Where We Have to Go by Lauren Kirshner

No critic or reviewer can be objective; it stands to reason that every story and experience affects us differently depending on a multitude of factors that encompass who we are and where we come from. But I find some books are harder than others to give a fair review, or at least a review that will help people who are not me decide if they want to read it.

This book is one of those, because I identified so strongly with the protagonist, Lucy Bloom. She is two years older than me, and the story is her growing up in the nineties, dealing with body image issues, longing to be popular, aching to understand the adult world (and then, the more she understands it, longing to be rid of it). The friend that she makes halfway through the book, Erin, is like a composite of the three or four friends I had in junior high and high school who saved me by being so smart and strange. A lot of what happens to Lucy didn't happen to me, but she is such a perfect encapsulation of being a girl of that age, in that time, that it's like reading my own diary.

So that's why I'm not sure how much this review will apply to those who don't fall in the category of "girl born in the early eighties and raised in middle-class (to lower-middle class) Western society", but I imagine you will still like the book. It is absolutely wonderfully written, and as remarkable for the stories left out than those included.

Lucy is eleven when we first meet her. Her parents' relationship is falling apart; her father is a travel agent who has never been anywhere, and is a little too friendly with a woman at his AA meetings, and her mother is a thrift-store shopping, just a little too embarrassingly foreign woman with the classic "Jewish mom" concerns of getting Lucy fed and fixing her up with a nice boy. Lucy takes refuge in watching Alf reruns (remember Alf?) and nurtures compulsions that, if her parents paid attention, are clear early warning signs of the eating disorder she later develops.

The book follows Lucy through about eight years of her life. I loved how major stories that could have taken up the whole book - her parents' divorce, her eating disorder, her relationship with her grandfather - are presented as important, but just one piece each of a whole life. This is not a story about eating disorders or family relationships or death. It is a story about growing up as a girl. It is in some ways painfully 90s, but in other ways perfectly timeless.

I read that Kirshner was mentored by Margaret Atwood, which makes sense to me - this book is like the spiritual successor to Cat's Eye. However, while Kirshner touches on many of Atwood's pet themes - particularly women and girls, and how they act towards and around each other - she has her own very distinct style. The tone is not as dark as in Atwood's work; throughout the story, I always had hope for Lucy, a hope I never have for Atwood's characters. Kirshner is masterful with light humour that doesn't intrude on the momentum of even the sad parts of the story. She is absolutely a gifted writer; I would read more of her work in a heartbeat.

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 Heart Does Not Bend by Makeda Silvera

Some books are good because they are difficult. Not difficult to understand, but difficult to come to terms with. The characters in The Heart Does Not Bend are so real and flawed, it is one of those wonderfully written but difficult books.

The novel follows some of the life of Maria Galloway - or Mama as she is universally known - through the eyes of her granddaughter Molly. It starts in Kingston, Jamaica, where Mama is in her element in her house at the end of a dead-end street, raising Molly and baking treats to sell to the local restaurant. Halfway through the novel, Mama decides to go to "foreign" - Toronto, in this case - and she takes Molly with her. The book remarkably covers six generations of women (if you count Maria's mother, Mammy) as they struggle with their relationships with each other and with Mama, the matriarch.

Mama is a remarkable character. Sometimes I sympathized with her: she took in whoever came along, but didn't take any guff from men; she tried very hard to raise Molly well; she was an enterprising and independent woman who built a family and a home over and over. But there are times in the book when she is just so frustrating. Her refusal to accept her son Mikey's homosexuality, and her downright harassment of Molly and her female partner; the way she spoils her great-grandson Vittorio and turns a blind eye to his thieving; her utter stubbornness and refusal to be considerate. 

Mama is lovable, frustrating, generous and backwards. She is written so well, I began to feel like she was my own mother; certainly as the daughter of a strong-willed, loving and obstinate woman I could relate to many of the feelings Molly and her mother, Glory, express. The world of the book is populated with very believable but wonderfully unique characters, but Mama really steals the show. 

There are a lot of interesting themes in the story, most notably the idea of "good men" and what different characteristics of masculinity are valued by people of Mama's generation and upbringing, and how that is starting to change in Molly's time. Mama loves her dear son Freddie, who is an inconsiderate jerk and a woman beater; she relies on Peppie, but rewards his helpfulness and loyalty by taking advantage of his hospitality and acting horribly to his wife; she adores Mikey until she figures out what the situation is with him and his "friend" Frank, then she moves to another country and refuses to write to him. She even briefly takes back her abusive ex-husband. 

Then of course there is the fascinating phenomenon of what begins to seem like a genetic predisposition to teen pregnancy. Four generations of Galloway women - Mama, her daughter Glory, Molly and her daughter Ciboney - all have babies at fifteen years old. Of course the men are absent, and it seems the mothers are powerless to prevent a repeat of the situation for their own daughters.

I know I'm making it seem heavy, but the book had a lot of fun moments and funny characters. I love the great-aunts, super-religious Ruth and super-fashionable Joyce. I loved some of the stylistic choices the author made: despite all the pregnancies, there is never a description of heterosexual sex, but there are several descriptive paragraphs of Molly and her female lover, Rose, having sex. 

Toronto as a backdrop isn't very distinctive; there were a few place names, but really the "foreign" action could have happened in any North American city. Still, it was nice to read about Jamaican immigrants and about women, after all the white dudes I seem to have been reading lately.

I loved this book, by the way. It was rich and lovely and character-driven. I give it four CN Towers out of five.