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Four Indigenous authors every Canadian should be reading right now

While this article only covers a fraction of the talent that can be found from Indigenous writers, here are four suggestions for getting started

The landscape of Canadian literature is vast and varied. However, it has long been dominated by several household names, such as Margaret Atwood, Alice Munro, and Leonard Cohen. As a result, many of Canada’s Indigenous writers have yet to receive the recognition they deserve within the Canadian literary sphere. Although this article aims to showcase several gripping works from four writers, it covers a sliver of the Indigenous talent that can be found within CanLit. With that said, I encourage you to expand your horizons next time you may be at Indigo, instead of expanding your Atwood or O’Neill collection.

Many of the books mentioned below undoubtedly deal with difficult subject matter, but they also offer a firsthand account from individuals who have been impacted by Canada’s failure to acknowledge the country’s devastating colonialist handling of Indigenous people. Here are four authors that will have you binge-reading way past your bedtime.

Eden Robinson

Even though Eden Robinson has released several successful books, the author is still deserving of a wider audience. The Haisla and Heiltsuk writer is best recognized for her first book Traplines. This collection of short stories is hard to put down, as it follows several characters who navigate life on a reservation. This work is a great choice for those who might find themselves struggling to become invested in novels, as each short story is not only digestible but will have you yearning for more.

Those who prefer a hearty novel should consider reading the Trickster trilogy. Robinson infuses a sense of subtle magic within each book; however, the plot is still grounded in the everyday lives of the main character, Jared, and his family. Robinson recently released the last book of the trilogy, Return of the Trickster, this year. Readers certainly won’t be disappointed.

Tomson Highway

Although the Cree writer is best associated with playwriting, he’s also released several children’s books and novels. His well-known work The Rez Sisters is a two-act play, and readers will find themselves drawn in by the raw dialogue and believable characters. Highway’s style is free of gimmicks; he says it as it is, so readers will respect the amount of honesty he instills in each of his works.

For those seeking a novel, consider checking out Highway’s Kiss of the Fur Queen. This novel follows two brothers who are torn from their family and sent to a residential school. While subject-wise many parts of this book are hard to get through, Highway’s characters are resilient, and their passion for music sustains them during difficult times. This heavy read is worth every second.

Joshua Whitehead

You’ve most likely seen the two-spirited, Oji-nêhiyaw writer’s latest book Jonny Appleseed on display at many independent bookstores around the city. Jonny Appleseed is an emotional read, one that follows the two-spirited protagonist’s journey, both off the reserve and back to it, as he prepares for his stepfather’s funeral.

Whitehead is also well known for his poetry collection titled full-metal indigiqueer. This collection follows Zoa, a hybridized Indigiqueer trickster, as they attempt to “re-beautify and re-member queer Indigeneity.”

Michelle Good

This Cree writer is best known for her compelling book Five Little Indians, which won her a Governor General’s Literary Award. While this book is fictional, it is based on real-life experiences from five Indigenous children who endured numerous atrocities at residential schools during the 1960s. This is another difficult read, but very much worth your time. It demands your attention, and will have you struggling to put it down, especially near the end.

Though Five Little Indians is her debut novel, an assortment of Good’s poetry can be found in collections, such as The Best Canadian Poetry 2016 and Gatherings Volume VII. Good utilizes natural elements, such as rivers and stones, to capture feelings of grief that she has grappled with throughout her life. These poems demonstrate Good’s keen eye for detail, as she crafts vivid landscapes that every reader will appreciate.

 

Graphic by James Fay

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Arts

A brief look at the life and work of Gwendolyn MacEwen

Having published over 20 books in her lifetime, the work from this Canadian writer still remains underappreciated to this day

Despite publishing over 20 books in her lifetime, Canadian poet and novelist Gwendolyn MacEwen remains one of Canadian literature’s most elusive and underappreciated writers. Born in Toronto in 1941, MacEwen grew up during a time when many young male writers, such as Leonard Cohen and Daryl Hine, were being discovered in Canada.

This made it extremely difficult for women to be accepted into the arts community as established writers. As well-known Canadian author Margaret Atwood notes in the introduction to MacEwen’s Volume One: The Early Years, “Women artists of any kind, in that still heavily-Freudian era, were assumed to have adjustment problems… if women insisted on doing rather than being, they were likely to end up with their heads in the oven.” This certainly didn’t deter MacEwen, and Atwood adds, “MacEwen wanted to be out on the sharp edge with the boys, not back in the kitchen with the girls.”

By age 16, she had several poems published in the well-respected literary journal The Canadian Forum. By 18, she left high school to continue honing her skill as a writer, and she soon wrote her first novel Julian the Magician. While many had warned her that adopting a career as a writer wasn’t a good move for a young woman, especially during the late fifties, she continued to churn out spellbinding work that would eventually win her the Governor General’s Literary Award in 1969.

While a quick Google search will offer relatively limited information about the writer, it remains clear from brief biographies that MacEwen’s life was a turbulent one. Her mother suffered from mental illness, spending long periods of time away from home in mental health institutions. Additionally, her father suffered from alcoholism.

In 1987, the writer’s own life came to a tragically early end due to complications arising from her own struggles with alcoholism.

Despite these unfortunate circumstances, MacEwen turned to writing as an escape. Atwood later notes in the introduction that “Her childhood was stressful; but the conviction that she would be a poet came to her as a saving grace in early adolescence.” MacEwen was able to not only craft fantastical settings and characters for herself, but also for her readers. While her work offers an escape, it also holds up a mirror to readers and demands that they take time to reflect on the world around them. Take for example this particular verse from one of her most well-known poems The Discovery. MacEwen writes:

When you see the land naked, look again / (burn your maps, that is not what I mean) / I mean the moment when it seems most plain / is the moment when you must begin again.

In her poems, she often encourages readers to push the boundaries of things they may interpret as both real or unreal. She also encourages readers to scrutinize even the most unsuspecting and ordinary of objects around them, such as clocks and coins.

MacEwen’s poems are guaranteed to take you on an adventure, but it certainly won’t be a breezy one. It’s one that challenges you, one that guides you to the darkest corners of the mind. And although MacEwen’s readers are left with many questions, they know not to expect answers. Perhaps that’s just part of her charm, and ultimately, her legacy.

 

Feature Graphic by James Fay

What Should I Read Next?

 Five book suggestions to help you with your daily commute

If there is one thing I love to do, it’s read books, and if there is a second thing I love, it’s to recommend my favourite ones to other people. Getting to share my love of reading with other people is fantastic. I like to think I am a well-read person because I read a variety of genres. With the school year starting up, and with more classes in person, students will be commuting more — so, I figured that I would choose a variety of books to recommend to help make the commute better.

The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz 

The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom is a book that discusses four rules we should follow in order to help better ourselves and our lives. Each rule is followed by a chapter that covers why that agreement is important, and provides information on how the rule can work in our lives, and how we can incorporate them all. The four agreements are: 1) Be impeccable with your word, 2) Don’t take anything personally, 3) Don’t make assumptions, and 4) Do your best.

With the start of back to school season, all the changes happening and the pandemic still going on, this book is amazing because it helps us to be less hard on ourselves. This is a book that focuses on making agreements with yourself. Sure, the self-help genre might be a little overrated sometimes, but Ruiz’s book is different. The Four Agreements allows you to be less hard on yourself and doesn’t sell you some fantasy about how to get rich quickly, or preach platitudes like everything happens for a reason. It is really about looking deeply into yourself and realizing that we aren’t perfect, and shouldn’t need to be perfect.

Home Body by Rupi Kaur 

Home Body is Rupi Kaur’s third poetry book, and like the other two, she captures many events and traumas that have occurred throughout her life. She writes her poems with no capital letters, and there are also her own drawings that accompany her poems.

When travelling, sometimes poetry books make the best companions. Poems get you to think, and with all the movement, sometimes reading something shorter is a little better. Rupi Kaur is an amazing poet with such interesting material; she talks a lot about her experience as a woman of colour and various traumas, and getting to step into her world even for just a short while is so moving. Even her shortest of poems will leave a lasting impact on the reader. I love this poetry collection more than words can express.

The Roommate by Rosie Danan 

The Roommate by Rosie Danan follows Josh and Clara who end up being roommates. Clara comes from a pretty high profile family, and Josh is a pretty well known porn star. At first, they seem like polar opposites, but with time, they realize they might actually be able to get along.

The experience of living with roommates is not all that new to many students, so I thought it would be fun to include a book that explores that as the main premise. This book is fun and presents sex in an interesting way, as the two main characters try to make porn more accessible to women, by making it for women. In my reading, I felt that the way the relationships between characters were described were much more realistic than most of those romance novels with the muscle man on the cover. If you are expecting more than a lighthearted and cute, romantic comedy, then perhaps this is not the book for you. That being said, if you want a cute book to distract you from all the people surrounding you on public transit, then I think this is a great choice!

The Last Time I Lied By Riley Sager 

The Last Time I Lied features Emma, a rising NYC socialite, who goes back to a summer camp fifteen years after an awful event occurred. Back when Emma was at the camp, her roommates left the room one night, and she was the last person who saw them alive. How she remembers things, and what happened are the main questions. Emma uses painting as a means of remembering, and she is asked back to the camp to help with teaching art.

Riley Sager has recently become one of my favourite authors. And of all of his books, this one was the most fitting for going back to school, as it takes place over a summer, and that love of summer goes away once the back to school period starts. This book kept me questioning what was happening the whole time. It’s one of those books that you just cannot seem to put down. The Last Time I Lied is such a good book because it has all the elements of a great suspense novel. It has the thrills, the action, and a lovely little twist that most readers would not expect. What’s better than a book that can captivate you when dealing with a long commute? Just don’t forget to look up once in a while because this is the kind of book that will make you miss your stop.

William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Mean Girls by Ian Doescher

What if Mean Girls took place in Shakespearean times? That is what William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Mean Girls tries to answer. The play takes various elements of Much Ado About Nothing and Mean Girls, and creates a whole new way of appreciating both the movie and Shakespeare’s play because it stays true to the Shakespearen style, and includes how this adaptation uses the variety of techniques that Shakespeare uses. The book focuses on the style and ways in which characters interact with each other in Shakespeare’s play, and applies that to the context of a teen high school flic.

Mean Girls is essentially one of the most quotable movies of my time, and Shakespeare is the most known playwright of all time. So, when Doescher combines them it makes for such an unexpectedly exciting and funny read. Also, with it being back to school season, why not go back and relive such a classic movie in a new way. Furthermore, the way William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Mean Girls is written is so seamless, it feels like the two worlds truly belong together. This play made me laugh so much — it is a fun read and makes for a great commuting companion.

 

Feature graphic by Madeline Schmidt

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Arts

What books are on our shelves in 2021?

A glimpse at what The Concordian staff plans to read this year

 

Lorenza Mezzapelle, Arts Editor

Most of the books I plan on reading this year aren’t even new releases, but worth mentioning nonetheless. Danielle Ofri’s What Doctors Feel: How Emotions Affect the Practice of Medicine is high up on my list, along with Stephen Brusatte’s The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs: A New History of a Lost World. I tend to gravitate towards non-fiction and I’m hoping these two will satisfy my curiosity and craving for a good, informative, niche read.

After reading Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly, I look forward to getting my hands on A Cook’s Tour: Global Adventures in Extreme Cuisines for more of his crude, yet eloquent, accounts of his gastronomic adventures. Reading Kitchen Confidential was like watching a really long episode of No Reservations; I often found myself chuckling at his (mostly) inappropriate jokes, all while being entirely enthralled by what he was saying.

I also recently bought How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence by Michael Pollan, as well as The Body: A Guide for Occupants by Bill Bryson, both of which I’m super eager to read.

 

Chloë Lalonde, Creative Director

In all honesty, I’ve been on a reading-for-leisure hiatus for years. University and work has left me wanting to indulge in the immediacy of audio-visual media, rather than the whimsical written world. But recently, and by recent I mean summer/fall 2020, I finished Eva Holland’s Nerve and Marie-Hélène Larochelle’s Daniil & Vanya, for reviewing purposes. It was a great reintroduction to reading for fun, and I hope 2021 can be the year I relearn to love reading. My mom gave me her second copy of the Bridgerton Prequel, First Comes Scandal, and because of TikTok, I will be seeking House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. I cannot guarantee I will actually read these, but I really, really hope I do.   

 

Michelle Lam, Social Media Manager

I’ve also been on a reading-for-leisure hiatus for longer than I care to admit, but I’ve started getting back into it during the winter break! I read 101 Essays That Will Change The Way You Think by Brianna Wiest over the break, and recommend it to everyone. I am currently reading The Defining Decade by Meg Jay and am pretty upset that my twenties are being spent during a pandemic.

Up next on my reading list is Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb and The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk. Maybe I’ll finally finish Homo Deus by Yuval Noah Harari, but don’t hold me to it.

I’m open to book recommendations if you have any!

 

Aviva Majerczyk, Commentary Editor

Since quarantine and my use of social media more broadly have zapped the attention-holding part of my brain, I find I often gravitate to books of essays over full-fledged novels. With that, as a female writer in her twenties, it seemed only right to start getting into Joan Didion, so I am currently reading Slouching Towards Bethlehem. Also on my bookshelf needing to be finished is the series of essays, Wow, No Thank You by Samantha Irby. Irby writes in a way that is hilariously self deprecating but not pitiful, I’d definitely recommend it.

Another book I plan on purchasing is Lightning Flowers: My Journey to Uncover the Cost of Saving a Life by Katherine E. Standefer. I had the privilege of seeing Standefer read an essay of hers at a conference I worked at in 2018, and her prose moved me to tears. I’m incredibly excited to read this memoir (and probably cry again).

Last on my list is Culture Warlords by Talia Lavin. The alt-right pipeline and online radicalization are major interests of mine and Lavin has been sounding the alarm on these issues for years now. So, I’m eager to read her take on the situation.

 

Katerina Barberio, Revenue Manager

I do not own a bookshelf nor do I ever plan on having one — who even has space for one anyway? Asking a person who does not own a bookshelf which books are on her 2021 book list is quite the tall task. So, I’ll admit: I asked my peers, friends, family and co-workers what they intend to read this year.

Think Like a Monk, Jay Shetty, suggested by Amelia Barberio

Greenlights, Matthew McConaughey, suggested by myself

Institute, Stephen King, suggested by Anthony Lepore

Atomic Habits, James Clear, suggested by Sabrina Badin

What I Know For Sure, Oprah Winfrey, suggested by Joanne Erimos

The Investment Zoo, Stephen A. Jarislowsky, suggested by Giovanni Barberio

Power of Now, Eckhart Tolle, suggested by Vicki De Paoli

The Answer is…, Alex Trebek, suggested by Andrew Trombino

Becoming, Michelle Obama, suggested by Louise Starnino

Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, suggested by Jessica Trombino

A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, Holly Jackson, suggested by Alyssa Barberio

A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry, suggested by Caroline Chagnon

Home Body, Rupi Kaur, suggested by Julia Rinaldi

Elon Musk, Ashlee Vance, suggested by Frank Trombino

Bonus: Marc Richardson writes for Grailed, an online marketplace where you can buy and sell menswear. His style of writing takes some time to get accustomed to, however, once you do, you wish everyone wrote like him. I definitely intend to read most of his articles in 2021.

I admittedly already read Greenlights from McConaughey which was graciously given to me by my boyfriend. It’s a biography and a story at the same time. This quote summarizes the book: “We cannot fully appreciate the light without the shadows. We have to be thrown off balance to find our footing. It’s better to jump than fall. And here I am.” I mean… alright, alright, alright.

 

Lillian Roy, Editor-in-Chief 

After one two many nights scrolling endlessly through Tik Tok until 4 a.m., I figured it was finally time to ban phone use before bed. Instead, I took to reading before I go to sleep, a habit that I lost somewhere during my teenage years. So far, I’ve read Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles, a beautiful book that made me full-on weep, and Brit Bennet’s The Vanishing Half, another great book that I cannot recommend enough. Currently, I’m reading Naomi Novik’s A Deadly Education, which I haven’t been enjoying as much, but the cheesy enemies-to-friends-to-lovers plot is keeping me going.

I just ordered a bunch of new reading material, so I should be set for awhile. Here it is, with some brief descriptions:

Anthony Doerr’s All The Light We Cannot See: two children navigate the terrors of WWII

Madeline Miller’s Circe: an adaption of the story of Circe, an enchantress from Greek mythology

Adam Silvera’s They Both Die At The End: two characters find out they’re going to die by the end of the day and decide to go on one last adventure

Kate Elizabeth Russel’s My Dark Vanessa: a woman grapples with the inappropriate relationship she had with a teacher when she was a teenager

Ann Napolitano’s Dear Edward: the sole survivor of a plane crash tries to reconnect with himself after losing everything

If you can’t tell, I like to read books that make me cry. Here goes nothing!

 

Graphic by Lily Cowper.

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Arts

Verses from Montréal offers something for everyone

B.R. Houtman discusses experience, writing, and his debut novel

B.R. Houtman’s Verses from Montréal is for the lovers, the wanderers and all those in between. Set to the backdrop of his first year in Montreal, Houtman explores the city and recounts his experiences through a fresh set of eyes. Houtman decided to spend some time away from his home in Victoria B.C., where he soon fell in love with Montreal and all it had to offer. Although he had been writing poetry prior to moving, his new surroundings inspired him to devote more time to honing his skill. The writer’s debut poetry compilation captures what it means to be part of something more and how those in the city celebrate life in all its most beautiful and complicated states. Split into four sections, the book has a chapter dedicated to each season, offering something for everyone.

“I will say that with the whole seasonal theme and the structure, the premise going into it was that every season is a stage from the human life,” explains Houtman. “At the beginning, it’s a lot of poems about falling in love and these new experiences when I was getting to Montreal.”

Through each section, readers are awarded a glimpse into the author’s ruminations as he falls in sync with the bustle of the city. Although many poems in the book are dedicated to the city’s eccentricities, Houtman sheds light on the intricate moments that make up each of our lives.

While numerous poems were scrawled down during rides on the metro and other outings, it took the author about four months to compile his work and another four to prepare it for publishing. Although the process was arduous at times, the most challenging part for Houtman came after the book had been released.

“Poetry has always been a release and something that is very personal, so I think something that I didn’t expect to be so challenging was making the decision to share it,” he says. “It’s very revealing and you’re making yourself very vulnerable, so that took me a while to get over.”

While every writer has a unique routine, Houtman maintains an allotted time every day to write. “I’m pretty regimented in the sense that I sit down, and I have my times, maybe a few hours in a day,” he says. “I think it has been very fruitful to me, but it may not be how others approach it.”

When his book was finally released back in June, Houtman was pleased to find that readers were connecting to his words on a personal level.

“I think the biggest thing for me is really trying to be true to yourself and recognizing that these things that feel very individual to you are more universal human experiences,” says Houtman. “I think what I’ve realized through this process is if you stay true to representing your own thoughts, you end up being able to connect with people who have those same thoughts in such an intimate way.”

Those looking to purchase a copy of Verses from Montréal can buy directly from Houtman’s website or can visit Librairie St-Henri, Drawn & Quarterly, État de Style, The Word and Librairie l’Échange. 

 

Photos courtesy of B.R. Houtman

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Arts

Argo Bookshop re-emerges from the choppy waters of COVID-19

How one bookstore adapted to survive the pandemic

Argo Bookshop, Montreal’s oldest English-language bookstore, is returning to business and reaching readers in novel ways as Quebec’s lockdown eases.

After teaching linguistics at Concordia University and managing a successful YouTube channel, The Ling Space, New Jersey-born Moti Lieberman, together with co-owner Adèle-Elise Prévost, made the decision to acquire the bookstore from the previous owner in 2017.

Located on Ste-Catherine Street in the Shaughnessy Village, Argo, which opened its doors for the first time in 1966, was ordered to close on Mar. 23 like all other non-essential businesses in Quebec. The lockdown has since eased, and Argo is adapting to the evolving situation.

“We thought we could continue to serve as an anchor for the literary community,” said Lieberman. “Bookstores are really important features of communities, and without one I think this area would be impoverished.”

Argo specializes in books on linguistics, Japanese literature and books authored by LGBTQ writers.

“Diversity became a watchword for us,” said Lieberman. “Whoever you are, you can come in and see yourself reflected in the books that we are selling because we think it should be an inclusive and welcoming space. That’s really what we view the mission of the store to be.

“Our business model before [COVID-19] was really focused on the local community,” Lieberman added. Allowing customers to “come in and discover stuff which they wouldn’t necessarily have run into before is not possible now.”

In response to the pandemic, the bookshop offers its clients deliveries and curbside pick-ups.

“We had to really retool the way the business works,” Lieberman explained. “We had to cancel all in-store events for the year. We had a lot of stuff that had been planned for the summer, which was in a way the hardest thing for me.”

Instead of giving up on events altogether, Argo has been hosting readings, book clubs, and virtual author visits via Zoom for the past few months.

“In a way, we’ve expanded some of the people that we work with,” said Lieberman. “The vibe isn’t the same as having everyone in a room together and building an atmosphere that way together, but I think some of these events we wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise, like the one where we invited people from around the world.”

While the owners have found creative ways of reaching readers, Lieberman misses the store as it used to be.

“The thing that I miss most is the ability to just talk with people about books and about topics and authors that they’re really passionate about,” said Lieberman. “The way we have to do things currently is definitely a step down, but we felt that it was important that we would give people activities to do during the period where lockdown was happening so we actually extended our event range a bit.”

Argo is taking precautions to ensure the security of its clients, including regular handwashing, installing plexiglass screens by the cash register, and requiring the use of masks and hand sanitizer. The store is also implementing other measures like limiting the store’s capacity and discouraging browsing clients from handling books.

Despite the bookstore’s challenges, Argo’s delivery service has allowed it to reach new customers, especially in the months of April and May.

“A lot of people found us during that time who I don’t think were familiar with the store already,” he said.

Business has stabilized after a rocky start to the lockdown.

“I don’t want to say that we’re out of the woods,” Lieberman said. “But the support from the community and people who have been going out of their way to order stuff from us because they wanted us to continue being here… we’re really overwhelmed by it emotionally.”

What are Argo’s plans for the future?

“If we can make it through this, we would like to continue doing the sort of stuff we had been doing before and maybe get back to some of the initiatives for bringing in authors,” Lieberman said. “But so much is up in the air.”

For more information about events, visit Argo Bookshop at 1915 Ste-Catherine St W. or https://www.argobookshop.ca/.

 

Photo by Kit Mergeart

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Opinions

Note to Shelf: Reading ruts and mental health

“Rut: a habit or pattern of behaviour that has become dull and unproductive but is hard to change” – Merriam Webster.

Yeah, no kidding. It also always seems to come at an inconvenient time—like writing ruts when you need this article done by tomorrow at the latest, and inspiration doesn’t come to you until 5 a.m. the day of. Ruts that prevent you from getting your life together and organizing yourself, ending with you having a mental breakdown because the one thing preventing you from doing so is your own damn self.

All of these are manageable to me (HAH). Mostly because after the mental breakdown, a flow of uncontrollable tears and constant sobs, I actually get stuff done. But, if there is one thing I never seem to shake off for long periods of time, it’s reading ruts.

Every bookworm has them. Reading ruts can last from one month to an entire year. Some have them for years because life gets too tiring to trouble yourself with words on paper, and Netflix gets too exciting. Some just stop reading like they used to altogether, and boast about how they once hoarded arrays of novels, but now feel okay with just reading their morning newspaper and taking it easy. I don’t like those people. Yes, mum, I’m talking about you.

I personally loathe, and yes I’m using a strong here, loathe reading ruts simply because my life is hell when they happen. Now some might think I’m being too dramatic when I say this, but hear me out. Or read me out, in this case. Heh. 

Ever since I was a kid, while averse to novels mostly because my attention span was too short, I found solace in reading. From the ages of seven to 11, I would devour any French comic book I could get my hands on. From W.I.T.C.H mag (yes, I read it in French), to Titeuf, to Tom-Tom et Nana, I would eat up every word, and plead my mother to buy me the following volumes as soon as she could. It wasn’t much, but I was still reading.

When I was the same age as Harry was when he got his letter to Hogwarts, my sister dropped the first book of the Harry Potter series into my lap and told me to read it. That it would be a life-changing experience. And so began my love for books. Not just reading anymore, but books.

I was so accustomed to reading so much so fast that I didn’t understand why people were amazed by it. It was so natural to me. It was home, it was happiness, it was serenity. No movie, TV series or cartoon ever made me feel as whole as a good book.

This is why whenever I am in a reading rut, which has been happening quite often, my mental health begins to take a beating. I become irritated, sad and cranky. Because I feel like there is something I am supposed to be doing, but I can’t do it. I pick up a book, and the words mean nothing to me. I am unable to get past two chapters without throwing the novel across the room, and wishing I could just focus for one damn minute. The ruts get so dark, I find myself inclined to stop reading altogether.

That is until a good friend recommends a novel that gets you right back to it. That offers you the greatest of all gifts and makes you feel alive again—a novel you find yourself unable to put down, reading it over and over and over again. Back in the saddle, as they say, engrossed in a fictional world— where you always belonged. 

 

Graphic by @sundaeghost

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Opinions

Note from a Trusty Gryffindor’s Shelf

When I was a kid, my mom and I took turns reading bedtime stories together. Most have burned themselves into my memory: Max and Ruby: Bunny Cakes, Robert Munsch’s Purple, Green and Yellow, Ghost and Pete… The list goes on.

I still dream of the pink, sparkly cake Ruby made in the book; I think of Purple, Green and Yellow every time I use markers of those colours, and find Ghost and Pete’s rhymes stuck in my head obnoxiously often for someone who hasn’t read the book in more than a decade and a half. How many toes does a skeleton have? Ten! Sing it again!

But one book stands out among the rest. One shapes the person I am today, impacts where I choose to travel to, and found me repeatedly jabbing a needle dipped in ink into my left ankle two weekends ago––a line inside of a circle inside of a triangle.

(soft whimsical music playing)

Harry Potter. If you know me, you absolutely knew that was coming. Read on or don’t, I don’t care.

Unfortunately, I often seem to find myself surrounded by people who either are indifferent towards or actively hate Harry Potter. Please hold while I call their mothers to ask if they dropped them on their heads as infants. What kid doesn’t dream of an alternate universe in which the fantastic creatures of our imaginations actually… exist? Also, I don’t think I’ve ever actively hated anything as strongly as these people seem to hate Harry Potter, except maybe beets. What’s up with all the rage, muggles?

I don’t know about you, but I spent most of my childhood playing in an imaginary land my cousins and I created out of thin air. Don’t call a psychologist just yet, pals, because I had a pet dragon and you didn’t. No, I couldn’t see it. But to me, that didn’t mean it wasn’t there (shoutout to Albus Dumbledore). Sydney Buckbeak Bashyball the Third was very much alive to me––he was red, had yellow spikes down his spine, and could spit fire.

I distinctly remember spending hours reading the Harry Potter books from cover to cover as they were released. I went to the events Indigo would host on release dates, during which they kept the stores open until midnight. These books and films shaped my childhood, and, much like “Friends” and “Gilmore Girls,” they feel like home. Heck, I have a Marauder’s Map on my living room wall. Oh, and a poorly-drawn Deathly Hallows symbol on my ankle for the rest of my life.

So, be indifferent towards Harry Potter, if you will, but to actively hate it seems a little unnecessary, and it feels like dismissing magic as a whole. I can’t wrap my head around why anyone would want to do that.

And if you’re one of those people who has never read the books, meaning you’re basing your opinion entirely on the movies––do yourself a favour and read them. I am not ashamed to say that I have yet to find any book as enthralling as this series.

Mischief managed.

 

Photo by Matthew Coyte.

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Note to Shelf: An Ode to Fantasy

I live in my own world. I genuinely believe in magic, and if you ask me, God and the Universe are one and the same. My most trusted confidante is the Grim Reaper, and my happy place is that little hour in the morning where you can still see the stars, but the sun’s starting to rise—that space of time where polar opposites merge and create a little thing called magic hour.

Confusing? Maybe. But considering fantasy novels have shaped my belief system and helped me cope with fears within me that I have yet to fully understand, it makes sense that my head works a little…. oddly.

Out of the endless pit of fantastical creatures such as vampires, werewolves and witches, my fantasy home is the faerie world. Three years ago I picked up a random book at Indigo, by an author called Sarah J. Maas. It was Throne of Glass, a novel about an assassin that was enslaved and later taken to compete against other assassins at the castle. I will not spoil, but A LOT HAPPENS.

The series was made up of 10 books in total, and every single one is worth it.

Throne of Glass then introduced me to A Court of Thorns and Roses by the same author––a series consisting of three giant books, and a smaller tale of “the time after.” I read this series three times in two years, in two different languages. I will be reading it again in Spanish this summer. I cannot get enough.

Here’s the thing about fantasy novels—they’re a perfect balance between a reflection of egregious real-life politics, the inevitable evil that haunts us in our world, and escapism. 

Fantasy is a genre that not only feeds your imagination and trains you to see things in ways that are otherworldly, but it also allows you to draw parallels with real life and understand things from a different perspective.

Game of Thrones sets a rather clear theme: the use politics for personal gain—at one point I was sure that Cersei was the fantasy version of Trump. Daenerys represented the left, and Jon Snow… well I’m still not sure what exactly he represented, but something to do with being in a perpetual state of conflict between doing the right thing and not wanting to get involved seems about right!

In books, you’re allowed a peek into a character’s mind—everything is humanized, even if the characters aren’t human. Emotional struggles, political situations, plans, secrets, all are things you as a reader are exposed to, and made to relate to.

Being able to deconstruct a situation in a fantasy novel and pinpoint similarities within your own life is a skill that breeds a better understanding of human relations. When a character is described, their thoughts and emotions are there. There is reasoning behind every decision, even the ones that are wrong. What that showed me was that everything people do is a reflection of who they are, what they’re going through. In other words, it simply taught me to not take things personally. Or at least to always try not to!

Reading about dark and creepy creatures haunting my favourite characters and the way they deal with them helped me deal with my own—I have a severe fear of inherent evil, I refuse to believe that anything is just evil, even magical creatures. What I loved the most about Maas’ books is that true to real life, there isn’t a clear line between good and bad—bad characters do good things, and good characters do bad things.

Simply put, fantasy novels show you a world that is so fundamentally different than yours, but creates links and bonds that shatter whatever preconceived ideas you had, and forces you to see things in a different light. Grim Reaper? Not always evil. Suriel, the monster from A Court of Thorns and Roses? Okay, kinda evil, but also restores balance.

Teaching you to break down preconceived notions and forcing you to understand a different kind of creature, even building fundamental similarities—fantasy novels, in so many ways, teach you to be accepting, non-judgemental and to appreciate even the things you hate or fear.

Well, how did I come to have the Grim Reaper as my closest confidante? That, little faeries, is a tale for another time. 

 

Graphic by @justineprovost.design

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Note to shelf: An ode to Joan Didion

Though I tend to deny it, I am definitely a judge-a-book-by-its-cover kind of person.

I most often pick up a book because I am attracted to it’s matte cover, geometric typeface, muted colors and overall minimalistic design. As a serial consumer of nonfiction, and someone who is drawn to interesting and simplistic book covers, it was about time that I delved into one of Joan Didion’s heartfelt memoirs.

My personal library is full to the brim, quite literally, as there is no more room and my books are everywhere; stacked on my night table, under my bed, on the floor near my shelf, on my desk, and in my closet, to name a few places. It consists mostly of autobiographies, memoirs, nonfiction, and a few of the classics that I always say I will read but can never seem to get into. Fiction has never quite done it for me. I guess what I look for in a book is that human aspect. Didion did not let me down.

Some might say that I am all too predictable, in that I decided to first read her renowned 2005 memoir, The Year of Magical Thinking.

Didion dances with death in the most matter-of-fact way. She is at once honest, raw, pessimistic, and truthful, offering her personal account of the impact of loss on her life. She records her thoughts, actions and mental state over the span of a year, as she deals with grief and mourning.

The writer’s life is often depicted in an unattainable and glamorous way, with many references to multiple flights from JFK to LAX and parties with famous musicians. Despite this, she manages to tackle topics that affect everyone, in a way that resonates with the reader and demonstrates that no amount of wealth can save one from the ramifications of loss.

Upon finishing the last few pages and closing the back cover of the book, I was left staggering at her eloquence and relatability. Didion left me with that “I wish I wrote that,” feeling that I am so rarely left with after reading a book.

However, I am not surprised that her work would feel me leaving this way. I first discovered Didion’s work through intensive research on the past editors of American Vogue, where Didion started her career. After stumbling upon her essay Self-Respect: It’s Source, It’s Power, I was immediately drawn to her history and her character, years before even picking up one of her novels. I aspire towards Didion’s level of journalistic and literary talent and yearn to possess a malleability that could bring my writing to anywhere from the glossy pages of Vogue, to the New York Times. At once personal and collective, her work reads like a personal memoir, but is journalistic at its core.

It is rare to find something that speaks to us on such a personal level, be it through friendships, romantic relationships, literature, or song. Didion’s words resonate with me in a way that no other person or thing has ever done before. From her heart wrenching account of life after her daughter’s passing in Blue Nights, to the exceptionally realistic helplessness you are left feeling after watching The Panic in Needle Park, Didion’s work remains raw, personal, and a perfect example of why words and writing hold such a significant place in the lives of many.

Her renowned quote “we tell ourselves stories in order to live,” truly lives up to its popularity, and most definitely resonates with me and my life. Words have been significant to me for as long as I could remember, both through good times and bad; I have finished an innumerable amount of novels, poetry books, and completed personal journals and notepads, filled with thoughts, quotes, personal essays, and short stories.

I, like Didion, and like many, have been telling myself stories in order to live. I have found comfort in her words, I have found familiarity in the echo of her voice as she recites passages from her works, be it in interviews or in the 2017 biographical documentary Joan Didion: The Center Will Not Hold. Time and time again, her poignant use of language proves the many ways in which good writing can provide one with consolation. Without a doubt, Joan Didion is the one person I would choose to invite as my celebrity dinner guest, the one famous person I would like to meet, and ultimately, the one writer who continues to remind me of why I write.

Graphic by @sundaeghost

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Note to Shelf: My Jane Austen Experience

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an alarmingly high number of readers have gone through at least one of Jane Austen’s novels. 

In fact, it is a moral imperative to read at least one of her books in your lifetime.

Austen is known as one of the most revolutionary writers of English literature, not only for being one of the few female authors of her time, but for exposing the many struggles women face in society. Despite all her stories ending in matrimony, she makes sure to focus on the importance of romance, understanding, and a person’s good nature in any relationship.

I honestly feel like a fraud writing about Jane Austen, when I’ve only read two of her novels, and gagged through the other four, but hey, it’s my column *kid shrug.*

I have been a book-devourer for the past 10 years, and have only read Northanger Abbey, and the ever-coveted Pride and Prejudice. 

How monstrous do I have to be to gag through Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Persuasion? I’ll tell you why: I started with her best-seller.

Reading Pride and Prejudice at 14 was a bit of a hassle — but then again, every book I read at that age was tough to get through. I wanted to improve my vocabulary by reading classics, and hone my English skills. Thing is, by doing so, I missed out on actually enjoying the story and characters, and ended up hating the novel.

Two years later, it was assigned as a reading  for a class, and by then I was actually excited to read it again — and it did not disappoint. From the obvious dream-boat that is Mr. Darcy, to the ever-so-popular, snarky, tenacious, and spirited Elizabeth Bennet, this book easily became one of my favourite classics to date. I find myself reading it over and over again every year, because nothing compares to the fluttering butterflies that Austen’s descriptive passages incite in me — from Darcy’s enamoured gazes, to his devoted and loving words.

Having enjoyed this novel so much the second time around, I decided to broaden my Jane Austen library and purchase all of her books. Unfortunately, none of them had the same effect. Northanger Abbey came pretty close, in spite of Austen’s blatant criticism of gothic literature, an unsurprisingly favourite genre of mine, but the other four were a nightmare.

Persuasion was too confusing, Mansfield Park a dreaded bore, I didn’t even make it past the first chapter of Sense and Sensibility, and Emma really infuriated me. 

As cliché and untruthful as this might sound, I think my downfall was starting at the top of the pyramid instead of working my way up. What do I mean by that? Pride and Prejudice is known for putting Austen on the map as one of the most renowned authors in English literature. This is why it is present in most school curriculums. Although it isn’t her last book, it is, in my opinion, her finest work. Some would disagree with me, claiming Pride and Prejudice to be overrated and basic. Perhaps they’re right, and I’m wrong, but again, it’s my column, so *hush.*

Word of advice to ye who chooseth to venture into the realm of Jane the Austen: maybe leave Mr. Darcy for last.

 

Photo by Laurence B.D.

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Note to Shelf: God Golly, Miss Holly

There aren’t many readers who will admit to preferring the movie version of a book they read. In fact, it is more often frowned upon. Words can never translate perfectly on screen; no matter how great the team you assemble is.

There are times when films are simply inspired by the books, borrowing snippets here and there, creating their own plot-lines and endings, making it impossible for us to choose sides. Simply because they are not the same.

Take Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s for example. WARNING, spoilers ahead.

Most people forget that one of Audrey Hepburn’s most popular films was actually based off Capote’s complex work of literature. And when I say complex, I don’t mean the novel is hard to read or decipher. I mean it has layers. Or rather, Miss Holiday Golightly has layers.

Hepburn fans and movie lovers know Holly Golightly as a lost, witty, and coquette little girl who struggles to find herself a home. That is, as many Hollywood clichés go, until she falls in love with Paul Varjak, and shares a passionate kiss in the rain, finally letting go of her fear of commitment. The movie is an ode to all commitment-phobes, with Paul’s infamous speech to Holly, calling her a coward because she’s afraid to let herself go; to love and be loved. A speech that does not occur in the book.

People, myself included, often prefer the movie because of its lightheartedness and fairytale ending. Because we don’t want to watch Holly struggle anymore. Because we need to believe that things end well, even the most improbable ones. We anxiously wait for Hepburn to find Cat in the last scene, because we need that reassurance that not everything, or anyone is lost forever.

But that is not the case for Capote’s Holly.

In the novel, Holly never finds a home and remains a lone wolf. Or as she so poetically dubs herself, “a wild thing.” And though she often relishes in that aspect of herself, she lets her guard down with the narrator, with that infamous telling line: “it’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.”

In the novel, Holly never finds her cat, and there is no Paul to sweep her off her feet, kiss her under the rain, and tell her he wants to love her. The narrator does dote on her, but there is no telling it’s in a romantic way. He cares for her, and her approval, because she appears to be this cool, racy girl; with a mysterious past, a wild present, and a constant fear of the future.

Where Hollywood’s version of Holly is a coquette glamour girl, Capote’s Holly is a mess, and, for lack of a better word, sometimes a bitch. She has no regard for anyone but herself, because she has never known peace, love, or comfort. And those are hard things to come to terms with when reading the book; which explains why Hollywood resorted to a happier version.

Most of the books I read leave me with a sense of warmth. But Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s left me with an uneasy feeling in my heart, and a cold shiver down my spine. And made me wonder whether most, if not all of us, have a little Holly Golightly with the mean reds inside of us.

 

Graphic by @sundaeghost

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