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!

A Separation | slow, melancholic, fading

Review: 2 stars

‘A Separation’ was the December pick for the ‘Now Read This’ bookclub, and also a well-highlighted book on a number of end of year lists. It also happened to be on sale at BMVQ for one-third the usual price, so I snapped it up. I had heard very mixed reviews about it, as it is “a slow burn of a novel”, but I was optimistic.

The novel follows an estranged wife of a man, Christopher, who has gone missing in Southern Greece. She narrates through a tone that feels emotionally-detached, spoken by someone viewing herself go through motions and reactions, versus experiencing them firsthand. Out of marital duty, she travels to Greece in search of her husband, all the while questioning whether she is the right person to search or to care.

Upon reaching Greece, she begins to pull back the veil on her husband’s public facade. The novel that he was 'almost finished’ has barely begun, the hotel concierge is yet another bedded mistress, his rented room is a slovenly mess. In the scorching sun of Gerolimenas, the small Greek fishing village where Christopher was last seen, her marriage appears desiccated, the could haves and should haves hollowed out. Upon finding her husband’s whereabouts, her reaction is muted, the shock dull and formless. In fact, our narrator appears to muster more empathy for a feuding couple - Stefano and Maria - than she can for Christopher or his parents. Christophers’s fate may come as a surprise to some, but it felt rather anti-climatic in its delivery.

My principal critique of ‘A Separation’ is the deliberate, slow pacing. It may have been selected to conjure the stifling nothingness of a small Greek village in blazing summer heat, or as a metaphor for how a failing marriage dismantles itself, action by action. However, it wore my patience thin, and I found myself flipping ahead constantly to see when the next major plot milestone would take place. I also found it incredibly difficult to connect with the main characters - each felt so cold and removed from one another, and had few redeeming qualities to elicit deep empathy.

I fully appreciate that many could see ‘A Separation’ as a study in careful observation. I also think Kitamura fundamentally achieved what she set out to create. Unfortunately, the story, and more importantly the style of narration, did not resonate well with me.

Exit West | imaginative, surreal, intimate

Review: 4 stars

‘Exit West’ was listed as a Top 10 book of 2017 by the New York Times, and so I ordered a copy off Amazon earlier this year. It piqued my interest because the novel seemed to be a contradiction - at once eerily realistic in its description of the refugee experience, all the while ignoring the laws of physics.

‘Exit West’ follows a pair of new, young lovers - Saeed and Nadia, who are" “subversives” in an anonymous Muslim country, teetering on the brink of civil war. The heady concoction of marijuana-tinged forbidden romance draws the two together, as curfews, bank runs and downed phone lines wreak havoc across their city. They catch wind of magical doors that are opening at random, bending distance to teleport willing travellers to unknown destinations. Thus begins Saeed and Nadia’s journey through this secretive network of doors, with each destination warping their relationship slightly more than the last.

Hamid has written a very clever story - one that adeptly blends ambiguity with the detailed emotional tapestry of the migrant experience. Saeed and Nadia could be fleeing Yemen, Syria or Somalia - their origin is of no import. By stripping this away and urging the reader to accept teleportation as reality, Hamid generalizes the refugee crisis so that it is the responsibility of the world. How would we act if a door were to spontaneously open in our bedrooms, shadowy, beleaguered figures emerging at all intervals throughout the day? What would we protect, what would we give? This surreal, yet genius interpretation of global diaspora insists upon activating the reader’s empathy.

I also thoroughly appreciated the deterioration of Saeed and Nadia’s romance, proving that circumstance and proximity are not enough to sustain love. Saeed is drawn more and more to the trappings of his home country, and shrouds himself in devout prayer. In contrast, Nadia finally feels as though she can shed her skin, and camouflage herself to be whoever she desires now. Their growing chasm is so honestly captured, and feels like a story repeated in every city in the world. Hamid writes this to illustrate their tenuous bond:

“Saeed wanted to feel for Nadia what he had always felt for Nadia, and the potential loss of this feeling left hm unmoored…Saeed made a point to smile with Nadia, at least sometimes, and he hoped she would feel something warm and caring when he smiled, but what she felt was sorrow and the sense that they were better than this, and that together they had to find a way out.”

This story feels old and clairvoyant at the same time. Refugees escaping certain persecution with uncertain promises awaiting at their destination. Upcroppings of peripheral migrant neighbourhoods, like outstretched tentacles from the world’s urban apexes. The right to electricity and connectivity wielded as new-age weapons by iinvaded authorities, against the invaders. New generations of ‘natives’, lighter in colour than those who previously donned the name.

This timeless novel successfully melds reality with fantasy, while providing a gentle, patient periscope into an unravelling relationship. I found it to be a thought-provoking read, and highly recommend it for those who would enjoy an inventive lens on today’s refugee crisis.

Killers of the Flower Moon | thrilling, provocative, sickening

Review: 4 stars

'Killers of the Flower Moon' was the February pick for the 'Now Read This' book club that I've been following. After a long binge on fiction, I felt I was due for some nonfiction reading. Luckily, I walked into the BMVQ bookstore, and saw the hardcover edition of this novel for over 50% off - I seriously love that bookstore. 

This book got me fired up. I was surprised by how outraged and indignant I felt as I read about the chilling conspiracy that led to a near-decimation of the Osage Indians during the 1920s in Oklahoma. The novel follows Tom White, a detective assigned by J. Edgar Hoover to solve the onslaught of mysterious Osage Indian deaths. What makes the murders all the more curious, is the fact that the Osage Indians were the wealthiest people per capita in the world at the time, given the proceeds from their headrights.

This book is meticulously researched, and enriched by the interviews, photographs, press clippings, and recorded conversations that Grann stitches together to evoke the Wild West atmosphere of the times. Justice was often taken into one's own hands (particularly rich, white hands), and meted out carelessly, with the exception of White's hunt for the Osage murder masterminds. Grann paces the plot masterfully, raising pulses when key witnesses and enforcement officers are conveniently dispatched just as they uncover vital clues. The cast of characters - the Osage, their white spouses and guardians, cowboy vigilantes, doctors, and nascent law enforcement - are dynamic, and Grann keeps you guessing until the end as to who the villains truly are. 

One fact that infuriated me was how many of the Osage Indians, despite their supposed riches from oil, were in fact quite destitute. This is because many Osage were assigned white guardians to manage their money and to dole out their meagre allowances, if they were deemed incompetent (which many were, just by way of their ethnicity). This transgressive appropriation of wealth was not secreted away - rather, it was a oft-stated goal amongst notable white society men to amass as many guardianships as possible, as a means to substantially increase their personal wealth. Marriage was another means to wealth. Ernest, the husband of Mollie, one of the main Osage characters, says in a statement: 'I don't work. I married an Osage'. It is hard to believe that this massacre - dozens of Osage - was swept under the rug of American history and unearthed only now for mainstream consumption. 

This book prompted me to consider the state of Aboriginals in Canada, and in what ways their stories are still untold to this day. We read headlines about how a teenage couple, the first in their families to graduate high school, were murdered by a jealous cousin, or how First Nations populations are more than three times likely to die prematurely due to drug or alcohol-related causes than non-Aboriginals. So much tragedy is already in the public sphere, but how many countless injustices have been conveniently forgotten, with no historian to archive or give weight to them? 

I highly recommend this book to anyone looking for a sobering, real-life thriller. Grann has done a mighty service by sharing this convincing, riveting story with us.

Less | self-deprecating, light, human

Review: 2 stars

I could’ve done with less of Less. I decided to read it as part of the Now Read This bookclub, and also because it won a Pulitzer. It also came recommended by Kevin, from the BMVQ store, and he recommended ‘A Little Life’ also, which I adored. Given all this, my expectations were pretty sky high, and they quickly plummeted as I kept reading.

Less follows the whirlwind travels of 50-year-old Arthur Less, a faded novelist who is escaping his ex’s nuptials. As we go from Mexico to Germany to Japan, Less encounters new paramours, all the while reminiscing about his old ones. Our protagonist is highly self-deprecating, at times over-confident (as when he believes he can speak German), and above all, unmoored. Where the novel succeeds is in the charm Less brings to embarrassing situations, juxtaposed with his comically critical self-regard.

Perhaps this novel was difficult for me to relate to given the stage of life Less is in, but I felt that too much effort was exerted to create the whimsical atmosphere that permeates the novel. I also didn’t personally like Less’ character, as much as I may have found it to be a very round and well-developed persona. Flirtatious and awkward exchanges between Less and lesser characters are drawn-out and not in line with my sense of humour. Even the mysterious first-person narrator who tells us of Less’ trials and tribulations is who we expected it to be all along, making for a anticlimactic ending.

For those who have read Greer before, or are interested in a fairly light LGBTQ comedy, this might be a good fit for you. However, personally, I felt my time could’ve been better spent on another 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. 

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Sing, Unburied, Sing | timely, tragic, soulful

Review: 3 stars

'Sing, Unburied, Sing' was the first pick of the 'Now Read This' bookclub. It has also been awarded the National Book Award and appeared in a number of Top 10 Books of 2017 lists. Needless to say, it's been on my to-read list for quite awhile, and I dove into it during a family vacation to Santa Cruz. 

The novel is a railroad track with two parallel stories - one involving teenage Jojo, his toddler sister Kayla and a road trip with his mother Leonie to retrieve their father Michael from Parchman penitentiary; the other follows River, Jojo's Pop, and his time own time at Parchman decades earlier. Throughout, these parallel tracks cross, as spirits from the past - Richie, Pop's fellow inmate, and Given, Leonie's deceased brother - assert themselves on the protagonists' reality, insistent on their own agendas. 

Ward's writing modulates easily to craft each narrator's unique voice. It is effortless to empathize with Jojo in his role as Kayla's protector from a seemingly deadbeat, drugged-up mother. Similarly, I can easily meld myself into Leonie's conscience, urging her to love her children right, to be more than what circumstances have defined her to be. Ward effectively puts forward her thesis - that the restless souls of so many wronged black men and women are actively invading our present consciousness, influencing the actions of their ancestors generations later. The corpses are buried but their stories of injustice linger, demanding witness and reparation. Each character in the novel perceives these spirits to different extents, but not one is immune to the consequences of these African American lives. This is most poignant during the scene when Jojo and his family are pulled over by a cop, and Jojo, an unarmed black teenager, stares down the barrel of the officer's pistol for no good reason at all. It is a nightmarish history repeating itself again, different scenery, different weapon, same tragedy. 

Ward's novel is creative, unflinching and timely given our social struggle with ongoing racism and police brutality, particularly in the U.S. While I felt her novel was highly successful, for some reason, the story was less resonant with me. Perhaps I am not the right reader, in the wrong country. While my opinion and rating of the novel may be debatable, I do feel however that it is an important contribution to the prevailing discussion on racism.