March 19, 2013
Going Postal with Picture Books
(This post is cross-posted over at Bunch!)
It’s a widely known fact that I am a postal enthusiast, that the delivery of the mail is the focal point of my day, and that I am eternally delighted by books in the post. But just as much am I thrilled when the post turns up in books–I loved Kyo Maclear’s The Letter Opener, and also epistolary books like 84 Charing Cross Road and the Burleigh Cross Postbox Theft. And I love encountering all things postal in kids’ books as well, in particular because it helps inspire postal enthusiasm in my daughter (who has had a pen pal since she was 2, of course). Here is a list of a few of our favourites that we’ve encountered lately.
The Jolly Postman by Allan and Janet Ahlberg: I know, I know, you’ve read this one already, but any book by the Ahlbergs never gets old. It’s the perfect union of all the things I love: postal themes, bookishness, fairy tales and nursery rhymes, and amazingly well-produced books with meticulous attention to detail. Follow the Jolly Postman on his round as he drinks cup after cup of tea, and provides intimate glimpses into the lives of familiar characters we only thought we knew.
Hail to Mail by Samuel Marshak and Vladimir Radunsky: The mailman delivers a certified letter for Mr. John Peck of Schenectady, only to discover that he’s just left town. The postal-system is ever-reliable, however, and its workers are determined to track John Peck on his round-the-world trip in an effort to get the letter into his hands. The story ends right back where it began, Marshak’s verse and Radunsky’s stylized illustrations making for a remarkable journey.
I Miss You Every Day by Simms Taback: Taback is a Caldecott-winner and his talent shines through in this picture book, which was inspired by the Woody Guthrie song “Mail Myself to You.” In Taback’s story, a little girl imagines mailing herself to a far-away friend. The illustrations are whimsical and attractive to children, and I particularly love the gallery of imaginary stamps on the book’s back cover.
Bunny Mail by Rosemary Wells: I really am fascinated by the weirdness of Rosemary Wells’ books–there is more to Max and Ruby than simple bunny-cuteness. In Bunny Mail, Ruby sends invitations to a 4th of July picnic while Max writes to Santa (via Grandma) expressing desire for red motorcycle. Except that Max can’t write, so Max’s letters are mostly composed of tire track, but no matter–Grandma figures it out. And little hands will enjoy lifting the flaps to “read” what Max and Ruby’s letters say.
Dear Tabby by Carolyn Crimi, illustrated by David Roberts: Oh, it’s a familiar trope, the alley-cat turned advice columnist. We loved this book about a scrappy cat who receives letters from all manner of pets–embarrassingly-pampered felines, talkative birds, dissatisfied hamsters, and lonely skunks. With her no-nonsense approach, Tabby D. Cat sets these creatures straight, though the book’s ending reveals that Tabby’s taking care of herself as well. Points also to this book for involving something called “The Dingaling Sisters’ Travelling Circus”.
Where Do You Look? by Nell Jocelyn and Marthe Jocelyn: While not strictly a postal book, I was thrilled to find a bit of mail in this brand new offering by the remarkable Jocelyn team with their amazing collage illustrations. “Where do you look for a letter?” the text asks against a fantastic airmail envelope background. “In the mailbox?” (with an image of a child posting said envelope in a red mailbox), “Or on the page?” (with the alphabet spilled across a two-page spread in haphazard fashion). Like all the best books, Where Do You Look? challenges any ideas of the world being a simple place (or language being simple to comprehend) and adds texture to the way its reader sees the world.
The Stamp Collector by Jennifer Lanthier and Francois Thisdale: This book only came out last Fall, but has already won a ton of acclaim in Canada and in the US. It’s the story of two boys growing up in China whose paths cross in an unlikely fashion. One discovers a postage stamp on a scrap of paper, and becomes conscious of a world beyond his own. The other becomes a writer whose ideas challenge the government and lead to him becoming a political prisoner. While in prison, the writer is sent letters through the PEN Writers In Prison Program, which are intercepted by prison guards. One of these guards is the stamp-collecting boy, now grown, who takes notice of these letter arriving from all over the world and establishes a relationship with their recipient. It’s a dark story, but one that’s leavened by Thisdale’s beautiful illustrations, the suggestion of a hopeful ending, and the fact that proceeds from the book’s sales are being donated to PEN Canada.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uP_d2hBE8vg
January 15, 2013
More on bad/good reads, and almost-didn't reads: Olive Kitteridge
I had some thoughts about Olive Kitteridge before I read it. I don’t know if I’d noticed that it had won the 2009 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, but I’d noticed the endorsement by Oprah on the over, which in my mind is a different thing entirely. My anti-Oprah bias is part of the reason that I’d never picked the book up even though it’s been sitting on my shelf for ages. Also, it was the sort of book like A Complicated Kindness whose blanket popularity had left me uninterested–the boring cover didn’t help either. I’d remembered that the popularity wasn’t so blanket and those who didn’t love it absolutely hated it. I could never remember who of Olive or Elizabeth was the title or the author either, “Strout” seeming as unlikely as “Olive Kitteridge” from certain angles. But I’ve been making serious progress through my to-be-read shelf, to the S’s even (because indeed, Strout Olive’s author was) and so it was finally time.
I must confess an enormous affinity for the “novel in stories”, though I confess it quietly because lovers of the novel are so often disappointed and/or frustrated by this strange hybrid form, and calling attention to it as a form at all makes short-story lovers furious in its undermining of the greatness of stories on their own, or side-by-side but unconnected. But then haven’t you read A Visit from the Goon Squad? The Juliet Stories? Lives of Girls and Women? The Elizabeth Stories? Then surely you get the point that the form is really something onto itself?
Carrie Snyder is quite illuminating on the “novel in stories” form: “The definition on the back of my book may be a marketing tactic, but it’s also accurate. I did structure each chapter as a story that could stand on its own. I did so very deliberately. I did it because I’m comfortable with the form. I did it because I like the gaps and leaps that stories permit. I like the cleanness of the form, the circularity, the interior singular coherence.
But just because each chapter works individually as a short story doesn’t alter the fact that the larger book is its own whole universe. It’s meant to be read from beginning to end, not piece by piece. It needs all of its parts to be complete. It unfolds chronologically. Its overarching plot-line tracks the development and changes of the same characters. It has themes that are woven throughout. It has peaks and valleys. Does all of this make it a novel? Probably. Sure. Why not?”
Olive Kitteridge is probably less novel than stories, and unlike Juliet its pieces had been written/published separately over a large span of time, but I still admire the sense of wholeness that comes from such a many-sided shape. The slight discrepancies in point of view, the inconsistency that brings the book its verisimilitude. Because people change over time, and they change depending on who is doing the watching, and a novel in stories shows all of that. A character from near and far, within and without and I love that.
Olive Kitteridge is a “good-read”, the kind that Kyo Maclear would like to stretch her muscles and read less of. But I do believe that Strout’s book in all of its lyrical realism can do everything that Maclear’s “bad-reads” recommends. However quietly and without intention to improve its reader, Olive Kitteridge shows that “life as dynamic and unsettling, full of moments of absurdity and disorientation, at times startling and unreal.” Just as rare and remarkable as the successfully-realized fictional invented universe is the fictional universe that looks exactly like the one I know. I’m still not done being disturbed, startled, and awed by the sight of life itself.
January 13, 2013
Is speculative fiction my "can't read"?
In June, I wrote this:
“Against Domesticated Fiction, or The Need for Re-Enchantment” was an essay by Patricia Robertson in Canadian Notes & Queries 84, in which Robertson decried contemporary writers in general for their failure to imagine the world beyond the individual, and the failure of contemporary writing to be anything but tedious. Hers was an inspiring argument, even stirring, and yet… I’m not yet tired of the kind of novel she’s maligning. Domesticated fiction remains what I most want to read, and I’m not nearly finished with it yet. And I don’t even have a good argument as to why this should be the case, except that I think that with the reader taking an imaginative leap, domesticated fiction can do as well as the fantastic, or any other kind of literature, to “incorporate some of the wildness, the strangeness, the mystery of the world around us.” To show that we are indeed “participants in a vast web of being.”**
Last week, Kyo Maclear published a fantastic essay at 49thShelf shelf about embracing “the bad read”, celebrating the kind of fiction that doesn’t go down easy. She wrote, “Yes, bring on the bad reads. Bring on those lousy good-for-nothing novels that embrace novelty, possibility, and surprise. Let’s hear it for god-awful fiction that believes anything can happen—that captures the weird, the awkward, the complicated, the downright bizarre…you know, the really real…in all its ghastly glory.”
Her argument was not dissimilar from Robertson’s, but Maclear came at it from a different point of view that made me less defensive. First, because she does that brilliant thing that critics never do wherein she celebrates one thing without necessarily denigrating another. And also because her point of view is similar to mine, as a reader and writer of “lyrical realism.” Her rallying call stirred my heart, and every part of my brain registered how completely right she was. How could I feel any other way, considering how often I am frustrated by readers’ refusal to be challenged by fiction? And yet, I could only be stirred so far. I don’t know who or what could ever compel me to pick up a porcine allegory, let alone an erotic one. (I’m still too afraid to read Tamara Faith Berger’s Maidenhead, for heaven’s sakes.) I want to be challenged, but I don’t want to be that challenged.
And isn’t that what we all find ourselves saying? When we throw up our arms and plead, “I’m 21 weeks pregnant with a small child and I only get the tiniest blocks of time to read in every day. Kindly leave me to read what I like. No sex pigs, please.” So yes, part of it is that I’m perpetually tired, as perpetually tired as every single human being on this planet is, but another part is that I cannot bring myself to be interested in a story unless human beings on this planet are what it’s addressing. Not just with books either–I can’t watch animated films unless its characters are people. I just don’t care. And I just don’t care about books depicting other worlds either, or other versions of this one. I liked A Wrinkle In Time, but only when they were at home, for example. The only part I liked in The Princess Bride is when Fred Savage is reading with his grandfather.
So now I’m doing that thing, denigrating an entire genre, but I’m not actually. I’m just clarifying the enormous gulf that lies between me and the kind of “bad reads”, anything’s-possible book that Maclear recommends. Perhaps if I weren’t too tired, I might do well to pick up some books from Leah Bobet’s Speculative Fiction Titles for Literary Readers list. Maybe what I’m suffering is not so attitudinal as a lack of a bridge? Why am I so afraid to take a leap?
But it’s not fear altogether. I’m not scared of speculative fiction necessarily (though the sex pigs, yes, sound terrifying) but I just don’t quite see the need for it. I’m still not finished with this world yet, and I don’t know that fiction is either. And while it’s a stunning achievement to construct a new universe, I think that any fiction writer does that whenever she sits down to write. I think that realism is perfectly capable of “embrac[ing] novelty, possibility, and surprise”. That last year, books by Anakana Schofield did this, and Zadie Smith, and Lauren Groff (though yes, she’s a genre blurrer at heart), and Annette Lapointe did this. Even Carrie Snyder’s book And these are the books I will challenge myself to read, though they don’t go down as easy as, say, A Large Harmonium by Sue Sorensen (which is so so so wonderful. Have I told you that lately?). For me, these books aren’t necessarily “good-reads” and they have passages and sections I have to read over and over to understand and appreciate what’s going on. Maybe one woman’s good-read is another’s bad-read, and speculative fiction is my “can’t read”? And really, what is reading for? And for whose sake? Do we have to save the world with book we pick up? And why ever wouldn’t we want to? And who’d ever have the time?
As ever, I’ve got no answers, but I look forward to more circular arguments and frustrations in a forthcoming post on Olive Kitteridge, naturally.
**Interestingly, there are responses to Robertson’s piece in the latest issue of CNQ. I haven’t read them yet, but look forward to doing so.
December 30, 2012
2012: My Year in Books
For the most part, my year in books was a good one, but somewhere around October, it all fell to pieces. I blame my own circumstances for this mostly, but it’s true that books this Fall didn’t spark my enthusiasm as those from the Spring had. There was a time in the spring when I was so on a roll, not sure that there wasn’t a book in the entire world that wasn’t wonderful. By October, I’d stopped keeping track of the books I was reading, deciding I didn’t care about that sort of record anymore, though when I came out of my first trimester stupour, I realized I did, and spent an anxious hour putting my whole list back together.
I’ve already shared my books of the year. I’ve also read some poetry, though I never know how to talk about it here, so I don’t. Some of the best books I’ve read this year that weren’t new were Subject to Change by Renee Rodin, The House With the Broken Two by Myrl Coulter, So Beautiful by Ramona Dearing, Bilgewater by Jane Gardam and All the Anxious Girls on Earth by Zsuzsi Gartner. Like everybody, I loved Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl and How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran. And the most amazing book I’ve read all year, the review that brought me more hits than any other I’ve ever written, Firebrand by Rosemary Aubert, “Loving the mayor is a bit like that”. Other notables of 2012 were Tanis Rideout’s Above All Things, Jo Walton’s Among Others, Kyo Maclear’s Stray Love, Noah Richler’s What We Talk About When We Talk About War, Alice Petersen’s All the Voices Cry, Zadie Smith’s NW, dee Hobswan Smith’s Foodshed: An Edible Alberta Alphabet, Sussex Drive by Linda Svendsen, Miranda Hill’s Sleeping Funny, and Daniel Griffin’s Stopping for Strangers. And Isabel Huggan, the very best thing I found all year. I loved her two short story collections so very much, and have her third book Belonging lined up for not so far into the future.
I did not succeed in my 2012 New Year’s Resolution, which was to finally finish reading John Cheever’s collected stories. I am beginning to think that “collected stories” volumes are not necessarily reader-friendly. Or maybe the problem is simply me.
I’ve read 120 books this year so far, and may get two more in before the year is out, as I’m just about finished Ali Smith’s collection The First Person and Other Stories. 120 is less than I’ve read in years past, but then I’ve also been reading for work more than I ever have before. It has been a very busy year, bookwise, with less room to read for pleasure than I’ve ever known, what with the work stuff and the obsolescence of naptime, but then I also know that I’m lucky to be paid to read at all. And that I’ll probably be breastfeeding again in about six months time, which comes with its own agonies, but ample time to read (one-handedly, all night long [yawn]) is not one of them. I’ve also been too isolated in a Can-Lit bubble this year, and need to branch out beyond. In 2013, I plan to do something about that.
Anyway, long live books! Long live authors! Long live small Canadian presses, which publish most of the best stuff out there. I’ve spent the last two weeks reading indulgently, and it’s been a pleasure, reading for reading’s sake. The definition of holiday. And I’ve got some exciting books lined up for the new year–new Lisa Moore, new Kate Atkinson! Also getting around to the 2012 books I’ve been slow on–John Lanchester’s Capital, for one, and others. As ever, I am looking forward.
September 7, 2012
First Day
I’ve been struggling all week with Ian McEwan, been hard at work on a couple of wonderful projects, and occupied by playschool prep and a dinner party. I did do a short interview with Kyo Maclear at 49thShelf, so I have something to show for my week at least. And Harriet started playschool this morning, and we’re so proud of her. Drop-off went without a hitch, and I think she’s going to have a wonderful time.
April 29, 2012
Morstad, Nadeau and Arsenault: 3 Great Illustrators
I realize that I’m not telling you anything you don’t know already, because it’s not that these illustrators are up-and-coming, but that they’re everywhere. Behind the books we love and books we’re still discovering, and perhaps it’s incidental that all the books they illustrate are brilliant, but I suspect it isn’t. In fact, I think that at least half of the brilliance these illustrators can totally take credit for.
Julie Morstad: I first bought a child one of Julie Morstad’s Henry books (written by Sara O’Leary) back in 2008, and have been doing so regularly ever since, as recently as last weekend. (It was When I Was Small. Went over a charm). She’s also the pictorial force behind the award-winning Singing Away the Dark by Caroline Woodward, which I adore, and also the art book Milk Teeth by Drawn & Quarterly, which I’m currently winding my little head around. And now I hear she’s got a new book, an illustrated version of Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem The Swing and I am so very excited. 
Janice Nadeau: Nadeau is the illustrator of Cinnamon Baby, which is one of our family’s favourite books ever (and I gave a copy of this book to somebody as recently as yesterday). Like Morstad and Arsenault, her illustrations have a vintage feel, an irresistible prettiness, but are also a bit cheeky and whimsical. She is also the illustrator of the award-winning graphic novel Harvey, and she’s the creator of the poster for 2012 TD Children’s Book Week (which is currently hanging on Harriet’s bedroom door).
Isabelle Arsenault: We discovered Isabelle Arsenault via Kyo Maclear’s wonderful first picture book Spork: never has cutlery appeared so full of vitality (and so shiny!). Harriet was still little but found the illustrations, of the baby in particular, very appealing. And then along came Arsenault next with Maxine Trottier’s award-winning Migrant, the beautiful story of a little girl from Mexico whose family comes north to Canada to work as farmers every summer. Her latest is Virginia Wolf, also with Maclear, and I’ve already written about how much I adore it. Though I haven’t bought a copy yet for any library except our own, but I suspect it’s going to make a good gift one of these days soon.
April 15, 2012
Only in hindsight
I loved Stephen Marche’s piece “The Persistence of Mad Men”: “Everything in Mad Men is predictable, but only in hindsight.” Marita Dachsel and Carrie Snyder, two women I like and admire, have a conversation about The Juliet Stories, motherhood, and the writing life. Carrie Snyder also turns up at Blog of Green Gables writing about the various stages of reading with her children. I love that Sarah Tsaing is writer-in-residence at Open Book Toronto this month. Sarah is also on the New Generation of Canadian Poets, which has its own page at Amazon. Jonathan Bennett on Kyo Maclear’s Stray Love. Nathalie Foy likes Jo Walton’s Among Others. My friend Erin gave me a Cath Kidson Diamond Jubilee mug (which should go really well with my new bunting, which is due to arrive in the post soon. And how amazing that I get to spend the next couple of weeks anticipating bunting in the post [because is there any greater state of being?]). Blogs that are interesting me lately and challenging notions of the form: Habicurious (“Exploring the intersection of people, their housing and communities”), and Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer’s May I Stare At You?, and Heinonen on writing and reading fiction (in particular, lately, “The Notebook Habit and the Hell of Notebooks“). Richard Florida on “Why Young Americans Are Driving So Much Less Than Their Parents”. And finally, we’re currently building a box city at our house (of cereal boxes, pasta boxes and very much lately of tissue boxes) as inspired by Alfred Holden’s Beaver, whose exhibition Stuart and I went to see years ago.
March 22, 2012
A splendid day
“Albert collected good days the way other people collected coins, or sets of postcards.”– Behind the Scenes at the Museum
Oh, we’ve had a good day. Sunshine , popsicles and a brilliant morning in the park with wonderful friends, after which Harriet went straight to nap without lunch (at her own request) and slept for 3 hours. And then we headed down to Queen Street West to Type Books where Kyo Maclear was launching Virginia Wolf and her novel Stray Love, which made it the perfect mother/daughter occasion. The event was great, with snacks (pocky!), music (Waterloo Sunset!), and company (my best friend, Jennie!, who took our picture). It was also nice to meet Kyo Maclear, whose work I’ve admired for a long time. And then Harriet and I took the streetcar home, which was fabulous because transit is Harriet’s favourite part of being alive, and the driver on the Bathurst Streetcar rang his bell for us! Also exciting, I thought, was that the entire Queen St. W. area smelled like farm, which was curious, yes, but mostly importantly, which Harriet recognized before I did, and how wonderful that my streetcar-riding city girl knows what just what a farm smells like.
March 14, 2012
From the reaches
Coach House fails to imPress the 3-and-under set or maybe they're just overwhelmed
From the reaches of the internet, I bring you Kyran Pittman on blogging and book-writing (“As we move away from our attachment to the vehicle, I’m noticing recently a subtle shift in the blog culture’s attitude toward publishing books”). Paper Tigers Blog reviews Joan Bodger’s Court and Castle. Behind the Mad Men twitter accounts (which I refuse to believe aren’t authentic). Lauren Groff’s Arcadia gets a rave review by Ron Charles in The Washington Post. Carrie Snyder’s The Juliet Stories gets love from Quill & Quire. Snyder’s book is also called one of the best books you’ll read this year by CBC Books in this excellent list of Canadian women writers you need to read right now. And she blogs for The Afterword about why she loves her cover art. An interview with the fabulous Caitlin Moran that references wanking to Chevy Chase (and I am so excited that so many of you want to read her book now. But of course you do!). The VIDA 2012 Count and why it doesn’t matter how many women submit to literary magazines. DoveGreyReader finally reads Possession. The spring session of my blogging course at UofT begins in one month! You can register here. And check out Kyo Maclear’s Picture Books for Grown-Ups list— I absolutely adore it. Now reading Death Comes to Pemberley, which I’m probably enjoying more than the Austenites and now I want to read Pride and Prejudice again (and let’s just say I never thought anything would make me want to do such a thing). Finally, we bought a Sam Cooke hits CD recently which has revolutionized how good it is to be at our house. Everything is better when Sam Cooke is playing, and we’ve been doing a lot of dancing in the kitchen and drinking more wine. My favourite song of the moment is the wonderful Bring It On Home.
And yes, I’ve decided to bring back my links round-ups which is a bit 2007, but twitter is too ephemeral for some things. Plus I can post photos of Harriet as accompaniment.
March 7, 2012
The internet is made of wonderful things
For the benefit of anyone who’s not on Twitter: Larissa Andrusyshn (who wrote Mammoth, which I loved) is interviewed at The 49th Shelf and talks about “discovery channel poetry; really interesting interview with Mad Men creator Matthew Weiner about the upcoming season; Heather Birrell’s Mad Hope has been made into an actual book and we got to watch it happen; Rohan Maitzen on Virginia Woolf’s criticism, “Abandonment, Richness, Surprise”; an interview with Kyo Maclear on her new picture book Virginia Wolf (which we love); on Elephant & Piggie’s We Are In a Book as a meditation on death; Rebecca Rosenblum marks a decade in Toronto: “I survived SARS, Avian Flu, Swine Flu, the blackout, and I’ll survive Rob Ford, too.”; Daniel Griffin’s “Ten Stories Will Get You One”; Susan Swan explores past tense in the present; Maria Meindl on the perils of writing about family; and Elizabeth Renzetti leaves a box of books on the curb and watches to see what happens. Now reading Caroline Adderson’s Sitting Practice. And why don’t we all know already that Caroline Adderson is hilarious?
