Vices of My Blood by Maureen Jennings

Did I mention already that I love mysteries? This novel is a lovely, gruesome little mystery set in Victorian-era Toronto. It features Detective William Murdoch, a charming bachelor who rides his wheel (bicycle) everywhere and likes to actually solve crimes instead of just rounding up the nearest tramp and sticking him in jail.

The story opens with the murder of a clergy man, a crime that shocks the community and seems to be thought quite unforgivable. We are presented with a few likely suspects: Sarah Dignam, the parishioner who might have more going on with the reverend than just prayer meetings; Matthew Sweezey, his competitor for the job; Esther Tugwell, a poor woman whom the reverend denied aid; Mr. Drummond, a local grocer who thought Sweezey should have got the job; Jack Trevelyan, a tramp found with the dead man's boots and watch; and on and on. Most of the characters seem to feel the murder of a man of God makes no sense, as how can he have any enemies? But the story itself betrays potential murderers at every turn. I guess anyone can get stabbed in the neck with a letter opener.

Murdoch is quite creative in his methods, disguising himself as a tramp and spending the night in the workhouse among them. Through her story, Jennings manages to shine a disturbing light on urban poverty and the fallibility of religious charitable endeavours.

At home, Murdoch lives in a boarding house with some lovely people, chief among them a teacher named Amy Slade with whom he is quite charmingly in love. Amy was my favourite character - she is a feminist, gets in trouble for wearing pants, and thinks marriage is a bum rap for ladies. I like that she is presented as not only a viable love interest for Murdoch, but also an equal in conversation and household duties. Positive portrayals of feminism are few and far between, so Amy was a total unexpected bonus for me. I also liked Dr. Julia Ogden, the pathologist who inspects the body and who refuses to take any crap from Murdoch (or anyone). Badass female characters in Victorian stories - yes please!

I liked this book a lot. The pacing is good, the characters well drawn (except some of the other policemen, whom I found a bit interchangeable), and the setting of Toronto at that time adds a fascinating element. In the acknowledgement the author details the changes she has made to certain locations, and the historical accuracy of the layout - it's a lovely touch.

I understand that there is a whole series of Detective Murdoch novels (this is the sixth), and a TV series as well. It's great to see that a Canadian female author has created such a successful narrative franchise; I will definitely read more of her work in the future.

Four CN Towers out of five

 

Helpless by Barbara Gowdy

This novel is a very well-written and compelling story whose main theme is pedophilia. How does one review or recommend such a book? I know it was good, but...did I like it? I was upset by it, and anxious, and uncomfortable - it wasn't a pleasurable experience to read it, but in another way it was, because it was so technically well executed. It's like trying to review Hotel Rwanda.

The story follows the actions and thoughts of four main characters - Celia, a single mother working two jobs and struggling to make ends meet; Rachel, her beautiful mixed-race daughter who is happy and lovely and practical; Ron, a pedophile (but not a child molester) in denial, who runs a vacuum-repair shop; and Nancy, Ron's girlfriend, also working two jobs, struggling with addiction and a history of abusive relationships. Ron sees and starts to follow Rachel; he gets it in his head that she is being neglected by her mother and sexually abused by their landlord, Mika. Ron abducts Rachel for her "protection". Most of the book is about Ron and Nancy concealing and taking care of her, and Celia (and Mika) looking for her and freaking out, understandably. Interspersed throughout are flashbacks to the characters' pasts, lending a lot of intrigue and partial explanations without taking away from the story. 

The key to the story is Nancy, who is manipulated by Ron's belief that Rachel is being abused. She knows there is something wrong with what they're doing, but she also thinks they are protecting the girl. Her turmoil is the most compelling and excrutiating element of the story - I just wanted to grab her and tell her to call the police! Right now! Ahhhhhhhhhh!

The other fascinating element for me was Ron's point of view. He knows that he finds young girls beautiful, particularly a certain type. He often watches them. But he has himself convinced that this is not sexual, and he views child molesters as complete monsters. He not only convinces Nancy he is protecting Rachel, he convinces himself. He really believes that she is in danger (or is already being molested) and that she is safer with him. His desires are presented as complicated; there was a strong divide between his feelings and his actions. He doesn't want to hurt Rachel, but he keeps her underwear in his pocket. He fantasizes about her kissing him on the lips. He clearly wants to touch her but tells himself that it must be initiated by her - and yet he is still delusional enough to think that he does not have sexual feelings for her. It's strange, but believable. Which makes it all the more disturbing.

The city features prominently as the setting, particularly after Rachel has disappeared and a grid search is underway. It makes the story that much more terrifying to have it set in your own backyard, of course. My god I'm glad I don't have kids. One thing I found kind of interesting was an early mention of suicide by throwing oneself off the Bloor Viaduct. This is the second book I have read for this project that talks about committing suicide in that way. I just find it an interesting touch, because there is a collective subconscious in Toronto that associates that particular structure, at least partially, with suicide. You could always just say "I'm going to throw myself off a bridge", but this character says (mega paraphrase): "I'm going to throw myself off the Bloor Viaduct". It marks it as a Toronto story. Living in Toronto, I would say I'm going to throw myself off a bridge, but if I was back in Fredericton I would probably say I'm going to throw myself off the train bridge. Interesting markers of geographic specificity.

Anyway, to the task at hand. I don't know what to say about this book. I think that based on the skilled writing, the compelling plot and interesting characters, it was very very good. I can only recommend it tentatively though, and if you are at all triggered by themes of pedophilia/child sexual abuse, emotional abuse/coercion, child abduction, etc. then proceed with caution.

That said, I would definitely read Gowdy again because her writing really is terrific.

Four CN Towers out of five. 

The Incident Report by Martha Baillie

This is, hands down, the best book I have read for this project so far. Well, my favourite anyway, because can there really be an objective best book?

As a teenager and in my early twenties I worked my fair share of customer service, although probably not nearly as much as some of my peers. Retail has always been a particular hatred of mine, although food service is perhaps not much better. Hell is other people, as Sartre did so wisely note. But my most hated feature of those jobs was also kind of my favourite - the ridiculous customers and their stories.

At one convenience store job we kept a notebook under the counter, and we would write the funny or strange things that happened. Humour makes most things bearable. The Incident Report starts out much like that notebook. The protagonist works in a library, and the format of the novel is a series of incident reports - stark, emotionless, detailed tellings of things that happen. For the first little while it is flat out hilarious, in a distressingly sad way; in the face of the weird forms of humanity that flock to free public spaces, it is hard to know whether to laugh or shake one's head. We don't know what our protagonist, 35-year-old Miriam, does. She just tells us what happened.

I would have imagined a book like this to be uninteresting, but the lack of emotion does not stop the writing from being poetic and clever, and it challenges the reader to imagine desires and feelings for Miriam, to learn who she is by the way she describes things, and what she does. Baillie tricks us into thinking we are simply reading a list of things that happened, and that we are not invested - and then pulls the rug right out from under us in big, disarming moments of pure emotion. It is tense the whole way through; I had a very strong impression of Miriam doing her best to hold back the ever-present chaos of her life and the life of the library.

This is a story about stories, but for being set in a library it has little to do with books. There are many great allusions throughout, notably to Hansel and Gretel (which I almost missed because I'm not great at allusions). There are seemingly unrelated bits and pieces from the childhoods of Miriam's coworkers. Very few of the reports take more than a page.

The novel is set at the Allan Gardens branch of the Toronto Public Library, where I have not been (Danforth/Coxwell what what!) but now kind of want to visit. Toronto plays a very small part in the story, as most of the action takes place in the library. It still retains a very local flavour, however.

This is a beautifully written, smartly crafted and thoroughly engaging book. I loved it so much, and cried unabashedly on the streetcar (you'll know which part). I can't recommend it highly enough, and I will most definitely be reading more of Baillie's work in the future.

Five out of five CN Towers