All posts by Steven Buechler

About Steven Buechler

While I have a media background, I love the concept of reading - especially books - and the quiet forms of discourse it brings. Any reviews I do on here I do on my own time and not-for-profit. My followers - mainly fellow book lovers - tell me that they love the way I show segments of books that I review (and no copyright infringement is intended) I am truly grateful for any advance reading copies of books that I receive and in those cases will not post segments of those books before there publication date. One day soon I hope to actually have a 'library of tranquility' when time and resources allow.

” I think novelists get a bit squirrelly when reality starts to become stranger than fiction” | Q&A with Writer Mark Sampson on his Novel “All The Animals on Earth”

We are no doubt being cursed by living in interesting times. Many of us readers are looking for something “interesting” to read and pass the time with. And some of us are picking up old projects to bring interesting things to the world. Mark Sampson has been a favourite writer in my library for a while. I was thrilled when I found he has a new novel coming out and he was willing to answer a few questions for me.

****

1) First off, could you give a bit of an overview of All The Animals on Earth?


I describe the story as a parody of a post-apocalyptic or dystopian novel. Whereas most of these tales start out with a fully populated world that sees its numbers wiped out by a plague or war or some kind of bureaucratic mismanagement, mine is the opposite. It starts out with a depopulated world, because in this reality most people just don’t feel like having kids anymore. The cratering birth rates cause all manner of social and economic calamity, and so scientists and the government come up with a process, called “pullulation,” that allows them to transform certain species of birds and mammals into humanoid form. But there is, naturally, a terrible accident that causes pullulation to spread across the globe and basically quadrupling our population overnight.  Suddenly there are too many people on Earth, not too few. 
These new humanoids, nicknamed “blomers,” start taking over, bringing with them very strange and unsettling rituals. These include a rather liberal approach to public sex, and a violence against a particular subset of their own kind. Through it all, my button-down protagonist, an HR manager for a mid-size insurance company named Hector Thompson, grapples with the massive change that the blomers’ existence brings to his job, marriage, friendships and the rest. 


2) Was there something specific in reality that made you want to write this book? And is there a real-life inspiration for your protagonist Hector Thompson?

I got the idea for the story on my wedding day, actually. My wife (novelist and short story writer Rebecca Rosenblum) and I married at a relatively late age – I was 37; she was 34 – and I remember coming to a stark realization that day: everyone in our wedding party, bridesmaids and groomsmen – were all in their 30s and nobody (as yet) had any children. Either they had chosen to have no kids at all, or they were putting off procreating for as long as they could. This struck me as a particular trend of our generation, and so different from what came before, at least in my family. (My paternal grandmother, for example, had five kids by the time she was 27. My own mom had me at 25).  And so I began to imagine what would happen if this trend just got more and more extreme as the generations went on, and the dire consequences it might bring, and how the world might try to solve those problems – and then the whole absurdist narrative began to unfold from there.


As for Hector, no, there is no real-life inspiration for him. But when I was working as a journalist in Australia 15 years ago, I did have, as my “beat,”  the topic of human resources, industrial relations, and occupational health and safety. So I spent a lot of time interviewing HR managers back then, talking to them about hiring, firing, talent retention, benefits and compensation, plus awkward conversations they often need to have with staff about wardrobe choices and personal hygiene, etc. And so a lot of those conversations ended up helping to shape both Hector’s professional life and his personality.  


3) Considering the current situation of the health of humanity, how do you feel about this book?


It’s weird. These are strange times, and it’s stranger still to be releasing a post-apocalyptic book during a global pandemic. A lot of people, especially here in the so-called “West,” are dealing with things they’ve never had to deal with before – not being able to go wherever they want, facing empty supermarket shelves, living with fear for their safety on a daily basis. (Others, obviously, have experienced these things every moment of their lives.) So maybe my weird little book about a rapidly transformed world will resonate on that level.  Having said that, I think novelists get a bit squirrelly when reality starts to become stranger than fiction. I know I felt that way on 9/11 and when Donald Trump got elected US president, and again now, during COVID-19. Writers like Stephen King and Don DeLillo are probably thinking, “Buzz off reality. Stop stealing my moves!”  


4) Normally I would be asking about a book tour at this point, but I am assuming that anything like that is on hold right now. Are you planning to increase your presence on your social media platforms now to interact with fans? If no, why not?

Yeah, no, I have nothing booked as of yet for this novel. No readings, no appearances, no events. I may try to do something online in the interim, but I’m taking a wait and see approach for now. The priority is to stay safe and do what health officials are recommending.


5) We have talked about how your writing has evolved over time. Do you sense any differences with this book compared to your previous works? Do you have any regrets or disappointments  with your earlier works that you notice now?


All the Animals on Earth is much different territory for me. It’s certainly the weirdest thing I’ve ever written, and it really took me out of my comfort zone creativelye. But it’s odd how there are also some alignments with the themes in my other works. I’m very obsessed with people’s working lives. I’m very interested in how people’s inner views of themselves don’t align with how they’re perceived by others, and these themes continue to crop up even in this strange, off-kilter work. I don’t have any regrets per se about previous books, but plenty of disappointments. Like a lot of writers, I’m sad my backlist hasn’t done better, hasn’t sold more or won awards or attracted more attention. But whatever. I just keep on keeping on, trying to build a body of work I can be proud of. Mine is a small but generous readership, and I’m grateful for what I have. 


6) You mentioned in a previous Q&A that you exchange thoughts and ideas with your wife, the writer Rebecca Rosenblum. Did she play a part in the creation of this book? 


Yes, Rebecca read an early draft and, as usual, provided lots of wise and wonderful feedback on the manuscript. Letting her see work once I’ve gotten it to a certain point has become just another part of my process. I do pretty much the same for her, too.


7) No doubt you are working on your next work. Are there details you care to tell your fans about this next work?


After finishing a working draft of All the Animals on Earth, I switched gears and spent about 16 months working on a collection of interconnected short stories that sort of went bust. I got about five or six pieces in and realized they were all structure and no story, nothing there to hold them together, and so last fall I made the difficult decision to set the project aside. Then, almost immediately, I began work on another novel, and I’ve been having a blast with it ever since, working on it like a madman. I’m closing in on finishing a rough first draft, despite having only started it back in October. I can’t say much about it, other than it’s a horror novel set on my native Prince Edward Island. 

*****

Link to Wolsak & Wynn website for “All the Animals on Earth.”

Link to Mark Sampson’s blog “Free Range Reading”

When Our Perceptions Are Forced To Change – Repeatedly | Review of “Akin” by Emma Donoghue (2019) HarperCollins Publishers

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We are all creatures of habit. Our thoughts and beliefs force us into realms of convenience that make us believe our lives are perfect for us. Yet we find ourselves being thrust into situations that force us to change not only our lifestyles but our personal beliefs and understandings. Emma Donoghue has given us a touching example of this example in her touching novel Akin.

Page 4

Was that five pairs of socks or six? He counted them again.

For the past nine years, on his own, Noah had kept himself too busy for vacations. There’d been hints that he should retire, of course; barbed remarks from colleagues, cost-cutting ones from the dean, benevolent ones from women friends, to the effect that Noah should learn to kick back, live a little, join a choir or take up tai chi in Central Park. His little sister, Fernande, was the only one who’d never suggested it, even though she’d retired from her receptionist job with relief at sixty-five. She must have guessed that her widowed brother needed to stay tethered to the surface of the earth. Having classes to teach – the hard slog of preparation and performance and marking – had reassured him of that much.

Donaghue gives us Noah as a protagonist. We meet this ‘still seventy-nine’ as he is packing his bags for a long-overdue vacation to his child hometown of Nice, France. In that opening we engage his thoughts learning that he had a long career in scientific research and academia He is recently widowed yet still has conversations with his wife in his head. His life was settled and contemplative when all of the sudden the phone rings and a social worker begs him to take care of an eleven-year-old great nephew in desperate need of care.

Pages 12-13

“Sorry not to be of more use, Ms. Figueroa” -no trouble remembering the name the crook had given, now, if he took a split second to get the vowels in the correct sequence – “but I’ve got to go now.”

“Please.”

It wasn’t the word but Rosa Figueroa’s tone that made Noah pause, receiver halfway to the cradle. She did should like a real person, and so weary. “It’s just that I don’t see how I can be of any practical help,” he told her. Certainly not in the immediate . . . I’m off to France next week, as it happens. Maybe after I get back we could speak again.”

“This can’t wait. I met Michael for the first time myself this morning. There’s nobody at all to look after him.”

It wasn’t subtle, how she was playing on Noah’s sympathies. He wanted a cigarette.

“Could you come and meet his mother with me, tomorrow morning?”

“But – “

“Let’s all just sit down and put our heads together, all right to see what can be done for this child?”

Noah sighed.

While this an adorable and humorous story, Donoghue has documented truths about the human condition. Not only do readers witness clashes between young and old but we see contrasts between; European and American values, crashes of the actions of the past looked through the lens of modern history, and even gender politics come into play here. This is a book that is enjoyable to read but, if mindfully done, can be an enlightening read as well.

Page 130

“You were asleep forever,” Michael complained.

“It was only a nap. How did you pass the time?”

The boy held up his phone. “Thirty-one kills.”

“Lovely.”

Noah’s generation had gotten more fresh air, he decided, but also probably more fractures, playing such perennial favorites as Johnny-on-the-Pony (in which one team leaped on the backs of the other until the whole human pile crashed to the ground). He wondered now how a gamer like Michael had broken his collarbone.

Emma Donoghue has given readers not only a touching novel with Akin but one that is quietly enlightening about the human condition as well. In short, a good read but one that is thought-provoking if it is carefully done.

*****

Link to HarperCollins Canada’s website for Akin

Link to Emma Donoghue’s website

When Emotions Impair Good Judgement | Review of “Bad Ideas” by Missy Marston (2019) ECW Press

We all have looked back at decisions in our lives with regret. Why did we do “x” when “y” was the smarter choice at the time. Yet our emotions and our desires guide our decisions at times that push us into scenarios we cannot escape from. Missy Marston has documented such situations in her novel Bad Ideas in a brilliant and at times humorous means that is enlightening to read.

Page 9 Because they had no right

It was April 1978. Mercy was only four years old and it seemed like the whole town had turned grey. The grey river washed against the grey shore. The grey trees stood against the grey sky, biding their time, refusing to bloom. Trudy and Mercy were sitting in a booth at the back of the Jubilee, and Mercy was peeling the cheese off her slice of pizza and cramming it into her mouth, her little hands covered in sauce. Trudy was smoking, staring past Mercy out the front window of the restaurant, when the door opened and the bells jingled. Two men came in, laughing so hard that they staggered and bumped against each other as they made their way past the front counter.

Both tall. Both lean.

The story deals with a collection of people in a small town along the St. Lawrence River who are trying to etch out an existence while trying to deal with love and the loss of love. We witness Trudy and her mother Claire. They both look after Mercy, the four-year-old daughter of Trudy’s sister, who has faded from the scene. In this muddle milieu, there are some hard looks at relationships and the heartache they create. Everyone seems set in their mindsets until a crazy daredevil shows up in town in a rocket car, preparing to jump the huge river. And Trudy – who is dead set against anything romantic – falls irrationally for the stunt driver.

Page 138

Today was a crying day.

There she was when Trudy got home, collapsed in a lawn chair by the back door, head in hands, crying her heart out. It mad Trudy feel tired to see her there. It sucked the life out of her. She squeezed her mother’s shoulder as she walked past her and into her house. Mercy was kneeling on the couch, a Barbie doll in each fist. She had the dolls facing each other, balanced on the tiptoes on the arm of the couch. She shook them a bit so their hair swung around.

“Grandma’s crying again.”

“I saw that.”

Bad Ideas by Missy Marston is a unique work of fiction that documents a complex reality of human emotions. The writing is simple and direct, making a read that is reflective to many people. In short, a great read.

****

The Uncertainty Of New Truths | Review of "The Electric Baths" by Jean-Michel Fortier/Translated by Katherine Hastings (To be Released July 1, 2020) QC Fiction

cover of book

I received an Advance Reading Copy of this book from the publisher.

No doubt, we have all been vaulted in a new reality. Overnight, as we go through the current crisis that has us all pushed into an era of ‘social-isolationism’ and ‘economic uncertainty.’ We all sit alone at times pondering our previous existence and wondering how our future will look. But people have been in this situation before, dealing with both the fear and the absurdity of a tense unknown that is beyond their control or understanding. Just like the citizens of the county of *** that Jean-Michel Fortier documents in the novel The Electric Baths.

Long, white, jagged flashes of lightning zigzagged in the sky. At Spencer Wood, Sarah Rosenberg couldn’t sleep, terrorized by the lightning and rain, a troubling combination that evoked in her mind all the bizarreness of the electric baths, of what was slumbering two storeys below, beneath her feet, and that would perhaps awake, would certainly awake, if the thunder rumbled any louder.

Fortier has written an interesting read here. The citizens of this community are dealing with an uncanny series of events and emotions that are puzzling and in many cases hard to define. In the midst of this confusion, there is the return of Louise Beurre – or “Louisa Louis” as she was called on stage. After 13 years abroad, she has come back with stories of stages and spotlights and lost loves. But no one is eager to listen or believe her.

This is a book that should not be rushed through. There are subtle situations and play-on words that provide with brilliant “a-ha” moments to readers who are interested in the human condition and – even more – human thoughts and the human mind. A complex read yet one that is unique.

But, most of all Jean-Michel Fortier’s The Electric Baths, is certainly one read for our times.

*****

Link to QC Fiction’s webpage for The Electric Baths

Busting Out of Rectangles By Using Squares

box

I have found that my local thrift stores have been filled with a certain type of item recently. They are known as shadow boxes or box frames. (IKEA trademarks them as RIBBA Frames.Link here ) Originally I thought that I could use them for displaying Polaroids but when I place them in, they look awkward and confusing. So, I too, tossed them aside for a while. But they were always on my mind so I aimed to photograph for them. And the realization made me ponder something . . . profound.

Most of the items we view the world through is done through rectangles. Our existing photo frames and albums are sized in rectangles. Our electronic devices are framed in heavy black rectangles. When I was involved in media, all the images I used were posted in rectangle shapes. And for those of us living in North America, those rectangles are measured in imperial measurements, giving us even odder sizes and lengths. So forcing me now to deal with a three-dimensional box with exact metric sizes was a challenge. I tried using faces in these frames but again, they look confusing. One would think a face is a simple thing but it is made up of: a nose, a mouth with lips/teeth, two eyes and hair. Take a still of it and try placing it in an item that is 10 cm deep with a smaller square frame inside and the face is muddled and lost. The same happens with landscapes. Yes, there is a horizon but the details – sun, trees, grass, – get pushed back and lost. So this became a puzzle that bugged me for the longest time.

I am having trouble finding the exact quote but photographer Bob Long told us who turn to his brilliant series on Lynda.com that black-and-white photography these days is a way of showing how light works. In that concept, I found a truth that guided me on how to use these frames. An image with a simple white leaf – perhaps with a drop of water on it or a outline of a darker leaf in the background works well now. I am now tempted to a small image with chrome or even a small cloud might work well with these boxes. And there are larger shadow boxes available I am considering in buying and trying out. (Link to IKEA here)

So maybe using the word “Profound” at the the beginning of this piece was a bit pretentious. But the act of looking for an image for these frames make me think a bit of the world and what it is truly in it. And if that isn’t what culture is suppose to do?

 

Coming to Terms with Trauma and Hardship | Review of “Trail of Crumbs” by Lisa J. Lawrence (2019) Orca Book Publishers

Thanks to Lisa J. Lawrence and Kennedy Cullen of Orca Book Publishers for sending me a copy of this book.

Image linked from the publisher’s website

We all have those moments of shock after dealing with a traumatic situation. Somehow we are forced into stillness as our mind tries to deal with the pain and bruises – both real and emotional. This isn’t easy process for a younger person to go through. Not only do they have to deal with those pains, they may not have the network of support to help them deal with the issues they have occurring within themselves. And Lisa J. Lawrence has documented one such young woman’s journey in her novel Trail of Crumbs.

Page 2

During Patty’s flurry of cursing, Greta let herself out the front door, climbing the steps of the concrete stairwell cave. Across the street their neighbor vacuumed the interior of his yellow Volvo, both doors hanging open. He straightened and waved to Greta. He was tall and pale with a nest of ginger hair. Slightly buggy eyes and an open face. Greta recognized him from Ash’s English class. He watched her as if she might stop and talk. She walked faster, checking over her shoulder to make sure he hadn’t followed her.

Greta circled the block a few times, crunching the brittle ice of unshoveled walks. Snow heaped in knee-high dunes on either side. Bleak January afternoon, like the sun never fully rose. Before going back inside, she listened at the bottom of the steps. All quiet.

No one in the living room. Greta tapped on her brother’s door – technically the storage room – and opened it when her didn’t answer.

He lay on a rumpled single mattress, staring at a bare bulb dangling from a wire. The back wall was covered with wide, rough shelves – the kind you’d put boxes or canned goods on. Ash had piled few books there, but the shelves sat mostly empty. No windows. She sat on the bed next to him.

“Why did Dad marry her?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.

Lawrence has created a complex individual in her character of Greta. She is typical of younger adults who have become apathetic towards their education. And with good reason. Her circle of friends have turned mean-spirited and dangerous. Her family life is equally ugly and hateful. And her twin brother Ash is moody and rebellious in his own right. Yet as whatever support units exist to aid her in her life completely fall apart, she finds herself in a day-to-day existence that forces her to seriously consider her future.

Pages 59-60

On Wednesday Greta came home fro her English final to find Ash in a kitchen chair and Nate standing behind him with clippers. Ash’s long brown wisps had fallen in a mesh of hair on the pocked hardwood.

“What are you guys doing?” she asked, peering over Ash’s scalp.

Ash turned proudly in each direction so she could inspect it. Nate had shaved along the sides and back, leaving a longer section down the center.

“What’d you do that for?”

“All the cool kids are doing it,” Ash said.

“Shut up.” Greta flicked the back of his head.

Nate turned on the clippers and touched up an uneven spot.

“Don’t you think it might hurt your chances of getting a job?” she asked.

I’m pretty sure it won’t hamper my ability to lower fries into a deep fryer.”

“Touche”

Ash had applied for three jobs already that week, at two fast-food places and a snow-removal company. Nothing yet. Greta had applied as a cashier at the only supermarket in busing distance and at a place that made cinnamon buns in the mall. The bun place had told her she was underqualified. To bake pre-made cinnamon buns and make basic change. In the post-Christmas retail slump, few Help Wanted signs hung in store windows.

Now that she and Ash had no money, everything was about money. Greta had rationed their last few tomatoes, only to find one spotted with gray mold. She’d waited too long. She felt sick, dropping it in the garbage can.

 

Lawrence has done something interesting here. She has documented the life of Greta well and given young adults a source of empathy to compared themselves to but she has also documented an element of the human condition here. A young adult trying to to come to grips with both growing up and dealing with heavy traumas and abuses. This is a book that is a good piece of literature and a great resource for young adults.

Pages 96

“Why do you care?”

Priya sighed. “Look, I know it’s none of my business. About a year ago, Rachel screwed me over big-time. I know what they can be like I kind of wondered if the same thing had happened to you.”

Greta looked away from Priya. They probably just wanted to see what she would say behind their backs.

“And Dylan” – Priya paused – “I know him too.” Greta snapped back to Priya’s face. “We were together for a few weeks last year. Let’s just say I wasn’t willing to do certain things on, like the first or second date” >I<Things you were willing to do. Slut.>/I< “He didn’t want to wait.”

That shame – waiting in the wings since social studies – crept out of hiding and oozed through her body. She swallowed, her stomach queasy. Like on the morning at the cabin, after the party.

Trail of Crumbs by Lisa J. Lawrence is a brilliant and easy read. She has documented an important element of the human condition of this age year that is well-written and easy to gain empathy from its pages. An interesting read.

*****

Link to Orca Book Publishers Canada’s website for Trail of Crumbs

In Learning the Beauty of Portraiture and Hand-Drawn Butterflies

My portrait of Chanel and her hand-drawn butterflies. Shot at Bon Soleil studio in Toronto. I love how this portrait reminds me of Johannes Vermeer ‘s painting “Girl with a Pearl Earring

I know it has been a while since I have blogged. I have been in a funk in relation to things creative and descriptive. I am a believe that the human condition needs to be explored through things ‘molded and crafted,’ yet there seemed to me a sense that I didn’t have anything truly wanting to add to the public discourse until now.

For the past little while, I have been playing around with photography. While I had a camera during family festivities and vacations during my teen years, photography was a strong component of my journalism career. Yet as I faded away from that career, so do my interest in photography. But since the rise of Instagram, I have keenly become aware of the artistic side of photography to express the human condition, especially in it’s beauty and its desire. So I have been playing around with photography a bit. Not with high-end gear but with used stuff, and have been working creating some images with a few models in both open areas and in studios. And I have to say that I find the results fascinating.

Portrait photography or portraiture in photography is a photograph of a person or group of people that captures the personality of the subject by using effective lighting, backdrops, and poses. A portrait picture might be artistic, or it might be clinical, as part of a medical study. (Wikipedia.org)

Chanel and her hand-drawn butterflies. Shot at Bon Soleil studio in Toronto, Canada

Portraiture for me has been very fascinating . In an attempt to bring in elements of a person’s personality into a single image can be a challenge. And finding a perfect subject with elements to create a portrait that is stimulating and enlightening to both the eye and the mind can be a challenge.

So now comes to the photo posted above. I have known the subject – Chanel Wase – for a couple of years now. Not only has she modeled for me a few times but I have purchased her art work on numerous occasions. So a few months ago we had planned to do a portrait of her with her work with some hand-drawn butterflies. It took a bit of time to get around our schedules – Chanel is a full-time student in Toronto as well as being an model and avid concert photographer – but we finally got together at the wonderful Bon Soleil Studio in Toronto. (And thanks to Marie there for hosting the wonderful space for us to work in) And the image above is the final product. What you are not seeing is a framed print that I made for myself with added butterflies around the frame.

I have printed several photos of Chanel from this shoot and using some lovely old frames that I have located in nearby charity-thrift stores have incorporated the butterflies she had drawn. Several of the larger 8X10 prints have made their way to my portrait wall (And I have been offered money for some of them.) while some of the 4X7 prints I have given away as gifts.

Chanel has drawn another set of butterflies for me. Looking forward to shooting her portrait with them soon.

And the exciting thing too is that Chanel has another set of butterflies waiting for me to photograph with her. I am certainly hoping we can connect for that soon.

When a Great Read Makes us Ponder | Review of “Dream Sequence” by Adam Foulds (2019) Biblioasis

Image linked from the publisher’s website

We all find ourselves wanting and craving more out of life at times. We sit by the window at times looking out and wondering – if not hoping for more – and taking action to change our lives. Adams Foulds does a great job of looking at two people who crave that change in his novel Dream Sequence.

Pages 13 (Opening paragraph)

The beautiful house was empty. Kristen watch from the front window as her sister climbed into her snow-spattered car and drove away, shuttling from one set of worries – Kristen – to another – the noisy, complicated, enviably involving struggles of her family life.

This is one of those reads that should be read in print and savoured in quiet moments where reflection is possible. Foulds explores two lives in this book which are in transition. One life is Kristen, a confused and emotional individual who finds herself alone and wanting more. She adores Henry, ( whom is the other life explored in the book) a popular television actor who is about to make his film debut, and obsesses about him. In the sections that deal with Henry, readers learn about his fears, desires and obsessions as he begins to obsess about a role he desires and craves for an upcoming film.

Pages 69-70

Henry was too tired to pull the levers of the cross-trainer or haul the stacks of weights. Over time, the hunger had distilled a kind of blackness inside Henry, not a blankness but a positive blackness that throbbed with its own wattage. It stayed behind or at the edge of his vision. It was and was not the same thing as the headaches he suffered. He went to the pool in the basement. Small, dimly lit, it was more of a spa facility than a pool for swimming lengths. The atmosphere was of exclusive calm. The rectangle of water looked plump, like a comfortable mattress, and when Henry got in it lisped over the sides and was recycled back in through some hidden channels. While he was alone, he lay face down, listening to the thick silence. The crest of his spine touched the air above. His arms and legs hung down into the water. He thought that Garcia’s yes had fallen like a sword across his life. Cut off from everything else and still with no filming date confirmed, Henry had nowhere to go but into himself. He felt his body rock upwards when somebody else got into the pool. Embarrassed, Henry started swimming but only towards the small silver ladder. He climbed out and walked back to the change room.

Foulds is both knowledgeable about the English language and quite aware of the human condition, which makes this book a great read. The prose is unique yet easy to follow. Like I mentioned above, this is a book worth taking one’s time to read. For those of us who understand empathy and learn from literature, Foulds has given us much to ponder by giving us this story and presenting the lives of Henry and Kristen side-by-side.

Page 116

“I need to . . . I’m sorry . . .” He wandered off on his own, looking upwards, stumbling softly until he felt he was alone. He fell down backwards onto the cold grip of the ground and looked up at the packed lights in the sky. He could see the long luminous cloud of the Milky Way, the whole entire galaxy he lived in, stars so may and so far that hey were a veil of light. He could see stars behind stars. He’d never seen the night sky look three-dimensional before. There all the time. All the time. There all the time behind everything. Lying still, intoxicated, he felt the earth sway, the surface of the earth moving. The stars slid in his vision. He had to keep looking back at a certain point to reset them. The brilliant white fires. The endless space. It was awesome. His mind quailed. He was tired and sad and exhilarated. He felt a kind of exaltation in which happiness and despair were in distinguishable. Cliched thoughts arrived – how big the universe is, how tiny he was, how alone – were unavoidable. Tiny and struggling. How nice it would be not to have to try, not to be a person, not to be himself at all.

Virginia called for him. “Hey, you! Where’d you go? We’re waiting for you.”

Adams Foulds has given readers a brilliant read with Dream Sequence. I cannot repeat enough this is a read that should be savoured and reflected upon. The results will be enlightening to any book lover.

*****

Link to Biblioasis.com ‘s profile page about Adam Foulds

Adam Foulds will be participating in the 2019 Toronto Word on the Street Festival

As I Return to Blogging about Books . . . | Review of “Who Needs Books? Reading in the Digital Age” (2016) University of Alberta Press

Image linked from the CLC website

I know I haven’t been blogging for a while. I was asked if I had given up on reading and had become focused on other things. That isn’t true. It was just there was a weariness to all things digital for me and I used the computer for things that I needed to do and then turned “the stupid thing off” and read. And as the 2019 Word on the Street Festival began to post their lineup of writers, people were asking me if I had read this-or-that writer involved in the event. And it was researching writers for that wonderful festival that I came across Lynn Coady’s brilliant essay Who Needs Books?: Reading in the Digital Age that I understood why I still read printed material during the digital era.

Page 36

The degree to which the internet can feel like an unwelcome and nefarious intrusion into our lives depends in large part on the way we use it – and, more importantly, the way it’s used against us (deliberately or not) by the people in charge. In a 2008 essay called “Is Google Making us Stupid,” Nicholas Carr compares the internet’s reshaping of our lives and cognitive functions to the way the invention of the clock habituated us to think and function according to the dictates of its hands. (Citation) This, he suggests, paved the way for the dehumanizing strictures of the industrial age and the eventual treatment of human workers as automatons. Of course, the clock itself didn’t actually do that. The industrial age was the result of business and factory owners rejoicing in a technology they understood would allow them to measure and exploit worker efficiency down to the very second.

. . .

Page 38

My point is, let’s keep our eye on the ball here. If you have all the free time in the world and you spend it on Facebook, ok, that’s a problem – Mark Zuckerberg has clearly worked his dark mojo on you. But if you spend every spare moment frantically fielding tweets, texts, and emails because your employer requires nothing less, that’s another. Think about who, and what exactly, in either of these scenarios, is stopping you from picking up a book.

 

I had the pleasure of meeting Lynn Coady a few years ago. It was at a guest lecture at Western University in London, Ontario. She gave an impressive talk at that time how she was balancing both her writing for television and fiction. (Afterwards, she mentioned she was impressed that I had a hard-cover copy of her book The Antagonists for her to sign. ) Coady talked about many of her views then. to which this book – a copy of the speech she gave to the Canadian Literature Centre’s Kreseil Lecture Series at the University of Alberta in April, 2015) This book does a brilliant job of looking at the printed word as the digital age blinks blindly at us all in the face. Coady mixes a perfect narrative with philosophy, modern cultural references and humour to make some excellent points.

Pages 42-43

(Twitter participants in a survey about reading) described a craving for the sense of immersion that reading gives them. Some people spoke of it as a kind of psychological privacy, no matter where they happen to be. More than one person use the word “escape.” Here, I believe, is where the book truly does have the advantage over the internet. The internet gives us a sense of communication, as does the book. And similar to the book, it offers up a means of “checking out” from time to time – a warm bath of a narrative to immerse ourselves. But what it doesn’t and can never offer really is a sense of complete and total privacy. Of psychic escape. When you hear about people announcing that they need to “unplug” for a weekend or conduct a “social media cleanse” or take a “Facebook break,” we understand what they are fleeing – the cacophony, the very connectedness that makes the internet such a revolutionary and seductive phenomenon.

So, yes, I am blogging again. And I am still reading books. If anybody truly cares about my weariness about things digital, they merely need to read Lynn Coady’s Who Needs Books?: Reading in the Digital Age. I know I am not alone in my love of books and being left alone. And I will be seeing her presentation at the 2019 Word on the Street Festival in Toronto.

Link to Lynn Coady’s website

Link to the Henry Kreisel Lecture Series website

The Joy of Reading that Goes Beyond the Text | Review of “English is Not a Magic Language” by Jacques Poulin/Translated by Sheila Fischman (2016) Esplanade Books/Véhicule Press

Book cover image linked from the publisher’s website

For those of us who enjoy to read, we know the pleasure of discovering a reality of the world when we read someone’s else description in print. ‘Yes,” we exclaim. “We know what you are talking about,” we silently shout to the writer as we reread that passage. But when we share that reality with someone else who craves to know that reality as well, there is an added joy to our pastime that our mind celebrates. Jacques Poulin explores that theme well in his book English is Not a Magic Language to which Sheila Fischman has brilliantly translated in to English.

Pages 25-26

I was reading her The Red Pony by Monsieur John Steinbeck. The book told the story of a little boy, shy and polite, called Jody, who lived with his parents on a ranch in California. His father had given him a pony as a gift. Jody was trying now to break him, with the help of Billy Buck, a stable hand.

I was the one who had chosen that novel, because Limoilou hadn’t expressed a preference. My choice rested on the fact that she enjoyed the company of horses. I’d had a chance to note that on my first visit. That day, showing me around, the girls had led me onto a winding path strewn with big stones that started behind the chalet and allowed you to down the cliff. At the bottom, we came out onto several fields separated by rows of loosestrife. One field, surrounded by an electric fence, served as grazing land for a group of old racehorses. Limoilou slipped in between the two wires. She stroked the muzzles of the horses, gave them berries to eat from her hand. According to Marine, she spent time telling them about the miserable years she had survived during her brief existence.

Poulin has crafted a unique story into this small volume. He has captured the essence of what the enjoyment of reading is for us all. The story deals with Francis, who is a reader for hire. Outside the complexities of his family life, we witness his adventures as he receives calls for his services and he jumps into his Mini Cooper and drives to read for his clients. And seeing the enjoyment that Francis gets when he sees his clients relate to a work of literature is a joy for any honest reader of literature.

Page 43

Now and then I raised my head to see if my tardiness had them worried. I was making prgress in my reading. I’d underlined several paragraphs and was quite proud of myself. All at once Jack and Marine came out of the house without looking at me. My brother had a dark blue sleeping bag under his arm. With old Chaloupe in the lead, they came down the narrow path lined with flowers surrounding the pond.

I was about to start reading again when I noticed that Limoilou was watching me behind the screen door in the solarium porch.

She was waiting for me.

I closed the book with my finger on the page I intended to start with. The first thing I noticed in the chalet was the map of Louisiana that my brother had put up near the door next to the kitchen. It was impressive.

When we were settled comfortably, she in her chaise lounge and me in my rocker, I waited a few moments to respect our ritual: meditation eyes closed, black cat on her belly. This time though, she declared in a determined voice:

“I’m ready!”

Enunciating carefully, I read the beginning of the journals . . .

There is something intellectually optimistic and serene at times in this book when Poulin describes the actions of Francis while doing his job. Francis is helping bringing enlightenment to the weary world and he knows it. It is an endearing feat and it brings a huge pleasure that he and us readers appreciate

Pages 67-68

At the last reading session I had left Clark all alone on a small island in the Missouri. The members of the expedition were resting from the first day of their journey. they had been warned that they would have to “cross a country held by savage peoples, many in number, powerful and warlike, fierce, treacherous, and cruel and in particular, enemies of the white man.”

While the lovely Irish lass was carting her dictionaries into the kitchen, Limoilou settled int her chaise lounge. She closed her eyes and I began reading. Because of the ordeals she had lived through, traces of which could still be seen around her eyes and on her wrists, she impressed me as much as ever. I was becoming bolder and at times I followed on her face the emotions that words provoked in her.

English is Not a Magic Language by Jacques Poulin and translated by Sheila Fischman may be a short read but it is a brilliant one. It documents well the enjoyment we readers all have from the enlightenment of the written craft.

Link to Vehicule Press’ website for English is Not a Magic Language