The Quintland Sisters – by Shelley Wood

I read most of this novel over a weekend – mind you, it was a relaxing weekend away with my husband, not a regular weekend around the house with the kids. It was perfect for such a weekend: a great story, interesting characters (both the fictional and factual ones), short chapters make up of diary entries and letters, interspersed with historical newspaper articles to keep the pages turning quickly (you know, just one more section, it’s short . . . ).

I have always found this story interesting – of course, many people have, over the decades. When the Dionne quintuplets were born in 1934 in Northern Ontario, the only known surviving quintuplets in the world to that point, they were huge: an international sensation, with thousands of visitors a day coming to observe them in the playground at the hospital built just for them, across the road from the tiny house where they were born.  As the author Shelley Wood notes in an interview at the end of the novel, not much has been published about the sisters since the 1990s and the generation that so closely followed their story largely gone. She wanted to make the story alive again.

The story is told from the perspective of a fictional teenager who assists at the birth of the quints and then becomes a nurse and artist, devoting her coming-of-age years to the Dionne girls. It is a fascinating look at the first five years of their lives and the real-life characters surrounding them, all of whom played a role – whether with good or less than noble motives – in the many controversies relating to the care, custody, and revenues of the Dionne sisters.

Eleanor & Park – by Rainbow Rowell

This is a novel for teens but I thought it was fun to read and recommend it for adults looking for a sweet, page-turning romance. It’s set in 1986. Eleanor is new at school and while she knows she’s different, she is used to not fitting in. She sits next to Park on the bus, and their friendship begins when he notices her reading his comics and he brings her some to take home. Their unlikely friendship eventually turns into a sweet, intense romance as only a first high school romance can be. But Eleanor can’t let her family know – her abusive step father would forbid her to see Park, or worse, kick her out of the house (again). And Park has some anxieties when he invites her home for the first time, since she’s not the kind of girl his mother would pick out for him. These complications, among others, bring challenges to the relationship.

Eleanor & Park is sweet and gritty, and a great read. I especially loved the 1980s setting; the author includes many details about clothes and music that really set the scene. I was hesitant to read a teen romance (who wants to relive high school?!), but this one is not what I expected and I enjoyed it.

An inquiry into love and death – Simone St. James

A page-turner of a ghost story set in a seaside English town in the 1920s. When her uncle Toby dies under suspicious circumstances, Oxford student Jillian Leigh travels to Rothewell to identify the body and pack up his things. It turns Toby is a ghost hunter and when Jillian arrives, very strange and creepy things start happening. Then a handsome Scotland Yard detective shows up looking into his death and Jillian starts her own investigation by getting to know the neighbours in this small, mysterious village. And she can’t stop thinking about the detective either. I really enjoyed this novel – it is an intriguing story with perfect atmosphere, great pacing, and a great set of characters. It was pretty creepy though – I couldn’t read it at night! 

Into the abyss – by Carol Shaben

An interesting book about a commuter plane crash that happened in Northern Alberta in the 1980s. Six passengers died but four men survived the crash: a politician (the author’s father), the pilot, an RCMP officer, and the criminal he was escorting; the experience changed each of their lives significantly. The criminal was the least injured and without him, the others wouldn’t have survived the night.

The story of the crash and the night the survivors spent together waiting for rescue makes great reading. Shaben’s exploration of the commuter aircraft industry and the public inquiry into the crash is less riveting but it was still interesting to learn about bush pilots, an occupation that ranks in the top three of the world’s most dangerous professions. 

This book won the 2013 Edna Staebler Award for Creative Non-Fiction, administered by Wilfrid Laurier University.

The Orenda

It has been a long time since I read a 500-page novel in two days, but I couldn’t put this one down (fortunately, one of those days was a day off). This latest novel by Joseph Boyden, author of Three Day Road, is excellent.

For those two days, I was immersed in early 17th-century Canada, before it was Canada, at a time when Samuel de Champlain had established the French settlement at Quebec City and was exploring around the Great Lakes, when Jesuit missionaries were trying to bring Christianity to the ‘heathens’, and the Iroquois were at war with the Huron nations . . .

In The Orenda, three narrators tell the story; Christophe is a French Jesuit missionary; Snow Falls, a teenaged girl, is a member of the Haudensaunee nation (Iroquois) who has been kidnapped by the Wendats (Huron); and Bird is a Wendat warrior eager to avenge the deaths of his wife and daughters at the hands of the Iroquois. These three characters come together at the beginning and despite their radical differences remain tied to each other. Bird wants to keep Christophe around so the Wendat can learn the ways of these strange “crows.” And he also wants to adopt Snow Falls as his daughter even though she is of the enemy. Snow Falls resists for a long time, but eventually starts making herself at home among the Wendat.

There is a lot going on in the novel, with the tensions between the Huron and Iroquois heating up, the Jesuit mission on tenuous ground, sicknesses brought by the Europeans spreading among the Huron, plus the dynamics of Huron village life. Survival is not guaranteed for anyone. Boyden’s depiction of life among the Huron is fascinating, so detailed and vivid. The characters are complex as are the situations they face and the decisions they must make.

I think everyone (at least, every Canadian) should read this novel, though as a warning, there are several gruesome scenes of torture and warfare. I winced and wanted to shut my eyes while reading at times. I remember a similar feeling reading Boyden’s Three Day Road, his novel about two Cree soldiers in World War I (also an excellent read).

The Orenda has been long-listed for the 2013 Scotia Bank Giller Prize and the Governor General’s Award for fiction. I haven’t read any of the other novels on the lists, but I hope Boyden wins the prize for this amazing novel. I can’t say enough. Read this book!

A quality of light – by Richard Wagamese

I was talking with some of my colleagues about Ragged Company by Richard Wagamese, this year’s One Book One Community pick, and several of them agreed that this was not his best book. I was intrigued, because I thought Ragged Company was wonderful. After reading A Quality of Light, though, I have to say I agree; I liked this book even better.  The story is of a different type, more reflective and maybe a bit less intriguing than Ragged Company. Yet Wagamese’s talent to craft a story shines through more strongly, I think, in A Quality of Light. Or maybe it’s the material he’s conveying that for him, lends itself to powerful writing. Many times reading this book I was struck by his ability to put moments and deep feelings into words. Now that I think about it, with this book, Wagamese reminds me of Wendell Berry in a way.

This is the story of Joshua and Johnny, two very different boys who become blood brothers as boys in the 1960s and the bond remains despite many strains to their relationship as they grow up. Later in life, Joshua is a pastor, married and living near where he grew up, when he gets a call from a police officer: Johnny has taken hostages and created an armed standoff at an Indian Affairs office, and is he asking for Josh. As he prepares to meet with Johnny, Joshua recounts his childhood and youth and his friendship with Johnny.  Joshua was born Ojibway but adopted by a white farming couple in Bruce County; Johnny moves into town with his alcoholic father and the boys bond over learning how to play baseball. Joshua’s loving parents raise him with their Christian beliefs and traditional values, which Joshua wholeheartedly embraces; Johnny learns more and more about native issues in Canada and longs to become Indian and fight for justice. When they start high school, a violent incident brings Josh’s Ojibway background to the forefront and he begins to learn about this side of himself, while also becoming a member of his church – something Johnny does not understand.

The novel is not only an interesting story, but as I mention above, it is a powerful piece of fiction. I would definitely recommend this book, and I’ll leave off with a couple of my favourite passages; hopefully they will illustrate what I’m trying to say above about the author’s ability to express moments and feelings.

“So we looked for magic that summer. We found it in the wood duck chicks we watched feather and grow and fly, in the way the light diffused and colored on its way through the depths of our diving hole on Otter Creek, in the feel of a cow’s teats when you milk by hand and in the taste of the wind redolent with rain . . . We learned that it’s possible to invent the world. All you ever need are eyes open to magic and mystery, ears attuned to the sublime and the marvelous, a heart desiring of more and a spirit gilded with an expectant joy.” (92)

“The Hockley Valley is lush and rich. Verdant. In the early autumn the display of colors is spellbinding. Interwoven through the dazzle are pastoral stretches of tilled land and abrupt rustic vistas. Here, a cobwebbed cabin reduced to crumble by the disdain of time. There, a sleepy farm anchored against a wooded hillside like a gnome’s cottage . . . The skreel of a swooping hawk, the whisper of the wind through the branches and the muted crunch of our feet against the roots and detritus of the forest floor punctuated the morning air like canticles. We were joined, Johnny and I, by an unspoken reverence for the omniscient hymnodist who’d composed it all. In such times language can surprise you with its irrelevance.” (231)

“Good-byes have a residue that you carry into everything that follows. It shows itself in peculiar places as your life and your world meander through their course. You’ll find it in the face you swear you recognize, the snatches of song through the window of a passing car, the sudden slam of a screen door in summer, the perfect stillness of a child in slumber . . . That’s the joy of living inhabited lives – the recurrence of the profound in the ordinary.” (248)

The 100-year old man who climbed out the window and disappeared – by Jonas Jonasson

This best-selling Swedish phenomenon is worth a read. It’s an amusing tale about a Allan Karlsson, who on his 100^th birthday decided he had enough of the Old Folk’s Home, went on his way and ended up on such an escapade, involving – among other things – an elephant, a hot-dog stand vendor, a corpse or two, and lots of vodka.  Before this adventure, Allan had many more over his long lifetime, including an enjoyable lunch with US President Truman, a not so enjoyable dinner with Stalin, comforting a youthful Kim Jong Il, and enjoying the fine life in Bali for 15-or-so years, and teaching both the US and Russia how to make the atomic bomb. As the book jacket states, his life is kind of like that of Forrest Gump. Except Allan is much more amusing and world-travelling, and drinks more vodka.  An enjoyable and witty read.

Claire of the sea light – by Edwidge Danticat

A lovely read about a little girl, Claire, who goes missing in a small seaside village in Haiti, and the difficult decision her father is facing. While he and others search for her, stories emerge of other people in their community whose lives are connected with Claire’s family in some way. These stories of loss and tragedy, as well as the thread of the sea, form the tapestry of this small community. I found the stories that make up the novel compelling and the characters interesting, with rich inner lives. Danticat, who is from Haiti, makes the work feel sort of like a fable, with some mystery and magic in the atmosphere; yet it is also an interesting window into life in Haiti: from poor fishermen struggling to make a living from the depleted oceans to the advent of gang violence to issues of class. Recommended!

A Different Sun – by Elaine Neil Orr

It is the mid-19th century and Emma Davis, daughter of a prosperous Georgian slave owner, grows up with a deep sense of identity and of calling to the mission field. She marries Henry Bowman, a missionary with great passion and many demons haunting him from his sinful past, and they move to his post among the Yoruba people in Africa where Emma is challenged beyond her expectations – as much by her husband’s fervor as anything else.

I really enjoyed this novel; I was very pleasantly surprised at how much. The author has a distinctive style that makes it a novel of scenes, of moments, though I’m sure her style is not for everyone. Faith plays a major role, since Emma and Henry are Baptist missionaries after all, but each of them at times doubt, berate themselves for lack of faith, and still draw on their faith to sustain them. The portrayal of doubt and struggle is excellent. Here’s a little bit of a sample:

“She dozed, and when she woke a sheet of fear swept her back. Her misery came back fourfold. She stood again, moving heavily in the dark toward the rocking chair. ‘Criminal,’ she spewed in a loud whisper at herself, ‘a base sinner.’ She was sundered to think on the baby and herself full of tortured longing. What a poor witness she was, a horror, and she had thought herself worthy, special, an instrument of God. She laughed in self-loathing. She almost wished Henry dead. She would fling herself on Jacob. Oh! She had thought herself a white bird, had seen herself in Africa gloved and fine, living clean and beautiful. Now look at the country of her mind.” (293)

Emma herself is a wonderful character – I really liked her and could identify with her often but I’m sure some readers will find her over-earnest and naive. For instance, as a girl she writes in her journal and then when she’s a bit older, getting a sense of her calling: “she went regularly to her bureau drawer to read her girlhood thoughts. ‘I’m studying myself,’ she said one night when it dawned on her what she was doing.” (30)

If you enjoyed the themes and subject matter of The Poisonwood Bible, you might be interested in this novel. Also a good pick for book clubs.

The blind man’s garden – by Nadeem Aslam

Set in Pakistan and Afghanistan in the months after September 11, 2001, this novel follows the members of one extended family and how their lives are impacted by war, loss, grief, and love. There is a lot of beauty in this novel, vivid and colourful details of ordinary things, characters expressing intense emotions – to contrast with the ugliness of war and terrorism. It’s lovely to read. My only complaint is that the plot relies a bit too much on coincidence. If you enjoy Khaled Hosseini’s books (The Kite Runner, A Thousand Splendid Suns), you might enjoy this book.

And the mountains echoed – by Khaled Hosseini

I finished And the Mountains Echoed a while ago and haven’t been too compelled to blog about it. I thought it was an okay read, but not nearly as good as Hosseini’s previous two books, The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns. 

This novel is about family relationships and is set in Afghanistan, the US, and Europe, as people from the family or connected to the family move away from or return to Afghanistan. The novel is almost like a book of short stories with intersecting characters; the narrative that holds them together is not nearly so strong as that in his other books. Sometimes it was even hard to follow, since the chapters are narrated by several different people and the reader is left to guess their identity.

I enjoyed the reading of it but unfortunately Hosseini’s latest novel is rather forgettable.

The house at the end of Hope Street – by Menna van Praag

Harry Potter-style chick lit? That’s one way of describing The house at the end of Hope Street. The world of magic is not quite so prominent in this book, but there were many little features that put me in mind of the world J.K. Rowling created.

Alba Ashley has just suffered the worst event in her (short, sheltered) life so far. At the end of her rope, she stumbles upon an old house she never noticed before and finds herself welcomed in by Peggy, the 82-year-old landlady. As it turns out, the house has been a place of shelter for over 200 years for women who have run out of hope and needed a place where they can get back on their feet. Peggy tells Alba that, like all other guests, she’s welcome to stay for 99 nights, long enough for her to turn her life around but short enough so that she can’t put it off forever. And if she takes care of the house, the house will take care of her. Soon she meets the other residents: Carmen, a victim of domestic abuse, and Greer, a struggling actor. She befriends Stella, a ghost, and eventually begins chatting with some of the other women who’ve stayed there in the past, through their photographs – women like Daphne du Maurier, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Florence Nightengale, and Emmeline Pankhurst. Alba’s journey takes a few more twists and turns before she rediscovers herself.

This novel makes a good summer read; it’s whimsical, there’s just enough mystery to keep you hooked, and it’s pretty light. Reading and writing play a big role in Alba’s life so there are plenty of literary references, but the novel itself is not overly literary. I thought the book was okay, as far as chick-lit goes. Not to be compared with Bridget Jones’ Diary but definitely not the worst I’ve read either. Somewhere in the middle – a decent escape.

The detour – by Gerbrand Bakker

A Dutch woman rents a farm in rural Wales and sets about making the house and grounds more homey. After a few weeks, a young man hiking the nearby footpath stops in and stays for a night, but his visit turns into weeks. A creepy neighbour pops in from time to time. As the novel progresses, we learn something about why the woman, a researcher studying Emily Dickinson, fled her husband and job, what the husband is doing about it, and what happened to the old woman who owned the farm, though details remain ambiguous. What is clear is that the woman is in turmoil, and she’s seeking something – comfort? relief? escape? – in her solitude and isolation.

This is a very quiet and atmospheric novel in which little action occurs, yet I couldn’t put it down until I finished it and the story – moody, mysterious, disturbing in a way – still lingers in my mind. It’s a page turner, but not in the way we normally think of this phrase. This isn’t a novel everyone would enjoy, but I liked it. The author won the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award for his first novel, The Twin, and both were translated from the Dutch by David Colmer.

The sunshine when she’s gone – Thea Goodman

Veronica and John are new parents, but the privileged 30-something New Yorkers are having a hard time adjusting to the arrival of baby Clara. Both are bewildered, sleep deprived, and growing  irritated with each other. One morning John decides to let Veronica sleep in and he takes Clara out – and ends up jetting off to Barbados for the weekend for some warmth and relaxation (with the baby). Veronica, who doesn’t know the truth of his whereabouts, guiltily enjoys a weekend alone in the city with friends and an old lover.  The characters are believable in their struggles, even if they come off as spoiled and a bit naïve when it comes to parenting. But perhaps Goodman wanted to make a point about the obsessions of modern parenting. For example, would Clara be that much worse off without the organic goat’s milk infused with a special blend of herbs?  Anyway, this story about becoming a parent and a marriage in crisis has a certain pull – it’s a bit melancholic, a bit funny, and even if you don’t like Veronica and John, you want to know whether they manage to work things out.

Sleeping Funny – Miranda Hill

I found this book of short stories quite enjoyable. Short stories can go either way, I find. Sometimes they feel or sound too much the same, or are too depressing, too serious, or too . . . something. Other times, they are delightful, like these. Some of the stories are surprising, some are sad, and a couple of them I found didn’t do much for me.  Some of my favourites are:

The Variance: successful, professional women in a beautiful, affluent neighbourhood are unsettled by a new neighbour that doesn’t conform to their standards and who wants to erect a large art studio in her backyard.

6:19: A civil servant finds himself on the same commuter train every day, despite his efforts to get on a later train that doesn’t make a certain stop that wastes a few minutes of his time each day.

Sleeping funny: Clea returns to her home with her young daughter Minnie to care for her father in his dying days, and runs into a former classmate; their situations in life have reversed, in a way. Clea is trying to figure out how to deal with her father’s house of hoarded stuff and how to keep a fish alive for Minnie.

As with many short stories, these are about so much more than neighbours, commuters, and dead fish. Sometimes, I think short stories are more like poetry than fiction, and that’s what can make them so powerful. The stories in Sleeping Funny are diverse in terms of historical setting and characters, and I found most of them fascinating, even when it is just everyday stuff that happens – since after all, sometimes it is the ordinary things that change our lives. Miranda Hill’s writing is wonderful, and I recommend this collection of short stories.

Cooked – by Michael Pollan

I loved this book, even more than Michael Pollan’s other wonderful books, The Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food. Pollan wanted to improve the health and well-being of his family, connect more with his teenage son, figure out how one individual can help foster a more sustainable food system, and better understand the role of humans in the natural world. He found that the answer to all of these questions was the same: cook.

Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation is a very engaging exploration of how cooking, or “transforming the raw stuff of nature into nutritious and appealing things for us to eat and drink, is one of the most interesting and worthwhile things we humans do” (11). Pollan niftily divides his book into four sections based on the elements and a corresponding method of cooking. For fire, he explores cooking meat over fire, and more specifically, the food tradition of Southern barbeque. For water, he looks at combining plant and animal in a liquid and applying heat – braising. For air, he examines baking, and describes his quest to create the perfect loaf of bread. And for earth, he examines fermented foods – the role of microbes, bacteria in creating food and drink, whether vegetable (saurkraut, kimchi, pickles), animal (cheese, yogurt), or alcohol (beer, wine, mead).

In all of these chapters, he shows how the methods of cooking have impacted our health and our culture, and delves into many food-related issues: the chemistry of taste and flavour, communal eating, the obesity epidemic, gender roles in meal preparation, the processed food industry, and the growing resistance of micro-organisms to antibiotics.

It’s the last section on fermented foods that I found most fascinating, especially his discussion of how human health might better be thought of as a function of a community – a human and her microbiota – rather than of an individual. “We’re eating for one, when we need to be eating for, oh, a few trillion” (333). Those trillions of bacteria in our gut, as we are learning, play an instrumental role in our health and we must eat to keep them healthy. Summing up a great deal of research, he writes that many chronic diseases are linked to the Western diet, which does not feed the gut properly. “Though none has yet dared use such an ambitious term, several scientists across several disciplines appear to be working toward what looks very much like a Grand Unified Theory of Diet and Chronic Disease. The theory turns on the concept of inflammation, something in which the human microbiota may turn out to play a crucial role” (334).

I just love how he pulls stuff together to make insightful observations about cooking and food, making connections like that between the natural world and the act of making a loaf of bread, or between consuming cheese and the web of relationships responsible for getting that cheese to us. I think about this stuff a lot. He just puts it so well that I’m going to quote a couple more passages from his epilogue.

“There is, too, the pleasure of learning how a certain everyday something gets made, a process that seldom turns out to be as simple as you imagined, or as complicated . . . Yet there is a deeper kind of learning that can only be had by doing the work yourself, acquainting all your senses with the ins and outs and how-tos and wherefores of an intricate making. But even better, I found, is the satisfaction that comes from temporarily breaking free of one’s accustomed role as the producer of one thing – whatever it is we sell into the market for a living – and the passive consumer of everything else. Especially when what we produce for a living is something as abstract as words and ideas and ‘services,’ the opportunity to produce something material and useful, something that contributes directly to the support of your own body (and that of your family and friends), is a gratifying way to spend a little time – or a lot.” Indeed, cooking is developing and exercising embodied knowledge.

“The economic and ecological lines that connect us to the distant others we now rely on for our sustenance have grown so long and attenuated as to render both the products and their connections to us and the world utterly opaque. You would be forgiven for thinking – indeed, you are encouraged to think! – there is nothing more behind a bottle of beer than a corporation and a factory, somewhere. It is simply a ‘product.’  To brew beer, to make cheese, to bake a loaf of bread, to braise a pork shoulder, is to be forcibly reminded that all these things are not just products, in fact are not even really ‘things.’ Most of what presents itself to us in the marketplace as a product is in truth a web of relationships, between people, yes, but also between ourselves and all the other species on which we still depend. Eating and drinking especially implicate us in the natural world in ways that the industrial economy, with its long and illegible supply chains, would have us forget.” And making food yourself reminds you it also comes from nature at some point, so the making is a form of observance, a ritual of remembrance, as Pollan puts it.

I could go on, but why not just pick up the book and read it for yourself? I’m sure you won’t regret it!

Flee, fly, flown – by Janet Hepburn

Lillian and Audrey are tired of life at Tranquil Meadows Nursing home, of the cold air conditioning, of soggy toast every day, of following a schedule for everything – eating, sleeping, making crafts, even pooping. They plan a “vacation” and manage to escape, get a car, and meet Rayne, a young drifter who agrees to drive them out west. The two friends have Alzheimer’s disease so memory lapses are a constant part of their adventure as they bond with Rayne and find out they are the subject of a missing persons report. Set in Ottawa and various points along the Trans-Canada highway, this short novel is an amusing read with some poignant moments about growing old. It’s easy to read and goes pretty fast, so it’s a good pick if you need something for a relaxing day on the deck or at the beach.

On a farther shore – by William Souder

On a Farther Shore: the Life and Legacy of Rachel Carson, a biography of the American nature writer and conservationist, was published last year, the 50th anniversary of the publication of her influential and controversial book, Silent Spring. With that book, Carson is credited for launching the environmental movement as we know it today.

As far as biographies go, this wasn’t the most interesting one I’ve ever read; Carson didn’t live a very dramatic life and I felt at times the biographer went into overly great detail – to present a thorough accounting of her life, sure, but I did skim over many pages in the first half of the book. For instance, there’s a significant section, essentially a mini-biography, about a British nature writer that Carson admired, that for me didn’t contribute anything to my understanding of Carson.

I did like how the author provides plenty of background information about the major issues that lead Carson to write Silent Spring, mainly the development and used of DDT and other pesticides after WWII and the continuing testing of nuclear bombs and the effects of radioactive fallout. The book caused much controversy, and Carson was constantly accused of advocating a total ban on pesticides, though that was not what she argued. As her biographer writes, “the real difference between Rachel Carson and her critics wasn’t so much an argument over pesticides as a duel between competing views of nature and our place in it.”  Carson was concerned about humanity’s relationship with nature and how tampering with one aspect of nature has far-reaching consequences that scientists were not even aware of. She said that understanding and respecting the balance of nature had become even more important with our recently acquired capacity to destroy all of nature.  “I truly believe that we in this generation must come to terms with nature, and I think we’re challenged as mankind has never been challenged before to prove our maturity and our mastery not of nature but of ourselves.” Carson ironically died of cancer in 1964, shortly after the publication of Silent Spring. 

The indiscriminate spraying of pesticides without knowing more about their effects on the ecosystem or on humans now seems ridiculous. For instance, there’s a photo in the book of a truck spraying DDT along a beach while children are playing and families are sunbathing. But have we learned our lesson? Don’t we still do this today, in different ways, all while we are learning more and more about the fragility and interconnectedness of all life on our planet? 

This biography is worth the read, but maybe not the kind of book you want to take on summer vacation.

Quiet – by Susan Cain

I’ve finally gotten around to reading Quiet: the power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking, and I’m glad I did.  Susan Cain explores introversion and extroversion from a cultural point of view, with a focus on the former. She explores how our culture admires and idealizes the extrovert personality while undervaluing the introvert personality and how much we lose by doing so. She looks at the making of an introvert through nature and nurture, how to interact with the other personality type in relationships and on the job, and the raising of introverted children. She also explores how some introverts can actually appear extroverts and offers some pointers on how introverts can step out of character and act more extroverted when necessary.

Before I go any further, I just want to note that Cain is not arguing (and neither am I!) that one personality type is better, or the characteristics or attributes associated with one personality type are more desirable. She also notes that no one is all introvert or all extrovert. As she puts it, the primary concern of the book is “the age-old dichotomy between the ‘man of action’ and the ‘man of contemplation,’ and how we could improve the world if only there were a greater balance of power between the two types. It focuses on the person who recognizes him-or herself somewhere in the following constellation of attributes:  reflective, cerebral, bookish, unassuming, sensitive, thoughtful, serious, contemplative, subtle, introspective, inner-directed, gentle, calm, modest, solitude-seeking, shy, risk-averse, thin-skinned. Quiet is also about this person’s opposite number: the ‘man of action’ who is ebullient, expansive, sociable, gregarious, excitable, dominant, assertive, active, risk-taking, thick-skinned, outer-directed, lighthearted, bold, and comfortable in the spotlight.” (269)

I am an introvert and I already felt that I had a pretty good understanding of what that means for me. Now, I understand even more about my introversion: why I react or feel the way I do in particular situations, why  I tend to be interested in certain things and not others. There were passages in this book that made me exclaim out loud, “yes! exactly!”  and “no wonder!” I really enjoyed delving deeper into the psychology and neuroscience behind the differences between extroverts and introverts, and Cain has helped me understand even better my relationships with my introverted friends and my extroverted friends.

I only have one disappointment with the book: there is one section called “Do all cultures have an extrovert ideal?” and it consists of one chapter on Asian-Americans and the extrovert idea. I think it would have been interesting and informative if Cain would have extended her discussion a little further to explore, even if only briefly, these two personality types in other cultures around the world.

If you are an introvert, or love an introvert, or are related to an introvert, or have introverted friends, I recommend this book! It’s enlightening, liberating, even – it can help introverts embrace those characteristics that they might have felt made them inferior. And it’s well-written and engaging too. I found plenty of lovely quotations about introverts, but I can’t choose just one to share. So you’ll have to pick up the book and find out for yourself how to embrace your introversion or relate to the introverts in your life!

The homemade pantry – by Alana Chernila

I’m always interested in books like this one, cookbooks that encourage the homemade over the processed, packaged products of the food industry. Of course, one can’t always make everything, and Chernila acknowledges this fact, while offering recipes and tips about food you can make at home when you want to. She reminds us that the homemade versions will probably taste better and cost less than the store-bought equivalent. Whether or not that is true (some of you might not believe it of your own cooking), she also notes that making your own food changes the way you think about food, and that’s why I’m interested in books like this. I like to think about my food: the journey it takes from ground to table, the traditions and stories embodied in it, the transformation from raw ingredients to a meal, and so on.

Enough about that. The homemade pantry: 101 foods you can stop buying & start making is a good book for someone who is interested in learning how to make more food at home. The recipes are explained well with tips on methods and equipment as well as text boxes called “tense moments” – things that can go wrong and reassurance about what to do. It’s divided into sections that are meant to correspond with aisles at the grocery store: dairy (ricotta, cream cheese, yogurt, etc.), cereals and snacks (granola, cereal bars, mixed nuts, etc.), canned fruits and vegetables, condiments and spreads (ketchup, hummus, salad dressings, etc.) soups, baking mixes (pancake mix, cake, etc.), frozen foods, pasta and sauce, breads and crackers, drinks, and candy. All of the recipes come with a story, almost like a journal entry by the author, explaining the significance or a special memory of the food.

Though I have marked a few recipes to try, I didn’t find this book all that informative. I already have recipes I use routinely for many of the food she includes. I couldn’t help but think that if my grandmothers saw this book, they’d probably find it amusing that people need a book like this to learn about making pie crust or a casserole from scratch, or to learn how to make your own pickles and applesauce. Of course you make your own soup and jam and freeze the vegetables from your garden for the winter! There are also several recipes in here that I wouldn’t bother with: I don’t make my own cheese or yogurt (maybe some day) and I don’t try to replace Heinz ketchup. I found the little reflections before each recipe annoying, to be honest. Maybe because I like cookbooks and I like books about food and cooking, but not a combination. Anyway, as I said above, if you are just starting out with homemade adventures, this might be a handy book for you.

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore – by Robin Sloan

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore is a fun, entertaining read, and I think those of you who love all things bookish will especially enjoy this novel.

Clay Jannon takes a job at a peculiar bookstore where he must works 10 pm to 6 am every day and keep a careful and detailed log of every customer and transaction. When he discovers that the books in the tall, vertical stacks above the first floor are all encrypted, he becomes even more curious about the store’s regular customers and Mr. Penumbra. He applies some data visualization techniques to the book database and the information from the logbooks. What he discovers leads him and his friends – fellow sci-fi geek and software millionaire Neel Shah and super-cute Google whiz kid and immortality-obsessed Kat Potente – to New York City and the headquarters of a secret society.

I read this book in a day. I don’t do this very often any more, but I so enjoyed reading this one and just had to get to the end and find out what happens. It’s a creative look at the relationship between the old and the new in the realm of knowledge and information and their organization and dissemination. And to pass a rainy afternoon, this book, for me, was just the right blend of quirky, geeky, funny, mystery, adventure, and romance.

Ragged Company – by Richard Wagamese

 Ragged Company is probably the best book I’ve read so far this year and one of the best I’ve read – ever! Richard Wagamese is a gifted storyteller, and this book is certainly rich in stories.

During a severe cold spell one winter, four homeless friends decide to spend their days in a movie theatre to keep warm, and each in their own way finds enjoyment in escaping into the stories unfolding before their eyes. They meet a disillusioned journalist who’s also trying to escape through film and they form a bond of sorts with him. One day, one of the street friends finds a winning lottery ticket, and their lives are instantly changed. As they come to terms with their new wealth and its complications, the heartbreaking stories of their pasts emerge.

Each of the four homeless people – Ameila One Sky, Double Dick, Digger, and Timber – tells part of the story, as does the journalist, Granite. Wagamese gives each character a unique and consistent voice. The stories are beautifully told, and the book moved me to tears.

This book is this year’s One Book One Community read in Waterloo Region.

Consider the Fork – by Bee Wilson

While I was in university, I spent my summers working at a living history museum and while there, read about various aspects of life in the early 20th century. One book that I still remember is Never Done: A History of American Housework, by Susan Strasser (which I noticed is now back in print); I found her exploration of women’s work in the home absolutely fascinating. Consider the Fork: A History of How We Cook and Eat reminded me of Strasser’s book, and is just about as interesting. Bee Wilson, a food historian, uses history, science, and anthropology to examine how our culinary tools came to be and how they have influenced modern food culture. From pots and pans to the measuring cup, stoves to refrigerators, she describes how each aspect of cooking and eating evolved and the social context in which this occurred. And she does so first and foremost from her own perspective of a busy mother and wife wanting to get dinner on the table.

One of my favourite things about this book is how Wilson is able to present material that could be seen as trivial and bring forth its significance, showing how the activities and tools of our daily lives do indeed shape our culture and our history (not to mention what we think of as our personal taste) and that these daily activities and tools – even something as simple as a fork or knife – have complex social, political, and economic relationships attached to them. For instance, in concluding the section on the development of the Cuisinart food processor as a labour saving device, she writes, “So great is the feeling that the food processor brings to its middle-class devotees – I include myself – we should be careful not to delude ourselves that it has really saved all labor. The medieval housewife making pancakes stood face to face with the people she was wearying, whereas our servants have mainly been removed from view. We do not see the hands in the chicken factory that boned the breasts, never mind the chickens that gave their lives, nor the workers who laboured to assemble the parts of our whizzy food processors. We only see a pile of ingredients and a machine ready to do our bidding. Alone in our kitchens, we feel entirely emancipated.” (173)

Though extensively researched, this book is not heavy or overburdened with details. Wilson presents the material in a highly readable and entertaining fashion, with plenty of food for thought. If you have any interest in culinary history or the social history of housework or kitchens, you’ll want to read this book. If it’s cooking or even simply eating that you enjoy, you’ll probably like this book too!

The Purchase – by Linda Spalding

The Purchase is an excellent novel. Many novels use frontier life in America and slavery as their setting or subject matter, but I’ve never read one quite like this.

The story begins in 1799 in Pennsylvania. Daniel Dickinson, recently widowed, packs up a few belongings and his five children and sets out for the Virginia frontier. He also takes his new wife, a fifteen-year-old orphan girl and the reason he was kicked out of the Quaker fellowship. He has little understanding of what he will have to do to provide food, shelter, and a life for his family in the wilderness, but he has his values and beliefs. At an auction to purchase tools, Daniel, a firm abolitionist, finds himself involuntarily raising his hand to purchase a slave boy. This purchase sets in motion a chain of events that affects every member of the family and leads to secrets, murder, love,  tragedy, friendship, and betrayal over several generations.

The book jacket describes this novel as “darkly beautiful and as hard-edged as the realities of pioneer life,” and that’s exactly right. Spalding does not romanticize pioneer life or the characters. I found myself liking and disliking the same characters throughout the novel, and I thought this was great; they are all so well drawn, so complex. Yet they remained sort of distant, which was very well-suited to the overall tone and feeling of the novel.  The historical details about the hardships of frontier life are fascinating, as was the story itself: never a dull moment in the narrative, and I could never imagine what astonishing or horrible event was waiting in the next chapter. Spalding’s writing  is rich and wonderful; she uses a lot of biblical prose, suited to the themes of faith, morality, pioneer life, and freedom.

The Purchase is moody and dark, intense and moving. It won the won the Governor General’s award for fiction in 2012. Definitely recommended!

Doppler – by Erlend Loe

Doppler, by Erlend Loe, is “an enchanting modern fable about one man and his moose.”  This book was originally published in Norwegian in 2004, and was recently translated into English by Don Bartlett and Don Shaw.

After the death of his father, Andreas Doppler abandons his family, home, career, and most of modern civilization to move into the forest. He kills a moose for food and ends up adopting its calf, which he calls Bongo. Doppler and Bongo have some interesting adventures as they work on living simply in the wilderness. Their activities include stealing a four-kilogram Toblerone from the home of a model train builder and erecting a massive totem pole in memory of his father.

Doppler meets several characters, and some try to emulate his lifestyle and philosophy (much to Doppler’s exasperation). Here’s a sample of his thoughts: “For me, watching TV is a compilation of all the reasons why I don’t like people. TV is a concentrated form of everything that is repulsive about us . . . Everything which is human is alien to me.” (76)

This book is a fast read at 183 pages. It’s humourous, a bit dark, and a witty critique of consumer culture.