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.

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’.

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!

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.

Conversations with Friends | modern, ironic, millennial

Review: 4 stars

‘Conversations with Friends’ was the September 2019 selection for the ‘Now Read This’ bookclub. I had been on a bit of a reading hiatus given how busy work was, and was looking for a lighter, romantic read. I found this and more upon diving into Sally Rooney’s witty novel about two friends - Frances and Bobbi - and the love affairs that entangle them.

Frances and Bobbi are ex-lovers and co-workers. They perform spoken-word poetry together in clubs, with Frances harnessing the power of words to write, and Bobbi captivating audiences with her beauty and star power. Their relentless banter reveals how highly they regard one another and themselves, forming a fierce twosome that gleefully view the world through ironic, anti-establishment lenses. This unified front begins to crumble with the introduction of a married couple - Melissa and Nick - into their lives. Frances, known for her steely facade and general dislike of people, finds herself falling tumultuously into lust and love with Nick, a handsome, seemingly bland actor who she delightfully discovers can rival Bobbi in conversational ability. As the two make bad decision after bad decision to continue their affair, it is this masterful conversation that inhibits their ability to emotionally come clean to one another. It is as though the articulation of real feeling is the only topic that cannot be broached, and so begins the unravelling of the romance.

I found it difficult to be wholly sympathetic to any of the characters. Rooney presents each of the four-some in full - charms, shortcomings, messy back stories and all - which is what a life truly is. Her three-dimensional rendering of the key characters inflicts on the reader the same realization as growing up inflicts on everyone. There are no clean lines that love nor friendship can be boxed in - no fully right or wrong way to feel or act. This was what I found most appealing about the book, and what I think elevated it from being a simple romantic narrative. I’m looking forward to tackling Rooney’s sophomore release - ‘Normal People’ soon…just a few more books on my nightstand to get through first!

The Song of Achilles | mythical, original, poetic

Review: 4 stars

‘Circe’, Madeline Miller’s sophomore novel, has been atop my to-read list forever. When I saw ‘The Song of Achilles’ on sale, I decided to give it a spin first. I’ve completely forgotten my Greek mythology, aside from a brief re-watching of Troy several years ago, so I came to the character of Patroclus afresh.

‘The Song of Achilles’ is a re-telling of Achilles’ journey from brash golden child to tragic hero, etched in the canons of Greek history. It is an original perspective, told through the observations and emotions of Patroclus, Achilles’ sworn companion and secret lover. Patroclus is the perfect foil to Achilles - his dark, weak frame and penchant for failure, versus Achilles’ bronze, demi-god physique and battle prowess. Yet against all odds (and the efforts of Achilles’s sea-nymph mother, Thetis), the two fall passionately in love and embark on an entwined journey to manhood.

The well-known tale of the siege of Troy is enriched greatly by Miller’s willingness to place Patroclus’ and Achilles’ love affair at the centre of the saga. With this novel lens draped over the fated sequence of events, we learn that it is actually this love that drives the unfolding drama and tragedy. From Pactroclus’ fatally successful pantomime to Achilles’ grief-consumed death at the hands of Paris - each pivotal event is spun from their inseverable bond to one another. As Achilles forages into the iron-scented, blood-soaked realm of the warrior, Patroclus strays deeper into morality - becoming a healer and offering a hearth for Trojan refugees. Patroclus remains Achilles’ most sage confidant, the only true knower of his heart.

Miller also offers a well-researched take on the politics of warfare - from where the Greek encampments could be placed depending on positions of honour, to the sequence in claiming the spoils of war. This account of Troy is dramatic, deeply personal and engrossing. I recommend this to aficionados of Greek literature as equally as I do to those who have forgotten their grade school lessons in Greek mythology.

Becoming | moral, candid, aware

Review: 4 stars

I can’t think of a more anticipated read for 2018 than ‘Becoming’ by former First Lady, Michelle Obama. From the vestiges of the Obama presidency came an insistent movement of believers who yearned for a presidential run from “the better half” of the former First Couple. Like many others, I thought that this tell-all would lay the foundation for Michelle’s campaign for 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. What I encountered instead was far more intimate and independent than I expected.

‘Becoming’ is told in three parts - each an integral piece of the composition that Michelle is today - her childhood, her relationship with Barack, and finally her experience as First Lady. Throughout she seeks to distinguish herself from Barack, signalling that the values she stands for were entrenched long before her charismatic, nation-leading husband sauntered into her life. As an adolescent she bore witness to white flight from her neighbourhood, which.shuttered businesses and unbalanced schools. Her innate drive for overachievement was instilled into her by her mother. Her belief in “showing up” was nurtured through osmotic observance of her father, who went to work everyday despite his MS. The early chapters firmly establish Michelle as independent woman with strong ethics and true fortitude, forged with the anvil of Black America.

She also pulls back the curtain on what it felt like to be in the maelstrom of Barack’s candidacy and presidency itself. Suddenly, her identity as a successful lawyer, talented health care professional, and empowered mother, became recast as singularly as patriotic wife and mother. Her voice, which she so valued, became muted in fear of passion being translated as anger onto national television screens. Her role as advocate and ambassador for her husband overrode her personal ambitions. It is this narrative that I found the most compelling. Michelle portrays herself as “Everywoman” - navigating through the same inequalities in marriage and motherhood doubts that many of us succumb to.

Michelle writes with the full awareness of a seasoned public figure. She is aware of the legacy this book will create for herself. She is aware of how her opinions may reinforce or counter Barack’s oft-articulated platform. She is aware of what this book means for the status of womanhood, motherhood, African Americans, democracy and the peaceful transition of power. Her biography is hopeful, urgent and a graceful commemoration of the first Black First Family. One of the most astounding revelations of the novel for me were when she describes paying for the initial White House redirection personally vs. using taxpayer money. She asserts that because of their blackness, she and her family have to do more and do better, just to be perceived as equal by society.

The parts of the book I appreciated the least were when she reinforced her own platform as a First Lady (Let’s Move, White House garden). Oddly, it felt inauthentic and forced, a tone very at odds with the rest of her intimate narrative. Despite this, I came away from ‘Becoming’ with an even greater appreciation for Michelle as a person. Her ability to connect through story is powerful and inclusive. This is not her launching point for political career (as she clearly affirms), but her ambition, empathy and talent are too great for her to fade into the annals of First Ladies past.

Washington Black | outlandish, questioning, expansive

Review: 4 stars

I always feel inspired by Indigo’s slogan - “The World Needs More Canada”. With that in mind, I picked up a copy of Esi Edugyan’s multi-award winning novel, ‘Washington Black’ to see if the hype around this Canadian author was deserved.

The novel opens on the Faith Sugar Plantation in Barbados, where our young, eleven-year-old protagonist, Washington Black, is a slave at the mercy of a cruel, new master. The adventure begins when Black is taken from the fields to serve as an assistant to Titch, the master’s brother. The two quickly defy the odds, developing a friendship founded upon scientific curiosity and mutual respect. Edugyan masterfully builds up the tenuous warmth of the bond, as Titch tends to Black’s wounds after an accident, praises Black for his artistic brilliance and saves Black from fatal punishment after an unexpected death occurs.

The pair escape Faith in a “Cloud-Cutter”, and as they wander further and further (Nova Scotia, Canadian Arctic), instead of relishing freedom, they become enslaved to their fear of recapture. The investment that Edugyan has made in the familial relationship between Titch and Black is ripped away without notice. Black is stranded, bereft of the sense of identity and worth that Titch had bestowed upon him. The remainder of the novel unravels through twists and turns, enriched by romance, tormented by the fear of being hunted, and encircled in unanswerable questions.

Edugyan’s central theme revolves around what it means to be free. Big Kit, Black’s closet caregiver on the plantation, asserts that freedom is “to [go] wherever it is you wanting”. Clearly, Black was beholden to the chains of slavery on the plantation, his very breath extinguishable on the whim of Master Erasmus. However, even after he escapes, Black is not truly liberated. He is monetarily and emotionally dependent on Titch, unable to imagine an independent path for himself. He has freedom from abuse, forced labour, brutality, but not freedom itself. After Titch’s disappearance, Black remains imprisoned in his own anxieties, as Willard, a brutish bounty hunter, draws nearer and nearer. In the final chapters, Black continues to be tethered to Titch, unable to extricate himself from perennial questions of “Why” and “How could you” as he scours the globe for his elusive friend. It is only in his final act of the novel that Black releases himself from all bondage, and goes where he is wanting, to the incredulity of the reader.

I thoroughly enjoyed this novel for its complexity, inventiveness and ability to approach the oft-visited theme of freedom across so many dimensions. Edugyan’s writing is meticulous in its fidelity to the novel’s temporal and geographic settings. Washington Black as a narrator is completely believable, and engenders deep reader sympathy as well. I would definitely recommend this book, and look forward to reading ‘Half Blood Blues’ - Edugyan’s prior work.

A Nurse's Story | eye-opening, empathetic, entertaining

Review: 4 stars

My lovely nanny is an avid reader, and she passed ‘A Nurse’s Story’ to me one day after seeing my stacks of books lying around the condo. Her rain-battered and tear-stained copy bore the scars of obsessive reading, so I was excited to dive into it.

‘A Nurse’s Story’ is Tilda Shalof’s partly-biographical retelling of her most salient encounters working as an ICU nurse in the Toronto hospital system. Throughout highly-entertaining, sometimes disgusting, and often touching patient narratives, she interweaves several key theses: (1) the role of a nurse is intricate and indispensable, and is being undermined by government budget cuts, (2) nurses need to first take care of themselves, before they can take care of others, and (3) the unecessary prolonging of “life” can be cruel and selfish.

My husband is a physician, so I’ve often heard him sing the praises of nurses, and at times, vent in frustration at oversights that a nurse made. But he has been unwavering in how important nurses are to his ability to perform his job efficiently and effectively. When I think back to major medical milestones of my life - giving birth, staying by my father-in-law’s side in the ICU, or receiving long-distance updates as my mother underwent heart surgery - I realize how much power nurses hold in their hands. Nurses administer the doses of medication that sustain patient comfort and survival; they make adjustments on the fly and decide when to escalate for help; they control the emotional well-bring of a patient and his/her family, acting as a twitter-feed for progress updates…and so much more. They have to be error-free, because of the mortal repercussions of their actions.

This book tremendously increased my awareness for what nurses are responsible for, and what they endure. I loved that Shalof reiterates through various anecdotes how the ICU’s emotional trauma osmoses to the mental health of nurses themselves. When I hear nurses laughing together now, catharsis instead of insensitivity comes to mind. There was also a quote (spoken by a doctor) that really crystallized for me what a nurse’s mission is: “We never withdraw care. In certain circumstances, we may withdraw treatment, but never care".

Finally. Shalof relates a number of incidents where patient families insisted on life support for their relatives, even when the body was necrotizing, or organs primed for transplant were wasted on a brain-dead patient. In these scenarios, Shalof and her fellow nurses on ‘Laura’s Line’ advocate for death with dignity, to release the body from painful interventions. I had always held the perspective that '“everything should be done” for my family members, and even for myself, but Shalof has encouraged me to rethink this blanket belief. It is often the desire to relieve personal guilt that drives families to prolong life past the last shred of realistic hope for recovery.

I highly recommend this book to those who want a very readable, thought-provoking look into patient care, narrated by a passionate insider. Shalof’s writing is convincing, well-balanced and unequivocal, and her stories are incredible.

Bringing Up Bebe | practical, charming, humble

Review: 4 stars

I will be the first to admit that parenting is damn hard. It takes abnormal doses of energy, patience and hand/arm/back/neck strength to successfully raise an infant. My child, Aiden, is an adorable, strong-willed, fun-loving little man. Half of the days I feel like I’m firing on all cylinders with him and the other half I’m just barely keeping it together.

Hence the vast market for parenting books. ‘Bringing Up Bebe’ was recommended to me by one of my colleagues in my office’s mom group. It is advertised as one American’s behind-the-scenes investigation into how the French make motherhood look so easy.

Druckerman takes a journalistic angle to answering her burning questions, polling French friends, citing child psychology findings, and speaking to childcare experts. She also takes a step back and examines the culture and system within which the French style of parenting succeeds - of which maternity benefits, childcare subsidies and a strong public school system form the key pillars. Her writing is humorous and self-deprecating - she admits her own faults and blunders with ease. For new mothers like me, her voice is that of a supportive friend, reassuringly saying ‘You’re doing great! But here are some tips to make your life easier if you’d like’.

What I found most refreshing and practical were the French attitudes on setting a ‘cadre’ - a non-negotiable set of boundaries - within which children should pursue utmost liberty. Gentle, but firm reprimands are a form of ‘education’, steps in the continuous development of a child’s personality and moral compass. It appears to me that the ‘French way’ celebrates independence and assumes ability much more than other cultures. Babies are regarded as highly intelligent beings who can be spoken to rationally, and who learn most successfully when given ample time and space to respond to stimuli. Druckerman’s findings also give parents much more leeway to focus on themselves (e.g., evenings are for adults) and to nurture their romance instead of acquiescing to the whims of children.

There are a few shortcomings. One criticism is that Druckerman is making broad generalizations of a heterogenous society of parents - my husband suggested a real possibility that differences in parenting within a nation may be more disparate than those between nations. Some observations would’ve also been more convincing if backed up with studies or a greater number of ethnographies. But as I’ve come to learn, sensitivities are higher when the topic is how to parent successfully, and raising a child is not a science, but an art. With these caveats in mind, I was not overly distracted by the aforementioned criticisms, especially since Druckerman acknowledges these limitations time to time herself.

I really enjoyed the book, but more importantly found it to be a good conversation starter with my husband on how we might recalibrate how we raise Aiden, or our next child. There are a number of countering perspectives to what Druckerman puts forward as a better way of child-rearing (for example, advocates of no-cry and feed-on-demand parenting). However, I found this book to be a useful, reasonable addition to the ongoing parenting discourse, with practical tips that I hope to apply soon (once I pluck up my courage).