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.

Pachinko | bracing, hopeful, absorbing

Review: 5 stars

‘Pachinko’ had been on my ‘to-read’ list for quite a while. I am finding that most National Book Award finalists are turning out to be some choice picks for my style of reading. This dynastic, sweeping sophomore novel from Min Jin Lee captivated me from start to finish. It follows several generations of Koreans, struggling to make sense of their self-identity in their homeland and in a highly stratified Japanese society.

At its heart, it is an immigrant story - one of unwanted pregnancy, of discrimination, of cherished yen earned through toil and desperation, and of the eventual reckoning of one’s self with parentage and parenthood. The story follows various characters, but Sunja’s voice rings throughout. Her actions as a teenager set off an inexorable series of events that culminates in hope for future generations, and a devastating blow to one branch of the family tree. Her secret affair with wealthy Koh Hansu on the shores of her fishing village is the genesis of how Hansu covertly becomes the puppet master of her clan. This includes protecting her family from certain death during the war, providing her with reputable employ to keep her family afloat, and funding their son Noa’s education to help him transcend the class he was born into. Despite Hansu’s behind-the-scene machinations, it is Sunja and Kyunghee’s powerful roles as breadwinners and family binders that make this a female-forward story.

The prose is delicate, honest and incredibly compelling. I was completely pulled into the narratives of each character, and invested in an internal debate between what qualifies as honourable and dishonourable. As a Chinese-Canadian, while I haven’t experienced anywhere close to the degree of ostracism that Noa and his brother Mozasu suffer in Japan as Koreans, I empathize with the impulsive desire to assimilate completely at times. Noa’s journey to mask his ethnicity through education and later through adoption of a Japanese name and personage proves futile in the end - his Korean heritage and struggle to come to terms with it becomes his eventual undoing.

This was an incredible read - and one of my most recommended books to friends. I also increasingly appreciate tragic, bittersweet endings, which ‘Pachinko’ successfully delivers upon. Hope you have a chance to delve into ‘Pachinko’ - it is well worth your while.

The Immortalists | fatalist, enchanting, tender

Review: 3 stars

My office recently relocated close by BMVQ - what an amazing coincidence! On one of my walks home, I took a roundabout way and just happened to find myself grabbing a flat white and croissant at Praise Patisserie, which is the coffee shop at the back of BMVQ. I also took a gander at the staff picks bookshelf, and lingered on “The Immortalists”, before ultimately buying it.

The novel is segmented into four parts, each starring one of the Gold siblings. Preceding this quartet of life is a prologue, which sets up the alluring premise of the novel. The Golds visit a mystical forecaster of death, who provides each child with their expiration date. The central question is posed: how would you live your life, if you knew the date of your death? We explore this through the trials and tribulations of Simon, Klara, Daniel and Varya, and how a date shapes their destinies and longevity.

I found the novel immensely readable, and at points I had to pace myself from reading too quickly as each character hurtles towards their inexorable end. I inwardly pled with Simon and Klara to embrace safety and convention as their compounding decisions pushed each of them closer to fates that seemed fully avoidable. By the other hand, I found myself criticizing Varya’s chosen path - one that was awash in sterility and single-minded in its intent to avoid errors. At the conclusion - the reader is easily faced with a multitude of questions: Does the scale tip in favour of free will or predetermined destiny? What makes a life worth living? How does immortality express itself - through longevity, memory, legend, art, story?

Benjamin’s writing is most poignant when she employs the metaphor of the monkey longevity experiment - which tests the hypothesis of whether severe diet restriction can lengthen life exponentially. The scene where Varya experiences an epiphany with Frida, a monkey for which she has deep affection for, is one of the most searing, extracting heightened angst and reflection from the reader.

The sibling narrative also rang very true for me. As the middle sister in a family of three, I understand how time and distance can separate, but also how the bonds of childhood endure. I cannot shape my siblings’ decisions anymore than they can shape mine, as we are now each adults with separate daily orbits of people, dilemmas and opportunities. However, our shared stories and memories are what tie us inextricably to one another, and what compels us to help one another reach what we each perceive to be “success”, however conventional or unconventional our definitions are.

Overall, I would recommend this as a thought-provoking and relatively easy read, with a captivating, well-paced plot.

Little Fires Everywhere | relatable, tender, detailed

Review: 3 stars

I loved Celeste Ng’s ‘Everything I Never Told You’, so I eagerly grabbed her sophomore novel, ‘Little Fires Everywhere’ when it came out. I’m also trying to read more from Asian authors, so this was a great fit for my booklist.

Ng sets her story in Shaker Heights, a meticulously designed neighbourhood in Ohio, her native state. It follows the collision of two families - the Richardsons and the Warrens - and the consequences that arise as each member pursues their selfish interests. The conflicts begin small and crescendo quickly - a hidden teenage affair, a regretful abortion, an adoption controversy, a stolen surrogate baby. The drama ignites and grows into a blazing conflagration by the end, forcing Mia and Pearl Warren to flee town in haste, to the devastation of the four Richardson children.

I found Ng’s writing to be particularly powerful when delving into the pasts of Mia Warren and Elena Richardson, the two matriarchs in the story. She deftly captures the faded could-have-beens for each woman, rendering them as more than mothers. Elena’s epiphany as to why she holds her daughter, Izzy, at such arm’s length also rings with brilliant truth. Sometimes when we are threatened with the loss of something, we try not to love it too much for fear of pain. Ng also is a capable juggler - using Bebe Chow and Linda McCullough’s custody battle for a Chinese baby to further increase antagonistic tensions between the primary families.

You can read Little Fires Everywhere and easily relate to something in it - either the Asian-American immigrant experience, teenage angst, or secrets in one’s past, Perhaps the most relatable element of all is Elena’s articulation of what so many of us feel and practice in daily life: “…passion, like fire, was a dangerous thing. It so easily went out of control…Sparks leapt like fleas and spread as rapidly…Better to control that spark and pass it carefully from one generation to the next…Carefully controlled. Domesticated. Happy in captivity.” As Elena nurses her single flame, her daughter Izzy defies all rules and sets the world ablaze. Perhaps the novel is an ode to how our lives of normalcy are just waiting to be set ablaze by something, or someone.

I enjoyed much of the novel, but felt that the adolescent storylines lapsed into well-tread territory, with little left to discover. I would’ve also liked Elena to have been a more redeeming character earlier on. Her foray into villainy flattens the great character development we have from learning about her past. Although the novel reads as a thriller at times, it lacked the surprise and originality of Ng’s debut novel, which I had so loved. In particular, Mia’s revelation, which the entire story builds up to, seemed to me a let-down once unveiled. I don’t doubt that this novel will have many admirers, but for me, it fell short of a spectacular read.

Educated | inspirational, raw, courageous

Review: 4 stars

I have been following along PBS and NPR's 'Now Read This' bookclub throughout the summer, and have discovered quite a few wonderful reads through them. 'Educated' was the May pick, and after having seen it heavily merchandised in Indigo stores as well, I decided to give it a go.

'Educated' is an autobiographical memoir by Westover, taking us through her unbelievable and highly unorthodox upbringing in Idaho. She is one voice in a cacophony of Mormonism, survivalism, and sexism that defines her family. This voice is humble, hellbent on truth-telling, and pioneering. As someone who had a largely mainstream childhood with oddball moments (my father caught us a pet bird using a plastic bag), Westover's family seems to be the stuff of fiction. The memories she intimates are shocking in their violence, bitterness and detachment from our society's typical notions of reality. Her larger-than-life characters are complex and flawed, particularly those of her father, mother and brother Shawn. Perhaps the moments that were most outrageous for me were when her family outright rejected modern medicine in favour of prayer and homemade antidotes for life-threatening injuries. 

It was fascinating to follow Westover as she came into her own, and conquered her unintentional ignorance of the world as most of us know it. Sequestered away in Buck's Peak, she was able to forge a path to Harvard and Cambridge - the highest echelons of Western education. This is a radical transformation from a woman who was unaware of the Holocaust or the American Civil Rights movement until her first day of college.

This is a captivating, heartfelt read. Westover's writing deftly evokes her struggle between the steel toed, hell and fire narrative that wins her acceptance among her family, and the broader world and history that many of us take for granted. I appreciated how it made me question the balance of value I place on the classroom education I received from kindergarten to matriculation, versus the life lessons that have defined my character. 

---

The God of Small Things | whimsical, profound, heartwrenching

Review: 5 stars

Along with many of my friends, I am turning 30 this year! To commemorate the occasion, I am gifting each of my dearest girlfriends one of my most memorable reads to date. To my friend Charlene, I shared "The God of Small Things". When I first read this over five years ago, I remember being so taken by the style of writing and the story, that I knew it would be an all-time favourite...however, I had forgotten much of the story in the years since! I decided to re-read it, and was treated to the piercingly original and charming narrative of Ms. Roy. 

Her most obvious talent is her ability to mould and shape words to tickle the reader's imagination, and to capture the effervescent innocence of youth. Phrases like "Orangedrink Lemondrink Man", "fountain in a Love-in-Tokyo", "Loved from the Beginning", "Esthappychachen Kuttappen Peter Mon" are clever mantras repeated throughout the novel, ways to ground you in what has passed, and prime you for what is to come. At first blush, these are mischievous descriptions, but later, the waves of nostalgia that accompany these catchphrases remind you of when life was simpler, brighter.

The novel is centred around Estha and Rahel - a pair of brother-sister twins living in Kerala, India, and the fateful summer when their cousin Sophie Mol visits from abroad. What follows is an unspeakable tragedy, "the Terror", that is heavily foreshadowed and revealed piece by piece through the eyes of each main character. Caste, political ambition, childhood recklessness and stubborn pride, all conspire to tear apart the beautiful, magical youth that Estha and Rahel have crafted with their powerful imaginations. 

Roy is such a clever writer, that I found myself smiling and laughing to myself throughout, interspersed with pauses of genuine sadness. I've never found an author as confident and as willing to break the rules as her, and this is what makes the novel so successful. Her ability to conjure up emotions in the reader is astonishing. When Ammu warns Rahel that "When you hurt people, they begin to love you less", I feel like a child admonished myself. Near the end, when Estha cries out from the accelerating train: "Ammu! Feeling vomity!", I began to cry, intimately grasping the despair of being unable to comfort my child in need. 

I also loved her ability to immortalize small truths about life that I've always felt, but never succeeded in articulating. For example, when she describes how Velutha, an Untouchable that works for Ammu's family, plays with Rahel, Estha and Sophie Mol:

"It is only now, these years later, that Rahel with adult hindsight recognized the sweetness of that gesture. A grown man entertaining three racoons, treating them like real ladies. Instinctively colluding in the conspiracy of their fiction, taking care not to decimate it with adult carelessness. Or affection. It is after all so easy to shatter a story...To let it be, to travel with it, as Velutha did, is much the harder thing to do." 

Re-reading "The God of Small Things" cemented the novel in my canon of most treasured books. I turned the final page with tremendous regret and with deep satisfaction. I highly recommend this to anyone looking for a refreshing, original read. 

The Leavers | realistic, cultural, sensitive

Review: 2 stars

I was perusing the NPR top books of 2017 list and came across Lisa Ko's 'The Leavers'. I've been wanting to read more from Asian writers ever since I read Celeste Ng, so picked this novel up from Queen Street Books in Leslieville (a great spot). 

'The Leavers' is centred around the mother-son relationship of Polly and Deming, and the mystery behind why Polly suddenly vanishes one day. As we learn through flashbacks, Polly forged her own path to New York City from rural China, relying on her ambition and resourcefulness. However, upon arriving at the doorstep of the American Dream, she falls into the trap of many first-generation immigrants - working long, toxic hours at a nail salon, with her meagre paycheck doled out for basic necessities. The dissonance between the beautiful, independent life she has imagined for herself, and the harsh grey dependency of reality is one of Polly's key internal struggles. 

The novel nicely details the small moments of warmth that envelop mother and son amidst their battles for financial stability and belonging in the concrete jungle. It is also largely effective in portraying the identity crisis that Deming faces as he becomes 'Daniel Wilkinson' to his adoptive parents, Kay and Peter. Deming reflexively responds to triggers from his Chinese childhood - the intoxicating aromas of xiao long bao and lilting intonations of Mandarin conversations, while Daniel immerses himself in a life of self-described comfortable mediocrity with music as his only escape. Both lives beckon to him, and repulse him simultaneously.

I also enjoyed how the novel dove into a controversial notion in our society - the mother's right to be selfish. When we discover Polly's actual fate, and the battles she fought against herself as a new mother, I truly emphasized with her character's dilemma. To nurture a self that is separate from your children is difficult as a parent, yet this is a desire that I think many women (and men) face. Most of us acquiesce to the popular perspective that we should sacrifice our whole self in order to be a good parent, and that the deeper the sacrifice, the more perfect our love. However, I think this is worth debate, and that the balance between self and selflessness is different for each one of us. 

While I enjoyed many of the themes, there was something that fell short for me. I was sufficiently absorbed in the plot, but it was difficult for me to truly connect at an emotional level with the characters, particularly with Deming. Many of the reviews celebrated how timely and essential a novel this is, given the Trump administration's immigration stance. While the issue is broached in the novel, I feel as though deeper exploration of it was warranted in order for this to be celebrated as a political statement. I think there was also further richness left untapped in Kay's experience as an adoptive mother - the ease that she was relegated to a temporary stand-in seemed cold and underdeveloped. 

Overall, it was a promising read, but I felt that an author like Celeste Ng was more deft at handling the Asian American identity struggle, and would recommend her books over this novel.