Snarky witch and main protagonist Mika Moon has been taught by her guardian Primrose that, to be a witch, you must be alone. It is too dangerous for witches to gather. Mika and Primrose are among a few dozen witches in England, who do meet irregularly under the guise of a “book club” and always at remote locations where they will not be discovered. Mika also knows that witches are orphans, due to some long-forgotten curse that backfired. And she knows that she really would like the opportunity to find a sense of belonging–to tell close friends who and what she is. But alas no.
Mika flirts with danger by setting up an Instagram account where she does witchy spells that appear to be via the use of filters and other tricks. Obviously there are no “real” witches, right? But her account is viewed by the mysterious family living at Nowhere House, who are desperate for a witch to teach their three young witches how to be witchy. In the end, they do lure Mika into their home and into their bizarre circumstances. Three witches living together! Unheard of.
Will this witch save the day, and protect her witchy friends? Or will it all be a great big mistake?
Originally published in 1984, The House on Mango Street is about 12-year-old Esperanza Cordero, a Latina growing up in a Hispanic quarter of Chicago. This modern classic is told in a series of vignettes that can be read together as a novel or as individual short stories. The stories are heartbreaking but also joyous as Esperanza grows up and realizes the inequalities between men and women, the poverty and powerlessness that some in her neighbourhood feel, the sense of cultural identity, pride and shame, and the hope and disappointment of the American dream.
My main takeaway was the question of how our families, neighbourhoods, and communities shape us, especially the place we call home. And the push and pull we feel growing up—”one day I will pack my bags of books and paper. One day I will say goodbye to Mango. One day I will go away.”
I knew then I had to have a house. A real house. One I could point to. But this isn’t it. The house on Mango Street isn’t it. For the time being, Mama says. Temporary, says Papa. But I know how those things go.
In 2024, Sandra Cisneros celebrated the 40th anniversary of the novel.
There are many little magical moments in this book. The language is playful and feels like stream-of-consciousness writing from the 12 year old’s perspective. It’s definitely charming and I can see why it’s become a sought out book for American literature studies.
Author Ernest Cunningham has reluctantly agreed to join his family at a remote ski resort for a family reunion. His brother, convicted of murder, will be newly released and in attendance. The challenge is that Ernest testified against him, and the family resents Ern for doing so.
Now when I say “author”, I mean that Ernest is the author of how-to crime books that rely on the 1929 Ten Commandments of Detective Fiction from Ronald Knox. He’s a crime aficionado and becomes the defacto sleuth when a dead body is discovered in the snow one morning. Seems nobody is missing a loved one, nobody is missing from the guest registry, and nobody recognizes the body. Odd.
Then a snowstorm forces everyone to shelter in place, and it’s one death after another. Which of Ernest’s dysfunctional family members is to blame? Or is it Juliette the cagey resort owner? Perhaps Gavin from the competing resort across the way? Or is Ernest an infallible narrator?
What’s fun about this novel is that Ernest talks directly to the reader. He tells us that he’s honest and, to prove it, he forewarns of the page numbers where there will be a murder.
If you’re just here for the gory details, deaths in this book either happen or are reported to have happened on page 14, page 46, page 65, a twofer on page 75, and a hat trick on page 81. Then there’s a bit of a stretch but it picks up again on page 174, page 208(ish), page 218 … I promise that’s the truth, unless the typesetter mucks with the pages. There is only one plot hold you could drive a truck through. I tend to spoil things. There are no sex scenes.
A Bookseller in Madrid is the story of the rise of Fascism in Spain the 1930s from the perspective of a German woman, Barbara Spiel, who dreams of opening a bookstore in Madrid.
On the one hand, this is obviously a well-researched book. The political and historical aspects of the story are based on well-documented tensions across Europe. On the other hand, the personal story is intriguing yet boring. The promise is there! Barbara meets a handsome young man in a Berlin bookstore during a raid. He stands up to the officers and later helps Barbara and the Jewish bookseller re-stack the shelves. The young man is a Socialist politician from Madrid, named Juan Delgado. Barbara moves to Madrid, hoping to escape Hilter’s influence in Germany, marries Juan, opens her bookstore, and discovers Spain is not immune. The Spanish Civil War breaks out, Barbara is asked to spy, she’s harassed by radicals from both sides of the political fence, is at risk daily, and, with war brewing across Europe, needs to escape her home yet again.
Sounds exciting right? But the writing is “this happened, then this happened, then this …” The story is framed with a first and last chapter set in present day. An editor in New York finds an aged and discarded manuscript in a dumpster and rushes to publish the ensuing work. This framing of the novel is unnecessary. There’s no mention of this setup throughout the story so it was a jolt at the end to read the last chapter, set in present day, and go “oh right, I forgot about that.”
The book is widely applauded for its historical accuracy and I’d echo those accolades. But this was not my favourite historical novel. I will give this author another try with The Librarian of Saint-Malo.
Black Cherokee by Antonio Michael Downing is a story about resilience. Set in the 1990s, Ophelia Blue Rivers is left to be raised by her Black grandmother, who is the widow of a Cherokee Chief and the descendant of the first freed Black woman in South Carolina. Grandma Blue is no nonsense and Ophelia has her head in the clouds. But the two manage just fine until Ophelia is old enough to go to school. Her Black-Cherokee mix makes her the target of bullies at the Cherokee school. She is moved to Stone River to live with an aunty through high school, but her Black-Cherokee mix makes her to target of bullies at the all Black high school. She manages a bit better in the gifted program at the primarily white high school, but finds herself falling in love with a white boy, much to the chagrin of her family.
At every turn, Ophelia is left to wonder what family means to her, and how she will create a sense of belonging.
Antonio Michael Downing is the host of CBC’s radio program The Next Chapter. This is his debut novel and I hope it’s not his last. The writing is fresh and spirited. Ophelia is complex, Grandma Blue–who’s short on words–is even more complex. The book has some Toni Morrison vibes. Morrison’s debut The Bluest Eye explored the psychological effects of internalized racism on a young Black girl in the 1940s. With Ophelia, we see the modern-day (1990s–yet very-present effects) of race and identity on one girl’s coming-of-age journey.
A Good Man is a solid Canadian western set in the late 1870s in the Canadian and American West, specifically around the border between present-day Montana and BC, Alberta, Saskatchewan. Not only is this an amazing western, but it’s also a political, historical novel about nationhood.
This period of time was full of crazy upheaval and the novel explores the political tensions as well as the personal dynamics between a few key characters.
Wesley Case, our main protagonist, is a former solider and the son of a Canadian lumber baron. Case leaves the North-West Mounted Police and, defying his father’s request to enter politics, settles in the American West as a cattle rancher. Case acts as a liaison between his former Canadian boss Major Walsh and the American counterpart Major Ilges. There are several unresolved conflicts between the Sioux and the Americans, the Fenians are still looking for independence from the British and making trouble in Canada, the American Civil War has technically ended in 1865 but there’s the general anxiety that the Americans now can turn their attention to Canada, plus there’s the commonplace violence between settlers staking claims and stealing claims. It’s a time of alliance building amidst mistrust.
Within the personal stories, we have similar tensions and alliances, especially love triangles, friendship triangles, and collegial triangles. The most satisfying being that between Mrs. Ada Tarr, Wesley Case and Joe McMullen. Case and McMullen met in the police and Case convinced McMullen to join him in starting the ranch. Case was the money man and McMullen had the needed skills and experience. They have the strong friendship of frontier men who sweat side by side during the day and get under each other’s skin at night. Mrs. Ada Tarr is the object of their affections, although it’s clear Case’s are romantic and McMullen’s are platonic. They are a dynamite trio.
Contrary to that is the triangle of Ada, Case and Michael Dunne. Dunne is a hired hitman, initially working for Ada’s husband, lawyer Randolph Tarr. (There’s another set of trios: Randolph, Ada, Dunne and Randolph, Dunne and Gobbler Johnson.) Tarr has failed to properly help Gobbler Johnson win a property claim and Gobbler has taken to giving Tarr death threats. Tarr hires Dunne to take care of it. In the duration of that contract, Dunne falls for Ada’s kindness, which he misinterprets as love interest on her part. So when Tarr dies, Dunne thinks Ada is now free to love him. It more than raises Dunne’s ire to learn that Case has swooped in on his beloved.
The plot is slow in unfolding, but it’s against the backdrop of the complex and slowly unfolding political tribulations Case, Walsh, and Ilges are observing between their governments and the various Indigenous communities being displaced from their traditional territories, starved, and shipped off to unfavourable reservations. The other triangle is Case, Walsh and Sitting Bull.
After defeating Colonel Custer at the Battle of Little Bighorn in 1876, Sitting Bull and the Hunkpapa Lakota crossed into Canada to escape the US forces hunting them down. The Canadian government was in a tricky position of not wanting to disrespect their stronger neighbour to the south but wanting to appear neutral. Major Walsh, at least in the novel, is quite sympathetic to Sitting Bull’s plight and does his utmost to feed and provide ammunition to the Indigenous people seeking safe harbour within Canadian borders (and, uh, on their own damn land anyway). But Walsh is ultimately forced to bend to his own government’s pressure to push Sitting Bull and his people back across the border to the US.
Yes, the book is a slow read but, my goodness, the skilled writing is worth it. If you like Cormac McCarthy, Jack Keroauc, or Kazuo Ishiguro, then you’ll love the intense style, bleak themes, and poetic prose of A Good Man.
Also, from a modern-day perspective, I don’t think many Canadians understand their history. Here are a couple of lowlight moments.
The American Civil War was fought from 1861-1865. The British Empire, including Canada, had been officially neutral in the American Civil War, but many in government aligned with the South. A “United” States was a more powerful neighbour than many wanted. [Micheal Dunne enters the story here as an everyman for a powerful Canadian who’s on the side of the Confederates.]
So Canada was a neutral but active base for Confederate spies, plots against political figures, and supply operations. We were trying to play both sides, in an attempt to reinforce Canadian independence and nationhood. Remember Canadian Confederation only happened in 1867, as a measure of collective security. The US had several policies aimed at pressuring Canada into political union with the US (sound familiar?). [Case’s early days as a solider highlight these tensions well; and set up a nice piece of blackmail that makes its way into Dunne’s hands later in the novel.]
Following the Civil War, the US continued to have armed conflicts between Indigenous warriors trying to defend their homelands and US forces pushing them off to make way for farming and industrial progress, mining, and the general stripping of resources in the name of settlement. [Case moves from eastern Canada to the wild west and we pick up the political story from there.]
Canada was doing the same. The Northwest Mounted Police formed in 1873 and was created to assert sovereignty and bring “law” to the western territories. They were a military-style force, crucial in policing settlers and aiding (strong-arming) treaty negotiations. We starved Indigenous communities into submission then introduced the Indian Act of 1876 as way to relieve Indigenous people of their self governance. [Walsh is hard-nosed and driven by passion. His allegiance to the British crown is in conflict with his personal alliance with Sitting Bull and this makes for an interesting third-act of the novel, especially as Case tries to act as an advisor to Walsh.]
Territorial dominance was a big deal.
The British Empire was also the hated enemy of the Fenian Brotherhood, an Irish-nationalist society, based in the US, that aimed to achieve Ireland’s independence from Britain by capturing Canadian territory and using it as leverage. There were a series of Fenian scares, armed incursions or raids into British North American during the time of this novel. In today’s secular society, it’s easy to forget that, predominantly Catholic, Irish people in Canada faced a hostile reception from the ruling class of British Protestants. [The anti-Catholic sentiment is subtly noted in the novel with a nod to the Orange Order, but the prejudice against the working class, and low-paid labour force, is clear throughout.]
So alliances, strong-arm tactics, and spying is at the heart of both the political and personal stories in A Good Man. The grit and historical depth of the times are presented in the frontier/violent landscape of the novel, making it an unforgettable story and deeply deserving of its accolades.
A Good Man is the last book in what critics call the frontier trilogy: The Englishman’s Boy (1996, Winner of the Governor General’s Award), The Last Crossing (2002, a CanadaReads winner), A Good Man (2011, a Globe and Mail Best Book).
Now, if you were forced to read The Englishman’s Boy in school, then you may, like me, have avoided reading any more Vanderhaeghe. But this book is so much better. Again, it’s slow. But it’s masterful. I picked it up because of the opening:
Thoughts of Mother early this evening. She came back to me complete, the memory like a fist slammed to the heart. Father always called her “the dragon without scales” to diminish her, but he was like the wolf blowing on the brick house of the third little pig. She did not tumble or collapse under his scorn, not once.
The Mighty Red is set in the farming community of Tabor, located in the Red River Valley. I grew up in Winnipeg, which is further north, but also along the Red. The Red River is a low-energy, suspended-sediment, mud-dominated, meandering stream. And so is this novel.
There’s no high-energy plot line here—although Martin, the failed drama teacher and investor, is assumed to have run off with the church renovation funds and appears to be operating small bank heists. This aspect of the story is tertiary to the main plot, which is the love triangle of teens Kismet, Hugo and Gary.
Kismet and Hugo are readers. They bond over their misfit status. Both are eager to move away and make something of themselves. Kismet is afraid. Hugo gives it a go but then retreats back to Tabor. They are like suspended sediment.
Gary, in contrast, is the well-liked football hero and heir to a successful sugar-beet farmer. But Gary isn’t that smart (not overtly smart, he does redeem himself later in the novel). Gary runs wild, has close calls, and his reckless behaviour leaves two friends dead. Gary’s family is well connected in the community but the lost of his friends and ostracization puts a lot of strain on him. The haunting ghost of his friend doesn’t help, but this doesn’t seem like a community with mental health supports. It’s Kismet who Gary believes is his talisman and he courts her with vigour until she agrees to marry him.
Kismet is a reluctant bride but she allows herself to be swept along and no adults step in to prevent the wedding, even though many, including her mother, wish to do so. It’s muddy waters.
I can’t really pin down what this novel is about. Is it about a girl who doesn’t want to get married, yet can’t convince herself to rise above her situation? Or is it about a girl who quietly triumphs despite the odds? Maybe both. There are interesting tensions throughout the novel between the Monsanto promise vs. natural farming practices; rich vs. poor families; extravagance vs. frugality; land ownership vs. rightful ownership. And like the Red River, sometimes the story spills over its banks but otherwise it meanders across a flat plain. Do I recommend it? Ugh, yes. I think I do. The characters feel genuine and their indecisions are real. There are no heroes here but there is a sense of triumph at the end.
Absolutely delightful. Sera Swan is at the height of her magical powers when the one woman who has always protected her and made her feel loved drops dead in the garden. A talking fox coaches Sera on how to cast a forbidden resurrection spell. And of course, things go off the rails from there. Sera is able to resurrect her dear Great-Aunt Jasmine, but she unintentionally also brings back the long-buried pet chicken and saps all her magical powers. Sera has gone too far. She is outcast from the community of witches, she has the bare minimum magic left to keep her home and inn running, but she is tired and snarky all the time.
I listened to this audiobook and the narrator Samara MacLaren, who reminds me of Kiera Knightley, does a most-wonderful snarky and sarcastic voice.
Poor Sera has one, highly unlikely chance to get her magic back, but she is thwarted by her old rival and mentor at every turn. In the end she realizes that her life is more than just the magic, but it sure would be handy to get it back.
The Paper Birds by Jeanette Lynes is historical fiction, from a Canadian perspective. Many readers of WWII history will know about Camp X, a spy training facility near Whitby, Ontario. But they might not know about the prisoner-of-war camps in Canada, nor about the Canadian women who worked under the Official Secrets Act in small facilities and converted private homes.
This is the story of Gemma Sullivan who works in an “office” job in the summer of 1943, with 4 other women, working to break codes. They meet daily at the “Cottage” and are given intercepts to break, but they have none of the machinery of Whitby or the prestige of Bletchley Park. It’s just their pencils and wits. The women have diverse talents in mathematics, logic, and literature. But they don’t share much in common, which leads Gemma to wander off during a lunch break for some alone time. During her walk, she is led by a stray cat to the edges of a prisoner-of-war camp where she strikes up a conversation with a prisoner. Fraternizing with the enemy has steep penalties and, given her intelligence work, it could be very bad news for Gemma. But she is drawn over and over to the handsome prisoner at the fence.
The Paper Birds is a quiet love story. There are no big dramas here, just the underlying tension Gemma feels about all the lies and lives she is upholding through her job.
I was not familiar with Jeanette Lynes before but she’s a Canadian author and has several books that have won or been nominated for awards in both fiction and non-fiction. So I’m keen to find more of her work.
Pineapple Street is a novel about generational wealth and how it affects the children of one particular family. The story is told from multiple perspectives: Darley, the eldest daughter who has traded her job and inheritance to raise a family with her Asian husband Malcolm; Cord, the prodigal son who is taking over the family real estate business and is married to middle-class Sasha, who is an artist and designer; then Georgiana, the youngest who is working in a non-profit while being weirdly tied to her wealthy friends and care-free lifestyle. Each of them has their privilege challenged in different ways, and although it’s not a wholly redemptive story it is a fun looky-loo at the upper, upper class.
I’m not sure the book stands up to its accolades but there are moments of cringe humour and a nod to Henry James and Jane Austen novels, in particular the focus on social commentary, especially in terms of the women in the novel and how they navigate marriage and social expectations. There is wit here too. It’s not a terrible book but I think it benefited from being written by a publishing insider and, whether intentional or not, that is its own meta commentary on wealth and privilege.
