This was incredible and eye-opening. I knew vaguely of the existence of the Métis/Michif, but knew nothing of their origins. Descended from early French/English explorers who intermarried with native women, they formed a culture, identity, and political system derived from both origins but unique to their community. After Confederacy, the Canadians began looking west; although the Métis fought desperately to preserve their lands, both in courts and on the battlefield, they were eventually driven out by deceit and by force. The government in Ottawa broke treaty promises, looked the other way when soldiers committed atrocities, derided the Métis as “half-breeds,” and refused even to recognize the Métis as an Indigenous people until as late as 1982. Teillet, a Métis who has fought for Indigenous rights in court, details the heartbreaking efforts of the Métis as they plead with the government for their lands and their lives. Educated by Catholics and raised with surnames like Riel and Dumont and Grant, they well understood the theft of land and livelihood that was happening to them, and were still powerless to stop it. A large part of the account is spent telling the story of Louis Riel, a Métis icon who led the fight for rights and freedoms. He never gave up hope that his people would be recognized as Canadians of equal status, even as the government in Ontario eventually condemned him to death. (Sidebar: apparently his execution was vehemently opposed in Quebec, where his death became a symbol of Anglophone domination.) Teillet also lets Métis women shine: I loved the stories of Marguerite Caron, who demanded to fight alongside the men, and Eleanor Laurent, who sat calmly scrubbing away evidence of her husband’s conspiracy even as soldiers tore apart her house. The story of Cindy Gladue, victim first of violence against Indigenous women, and then of the Canadian justice system, is heartbreaking. If there’s one criticism of Teillet’s book, it’s that she paints the Métis peoples in a very rosy and romantic light… but given that they were abused and maligned for most of Canadian history, it honestly seems only fair.
Tag: genre-history
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.
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 Haunting of Hajji Hotak and Other Stories, by Jamil Jan Kochai
This is a series of interrelated short stories, and as the collection title promises, they are haunting. The main set of characters is a family of Afghan refugees who have settled (with varying degrees of success) in California, and how they are haunted by the trauma of the war that drove them from their home. The stories are written with a wide variety of styles and structures, some more approachable than others; however, they hang together incredibly well as a collection and together illustrate many dimensions of the pain and loss felt by this family. Incredibly well done.
Becoming, by Michelle Obama
For me, Michelle Obama’s memoir was a good mix of known and unknown: enough familiarity to resonate with my experiences, with enough differences to fascinate and educate me. I loved learning about her childhood, growing up aware of class differences but buttressed by a supportive family; I was in awe of her journey from Chicago’s South Side to the Ivy League and Biglaw; I sympathized with her struggles with work-life balance and search for career fulfillment, while keeping in mind what she owed to her roots and her family. I also loved seeing Barack through her eyes; her tolerance and affection was palpable through her voice in the audiobook. I could have used a little more of her perspective on the global events that happened during the Obama administration though; instead, she pointedly kept out of politics for the most part and concentrated the bulk of her narrative on her initiatives for child nutrition and her concerns about raising her daughters with as much normalcy as possible. The major awkwardness about this book is that although Michelle Obama is an impressive woman by any measure, at the end of the day she becomes defined by traditionally feminine roles: wife, and mother. She works with the title throughout the memoir, “becoming” first one thing and then another; as her husband retires from politics and her daughters grow into their own, she may find herself more free to transcend traditional roles.
Why We Swim, by Bonnie Tsui
The author has loved swimming ever since childhood, and every chapter of this book at some point includes a breathless, besotted description of being in the water. If there is one weakness to this book it is Tsui’s basic assumption of water as a comfort element to all humans, ignoring people who might not feel immediately at home when immersed in a pool or an ocean. But I suppose the book isn’t called “why we don’t swim,” so fair enough. Tsui talks about swimming in history and in extreme elements, even trying some of the cold-water swims herself; she also profiles extreme swimmers and digs into the history of swimming for both exercise and competition. I was particularly fascinated by the people who kept alive the art of samurai swimming (in full armor!) as well as the story of the international swim club that met in Baghdad in the Green Zone. I’m not a swimmer but after reading the book, I’m considering visiting the local pool more often.
Dinners with Ruth, by Nina Totenberg
This memoir is subtitled “on the power of friendships” which clues you into the fact that it’s not all about dinners with Ruth Bader Ginsburg, though she does feature prominently through the narrative. I have always been a fan of Totenberg and her legal affairs briefings on NPR, and especially enjoyed learning how she got to that post and how she handled the position. Per the subtitle though, the book really is about friendships and the lifelong support they provide, both professionally and personally (sometimes sorely needed in the very. sexist environment of the time). One of Nina’s very greatest friends was the formidable RBG, whose quiet determination and unstinting generosity come to life in Nina’s words. The two women supported one another through the early parts of their careers, through the illnesses and deaths of their respective spouses, and always managed to maintain a professional distance between their work and personal lives. The memoir’s tone starts out dry and funny, and turns more poignant as events progress.
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, by Gabrielle Zevin
I began this book and immediately fell into the mental equivalent of a defensive crouch – something along the lines of “oh please don’t be Ready Player One, don’t think to buy my favor with 80s nostalgia while turning a hyper-competent female character into nothing more than a male’s sidekick,” but fortunately the book proved better than that. Yes, Zevin delivers all the lovely 80s nostalgia, but also all the 80s (and 90s, and onward) problems with prioritizing profit over art, rampant misogyny and racism in tech and gaming, etc. Protagonists Sam and Sadie are both intensely flawed creatures whose uncompromising personalities clash constantly with one another, even as their creative geniuses come together to create videogame magic. Both of them make cringingly awful life choices, yet manage to learn and grow without escaping the consequences of their actions. I started out merely tolerating this book but grew to really enjoy it, both for the characters’ journey and the very familiar (to me) details that underpinned it.
The Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson
This book is subtitled “Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America.” There is plenty of the murder and madness, but the magic is more metaphorical and is mostly found in the dreams of aspirational architects and of Chicagoans looking towards the future. The book covers the frantic design and build of the 1893 World’s Expo in Chicago, driven by the architect Daniel Burnham, and intersperses the story of the serial killer H. H. Holmes and how he took advantage of the anything-goes environment in the city. It’s a weird combination but it works; the architect chapters are jammed full of quotes and detail whereas the murder chapters are obviously more speculative, but Larson’s writing style was so engaging that I couldn’t put down the book at any part. Fascinating reading, with lots of juicy historical tidbits.