Little Beasts

Little Beasts by Matthew McGevna, © 2015, Akashic Books

I am grateful to the folks at Akashic Books for allowing me the chance to get a sneak peek at some of their newest titles. They recently sent me another book from their Kaylie Jones Books series for me to review. And while the topic held dark and sometimes violent images, I flew through the pages.

The twitch of violence is in every whiff of breeze in the hot July air of Turnbull. For three 8-year-old boys looking for distractions from summer boredom, the forest behind their working-class homes is the perfect retreat. Close enough to hear their mother's call, but far enough away to find mischief. And when they stumble upon a treehouse-in-the-making, that distraction becomes an obsession for Dallas, which ultimately changes the course of their summer and the rest of their lives.

The boys aren't the only kids in the poor neighbourhood who are listless though. When they come across three 15-year-old boys fraught with teen-angst—think girls, bullying, ambition—the mix becomes deadly. After an incident goes too far, the consequences are extreme and everyone involved has to reassess their lives and their places in the world.

McGevna loosely based his book on actual events that happened in Long Island in 1979. The pent-up emotions that run throughout the characters are scary in the innocence that they have of the consequences. Actions beget reactions and sometimes there is no coming back from them. But is there a way to forestall them in the first place? In the poor town of Turnbull, it seems like the events were inevitable.

While the story touched on unpleasant events and emotions, it left me wondering how people fall through the cracks and whether with a little pause and foresight, some of these events could be prevented. Because even though it is a work of fiction, I am only too aware that hot tempers do exist in real life and often amount to regretted violence that can't be taken back.

Perhaps we could all use a moment to stop and breathe sometimes, before we say or do something we regret. You might find yourself thinking back to this book, long after it's done. And that is a mark of a good book to me.

LadyBug Lunch

Lady Bug Caprese Salad - cherry tomatoes, black olives, basil leaves, and mozzarella

Posted by Greens First on Thursday, March 19, 2015

  Omg, these are the cutest things! Take salad to new heights with these scrumptious little ladies. I just might have to make these for a summer salad or to a backyard barbeque...

"Who invited the ladybugs to lunch?"

The Back of the Turtle

The Back of the Turtle by Thomas King, © 2014, Harper Collins

I first came across Thomas King in a Canadian Lit class in university. We read 'Green Grass, Running Water' and I loved our discussions that unfolded the many layers of the story. I have returned to the book several times and am enamoured with the tale every time I revisit it. So when I heard tell that King had a new book out, it immediately went on my TBR list. When I spied it at my local library, I couldn't resist picking it up, despite having 2-3 other books on the go. As soon as I cracked it, the other books fell neglected on my bedside table.

Not only was 'The Back of the Turtle' nominated for the coveted Governor General's award for Fiction in 2014, but King walked away a winner. And I can understand why. He created another thought-provoking tale filled with humour, multi-layered depth, serious contemplations of genetically modified products and their potential environmental ramifications, and a study in human relationships. All that squeezed into 518 pages, but reading like a much shorter book.

King introduces Gabriel, a brilliant scientist, but socially awkward individual who doesn't seem to fit in anywhere. He creates an incredibly devastating defoliant, akin to Agent Orange, which inadvertently gets spread in a small BC town, killing people, wildlife and pretty much anything in its path. As the story progresses, we discover that a nearby Indian Reserve has also been affected, which just so happens to be where his estranged mother and sister live. In guilt and remorse, he returns to the town to commit suicide, but some of the inhabitants of Samaritan Bay throw his plan off-kilter.

One can't help but read into characters and the deeper meanings scattered throughout this tale. Gabriel as messenger? As right-hand man to God or destroyer of Jerusalem? He certainly brought devastation to Samaritan Bay. And Samaritan Bay; is it a place of salvation, where people in distress can find help? After devastation, there is rebirth. Even Mara is more than just a returned resident; is she not akin to the Buddhist Mara who is herself a temptress? There are also many Native tales which weave and pull the story together in King's trademark magical realistic way, of which I for one am a fan. And while I'm sure I missed some of the significations of bits and pieces of the tale, that only means I will need to revisit the story again in the future.

As for you, I highly recommend King's most recent novel. It will make you contemplate corporate greed, debate the merits of genetic modifications, question your relationship with the past and how you can come to peace with it, but most importantly, you should enjoy this read. Two thumbs up from me!

Ghost Town

The Last of Duncrief

Untold history

languishing into ruin

only ghosts remain

~

Not far from where I live, an old ghost town has almost disappeared back into the realms of history. Only a decrepit house stands where once hope flourished. No mill left to mark settler's dreams. No plaque planted to tell its tale. Just broken glass, battered boards and a hint of what could have been in small-town Ontario...

scars

soft petals tinged by

past breezes, freezes, memories

forever noted

yet beauty amidst the scars

show strength in our tomorrows

Mizpah

11 - the number of years we would have had
what would have happened?
where would we be?
would it have been deserving of steel?
or would we have survived babies?

7 - the number of years you've been gone
so many moments
lost before their time
I've stumbled and reworked them
a life that should have been our prime

3 - the number of years we had
marriage was a gift
one I didn't quite  foresee
you gave me all your everything
your love for eternity

∞
I never will forget
the days when you were mine
I still live them every day
our hearts will always twine

Happy Anniversary my love. We would have been married 11 years today. While our days were stolen early, I'll always celebrate the time I had with you and take joy in your living memory left to me in our children. Blessings to you sweet man.

We've got mizpah...

predictions

walking down the street

April air 

freezes

words 

into wisps

of thought that

break

on naked knees

thrown down

in challenge of the

weather

predictions

that were right 

all along

~snow~
✵

waves

I dwell behind flash-
ing cursors
so as not 
to upset 
my
place,
space in
an uncertain
universe of married
thoughts, ideas,
calisthenics
that rock
egos
fragile
after fractious
flings in the netherworld
of love, restrained and drained

no more

words

~

words

thoughts, ideas

gathering, forming, flowing

oh to edit the perfect sentence

language

~

Couplet Challenge

It's National Poetry Month. 
What lines are you penning?
Get your juices flowing
and start the couplets spinning.

If you are looking for a way to kick-start some poetic thoughts, why not check out the CBC's Couplet challenge today (April 7th). They will be sharing a rhyming couplet from a Canadian poet every hour starting at 9am. Complete the next line and you could win...

Here's my entry from the 10am prompt from A.F. Moritz

"Wisdom's invisible in children's eyes;"
Akin to not seeing the blue in summer skies #CBCPoetry

What would you write?

Call and Response

snap
electric response
too fast to catch, hold back
as fire races through my mind
in-dig-na-tion
whywhywhywhywhy

Breathe, 
   breathe...

and I calmly
erase ~ ~ ~
carefully edit
my politely worded
RESPONSE, but
everyone on the stringer
can hear the strident tone

frustration

and are clapping,
applauding the words
that they too held
but only I released
for us all
...

Love Maps

Love Maps, by Eliza Factor, © 2015, Akashic Books

Sarah receives a phone call in the middle of the night from her godmother Tori. Her long-term partner Conningsby has died. His family had reeled him back into their lives as his days waned, but she can't bring herself to attend the funeral. But someone needs to pick up the portion of ashes that have been willed to her. Can Sarah?

When Sarah's sister Maya hears of Sarah's plan to attend the funeral, she tells her of a dream she had where Sarah is taken away by a man from the west. She begs her not to go, fearful it is a fateful prophecy. Sarah insists though and meets Philip. And he does indeed revolutionize her life.

Never one to believe in love, Sarah spends her days painting and dabbling in short-lived affairs. After meeting Philip, she is inexplicably drawn to him. It drives her to compulsively paint, confounding Maya and her friends. Nothing can expunge Philip from her mind though. Is it love or obsession? The line becomes a moot point. And that obsession changes everything.

Love Maps is Eliza Factor's second book and she creates vibrant characters who struggle against love. Sarah has never been interested in anything more than satisfying her urges, but she is irrationally drawn to Philip, even while she tries to avoid him. Philip has always been a loner, but can't help letting Sarah in. Despite coming from vastly different worlds, neither of them can shake their magnetic pull to one another. But Maya is a force to be reckoned with and she doesn't like Philip. Can she succeed in driving a wedge between them and force Sarah to choose which direction to take her life in?

Factor jumps between Sarah's present day less-than satisfying, single parent world and the story of her past volatile relationship with Philip which brought her there. She looks at the decisions we make in life and whether they are the right ones or not. Should we follow our dreams or forsake them for love? And where does family come into the picture? How do you choose your loyalties? And will those choices bring you happiness in the end?

We all have choices to make when it comes to love. Factor reminds her readers that love isn't always easy. We experience romantic love, parental love and familial love, but when they don't gel, what do you do? How do you map it out? Whether Sarah successfully navigates it or not seems less the point than how we perceive the journey. And for Sarah, that map is nothing like how she imagined her life to evolve.

So the question you might be asking after reading this is "That's great Katherine, but did you like it? And should I bother picking up a copy of it?". After my longer description of the book, I will leave you with a simple answer—yes.

Receding

slowly receding snowline

pulls back to reveal 

last year's forgotten

last week's promise

and a tease of 

tomorrow's sun

~Spring~

There's hope yet

Strangely, Incredibly Good

Strangely, Incredibly Good by Heather Grace Stewart, © 2014, Morning Rain Publishing

The late 30's are a difficult time for many. It seems like just when you are getting over having babies, relationships start to fall apart. The rest of life can come tumbling down right after, if we don't have the strength to put it back together again.

This is where we find Cat at the beginning of Strangely, Incredibly Good. She is 38-years-old, divorced, living with her feisty 91-year-old Grandmother, and two daughters who are quickly losing faith in Cat's parenting abilities. Who can blame them, as she doesn't have any faith left in herself. She's overweight, works at Walmart, and can't get beyond being the butt of everyone's high school pranks twenty years on. Her motivation doesn't seem strong enough to kick-start her life back onto a better track and depression keeps leading her back to the fridge—a vicious never-ending cycle.

That is until she finds a used Wii Fit machine at a garage sale on the way home from another failed start at the gym. To her surprise, and delight, a gorgeous genie emerges when she turns it on, with three wishes to grant. As they struggle through Cat's muddled wishes, romance sparks between Cat and Gene. Can he help Cat find happiness, but more importantly a measure of self-esteem? And does romance have a chance between a 2000+ year-old genie and a middle-aged, overweight, divorcee with a huge chip on her shoulder? If she can see beyond the past, just maybe...

Strangely, Incredibly Good is Heather Grace Stewart's first novel, but far from her first book. With four poetry books, two nonfiction educational books and numerous other poems and other essays in print, she figured it was about time to add this easy-to-read novel to her repertoire. You can't help but like bumbling Gene and laugh at Cat's antics that seem to do more harm than good. To find out if they have a chance at happiness or turning either of their lives around, you'll have to get a copy of Heather's newest book.

You can be sure it won't be her last though.

The Pack

My last assignment from my creative writing class. We were to analyze one of eight artworks and write how we might use them in a story. I chose Joseph Beuys and his art installation - Das Rudel (The Pack). What do you think of his piece? How would you grade my interpretation?

*___*

24 wooden sleds equipped with flashlights, felt rolls, belts, and fat tumbling out of the back of a 1961 Volkswagen bus. How mysterious.

That is until you delve a little deeper. In 1944, Joseph Beuys was shot down in battle. He was rescued by Nomadic Tartars, who dug him out of the snow and wrapped him in fat and felt to warm and insulate him, before they returned him to a German field hospital.

Felt and fat took on lifesaving imagery for him. But what of the other items in this installation? The belts also held significance. In that same crash, the pilot was killed on impact. Beuys swore that by not using safety belts he was saved, as he was thrown from the plane, versus his compatriot who died on impact, still strapped in place.

By the time Beuys was 24, the war ended. After being interned by the British for two months, he was released. Sweet liberty and a return to his first love; the arts. Is that what is captured here? Do the torches light his way to freedom and creativity?

Or is this all just symbolism aggrandized for the observer? Beuys was known to embellish his history and the story of his rescue could have been one of those fictions. Perhaps we need to see the healing elements in this installation, as a means for us to see our own light and direction more clearly?

How long will it take you to slide out of the box and find your path?

***

This installation is fascinating, with so much room for interpretation. The symbolism of the elements are key and that is where the story lies. While a biography of Beuys would be interesting, as he made up his own version of his life, perhaps fiction would be a better way to go with this piece. We create our own truths and that is what Beuys was getting at. It reminds me of Pink Floyd’s The Wall and other dystopian novels that lean heavily on symbolism. I think that direction would hold the most impact with the flashlight peering into the future paired with the life-saving fat and felt images pulling you forward either away from or with the pack. Don’t leave behind the tools from your past, your memories that help you survive, but know which ones to take. The story would have to start with that image and tie those reflections in along the way.

Frozen

frozen winter dreams

blanket the world in snowbanks

tough job for spring sun

~

sunset dreaming

~sunset~

searing eyes

your light fades in the sky

sets on a weekend

saturated in 

sisterhood

love

and a promise

of more tomorrows

for me, us, and more.

bring on another

roadtrip

One Native Life

One Native Life, by Richard Wagamese, © 2008, Douglas & McIntyre

This book. it filled me. So many delicate weavings. Heartbreak painted in healing by the gift of time. And wisdom. So much wisdom. How can one man have gone through so many challenges and found so many truths along the way.

The gift is his book to us.

I read this book slowly to savour it. The pages are filled with poignant vignettes of a life lived, of a life becoming. Richard Wagamese survived many hardships, but they shaved off his rough edges til he found his voice, a beautiful soul redeemed and shared with the reader.

He doesn't ask us to walk his path, as he knows we all have our own, strewn with our own personal stumbling blocks and boulders. And despite fighting to reclaim his Native roots, the peace he now lives surpasses any label he thought he needed. The beauty in his stories is that Wagamese knows the beauty in all things; Nature, Aboriginal, Joy and Sorrow. We all own these things no matter the colour of our skin or blood in our veins.

I want to pick this book up again and let Wagamese's magic lure me to a better place again. His healing is our own. I cannot praise it more. It is a beautiful, touching memoir that I will read again. And probably again and again when I need to be reminded that we can all move through our troubles if we take the time to listen, and understand the why of life.

bedtime

little feet running

squeals and giggly fun

squeaky clean faces

flee

tubside grunge

and

soft gurgles fade

to water drop

-pop-

you can't outrun bedtime

snuggle 

huggle

zzzz

Things I Need

What's important to your world?

Freedom

On July 18, 1918 in Mvezo, South Africa, a child was born. He was named Rolihlahla, which means “pulling the branch of a tree” in Xhosa. More commonly it is translated as “Troublemaker”. Rolihlahla earned that appellation many times over. 

Rolihlahla was the first in his family to go to school and, typical of the time, was given a Christian name there - Nelson. After completing his primary and secondary education, he went to Fort Hare, the only university that admitted blacks at the time. True to his moniker, it didn’t take long for trouble to find him. He was expelled for taking part in student protests and fled to Johannesburg. It was there that he was initiated into the life of politics that would consume him for the rest of his days.

By 1942, Nelson joined the African National Congress (ANC). He studied law and took every opportunity to speak for the rights of blacks. When the National Party formerly ushered in Apartheid (racial classification and separation) in 1948, he organized protests and strikes. The government noticed. They issued bans, arrests and jail time, but it didn’t stop him. 

In 1964, Nelson was sent to prison on Robben Island. He steadfastly believed in his cause and touted it until his release in 1990. Undeterred by the long years in prison, he commenced talks to end white-minority rule with President F.W. de Klerk. They earned him the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993. By 1994, Nelson Mandela was elected South Africa’s first black president. 

The troublemaker finally made good.

***

This was my historical fiction submission for my creative writing class this week, I felt compelled to share it today, as it was a momentous day in Nelson Mandela's life; he was finally released from prison on February 11th, 1990 after spending 27 years behind bars.

Nelson Mandela believed in the equality of people, no matter their skin colour, and made enormous sacrifices for those beliefs. In so doing, he realized his goals, as Apartheid was struck down in theory by 1991. The multi-racial elections in 1994 were the true celebrations of its end though, as Mandela himself was elected President. What a reward for everything he had done. He was truly a brave and noble figure and accomplished all without inciting racism to battle racism, or bloodshed to vindicate shed blood.

South Africa, and indeed the world, is richer for having had Madiba in it.

- 46664 -

Nelson Mandela, Speech from the Dock, 20 April 1964

“I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.”

Flying Free

I stood in the yard and gazed up into the sky. The cerulean heavens held puffs of gauzy white clouds drifting through it. I longed to be one with the endless expanse beyond my grasp. If only I could just reach up and touch it…

Thick air slid between my fingers as I stretched up into the ethers. With a thrust, I pushed my hands towards the earth. Again and again I reached, shoving the earth away from me. Slowly my feet slipped away from their earthly bounds. I was free.

With huge shoves and sweeps I propelled upwards. Rooftops approached, then passed as treetops were left below. A leaf fluttered as I soared by. My aerial breaststroke broke the confines of gravity and it seemed I’d always been capable of this freedom, just unaware of how to attain it.

With a kick I leveled off. My arms stretched out beside me, the wings I always knew I had. I was higher than the birds. Far below me people pointed skyward, jabbing fingers into the sky, their words lost on the wind behind me.

Out of the corner of my eye, my gaze caught a glint of light. I tilted into the wind. Unseen rudders pointed me in its direction. Drifting, I sailed towards the unseen object.

As the ground approached, I was assailed by a loud woof. I vigorously flailed my arms once more and jetted out of the dog’s reach.

I was safe, for now...

***

Assignment #2 for my Creative Writing class;
   - Theme: vivid dream

Anyone else have flying dreams? Have you had a dream that stuck with you long after you woke? 

What would you rate mine out of 15?

touch the clouds
as they pass you by
there's power in them dreams

The Love Book

The Love Book, by Nina Solomon, © 2014, Akashic Books

Care for a light-hearted romp through the messy world of "love"? Join Nina Solomon in her funny tale of soul mates gone awry.

Four women go on a bike trip through Normandy. They all have their own reasons, but none of them find what they are looking for on the "Tour de Flaubert". What they do find is an unlikely friendship that grows despite their differences.

Emily is a recently separated single mother not quite ready to let go of her ex. Max is a tough-minded trainer who isn't willing to let anyone in, let alone anything close to "love". Beatrice is a free-spirited senior who doesn't have "commitment" in her vocabulary, but isn't afraid to whoop it up with whomever comes along. And Cathy, the flighty captain of their crew intent on making sure that they all find their soul mates by Valentine's Day.

Solomon's easy-to-read novel won't strain your brain, but is entertaining. She pokes fun at love gurus and find-love-quick recipes that all end in disaster. But what she does do is remind readers that sometimes you really do have to be open to love before it will find you. And it isn't always what you thought you were looking for, but that's okay.

Thanks to Akashic Books for sending me an advance copy to read! And as Valentine's approaches, may you find love too. ❤ 

It Was Me All Along

It Was Me All Along, by Andie Mitchell, © 2015, Clarkson Potter Publishers

Back in November I found myself a winner to one of Read it Forward's book giveaways. I enter their contests most weeks and this is the second book I have won. What with Christmas slowing down transport, I didn't receive the book until into January, but I was pleased to receive it nonetheless. As nonfiction has been tempting me as of late, I decided to move Andie Mitchell's book to the top of my TBR pile.

It didn't stay there long.

I cracked the book last week and finished it this morning over coffee. And as much as I have never personally struggled with weight issues, I really enjoyed this book. Mitchell draws in the reader with her candid stories and uncompromising accounts of her struggles with obesity. By the time she was 20-years-old, she weighed a staggering 268 pounds. It was her tipping point.

What she didn't realize though was that weight loss was far more than just losing a few pounds. Well, over a hundred points is more than the average dieter, but there was more to it than that. For her, the journey was about looking at the patterns of her eating and the why of it. We all have skeletons in our closets and hers turned her to food to comfort herself from them.

I couldn't help but think back to high school as I devoured this book. I was the skinny girl in my group of friends, surrounded by several overweight girls. I bet three of them were over 200 lbs and a few more were also big girls. We all went out for coffee, fried food, and other unhealthy options that didn't make a dent on me, but certainly didn't help my friends. Listening to Mitchell's tale, I suspect that her struggles were possibly similar to theirs.

The similarities didn't end there. When Mitchell decided to tackle her weight, she didn't anticipate her new struggle with food and her new image of herself. I remember one of my friends who lost a similar amount of weight trying to wrap her head around people all of a sudden "seeing" her for the first time. She was no longer the "fat" girl, but didn't know how to react to the way people treated the new person she turned into. Transformations can be incredibly hard, especially when you don't know who you will be at the end. Mitchell's story gives hope to anyone facing weight loss issues, but even more so to almost anyone who has struggled to figure out who they are, where they belong and how to get from here to there intact.

A great first novel and a story that reminds us we are all in control of our destiny. Thanks again to RIF for sending me a copy!

Silly Sausage

He approached us with a squint in his eye and a low growl. My eyes darted left and right, looking for escape. I ran right to freedom. My sister veered left, right into his path. He sprang towards her, as she shrieked. There was no way to outrun his grasp.

He wrapped his big arms around her and lifted her into the air. I looked on, unable to react. She was at his mercy.

A blanket lay draped over the nearby couch. He grasped it and threw it on the ground, followed closely by my poor sister. She wriggled in his grasp, but was doomed to her fate. A chortle escaped him.

He laid her at the edge of the fringed blanket and tucked the end underneath her. Then he proceeded to roll her into its soft embrace. It was too much. I cried out and lunged at him, but his laughter drowned out all noise. I was no match for his strength. I watched helpless as she was spun into the blanket’s hold.

When he reached the end of the roll, he stood up. Her head and little stumps of legs stuck out either end. It was hopeless to even attempt escape.

With a snicker he tickled her little bare feet until she screamed with laughter.

A belly laugh erupted from his frame as my uncle chucked her under the chin.

“My silly sausage,” he remarked to our delight.

 “My turn,” I cried!

***

To challenge myself and work on improving my writing I have enrolled in an online creative writing class. Our first assignment was to write a 250-word piece on a childhood memory. The class has commented and offered their two-cents worth.

Now it is your turn. Bring on the constructive criticism. How would you grade me?

The Museum of Extraordinary Things

The Museum of Extraordinary Things, by Alice Hoffman, © 2014, Scribner

Here is a book right up my alley. We have turn of the century freak shows on Coney Island, mermaids, love at first sight, and true historical tragedies interwoven into a quick fictionalized tale.

Meet Coralie, our resident mermaid, or at least that is how her father would like to present her to the world. Professor Sardie, her father, is far from the warm and fuzzy type. He runs 'The Museum of Extraordinary Things', where he exhibits the likes of a 100-year-old turtle, a butterfly girl (a girl with no arms), a wolfman, fire breathers and when she turns 10, Coralie, his star attraction - the human mermaid.

Coralie is a shy girl, but far from a mermaid. Her webbed fingers are an oddity that Professor Sardie is intent on exploiting, along with his other freaks. But he fails to see the human side of his employers and that is where the story lies. We are more than a sum of our parts.

While I enjoyed Hoffman's book and the images she created, I do have issue with the story. There is so much going on in the book, that characters fail to breathe to life in the pages. Coralie meets Eddie in the woods one day after one of her training swims in the Hudson River. They barely spy each other through the trees, but both fall instantly in love and cannot get each other out of their heads. No rhyme or reason. They never even spoke. Yet that spontaneous love carries them through the turmoil ahead, despite neither of them ever having had much trust or faith in a world that hasn't done them any favours in the past.

Am I jaded in that? Perhaps, but I think that Hoffman could have given more details to help the reader fall in love too.

Hoffman goes on to describe the true events of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire and the devastation that it wreaked. I love when authors weave true events into a tale, as I feel like I am expanding my knowledge. But again, events are given short shrift and I was left wanting more. The tale felt rushed towards its conclusion, which I won't spoil for you.

Did I enjoy the book? Yes and it is worth the read. But it has been compared to The Night Circus and in my opinion that is a far superior novel.

On to my next book!

The Goldfinch

The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt; © 2013, Little Brown and Company

The Goldfinch has met with great public acclaim and won the coveted Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2014. It is a 771-page novel that is a force to be reckoned with in its sweeping narrative that ranges from New York, to Las Vegas, and even takes a detour to Amsterdam for its action-packed culmination. Tartt has indepth descriptions, incorporates beautiful prose and draws the reader in with her tale of Theo Decker and his misadventures around the globe.

But did I like the book? Well, that is a harder question to answer.

The plot of the book is interesting. At 13, Theo has begun to hang out with an undesirable crowd. He gets in trouble at school and has to face his teacher with his mother in tow. Before they get to school, they take refuge from the rain in an art gallery where the world famous "Goldfinch" painting is on display. As they have time, Theo's mother insists on seeing it. This twist of fate lands Theo on a turbulent path which it seems he will never shake.

A bomb explodes, killing many people, including Theo's mother. Theo's father had abandoned the family a year before, effectively leaving young Theo an orphan. In desperation, he reaches out to wealthy family friends, who take him in. Life could have seen an upswing, but Theo's father materializes and drags him to Las Vegas to a life of drinking, drugs and a decided lack of parenting.

What polarizes Theo in his drama is the "Goldfinch". In the aftermath of the bomb, he steals the painting and carries it with him. He becomes its protector, even as it is a noose around his neck. It is a stolen possession after all and the authorities want it back.

The story moves back to New York, but I was already struggling at this point. For every new twist, Tartt goes into incredible detail. She expounds on Theo and his friend Boris' drug trips. When Theo moves back to New York and struggles with direction, we get pages of his struggles. I get that he is an addict suffering from PTSD, but I stopped caring about poor Theo's welfare when he walked for blocks and blocks navel-gazing. Every scene had so much detail and, dare I say, it became boring.

But it won the Pulitzer Prize, I hear you say. Yes, it did. And Tartt is a great writer. I don't think I could write better than her by half. But I just wish someone had edited her by half! Or at least a quarter. The book was good, but lost me in its excessive descriptions.

And the ending? I won't spoil it, as I'm sure some of you will read it based on the merits it has won on so many fronts alone, but I did not feel it at all. It didn't gel with the previous flow. I didn't believe Theo in his wrap-up. And as much as I liked her work too, it reminded me of an Ayn Rand diatribe that went on too long.

Kind of like this book review? Yes well, I won't make any money for my opinion today, but that is my two cents worth regardless.

Sorry Donna; good writing, but too long.

The Kite Runner

The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini, © 2003, Anchor Canada

In 1975, Amir is 12-years-old. He lives in an affluent neighbourhood in Kabul with his father Baba, their servant Ali, and his son Hassan. Both Amir and Hassan's mothers are gone; Amir's during his childbirth and Hassan's fled as soon as he's born. The boys are a year apart, but despite Ali and Hassan being servants, Baba treats both boys like sons. Much to Amir's occasional annoyance.

While Amir and Hassan lead a mostly charmed life, despite their difference in stations, their world is on the brink of catastrophic change. In 1973, the monarchy is overthrown. Russians are set to overthrow the government and turn Afghanistan into a war zone. Everything is thrown into question. But it is the vile act of bullies after a local kite fight that is the ultimate act that challenges Amir and Hassan's friendship. A friendship now earmarked for failure.

As Hosseini weaves his tale, questions of friendship and loyalty are held up for inspection. Can true friendship exist between different castes of people (Amir is Pashtun and Hassan is a lower caste Hazara)? What would you be willing to do for someone? The biggest question raised though is can you go back and make things right when you feel you have failed someone in the past.

Amir carries the weight of his disloyalty to his friend long after him and Baba flee the war in Afghanistan for the more peaceful climes of California. A phone call many years later gives him the opportunity to go back in time and make a change though. Is he strong enough to face the awful memories that plagued him from the fateful day of the kite fight in 1975? Can he repair the damage done?

If you haven't read this book already, it is well worth the read. You won't find easy answers to your questions, but you just might find that "there is a way to be good again." Forgive yourself your demons and dive in to Hosseini's excellent first novel.

After Midnight

~ click 

The light turns on.
Wind howls outside my window
 - pain
The clock strikes,
after midnight?
Heedless,
the words march on
demand their ink on the page

Sleep!

the mind cries,
but when the light 
is extinguished
the words 
keep marching on...

~ click

Image Source: RGB stock, saavem

Dancing Flames

everyone loves fire

like moths to a blazing sun

watch the dancing flames

ghosts

The ghosts come from my closet
the door swings open wide
voices fill the airwaves.
I must take it in stride

I didn't know the door was shut
I never knew it slammed
upon so many faces
til suddenly I'm deprogrammed

Now time's a funny object
It's given me some gifts
I must decide which are welcome
and which ones to set adrift

Do they all come wrapped in paper
present everlasting truth
or do some hide secret messages
to uncover like a sleuth?

As history slides still further
I feel it yet inside
it's left a permanent mark
the scars I can't abide

Doubt crosses many borders
I grapple one on one
with ghosts who stand in front of me
and wish this had never begun

Happy Memories

Homework assignment:

Try to recall the day last year when you were happiest. Why then? What were the circumstances? Did it happen because of something you did, or did it just happen? When I asked someone this question the other day they said, "I can't remember the day but I can remember the hour very well. Is that good or pathetic?"

   ~ Jonathan Carroll

Last year...

Is he referring to this past year, 2014, or rather the year before? I suppose I can take licence in answering that, so define it as 2013, as I think of 2014 as this year. Or is it the year past? Hmm... I fear I am dithering though and shall just get on with the task at hand.

I slipped into a new decade

So what did 2013 hold? This is an interesting challenge for my memory. The biggest, most obvious thing must have been my birthday in July. I turned 40, but the date held far less fireworks than I imagined. The number came at me like a bulldozer trying to run me down, but after a few weeks, didn't have the punch I had expected. There were celebrations with friends and family, cake, and a trip to Sunfest with my girls for a taste of international music and arts. But it didn't make my heart stop. And I don't know if it contained my happiest moments to be truthful.

What else happened in 2013? At the time, I was pretty happy to meet my boyfriend's children in August. We had dated for what seemed like plenty long enough, but there were always reasons why we couldn't be introduced. When the date finally came, it was sprung on me at the last minute. I still had time to get nervous as all get-out though. To my delight, they happily liked me. And when I finally got over the fear of being the dreaded "other woman" I had hope that we could be one big happy family. We spent many happy moments together later that summer and fall, catching fish, carving pumpkins, and creating snowforts. The kids all got along better than I could have dreamed. The future looked bright. But as circumstances have since changed, I no longer have much to crow about over those particular memories. They sadly get lost amongst questions and lies.

Well then, where else did joy lie that year? There were plenty of smiles and laughter anytime I got together with my sister and her kids. And if I think about it, I know that my happiest moment was not a when, but with a whom.

2013 Clovermead Bee Beard Competition

Together with my sister, we went to Clovermead to see their annual bee beard competition. We hit the Ontario Science Centre in the spring, and gathered maple syrup, easter eggs and Autumn leaves; all together as a family unit. In those moments I felt most myself and at ease. I didn't have to be anyone else to impress. I wasn't required to be on my best behaviour. I could smile and laugh without fear of reprisals or ill effects. A pure love existed which didn't judge me, nor my actions. It wasn't big and spectacular, but all those moments were filled with the best of me and the best of what I hope to share with the world.

So I cannot say what my happiest moment of 2013 was. In fact, in 2014 I would probably have the same response. The "when" lay in the people whom I had the privilege to be with. My control of it had more to do with the fact that I chose to be with them. My family. My sister. Our love. Unconditional and joyful. And in recognizing that, I give thanks that I am blessed not with one sole happiest moment, but rather a happiest feeling when I am privileged to spend time with those I love most.

What is your happiest moment of the past year?