Sister Mirabelle is sent to a town to investigate mysteries of saints and miracles, and finds far more than she expected. A sweet, cozy little addition to the series that works well as an introduction, even though it occurs late in the series timeline; it adds dimension to the characters to see them through the eyes of a newcomer, and gives perspective to the crazy things they’ve been through. (And it really makes me wish there were more novels in the series! I’m not usually the kind of fan who bothers authors to write more faster, but this really does whet the appetite for more Greenwing and Dart books. Especially as she hints at a relationship that wasn’t obvious in the main storyline.)
Category: quick reaction
Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland, by Patrick Radden Keefe, read by Matt Blamey
This book about the Troubles, covering the political violence in Northern Ireland from the 1960s to the late 80s, is written so intensely that it feels like a novel. At times you even wish it were a novel, because it’s so inescapably painful to remember that these are real people in history, who lived in terror while their friends and neighbors chose to enact violence and tragedy upon one another. Keefe tells the story by focusing on the individuals. He begins with Jean McConville, a widow who was taken directly from her home while her ten children watched and never seen again. Then he digs into the members of the paramilitary forces likely involved in her disappearance, giving voice to their anger, their pain, and their pride, without excusing their actions in the slightest. As the sad story moves on he also reveals government operations, both clandestine and open, and how those actions may well have done more to continue the violence than to defuse it. The book also covers the I.R.A.’s unlikely evolution from terrorist group to political party, the lies everyone told themselves in order to accept the transition peacefully, and the impact on those left behind, both within and without the I.R.A. Blamey’s Irish-accented narration, quiet but intense, is an amazing way to experience the book. “Say Nothing” is a brilliant title; it touches on the strict code of silence around the actions of the I.R.A., but also points to how those left in the aftermath would rather look the other way than dig up (sometimes literally) the problems that prompted the Troubles in the first place.
Remarkably Bright Creatures, by Shelby Van Pelt
Small town feel-good fiction, in which an elderly woman named Tova makes friends with an elderly aquarium octopus named Marcellus; meanwhile, young Cameron, who can’t seem to maintain a job or a stable relationship, wanders into town. Of course the lives of all three intersect in a way that the reader can easily figure out halfway through the book, but the characters must bumble around for a few more chapters before they figure things out for themselves. Super predictable and relaxing read; great insights into aging, grief, community, and also octopus life.
Sea of Tranquility, by Emily St. John Mandel
This was actually quite lovely. (I did not like her previous Station Eleven and was completely prepared to put this down if it did not work for me.) This novel is purportedly a time-travel novel, as a mysterious effect echoes through the lives of a disillusioned young man in 1912 Canada, a young woman in prepandemic 2020 NYC, an author on tour in 2203, and scientists in the moon colony in 2401. The first half of this book is taken up by atmospheric writing and mysterious hinting; the second half is where the time travel kicks in, and it’s done quite well. Though there’s plenty to keep a reader busy in the time travel area, I think that the real heart of the novel is in the character of the author Olive. Olive’s on a book tour but her heart yearns for home; her book tour has gone on for so long that she barely knows what city she is in or what fan she is addressing at any given moment, feeling as adrift in time and space as any time traveler. As a reader, I can’t help but think that similar circumstances must have prompted the writing of this book.
Fly Girls: How Five Daring Women Defied All Odds and Made Aviation History, by Keith O’Brien, read by Erin Bennett
Fascinating look at the early days of aviation, when male pilots were celebrated for their daring and skill, and women were actively discouraged from trying to fly planes at all. The women profiled in this book are brought to life not just as pilots, but as extremely interesting and driven people. Rich girl Ruth Nichols took flying lessons in secret, then leveraged her connections to raise money for funding for her flights; saleswoman Louise Thaden got free flying lessons from a customer and never looked back; actress Ruth Elder, not content with film stardom, demanded the chance to break records in the sky; mechanic Florence Klingensmith wanted nothing more than to prove she could fly as well or better than the boys… and social worker Amelia Earhart, who was plucked from obscurity by a publisher who wanted a feel-good story, seized control of her narrative and became an advocate for women in aviation. O’Brien fills the book with details of their struggles, quoting men who doubted their abilities and mocked their ambitions, and crediting the women with fighting on. It is enraging and stirring, and you cannot help but be in awe of the strength and determination of the women who fought for the right to simply do what the men were doing already. If I had one criticism of this book it would be that O’Brien sometimes spends just as much time detailing the histories and actions of the men of the time; I would have preferred a greater focus on the women.
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August, by Claire North
This book is time travel, sort of, except it’s the Groundhog Day type where you don’t get a choice in how it’s done – you just rewind and get your life all over again, which is what happens to narrator Harry August. After he dies, he is reborn exactly where and when he was the first time, except this time he has all the memories of his previous life and is trapped in an infant body. (Yes, this happens fifteen times in the course of the book. Each time, North elides the weird part of having to get diaper trained and learn to walk while fully conscious and in possession of an adult mind, by simply skipping over it to when Harry is six and theoretically capable of asserting agency.) The first half of the book is Harry coming to terms with this strange existence, as well as meeting others who go through something similar; he learns that his fellow travelers – they call themselves kalachakras – have reached a sort of gentlemen’s agreement not to use their foreknowledge to greatly impact history, since that sort of thing can have terrible impacts down the timeline. Then Harry starts getting mysterious warnings passed down from the future, and begins to realize that a disaster is looming that only he can prevent. I enjoyed the ride, and North carried the story along splendidly. Unfortunately, this was the sort of book that’s super fun to read but doesn’t bear up well when you start thinking about the details and how it’s all supposed to work together.
Clockwork Boys, by T. Kingfisher
This was purely delightful. A disgraced paladin, a resigned forger, a cheerful assassin, and a naive scholar are thrown together in a last-ditch effort to try to stop giant clockwork soldiers from destroying their town: a classic oddball group on a suicidal quest. There’s also demon possession, a spreading plague, ancient magical wonders, and a journey into enemy territory; it’s all urgent enough but it’s the interaction between the characters, and their internal monologues, that make the story amazing. The members of the party banter and trade snarky jabs at one another (and sometimes actual jabs with knives; they have issues), but since they take turns being POV characters, we also know that they’re just as hard on themselves, even though they don’t show it outwardly. The writing is simply addictive. Book 1 of a duology, but at least it doesn’t end on a cliffhanger.
How to be Perfect: The Correct Answer to Every Moral Question, by Michael Schur
Michael Schur is the creator of The Good Place, and in this book he entertainingly summarizes all of the philosophy that he picked up along the way. To sum up: there is no way to be perfect. But there is still good in trying. Schur marches cheerfully through classic philosophical dilemmas, first presenting different philosophers’ takes on them, then pointing out issues with each answer. There are several satisfying callbacks to The Good Place; several cast members also take turns reading some of the quotations from the book, which was lovely to hear. The constant variations on the same theme did get tiresome after a while, but Schur’s narration is smooth and enjoyable, so it wasn’t hard to keep going. Certainly I suspect it was much easier to read this than to try to read the philosophers’ original writings. (Something I found personally amusing: he refers to the “trolley problem” and also brings up the “shopping cart problem“, but here in Australia, shopping carts are referred to as trolleys! So the two problems have the same name.)
Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands, by Kate Beaton
I picked up Ducks because it was nominated by Mattea Roach for the nationwide Canada Reads competition; I knew little else about it, and was surprised to find that a) it was an autobiographical comic, b) written by a Cape Breton native, who c) went to work in the Alberta oil sands, and d) began publishing the excellent webcomic Hark! A Vagrant during that time. To pay off her student loans, Beaton joined the masses from Atlantic Canada heading towards Alberta. The experience was extremely toxic, both for the environment (the title refers to a flock of ducks which died after landing in a tailings pond, causing much PR flailing) and for Beaton personally, who pitilessly details the harassment and misogynism that she faced as one of the very few women in the isolated environment, as well as the huge mental toll that it took on her. Although my own experience in male-dominated workplaces was nowhere near as bad, I still recognized many aspects of the casual workplace misogyny, as well as her unhappy, resigned tolerance of it which mirrored my own; I loved so much the clear-eyed way in which she presented it, even as it hurt to read. I also loved visiting both Cape Breton and Newfoundland as a tourist, and am embarrassed to say that I had no idea of the economic situation that drove so many of the locals to look for work elsewhere. The comics are simple, but poignant and very human; in one exchange, Beaton says to her truck driver from Newfoundland, “were you a fisherman, before?” He responds simply, “I’m still a fisherman. I’m just here.” And then the comic zooms out to show the pickup driving through the snowy mine, against a background of heavy equipment, a steep cliff face, and a black, empty sky.
Sink: A Memoir, by Joseph Earl Thomas
This memoir is beautifully written, even though it’s hard to read. It starts out tough and doesn’t get any easier, which pretty much encapsulates young Joey’s life growing up in poverty and violence. The characters in his family behave in ways both cringingly awful and yet recognizably human; the details that Thomas chooses to share illustrate both their helpless despair and the love that sometimes finds its way to the surface. The storytelling is brilliant, mixing reality with the fictional worlds that Joey picks up from geek culture and video games. One of my favorite passages (out of many fiercely beautiful passages) dealt with his helpless protectiveness of the minor Pokemon Zubat, whilst playing the game: “so many Zubats, everywhere, with nowhere to go, no one to protect them. Their entire lives consist of knocking into Pokemon trainers and being slapped around by stronger Pokemon who already have homes and social resources, warm Poké Balls to sleep in.” Though the metaphor is obvious, it is no less poignant and heartbreaking.