a pivotal death in the early notes of the novel also casts mystery over the interweaving narratives. Who is the murderer? Who is the victim? Whose anguished cry of mourning sounds the first alarm?

The charm and virtue imbued by Shafak’s portrayal of Sufism was captivating. The way that Shams of Tabriz, one of the central characters, preaches judgement-free love in all its forms and the pursuit of enlightenment through kindness, was grounding. It made me reflect on ways in which I can increase acceptance and empathy for those around me. Each of the forty rules - some more relevant than others to the reader - provoke reflection. For example: “Live this life as light and empty as the number zero. We are no different from a pot. It is not the decorations outside but the emptiness inside that holds us straight.” Or another - “Love is the water of life. And a lover is a soul of fire! The universe turns differently when fire loves water.”

I also found myself empathizing with Ella’s character, the 40-something housewife that stumbles upon the story of Shams and Rumi as she embarks on a second career at a literary agency. Sometimes you can feel like your life is so full - of children, assets, life milestones - and yet, something still feels like it is missing - spirituality, purpose, whatever it may be. I also yearned for a friendship as deep and fruitful as that between Shams and Rumi - a melding of two open hearts, seeped in authenticity and curiosity. I read this novel voraciously and have marked many pages and quotes to return to again for inspiration. I hope that you’ll take a chance and suspend reality to immerse yourself in ‘The Forty Rules of Love’.

Your Utopia

Review: 3 stars

It certainly has been a while - almost 3 years since my last post. Given how hectic it is having 2 young kids and a demanding job, it has been difficult to steal away time to archive my reading. Given a relative lull in the chaos for the next few months, I recommitted to sharing my favourite (and not so favourite) reads.

I have been rediscovering the public library with my family, and visits to the Central Branch just minutes from our house have been nostalgic. I remember going with my sisters and my mom when I was younger, hungry for the endless possibilities and underrated gems found in the library stacks. I truly aspired to be a librarian when I “grew up”, mostly in hopes of unilaterally waiving all my overdue book fees. I came across ‘Your Utopia’ on the “New Books” shelf at my library. I was delighted because I have been wanting to read Bora Chung’s work since I saw her books featured in a display at Foyles in London. I also have been very intrigued by Asian translated literature and short stories as of late, so this was the perfect choice.

‘Your Utopia’ is a selection of futuristic vignettes that explore the relationship between technology and humans, and essentially where one ends and the other begins. The opener - “The Center for Immortality Research” - stylistically reminds me of the author’s voice in ‘The Sympathizer’. Our matter-of-fact narrator is a senior manager deep down the food chain at a pharma conglomerate’s immortality research centre. She finds herself in increasingly ludicrous situations ranging from fending off a National Assembly candidate (an immortality zealot), to aiding and abetting the theft of commemorative DVDs amidst a knife attack. I found myself laughing aloud in the coffee shop at the dry humour permeating the story, and lamenting how corporate life can feel like a life sentence - even for those who are not immortal.

My favourite stories were “An Ordinary Marriage” and “The End of the Voyage.” In the latter, a COVID-inspired Zombie affliction - ‘The Disease’ - sweeps Earth, and humanity’s last hope is to send into space a pod of scientists, engineers and military personnel to avoid infection. What ensues is an onslaught of dark, bloody fiction, culminating in spontaneous cannibalism, hyperspace travel and mutiny. While the plot itself is not novel (imagine The Walking Dead meets Star Trek), it is the confidence with which Chung propels the reader to evermore fantastical and disgusting corners. For me, it drew real parallels with the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, when we secretly asked ourselves questions like" “Is it just easier to be part of the infected masses, instead of perpetually looking over your shoulder?” and “How much isolation can we get used to? Is our human tendency to adapt and survive a good thing?”.

While this read is not for everyone, I found the stories very entertaining, creative and thought provoking. I finished the book within a day. From a reader’s perspective, not every story was uniformly polished and the afterword from the author felt overly explanatory. However, on the whole, it left me curious to read Chung’s ‘Cursed Bunny’ - the more critically acclaimed sister to ‘Your Utopia’.

Normal People

Review: 4 stars

It’s certainly been a while since I last had a chance to post! Life with two kids and return to work (albeit remote), has been more than a handful. But I feel lucky that we have so far emerged unscathed from the pandemic - that in itself is a blessing!

I was looking for a new show to watch on weekends to unwind a bit, and came across ‘Normal People’ - the BBC and Hulu adaptation of Sally Rooney’s sophomore novel. It inspired me to share my reflections on the source material, which I had read earlier in 2020.

Many find the book “compulsive” and “difficult to put down” - certainly, I echo these sentiments, particularly when Marianne and Connell, our star-crossed protagonists, are in the thralls of their adolescent, tormented romance. What I found most striking though, was the brutally honest, yet somehow misunderstood dialogue between the two of them, and more importantly, the dialogue each had internally with their own self. Connell’s hidden anxieties and fear of conspicuousness drive him to create a divided universe. One of his high school hallways, where he passively watches as Marianne is harshly bullied, and another of his bedroom, where he is mentally and physically entranced by Marianne. He deludes himself in his level of self-importance, believing he has the power to upend the social hierarchy of high school if he admits to his secret affair with Marianne. Connell’s need for self-preservation leads to a painful betrayal, and the first of many scars inflicted upon the fragile, rare bond he shares with Marianne.

I followed the unfolding saga avidly - cursing their ability to completely speak past one another, and amazed by their ability to share absolute truths in an entirely disarming way. They become two magnets that are inexorably drawn together, but monetary woes, controlling boyfriends and their own self-doubt continue to cast polarizing forcefields around them, drawing them apart time and again. Rooney is so skillful in her ability to reflect real relationships - the wounds pile up, are momentarily salved, but the scars and memory of the pain layer upon one another. I found myself yearning for a return to wholeness, perfection and innocence - they way they once were. This does not transpire - Rooney takes each character further into flawed darkness - Connell with depression, Marianne with abusive relationships. The two people who return to one another by the end of the novel are like well-worn puzzle pieces - frayed and bent at the edges, but with an interlocking centre that enables a perfect fit.

The restorative power of relationships - especially the ones that transform and heal your core - is another beautiful theme that Rooney explores. Connell’s steadfast love for Marianne, from affirmation of her beauty to his refusal to hurt her during their most intimate moments, is the kernel of confidence that Marianne uses to grow her self-worth. By the end, his love for her is fact, not to be debated - something that simply will always be true. His love redeems her from the precipice of being unloveable.

I loved the tone of the novel - sensitive, aloof, free of artifice. It is full of joy and heartbreak, and is a fascinating examination into the lives of two complex, intelligent characters. I hope you have the chance to try this as a more cerebral summer romance read!

Wolf Hall Trilogy | magnificent, vivid, audacious

Review: 5 stars

Wolf Hall has been on my list for a long while, but I had never been able to get past the first chapter. With the quarantine ongoing and the March release of the final novel in the trilogy - ‘The Mirror and the Light’, I decided to attempt it again. Suffice it to say, I was richly rewarded for my efforts!

Mantel is a maestro, firmly in her element in the historical fiction genre. This fictional biography of Thomas Cromwell, trusted councillor to the infamous Henry VIII, is meticulously researched and beautifully rendered. Her prose is steeped with Old English syntax, verses and aphorisms, yet it is easily digestible for the modern reader. Mantel deftly fills the chronological gaps in Cromwell’s life, improvising seamlessly on his transformation from wayward blacksmith’s son to initially become the king’s Master of Rolls. Her use of characters both fictional and factual molds the frame for her Cromwell - a maverick politician who is ambitious, vengeful, loyal and resourceful. Cromwell is a controversial character in English history; Mantel’s trilogy has served to revive interest in his legacy and serves as one of the most flattering portrayals of a key leader in the English Reformation.

While Mantel is unable to alter history itself, her interpretation of the inevitable procession of events preserves a crucial element of surprise. From the rise and demise of Anne Boleyn, the death of critical figures like St. Thomas More, and even Cromwell’s own descent from glory, the reader is kept guessing as to when the tide of king’s favour will turn. Moreover, the novels offer a convincing and novel perspective on what the court of King Henry VIII must have been like. The jockeying of gentleman and ladies for privy chamber positions, the granting of lyrical verses as tokens of affection, and the intense alliances and betrayals amongst the king’s councillors, are all fresh takes on a well known period in English history. Throughout the trilogy, Mantel offers thought provoking exposition on religion, the identity of England, the role of law, inheritance and legacy, and on the nature of being and serving a prince:

“Can you make a new England? You can write a new story. You can write new texts and destroy the old ones…and place gospels in every church. You can write on England, but what was written before keeps showing through, inscribed on the rocks and carrier on the floodwater, surfacing from deep cold wells.”

“He has lived by the laws he has made and out be content to die by them. But the law is not an instrument to find out truth. It is there to create a fiction that will help us move past atrocious acts and face our future.”

“Conquer your awe then, grab your chance. If you know how to talk to a giant it works like a spell. The monster becomes your creature. He thinks you serve him, but in fact you serve yourself.”

Despite being set between 1527-1540, I also found a number of parallels that can be drawn from the novel with politics today. For example, the tenuous relations between England, France and the Holy Roman Empire bear stark similarities with the politics between U.S., China and Russia today. King Henry’s capriciousness, vices, grandstanding and penchant for fractious leadership are resemblant of the current U.S. President. Henry VIII’s ruthlessness and willingness to depart from convention forever altered the fabric of English society and law, and it appears that the America is currently evolving in a similarly dramatic way. It was fascinating to me how timeless history can be.

Each novel in the trilogy stands on its own, helped in part by Mantel’s repetition of key Cromwell touchstones (e.g., his relationship with Cardinal Wolsey, his violent upbringing in Putney, his Antwerp intrigue with Anselma). It is a remarkable feat of fiction and recounting of history. My sole (and light) critique of the novel is Mantel’s dialogue style, which can make it challenging at times to differentiate the speaker given sparse attributions. This, in addition to the unavoidable scores of Thomases, Annes and Henrys that abound in the novel, create complexity and demand a focused reading to fully enjoy the novel. Overall, I highly, highly recommend the Wolf Hall trilogy - it is both a page turner and an emotionally absorbing experience.

Exhalation | visionary, brilliant, inquiring

Review: 5 stars

‘Exhalation’ was named one of New York Times’ 10 Best Books of 2019, and was also a top recommendation from President Obama, so it naturally was very high on my to-read list for 2020. It is an anthology for 9 short stories, written by Ted Chiang, who is best known for ‘Stories of Your Life and Others’, which was the inspiration for the film ‘Arrival’.

This collection of vignettes was incredibly provocative, original and multi-layered. Every story gave me pause at the end, and left me feeling incomplete - hungry for debate and conversation. The depth of the theses and the seamless blend of humanity and science fiction imbued me with curiosity and wonderment.

The questions Chiang raises are not for the faint of heart:

• What rights and protections do artificial intelligence creations deserve, and should they be given legal representation and free will?

• If simultaneous infinite worlds do exist - does each represent a separate unique permutation of our character, or is our character anchored in something deeper, thereby limiting the possibilities for how our lives are lived, and who we become?

• If technology becomes available to replay every instant of your life from multiple people’s perspectives - how would that influence our relationships and our self perceptions?

‘The Merchant and the Alchemist’s Gate’ was one of my favourites, exploring the limits of free will and how far the past can bend without truly changing. ‘The Lifecycle of Software Objects’ was an incredibly ambitious and successful exploration of truly next-order moral questions surrounding AIs, and how the ebb and flow of digital worlds (i.e., software products) have existentialist impacts on their digital citizens. ‘Omphalos’ was eye-opening in its depiction of a human-centric universe founded on young-earth creationism, and what this universe would rely on to craft is founding story (e.g., humans without navels, trees without age rings). The idea that evolution did not exist, but that there were primordial humans, trees, and animals - mature from the split second of divine creation, felt incredibly modern to explore.

I mentioned to my husband that Exhalation reads like the best episodes of ‘Black Mirror’, written simply, gracefully and bound to be fodder for endless dinner conversations. I enjoyed it immensely, and cannot wait to recommend it to others.

A Gentleman in Moscow | elegant, charming, witty

Review: 4 stars

Our household has been practicing social distancing for the past month, which just so happens to overlap with the first few weeks of my maternity leave. It’s definitely an uncertain time right now with COVID-19 spreading within our communities. In the days before the birth of my daughter, I opted for a light-hearted read - ‘A Gentleman in Moscow’ - which my friend Patrick gave me in our annual Christmas book exchange.

Coincidentally, this novel is about self-isolation of sorts - it centers around Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov, a former aristocrat sentenced to house arrest in the Metropol Hotel for penning a verse offensive to the Bolshevik movement. So begins a decades-long tale of old-world charm, pivoting circumstances and heartfelt friendships. In the Count, Towles has crafted an incredibly sympathetic, likeable standard-bearer for tradition and civility - a true gentleman who acts as a foil for everything the proletariat stands for. As he passes his days cramped in his fifth floor attic room, far removed from the luxurious suite 317 where he once resided, the Count’s life grows rich beyond measure. He befriends Nina, a vivacious, inquisitive child who becomes his co-conspirator as they master the hidden passageways of the Metropole. With time, in the role of head waiter, he forms a formidable brotherhood with Andrey, the maitre d’ at the hotel’s grand Boyarsky restaurant, and with Emile - the Boyarsky’s ingenious chef. Others - Marina the seamstress, Audrius the ever-ready bartender, Anna the willowy lover, Viktor Stepanovich the piano teacher and Osip, his powerful Party ally - all unite to form a resplendent supporting cast of characters.

Most importantly, the emergence of Sofia, Nina’s daughter, marks an inflection point in the Count’s hum-drum life. Suddenly, enormous responsibility is thrust upon him, and his aspiration in life shifts from gentlemanly virtue to selfless fatherhood. His life is imbued with purpose, direction, and above all, love for a tender-hearted child.

This novel sweeps you off your feet and transports you back to a time of leisure, intrigue and sensibility. It commands depth of feeling, while giving the reader free rein to simply indulge in the antics of the Count and his beloved companions. There are undercurrents of Communist subversion, but these ebb and flow gently throughout the novel, instead of saturating the novel’s plot. Above all, this is a story of honouring your values, of mastering your circumstances, of crafting a timeless version of yourself, and of meaningfully defining what “home” means for yourself. I found this to be a thoroughly enjoyable read, especially for historical fiction enthusiasts.

American Dirt | harrowing, persevering, timely

Review: 4 stars

With work winding down before my second mat leave, I took the chance to sneak in some reading after putting my toddler to bed. Cummins’ ‘American Dirt’ was one of 2019’s most anticipated reads, and after its induction into Oprah’s Book Club 2.0, it experienced a surge of controversy. I ordered it off Indigo.ca in hopes of forming an opinion for myself - I was actually quite curious to see how Cummins, as a white woman, would be able to walk in the shoes of Lydia, a widowed Mexican mother.

The novel follows a mother and son duo - Lydia and Luca - as they flee Acapulco following a mass murder of their family. With the Los Jardineros cartel in hot pursuit, the shell-shocked pair rapidly adapt to their new reality, donning the grim, dusty, weatherworn visage of the Latin American migrant. Lydia’s survival and protective instincts keep them alive at every turn, just out of grasp of their hunters. Some of the most poignant scenes are those when Lydia pauses and inhales the scent of her son or palpates his skin to feel the quiet devastation seeping through his body. The novel definitely pulled at my personal heartstrings, as I asked myself what I would sacrifice and what lengths I would go to, to protect the life of my son.

As they strive to make the 1,000 mile journey to ‘el norte’ - the United States - Lydia and Luca undergo drastic physical and mental changes. It becomes commonplace to hurl themselves onto the rooftops of accelerating trains, to shelter in migrant housing with downtrodden and often dangerous strangers, and to cover their tracks with each turn.. Along the way, they encounter Soledad and Rebeca, two Honduran sisters whose double-edged beauty become their downfall. The bonds that forge this foursome together hold strong throughout the novel, and the luck and tragedy that each encounters emotionally entangles the reader.

As a non-Latina, I enjoyed the pounding plot line and Cummins’ spotlight on the travails and circumstances of a highly vulnerable population. It was not a perspective that I had sought nor understood previously, and her ability to build empathy and rapturous attention from the first pages fo the books for the migrant experience is highly effective.

Controversy aside - I felt that ‘American Dirt’ was a highly readable, pulsating work of fiction that well deserves the pop culture dialogue it has incited.

The Great Believers | poignant, empathetic, engrossing

Review: 3 stars

I embarked on a spree of reading National Book Award winners and finalists, given my luck with 'A Little Life' and 'Pachinko', which were both 5-star reads for me. I was excited to have a chance while on vacation in Italy over the summer to read 'The Great Believers' by Rebecca Makkai.

'The Great Believers' is jointly told by Yale Tishman, a gay art curator in 1980s Chicago, and Fiona Marcus, Yale's friend, who travels to Paris in search of her estranged daughter. It is a story about those whom we've lost, and those who are left behind - and the debate over which constitutes the more tragic life lived. The novel anchors around the friendships, betrayals and the inexorable march of death as AIDS claims one life after another. The novel's intensity reflects the pacing of a horror film; the reader is constantly puzzling over which character's actions will drive him to be the next victim of the pandemic. Fiona, who ends up being an end-of-life character to many of the friends over time, remarks at one point that "they were walking every day through streets where there had been a holocaust, a mass murder of neglect and antipathy". I invested heavily in Yale's character, whose sense of morality and nobleness appear to be a salve against the affliction felling his dearest friends. We travel with him as he experiences heartbreak, success and failure, all the while fearing what his eventual diagnosis will be.

Makkai has resurrected many survivor stories from that period, and woven them into a two-part narrative that commemorates those who were lost and never fully grieved over given social stigma of the time. The novel is well researched, respectful and successfully balanced between male and female perspectives.

Overall, I found Yale's plot more compelling and emotionally arresting than Fiona's, and caught myself several times reading rather quickly through Fiona's narratives. That said, this was a solid, sobering read for those interested in contemporary historical and LGBTQ fiction.