Tag: canadian (Page 1 of 5)

The Comedian’s Book of the Dead by Gary Barwin begins with a premise that sounds like the setup for a joke: “so this family man wakes up one morning as Death…”

Except, it’s not a joke, and this novel gets dark pretty quickly.

Death is not simply a new job title. The role begins to erode the man underneath. He starts, not just guiding people to the Beneath, but interfering in the lives around him, taking fate into his own hands, and making choices that are destructive to his family. His marriage falls apart. His relationship with his ex-wife and son become tangled in secrecy and control. Then his jealously turns violent. The suicide of Death’s son Grigory finally jars him into reflecting on the role he’s played and whether his actions can be forgiven.

The novel is positioned as a funny page turner but I found it more of a philosophical exercise looking at labels, roles, and the ways we become what we call ourselves.

Before he is Death, the protagonist is a struggling comedian, a husband, and a new father, adjusting to parenthood. I can’t say he’s successful at any of these roles. But what does it mean to be a good father? A husband? A comedian? And what happens when the label is not just some something you do, but something that determines how you behave?

Once he becomes Death, the distinction between role and identity starts to disappear. In this way, there’s a Kafta-esque nature to the story. He wakes up and one day learns he is Death. It’s like Gregor Samsa, the travelling salesman, in Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, who wakes up as a giant bug. That’s a story about dehumanization of work, conditional live, and alienation. Likewise our unnamed protagonist, now going by “Death”, is at first concerned about keeping up his comedy routine, but the routine just keeps missing its mark. When the job of bringing people to the Beneath becomes all encompassing, his family’s affection fades as the burden of his job alters his behaviour then his family’s views of him. Add to that, Death is deeply lonely, an outcast.

I imagine Death as a neutral figure. He arrives when someone’s time has come, rather than being the one deciding that it’s time. But Barwin’s Death doesn’t adhere to my idea of Death. His version of Death doesn’t respect the Fates, and increasingly he acts on his petty and insecure feelings, leading to disastrous consequences.

The suicide of Grigory is a pivot point and the story moves into an underworld journey that has echoes of Dante’s Inferno: a descent punctuated by encounters with people from Death’s life. His mother appears, his long-absent father, his wife, and ultimately Grigory. My sense is these reunions are less about restoring relationships and more about forcing Death into proximity with what he has lost. But why? His hope is to bring Grigory back, but it’s not clear that would be Grigory’s choice, so maybe the question is whether Death can come back from what he has become.

The book’s epigraph is from Edward Hirsch’s Gabriel

I wish I could believe in the otherworld
I wish I could believe in a place
Of reunions outside of memory

The Beneath becomes this place—a world outside memory where reunion is possible, although reconciliation may not be. And I think that’s the big question: is there redemption for Death?

Death is not an easy character to love. He is frequently jealous and I rarely felt that I could identify with this character. But maybe that’s Barwin’s goal, to force the reader to consider what redemption means when the person seeking it is not particularly deserving of sympathy?

Overall, I wouldn’t describe The Comedian’s Book of the Dead as a funny. It’s imaginative, sometimes poetic, and deliberately unsettling. I had to work pretty hard as a reader to find ways to like this book.

Here’s an interview with the author Gary Barwin on All Lit Up that sheds more light on the story.

I received an advance reading copy of this book and I love to support Canadian presses and authors. Check out bookhugpress.ca

The Fourth Princess by Janie Chang is a Gothic novel set in 1911 Shanghai, where a crumbling mansion, family secrets, and a relentless ghost almost bring about the ruin of wealthy newlywed Caroline Stanton and her young secretary Lisan Liu. Notably both are orphans and have difficult relationships with their guardians.

Janie Chang is a master of historical fiction and her latest novel brings her distinctive Chinese perspective to the Gothic genre. The story follows two women living at Lennox Manor:

Caroline Stanton is a wealthy American whose husband Thomas has moved them to Shanghai so that he can follow a business venture with his Uncle Mason. Caroline soon discovered that Uncle Mason is heavily in debt, doesn’t own the home that he promised they would inherit, and likely doesn’t have money to invest in the railway venture he’s exploring with Thomas. Caroline discovers the secret and presses Thomas to reconsider, but Thomas is keen to invest her inheritance into the railway to cover Uncle Mason’s missing share.

Lisan Liu enters this already complicated household as Caroline’s new secretary. Upon her arrival, she learns from the servants that Lennox Manor is haunted. Mason’s son committed suicide and they believe his unsettled ghost haunts the home. Lisan discovers that the house is definitely not peaceful. Mason’s daughter-in-law disappeared around the time of the suicide and she appears in Lisan’s dreams, beckoning Lisan to come find her. Despite her restless nights, Lisan is a stalwart friend and efficient secretary to Caroline. Unfortunately Caroline is also holding secrets and they all come to a head and converge with Lisan’s own past.

Chang is so good at historical fiction and she certainly knows what she’s doing with Gothic conventions as well. Lennox Manor is the grand house with the ominous past and unexplained bumps and sounds in the night that drive the occupants a bit mad. There are money problems, marriages full of secrets, and a growing suspicion amongst all the characters.

The Fourth Princess is so enjoyable because of its familiar Gothic elements, yet unfamiliar cultural perspective and Shanghai setting. Chinese superstitions about the ghosts of suicides, the stylings of the house, the workings of the staff, the power of Lisan’s guardian and his family, all provide historical context to the broader political and social world of Shanghai in the early 1900s. There is the push-pull between Chinese and foreign residents, the class and family obligations of Lisan vs. the class and family obligations of Caroline, plus there is enough mystery to how Lisan and Caroline both became orphans and what that means for their futures that it’s a real page turner.

If you like Janie Chang’s historical novels, like The Porcelain Moon, or The Phoenix Crown, which she co-authored with Kate Quinn, then you’ll definitely enjoy this read.

Set in the 1920s, The Sleeping Car Porter follows Black railway porter Baxter, along several routes, notably Toronto to Vancouver. Baxter is a closeted gay immigrant, trying to save money for dentistry school, and he must follow a series of rules about engaging with the white passengers, cleaning the car, keeping his uniform tidy, and polishing shoes. It’s exhausting, especially when Baxter must also mind a little girl who refuses to sleep and he loses out on his own quick naps.

Overall I enjoyed this book, especially learning more about the labour conditions of these men and the racism they experienced. The pace is slow, like a train, and that’s part of the charm of the writing. You get physically tired. When Baxter’s eyes start to droop, so did mine. Hah. But I mean that as a compliment.

There’s a dream-like quality to the writing as well. A bit of magic realism? Baxter seems to see a man huddled on the floor frequently, but the hallucinations are likely part of his sleep deprivation.

The setting of the train also makes for a wonderful cast of characters. There’s a film star, a medium, a granny and child, a mother and daughter, a couple, two business men, a doctor … plus the various porters and their boss. Each one becoming more memorable and complex as the journey wears on.

An artfully constructed story, with a bit of a history lesson, and a lot to say about the social constructs that prevent us from understanding and appreciating those around us.

Liberty Street by Heather Marshall follows female stunt-reporter Emily Radcliffe into the notorious Mercer Prison for women. It’s 1961 and Emily is an editorial assistant at Chatelaine magazine, who is looking for a big break that will lead to an author byline. Emily’s father is a well-known journalist and she’s always wanted to follow in his footsteps. Her mother, on the other hand, wants Emily married off and safe at home.

Chatelaine is breaking social barriers with articles about domestic abuse and the contraceptive pill. They have to do so with a bit of subtrafuge because the public (in particular men) are not ready for women’s independent. The social problem is writ large in this novel. There are social expectations placed on women, lack of awareness about postpartum and other mental health issues, institutional powers that allow any woman under 25 to be brought before a judge and jailed for being incorrigible and then a release that hinges on a doctor’s judgement. This is historical fiction but the basics of the magazine’s direction, Canadian law and the Mercer prison are true.

Emily purposely gets herself jailed, with the help of her father, only to learn how harsh penal institutions can be. The prisoners are injected with trial drugs, face venereal diseases, rat and lice infestations, and malnutrition.

A parallel story set in 1996 follows Detective Rachel Mackenzie who is investigating female remains in an unmarked grave. Despite being an excellent detective, Rachel faces sexism and discrimination. She’s on the other side of the bars, and health-care standards have improved, but she’s shortchanged all the same. The female remains are eventually connected to the prison and Emily’s story.

Overall this is a haunting exposé of Canadian law, its institutional disregard for women, and the systemic bias faced by women. It’s certainly historical fiction but it’s a dark story that, like so many others, doesn’t make it into common knowledge of Canadian history.

This wasn’t my favourite read. I found it ghastly and I’m too aware that “difficult women” are still fighting the “rules.” I wasn’t in the mood for such a grim story but there are good female characters and it has a mystery, twist element. If you like shows like Midsomer Murders then it has that vibe.

Gosh, Michael Crummey is an extraordinary storyteller. I loved Sweetland.

Moses Sweetland has lived all his life on a remote island off Newfoundland’s south coast, which is called Sweetland. In fact, 12 generations of inhabitants have called this rugged and unforgiving bit of rock home. But now the government is keen to relocate the few residents. They are offering a nice relocation package and everyone is on board except Sweetland. He’s living off the land as a fisherman and trapper. He’s the former lighthouse keeper, lifelong bachelor, and odd-job man with neighbours who need help with a calf or a grave dug. Sweetland just cannot imagine leaving. I said earlier he’d live all his life here, but he did have a stint on the mainland where he tried to make some real money with his buddy Duke. But the drink and drugs and general lack of employment opportunities did him in.

This character rankles. He’s kind and stern, he’s forthright and sullen, he’s cunning and an imbecile. A true force of nature.

If you like Niall Williams, Tana French, John Banville, then you’ll love Michael Crummey.

Alicia, Mars and Heaven are twenty-something coworkers who find themselves on a quest to return River Mumma’s comb. They share knowledge of their Jamaican heritage in order to move through different stages of the quest.

Alicia is the first to see River Mumma, who appears to her late one night as she walks home alone through a dark Toronto park. River Mumma drags Alicia down into a river where Alicia sees her ancestors and starts to reconnect to the magic and folklore of Jamaica. In contrast, Heaven, who is most knowledgable of her heritage, is the last to see River Mumma. Her pride and convictions work against her, but her friendship with a healer really saves the day when Alicia and Mars are infected wtih duppie sickness (duppies are malevolent spirits who chase the trio through the city, preventing them from completing their task).

River Mumma has a quiet level of magical realism to it. Yes, there’s a diety, a quest, duppies, and weird, unexplainable stuff that happens but it’s mostly a novel about accepting your family history and embracing your life journey.