This was my first book by Alice Munro, who was recently named as the 2009 Man Booker International Prize winner. This book of stories is a personal, though fictional, history of her family’s emigration from Scotland and their settlement in Canada. It was on the NYT Notable Book list in 2007.
Munro illustrated the struggles of her ancestor immigrants very well. Though I am of German ancestry, I know many of my great-grandparents had many of the same challenges when they settled in Nebraska from Germany. (I would soooo love to read a fictionalized account of their story!)
I enjoyed this book very much, but some may find it a little slow and boring in parts. I’m very interested in family histories of immigration, so I appreciated both the stories and Munro’s writing. I have to wonder, though, were all European immigrants a little hard and cold? Perhaps just the act of survival took all their energy.
I am now curious to read more of Munro’s work for the Canadian Challenge III. If you have any you strongly recommend, please let me know.
Unless is the worry word of the English language. It flies like a moth around the ear, you hardly hear it, and yet everything depends on its breathy presence.
I love Carol Shields’ writing. This is only my second novel by Shields, but I have also read about 1/3 of her short story collection (with plans to read the rest). The first was the Pulitzer-winning The Stone Diaries, which I also loved. Something about Shields’ writing just speaks to me. I can’t really pinpoint it exactly — I just know that I would very much like to read all of her works at some point.
Shortlisted for both the Booker Prize and the Orange Prize, Unless is a story about a mother’s grief and pain over her daughter, who is not dead, or on drugs, but IS, by choice, a street beggar. Norah just suddenly dropped out of college and is now on the streets. Reta, the mother, is an author and a naturally happy person. Up until this point she hasn’t really had any difficulty in her life. In fact, during an author interview:
The radio host in Baltimore asked me — he must have been desperate — what was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. That stopped me short. I couldn’t think of the worst thing. I told him that whatever it was, it hadn’t happened yet. I knew, though, at that moment, what the nature of the “worst thing” would be, that it would be socketed somehow into the lives of my children.
Though Reta has been with her children’s father Tom since they met, they have never married. Their relationship is a good one, but Reta has strong feelings about feminism and the role of women in society. She suspects that perhaps part of Norah’s problem lies in this area. Reta writes (but never sends) letters to editors and the like when she perceives an injustice has been done to women. An example:
This will explain my despondency, and why I am burbling out my feelings to you. I am a forty-four-year old woman who was under the impression that society was moving forward and who carries the memory of a belief in wholeness. Now, suddenly, I see it from the point of view of my nineteen-year-old daughter. We are all trying to figure out what’s wrong with Norah. She won’t work at a regular job. She’s dropped out of university, given up her scholarship. She sits on a curbside and begs. Once a lover of books, she has resigned from the act of reading, and believes she is doing this in the name of goodness. She has no interest in cults, not in cultish beliefs or in that particular patronizing cultish nature of belonging. She’s too busy with her project of self-extinction. It’s happening very slowly and with much grief, but I’m finally beginning to understand the situation. My daughter Christine grinds her teeth at night, which is a sign of stress. Another daughter, Natalie, chews her nails. Women are forced into the position of complaining and then needing comfort. What Norah wants is to belong to the whole world or at least to have, just for a moment, the taste of the whole world in her mouth. But she can’t. So she won’t.
Another strong passage:
Because Tom is a man, because I love him dearly, I haven’t told him what I believe: that the world is split in two, between those who are handed power at birth, at gestation, encoded with a seemingly random chromosome determinate that says yes for ever and ever, and those like Norah, like Danielle Westerman, like my mother, like my mother-in-law, like me, like all of us who fall into the uncoded female otherness in which the power to assert ourselves and claim our lives has been displaced by a compulsion to shut down our bodies and seal our mouths and be as nothing against the fireworks and streaking stars and blinding light of the Big Bang. That’s the problem.
I could put a hundred quotes from the book in this review; it is a book I will definitely be keeping. If you haven’t read any of Carol Shields yet, I strongly recommend her as an author. If you’ve read any of her books yourself, I’d love to hear your thoughts on them.
The immigrant Icelanders are so obscure you could easily go your entire life in this country and never hear a word about them. [...] Nobody’s heard of New Iceland. Was it because we were so wretchedly oppressed? Hardly. If anything, the opposite was true. We assimilated more quickly than most, with our fair features and devotion to literacy, our ability to persist through hardship etched in our genes. No, the answer is simple enough, it seems to me: there were too few of us to matter. All said, only fifteen thousand Icelanders emigrated at the tail end of the ninteenth century — a droplet lost among the million-size waves of immigrants who flooded North America’s shores. It’s no wonder we never made it into my college history books.
The Tricking of Freya is a wonderful debut novel by Christina Sunley. Taking place in Canada and Iceland, the book is a love letter of sorts to her Icelandic ancestors and heritage.
Freya is the granddaughter of Olafur, one of Iceland’s greatest poets but who had, much to the chagrin of Icelanders, emigrated to Canada. Though she spends her first 7 years in America, Freya learns first hand about her Icelandic heritage when she and her mother travel to Gimli, just outside of Winnipeg. There she meets her grandmother for the first time and her aunt, nicknamed Birdie. Birdie discovers that Freya’s mother has not been teaching her Icelandic, and she immediately begins that task. Freya takes to Birdie and her Icelandic heritage very well, but also slowly learns that Birdie can be unstable.
When Freya gets the opportunity to go to Iceland, she becomes even more aware of her heritage. One of the most interesting facets of Icelandic life is their love of books:
Cousin, that house was the most marvelous thing I had ever seen. Not from the outside. From the outside was a three-story cement facade painted pastel green. But the inside! Books lined every wall of every room. Books climbed up stairs and rested on landings. Books stretched over the arches of doorways like bridges, stood guard over mantels. Old leather-bound volumes with gilt titles gleamed in glass cabinets. Books in the basement, books in the attic. Four stories of books. How many, I wanted to know.
“Nine thousand, six hundred,” Ulfur answered. ”Approximately. The largest private book collection in Iceland.”
This book’s themes include history, mythology, psychology, and the significance of one’s family roots and heritage. I enjoyed it very much and will look forward to Christina Sunley’s next book.
2009, 342 pp.
[Disclaimer: This copy was obtained from the LibraryThing Early Reviewers program.]
Do you always read what you know you will like, or do you sometimes try to stretch yourself to see ‘what’s out there’? I go in cycles. Sometimes I have no patience for something that doesn’t fit my personality, and other times I do like to be exposed to books or other art that is far from my own personal norm.
Skim is not something I probably would have picked up if not for the Canadian Challenge or the Graphic Novel Challenge. It was also a quick read. While I very much sympathize with the typical teenage angst in the book, with themes of suicide, w*tchcr*ft, and hom*s*xual*ty, Skim just wasn’t for me. I do give the author credit, though, for writing the characters in such a way that the reader does feel their emotional pain. That alone, though, just wasn’t enough for me to enjoy the book.
Of course it’s every peasant whose forgiveness must be sought. But the rabbi’s point is even more tyrannical: nothing erases the immoral act. Not forgiveness. Not confession.
And even if an act could be forgiven, no one could bear the responsibility of forgiveness on behalf of the dead. No act of violence is ever resolved. When the one who can forgive can no longer speak, there is only silence.
Fugitive Pieces is a must read for those interested in Jewish fiction or the history of World War II. The book is told in two parts. In the first we have Jakob Beer, rescued as a child from the forces of WWII by a Greek scholar. He struggles mightily with the memories of his parents and sister. They haunt him throughout his life, overshadowing even the good. In the second, we have Ben, the son of two Holocaust survivors. He is much influenced by Jakob’s poetry, which helps him understand his parents’ deep emotional pain, and, in turn, his own. In this regard, I found the second section a bit reminiscent of Maus. In both parts, there is always the question of whether or not the survivors really and truly survived or if they are hopelessly caught in their pasts.
I have a difficult time reading anything about the Holocaust, even if it deals primarily about the aftermath of the survivors. But, I feel it is extremely important for me to do so. I highly recommend this book if you have a similar interest in this topic.
I must confess that I read this book to kill three birds with one stone. I needed a ‘Y’ title, a Canadian book, and a fantasy book so I could fit it into three challenges. I had always wanted to read de Lint anyway, so it seemed like a good fit. But, it really wasn’t. This was my first foray into urban fantasy and while I’m not giving up on it yet, I don’t know if I really like the genre.
Cat Midhir is an isolated Canadian fantasy writer who finds inspiration through her dreams. Suddenly, though, she has a severe writer’s block and cannot find the reason for it. She confides in Peter, a bookshop owner, and the two become friends. Peter helps her to open up and even thinks he can fix her up with his friend Ben. Meanwhile, Cat soon realizes she is being stalked and is afraid to go to her own home at night. Afraid of being alone, she begins spending more and more time with Peter.
This story actually reminded me a bit of Lisey’s Story by Stephen King. I was uncomfortable with aspects of that story, and was even more so with this one. Yarrow was much too gritty for my taste, but I’m usually in the minority on that score. On the positive side, de Lint knows how to build characters. I really, really liked the ‘good guys’ in this and really hated the bad ones. I probably will try at least one more of de Lint’s books before I make a final judgment. Any suggestions?
"For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are open to their prayer. But the face of the Lord is against those who do evil." Now who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good? (1 Peter 3:12-13, ESV)
This was my first book by Alice Munro, who was recently named as the 2009 Man Booker International Prize winner. This book of stories is a personal, though fictional, history of her family’s emigration from Scotland and their settlement in Canada. It was on the NYT Notable Book list in 2007.
Do you always read what you know you will like, or do you sometimes try to stretch yourself to see ‘what’s out there’? I go in cycles. Sometimes I have no patience for something that doesn’t fit my personality, and other times I do like to be exposed to books or other art that is far from my own personal norm.
