March 21, 2011
My Adventures in the Land of Books
Our last vacation was in the land that books forgot, so I was excited to get away to England, the storybook centre of the universe. 
Whenever we go to England, we always come back with enough books to fill another suitcase (especially that one time), and this trip was no exception. Though I had less luck in the charity shops than I was hoping for– they used to be rife with 1960s Penguin Paperbacks but they’re all gone now, and now all that’s left are copies of Jenny Colgan novels that came free with a copy of Cosmopolitan. And the children’s books picks were rubbish in the charity shops, but I suppose I can imagine why the second-hand children’s book market might have its challenges.
The only books I ended up getting in charity shops were I Am Not Tired and I Will Not Go to Bed by Lauren Childs at the Oxfam in Ilkley, and Tyler’s Row by Miss Read at The Panopticon Shop in Glasgow (which is a charity shop to rebuild a theatre that burned down in 1938, and we sort of got turned off their cause when they made Stuart wait out in the rain with the pram). I also got a Brambley Hedge treasury at the Oxfam in Fleetwood.
And though I didn’t end up buying anything, the Oxfam Bookshop in Glasgow was beautiful– 
much more boutique than charity shop. It was in the same square as the massive old building (now vacant) that used to house Borders, and I was informed that the loss of that store had been a tragedy– it had been a wonderful place. We also had a good time in the Waterstones in Glasgow, which looked like not much from the outside, but as I rode the escalator down to the lower level, revealed itself to have this hidden middle section between the two floors, sort of like the half-floor in Being John Malkovich, and also a coffee shop, with made my reluctant partner in bookshopping a very happy man. We found the children’s section, and Harriet hurled picture books, and then ate part of a sandwich that she found on the floor.
I was thrilled to discover The Grove Bookshop in Ilkley, because independent bookshops are few and far between even in England, and also because this one was bustling. The store has gorgeous window displays, a great selection, and seemed like a thriving community hub. There was a line-up at the till, and another woman there to pick up her special order. I delighted in the selection of Penguin merch, and bought a tote bag, and also Old Filth by Jane Gardam (and now I have to read The Man in the Wooden Hat). I also like The Grove Bookshop in Ilkley because their website boasts a “fast and efficient ordering system [which] means the vast majority of customer orders arrive the following day.”
We spent our second-last day in London, and had scheduled bookshops a-plenty. I was so happy 
to have a chance to visit Persephone Books, and actually, I’m grateful that budget constraints forced a limit of one book only, or else I would have bought the place out. Their books are so lovely, the shop so homey (but 
crowded! With Persephone books! Can you imagine anything more wonderful?), and I wanted to paw everything. To keep my fellow-travellers happy, I’d pre-selected my purchases so there was less browsing than you might imagine, but if I’d started, I never would have left and would no longer have a family.
I also enjoyed visiting the London Review Bookshop, which was not too far away. 
The Cake Shop proved disappointing, sadly, as it was too small to accommodate Harriet’s stroller or Harriet, and was crowded with people discussing existential things who probably didn’t want to listen to Harriet talk about her bum. I bought The Tortoise and the Hare here, though I’d been debating another Rachel Cusk instead, being that day in the thralls of her book The Lucky Ones. And I am a little bit sorry now that I didn’t get the Rachel Cusk books, because she’s so great, and I never found another of her novels in a bookshop the rest of the time we were in England.
Under Waterloo Bridge, I was happy to see the booksellers again, as well as a bit of sunshine. I didn’t buy anything because nothing immediately struck my eye, and because Stuart and Harriet were being very patient but I didn’t want to push them too far. I am sure if I’d browsed just a little while longer, I would have come up with one treasure or another. (I also wonder if the fact that I found less treasures amongst the used books this trip is because it’s now been a few years since I bought everything Margaret Drabble ever wrote.)
We spent the rest of our London day at The Tate Modern, and I enjoyed exploring 
both its bookshops with their wonderful selections of children’s books. It was especially exciting to see Sara O’Leary‘s beautiful Where You Came From on display, amidst some fine company.
We spent our last day in Windsor, where I tried and failed to find a bookish treasure in the charity shops (including a wonderfully stocked Oxfam Bookshop, but everything good they had, I had already). We stopped in at the Windsor Waterstones and bought Harriet The Gruffalo and Alfie’s Feet, and I tried and failed to find a Rachel Cusk novel to buy, just as I would do the next day at the airport. Regrets, I’ve had a few.
But not too many. Our trip was full of bookish wonder. I arrived home with a most respectable stack, and what’s more, I’ve since read each and every one of them.
March 20, 2011
The Vicious Circle, from here to November 2012
The Vicious Circle Book Club turned one year old this weekend, and came to the end of our list of selected books. So each of us brought a book or two, or three, to Saturday’s meeting to propose for the meetings to come. We ended up deciding to read every single one (except Great Expectations— long story, both the novel and the reason why it was shut down) so that we’re now set for our next twenty meetings– we’ve tried to read more men, less Canadian, and try to venture out into nonfiction once or twice. Anyway, I sure hope nothing good gets published between now and November 2012, because we’ve got no room to move until then.
April: The Anthills of Savanna by Chinua Achebe
May: Last Night in Montreal by Emily St John Mandel
June: Every Time We Say Goodbye by Jamie Zeppa
July: Hotel World by Ali Smith
August: Hell by Kathryn Davis
September: The Rachel Papers/Lucky Jim by Amis n’ Amis
October: Saving Rome by Megan K. Williams
November: Imagining Toronto by Amy Lavender Harris
December: SKIP
January 2012: Skippy Dies by Paul Murray
February 2012: TBA
March 2012: Human Amusements by Wayne Johnston
April 2012: My Life in France by Julia Child
May 2012: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
June 2012: This All Happened by Michael Winter
July 2012: Trespass by Rose Tremain
August 2012: Incendiary by Chris Cleave
September 2012: Migration Songs by Anna Quon
October 2012: The First Man by Albert Camus
November 2012: Straight Man by Richard Russo
March 20, 2011
Canada Reads Indies: The Winner is….
It was the tie that refused to stay broken, and I’ve just decided to accept it. This year, of our five deserving Canada Reads Independently Picks, all of which received their fair shares of love in the poll, the two picks that shared the largest share of the sharing were Lynn Coady’s Play the Monster Blind, and Thomas King’s Truth and Bright Water.
One reader wrote, “Play the Monster Blind is the one that has stayed with me the most deeply and that made me say, ‘I want to write sentences like that’ – always a good sign. Coady is my pick!” Another wrote, “But it was Truth and Bright Water that resonated with me when I read it and it still does. Kind of like the dog who hangs his head out the car window and gets all excited when he smells his home territory.” And I know exactly what she means.
Thank you to everybody who read along and sent in a vote for your favourite– especially those of you who I didn’t quote here, but whose pitches were no less fervid than the two above. Thank you to the CBC for the marvelous Canada Reads format whose slight deficiencies have allowed us our own independent fun. Thank you to Sheree Fitch, Nathalie Foy, Chad Pelley, Carrie Snyder and Robert J. Wiersema for providing us with a spectacular line-up, and so many hours of unabashed reading enjoyment. That was fun.
March 17, 2011
Irma Voth, and that is so not my colour
Bizarrely, during the summer of 2008, I realized that I had dresses that perfectly matched the covers of two Miriam Toews’ novels: here is my Flying Troutmans dress, and here I am suited up for Summer of My Amazing Luck. So I’ve been curious about the look of Toews’ upcoming novel Irma Voth, and just how it would fit into my wardrobe (which now is mostly jeans and black t-shirts, plus the two other dresses, as I’ve been too fat to wear them the last two years. I think they fit again, but I also think I need to go shopping).
And though I like the cover, the fact is that it really won’t look good on me– blue is so not my colour. I have a feeling that my string of Miriam Toews dresses may have finally come to an end.
March 17, 2011
And a fourth remarkable thing
This year, I was one of the provincial judges for the Ontario Secondary School Teacher Federation’s Student Achievement Awards, which gives prizes for creative works (this year around the topic “Words into Action: Become the Solution”). It was heartening to read the finalists’ works, particularly after reading Lemon and becoming convinced that the whole world was going to hell. These students’ optimism, determination and spiritedness was uplifting, and I’ve been a bit in love with teenagers ever since.
I also learned a lot: one thing in particular from the story whose character suddenly turns up her music on her headphones, though there has been no indication she’s been listening to music or wearing headphones. Perhaps an slip-up in the story’s construction, though I wonder if the headphones’ presence is just entirely too standard to be mentioned. The same way a writer doesn’t need to explain that a character is wearing a shirt before he tugs on its sleeves, or that the house has a telephone before that telephone rings (or perhaps maybe you do now. Maybe the landline is now remarkable. But anyway…).
But anyway indeed, I loved reading these poems and stories, and I loved meeting the winners at the awards ceremony on Saturday. You can check out a video about the winners and their works here, and I recommend it in particular if you are interested in falling in love with teenagers too.
UPDATE: Booklet of the prize winning works is available here as a PDF.
March 16, 2011
Three remarkable things
1) I’m quite excited about the YOSS Manifesto, which went live today on a spiffy new website rigged up by my favourite outfit, Create Me This. It’s a wonderful celebration of the short story form, and I couldn’t think of a better year to dedicate to short stories with so many stellar collections coming out.
2) My course is starting in a few weeks! Sign up for The Art and Business of Blogging at the University of Toronto’s School of Continuing Studies. I am in the midst of planning, and things are turning out marvelously.
3) We’ve got a tie for the Canada Reads Independently popular poll. Somebody break it, please? Email me your top pick of this year’s selections (even if you haven’t read them all…).
March 15, 2011
Canada Reads Independently 2011: Update 3
I’ll admit that Canada Reads of all stripes have lacked the momentum of previous years, but this did not mean that I loved my reading any less. I was happy to have saved for last my favourite pick of the five, which was Lynn Coady’s Play the Monster Blind. And I’m even happier to have enjoyed all five books immensely, and I think they complemented one another in delightful ways.
Buried in Print enjoyed Play the Monster Blind also. She writes, “Obliquely contrasting emotions and experiences characterize many of the stories in this collection: euphoria and desperation, celebration and regret, stagnancy and propulsion, triumph and loneliness. It’s an unsettling but also powerful device…”
Rebecca Rosenblum read Mavis Gallant’s Home Truths. My favourite part of her review was: “Sometimes it feels like a story is just a random collection of notes and memories, but you get to the end and the weight on your brain is, in fact, story-like. How does she do that?” She notes the humour in these stories, which I claimed didn’t exist in my previous CRI post. And I suppose Rebecca is probably right, but it’s just not the kind of humour that has me laughing hysterically in bed over a reference to day-cake.
So I liked the Lynn Coady best. What say you? Email me at klclare AT gmail DOT com with your top Canada Reads Independently Pick, and we’ll see who came out on top this year. And feel free to send in your choice even if you haven’t read all the books, because every book deserves a little bit of love.
March 14, 2011
Ephemeral, yet eternal
My husband told a story at dinner the other day that involved a coyote and a mountain lion. “Like in Fauna,” I said, and we talked about the characters in this book we both read months ago, then we marvelled at how much the book had stayed with both of us. It’s not every book that does that, taking over dinner conversation as you put the pieces of the plot back together in your memory, and I continue to believe that Fauna is a really exceptional novel. That it is exceptional and never won any big book prizes, however, is to my mind no contradiction.
Fauna was exceptional for many reasons as a book, but not as much as an example of the novel form, and I think this is the reason it did not win any prizes. That it didn’t win prizes is not to say that it’s not a worthy book, but that a worthy book didn’t win a prize is also not to say it was robbed. Prizes are not the sole determinate of worthiness. And I’ve been thinking of this lately, considering the number of books I read that are considered unrecognized because they’re not short or longlisted by Giller and the like. The notion of the “snub”, the entitlement behind that notion, as though everyone deserves to be a winner. As though prizes were handed out on an assembly line, when really sometimes it’s the books that seem to be produced that way, so can you really be surprised when yours isn’t a winner?
But what I really mean to say is that there is a place for these books, all those books I read last year, for instance, that will never win a prize and should never win a prize, but that I thoroughly enjoyed reading anyway. That to be read is to be recognized, and I know it doesn’t come with much of a paycheque, but it’s everything, even without a gala. The ordinary couple discussing your story over macaroni is what you’re writing for, and the shelves upon which your book will forever dwell, and the dust that will gather on its pages over time to be blown away the odd time the book is opened– this is what you’re signing up for. The way the story will live on in readers’ minds, the connections they’ll draw between your story and others, and world outside the bookshelves, even. Something oddly ephemeral, yet eternal, less quantifiable than a grand prize win, but it matters, and it means your book matters, even if you didn’t win.
