The Savage Detectives

I was really excited when my book club chose to read Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives. I had never ready anything by Bolaño but I had heard so much about him. When I worked at Pages (one of Toronto’s coolest indie bookstores of yore) I prided myself on knowing what a customer might want to read based on what they looked like. There were a lot of smart (and very hipster) looking people who would pick up either Bolaño, Murakami or Miranda Hill. Those were the 3 heavy hitters at the time and every time I recommended one of those 3 to a hip looking book lover I felt slightly guilty that I hadn’t actually read the first on my list of “3 authors all hipsters will love”. So here was my opportunity, years later with a group of not quite hipster but very smart ladies.

Initially I felt very intimidated by The Savage Detectives. I have a rule when I read a book, I have to get to at least 100 pages before I think of quitting or making any generalizations. Well, I reached page 100 and thought to myself, “What the hell?” I’m still not quite sure why this book is regarded so highly in the literary community but I have a few ideas. (Maybe it’s all the sex.)

Maybe the truly confusing books are seen as genius works of art, because people are too afraid to say they didn’t understand them? But perhaps I’m not being fair.

The book is separated into 3 parts, the first is from the point of view of 17-year old Juan Garcia Madero, a drop-out law student turned amateur poet. Garcia Madero joins up with a radical group of like minded poets called the visceral realists. His diary of the last few months of 1975 offers a first hand account of the sex, drugs and confusing literary opinions that the visceral realists had. Garcia Madero and everyone else in the group idealize two men who seem to be their leaders. Ulises Lima and Arturo Belano, the leaders of the visceral realists are quite literally Bolaño and his buddy Mario Santiago, in case you skipped the introduction by Natasha Wimmer at the beginning of the paperback edition of the book. Also the literary allusion to Ulysses is something you may have not picked up on but please feel free to make the literary connections at your leisure.

The second part of the book is the longest and most frustrating. It spans 1976-1996 and has numerous narrators who talk about Belano and Lima on their quest for Cesarea Tinajero in the Sonora Desert in 1976 as well as their debaucherous lifestyles in Europe later on. Tinajero is the poet that Lima and Belano idolize even though there is only one magazine with her printed work, a magazine that no one has ever read and no one has seen or heard from Tinajero in decades. Like their hero, Belano and Lima have a group of followers who never talk about their work nor mention that they are great writers. The reader never even really gets a good sense of what or who the visceral realists comprise of. I think the very term itself is redundant and meaningless. But perhaps that is a comment on life and art. Belano, Lima and even Tinajero are demi-gods in their community not because of their work but because of what they represent. But the fact that I had to read almost 400 pages of random testimonials to come to that conclusion is tiresome to say the least.

The last section in the book is perhaps the most rewarding for the reader. We go back to Garcia Madero in the first few weeks of 1976. Belano, Lima, Garcia Madero and Lupe are on the run from Lupe’s pimp and also conveniently on the search for Cesarea Tinajero, both of whom find them in the end. We finally get some plot and excitement but reality is more visceral than any of the characters can handle. (See what I did there?) The reader finally pieces together the narratives they read in the lengthy middle section and understand why Belano and Lima run away to Barcelona and Paris. But is their search worth it in the end? What have they learned? What has the reader learned?

I left the novel with a general sense of disappointment and fatigue.  Did Bolaño mean for me to feel this way, perhaps like his characters felt after meeting their hero and coming face to face with reality? On top of everything, I got really annoyed with the constant name dropping within the novel. This was a book about literary movements, politics and Latin America. But as a North American reader I couldn’t quite keep up and I wondered if perhaps some things were lost in translation. The Latin American authors the characters were constantly referring to might not even have been real literary figures for all I knew.

I wasn’t the only one in my book club who had issues with the novel. But we all felt bad that we disliked the book because weren’t we suppose to love it?! It was one of the 10 best books of the year according to The New York Times Book Review, there was even a sticker on the front of the book to remind us of the fact. Bolaño was an author we were all suppose to read. And I’m not sorry I did read him but would I recommend the book? No!

Maybe I should give him another try with his poetry which he’s more famous for but first I need a break. Maybe I’ll read something I might actually like for a change. Is that so wrong? And no, I don’t mean a 50 Shades of Grey type book. Why can’t a book be smart and entertaining at the same time?

Have you ever read a book that you were suppose to love and had been heralded by all critics only to discover that you hated it? How did the fact that you hated the book make you feel as a reader? I’m curious to know what others thought of The Savage Detectives and if anyone can convince me to appreciate it more.

A Canadian Fiction

What makes a book a part of the Canadian Literature canon? Does the author need to be Canadian? Should the story be set somewhere in Canada? Do you need both plot and writer to be Canadian? And do Canadian novels get judged on a different playing field? Are critics kinder, more lenient, more 'Canadian' in attitude because it is a Canadian book?

These are interesting questions to ask and perhaps more interestingly they are difficult to answer. There has always been some speculation as to what makes a person or book "Canadian". And does labelling a person or object "Canadian" make it better or worse? 

In my quest to define myself as a Canadian I have come to the personal understanding that not having a black and white definition makes it more clear what being a Canadian means to each person. Without sounding too nationalistic, I believe that being a Canadian means that you usually have a multi-layered identity and cultural background. 

I was born in Poland but have spend most of my life in Canada. I have never felt that my being born in Poland has made me less of a Canadian. Nor have I felt that I have had to suppress my Polish-ness in order to become a fully Canadian citizen. I enjoy watching hockey but don't necessarily view it as a prerequisite for being Canadian. (Although I wouldn't know who to cheer for if the Polish hockey team ever played a serious game against the Canadian team.)

Some of my favourite Canadian authors are David Bezmozgis, Esi Edugyan and Michael Winter if I only had to name 3 but I think that what makes them great is not because they are Canadian but because I think their writing is fantastic. They may deal with some quintessentially Canadian situations and characters but I think those situations and characters that they so brilliantly depict are universal and can be taken out of the Canadian context and still stand on their own. 

So, why do we lump our Canadian writers into the Canadian literature section? Why not just mix them in with the rest. I'm reminded of an incident I had as a young bookseller, oh how naive I was then. A black lady approached me and asked me where we kept the black authors. I was a little confused and asked her to clarify. Turns out she was looking for novels that were specifically written for and by black people. I didn't know how to respond because of course there was no such section. And I thought how odd it was when she stormed off in a visible huff. I realize the situation is a little different but I think I'm experiencing the same kind of confusion when thinking about Canadian literature. 

I'm left right where I began, still not knowing what to think. I suppose I have to keep in mind that Canada is really a small country and yet the amount of talent it churns out is truly impressive. (There must be something special in all the maple syrup we consume.) I guess not having a clear answer is a somewhat Canadian way of continuing to ask a question that I think makes Canada an interesting place to be. I welcome your thoughts on the matter. 

The Professor's Daughter

When thinking up a name for this blog I wanted to check what other professor’s daughters existed before committing myself. I came across the graphic novel, The Professor’s Daughter, written by Joann Sfar and illustrated by Emmanuel Guilbert and was eager to get my hands on it. I went to my favorite Comic Book Shop and picked up a beautifully bound book published by First Second. The sepia toned illustrations and the black ribbon bookmark were just the right kind of book for this professor’s daughter. But I was so disappointed by the story. Looking at the book closer I realized that it had been translated from the French and I think a lot has been lost in this translation.

The story is bizarre to say the least; a young lady takes her father’s prized mummy out for a stroll in Victorian London. They listen to Mozart and drink tea and get into all sorts of adventures. The story takes a turn for the worse when Lillian (daughter of professor) accidently commits a crime. In order to escape the law and her father, Imhotep IV (prized mummy) lies about committing the crime himself, kidnaps Lillian, professes his love for her (where did that come from?) and boards a boat to Cairo. His plans are thwarted when his father (another mummy?) kidnaps Lillian (poor woman) and threatens to sail the seas forever until she agrees to marry him. It is unclear whether Lillian has any interest in either one of these undead hopefuls but she is distressed to say the least and so, inexplicably Mr. Mummy Sr. takes his traumatized victim back to London to his son.

Meanwhile, in London everyone has been looking for Imhotep IV. There are ‘wanted’ posters everywhere; clearly the people of London have no issues with the undead running loose in their city. Mummies from across the city have been collected for the professor’s inspection. The professor, shockingly seems more concerned with authenticating the mummies then looking for his lost daughter but that is only one problem in this story arch. Out of nowhere Lillian reappears and confesses to her crimes. And this is where the story truly gets bizarre. Queen Victoria gets involved, corgis are possibly injured, the professor is killed and no one really cares. Immotep reveals himself to be a fully functional (wink, wink) prince and they live happily ever after…

I felt at times like I was missing panels or I would flip back and forth between pages and ask, “what?”. I understand the idea of fantasy and suspending disbelief but this story was all over the place. I felt like perhaps it was written for a 7-year-old suffering from attention deficit disorder. Yet there were some narrative points that might have been too mature for a young reader. I was baffled by this book, but the title is a good one and the illustrations are truly beautiful. It’s a lovely book to have on my graphic novel shelf even if the story is a little crazy.

This is my favorite panel:

The Professor’s Daughter, illustrated by Emmanuel Guilbert; story by Joann Sfar originally published in France in 1997 under the title La fille du professeur by Editions Dupuis, Paris. 

English translation by Alexis Siegel, First Second, 2007. 

Drop Dead Healthy

I've been trying to read more non-fiction recently. It's my New Year's resolution that I'm starting kinda late. I've been in a rut lately and I thought the best kind of non-fiction book would be one about self improvement. So, I picked up Drop Dead Healthy by A.J. Jacobs.

Although Jacobs gets called 'the king of shtick lit' I enjoyed his book immensely. I got the sense that he too thinks our culture's obsession with exercising and dieting is a little warped. Not to mention our relationships with daily toxins and plastics among the many other things that are bad for us. But for the sake of his belly and a book contract he gave it a try and sets out to be the healthiest man he can be. Over the course of 2 years he examines almost every body part in his quest to reach health nirvana. He doesn't just join a gym he tries Cavemen workouts. Which as a women I can't see myself doing. I guess I'd be too busy getting dragged around by my hair.

Jacobs advocates a plant based diet. He tries juicing and a raw diet. He tries to quit sugar which studies have show is as addictive as heroin. He gets so desperate he asks his wife to write out a cheque to the American Nazi Organization telling her to send it if he cheats. He talks a lot about things I already know but don't actually do myself. I admit, I don't sleep enough, or eat a plant based diet, or take the stairs. But it's highly entertaining to read about a man who lives his life by the health obsessed rules.

I did learn some neat tricks like using a smaller plate with a small fork or chewing my food more per bite. I'm willing to admit that the way I approach my food is unhealthy. And I'm finding myself adopting Jacobs' chewdaism when I'm eating alone. I'm also intrigued by the idea of a treadmill desk and wonder if my employer would be supportive of such an idea. The book also touches upon how dependent we humans are on our brains. I'm convinced my brain is a muscle and if it grows flabby from disuse it does't matter how many sit ups I can do.

"WHO defines health as a state of emotional, mental, and physical well-being." (168)

For my next non-fiction book I'm going cerebral and reading The Brain That Changes Itself by Norman Doidge. I'd love any recommendations to help me in my next non-fiction choice. Perhaps something on emotional health?

Caine's Arcade

This video has been making the rounds and I'm sure a lot of you have already seen it but for those of you who haven't please watch.

Caine's Arcade is a wonderful story about a 9 year old boy and his imagination. Bored at his dad's work Caine created an arcade out of cardboard. He didn't get a lot of attention until Nirvan Mullick created a Facebook invite and got as many people as possible to make Caine's day. Nirvan also produced this short film about the whole experience. Donations have been flooding in for Caine's college education. Imagine what he will build.

What inspired me most about this story is the kindness that Nirvan showed towards Caine and his family. Sure, Nirvan is getting a lot of attention from his film and Caine's Dad is probably seeing an increase in business at his shop. But what counts more than anything is the support and belief that these people had in Caine. The look on that boy's face when he and his Dad pull up to their shop is priceless. And it was amazing to me that Nirvan was the only customer who showed any interest in this boy's creation.

It's amazing to think of all the people and creations we pass by in our daily routine and take for granted. It doesn't take much to slow down and appreciate the world around you. It only takes a little more to recognize greatness and give it the push it needs to become something bigger.

Caine inspires me to think bigger and let my imagination bloom. Nirvan inspires me to see the greatness in others and use the tools I have (such as Facebook) to share that greatness with others.

What inspires you?

The Virgin Suicides. Good movie, better book.

Jeffrey Eugenides, Illustration by Dan Park

My love for Jeffrey Eugenides grew to new heights this fall when I read The Marriage Plot. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who had waited with bated breath for 9 years after his Pulitzer Prize winning Middlesex.

I loved The Marriage Plot as well as Middlesex but I soon realized I had never read The Virgin Suicides. Sure I had seen the Sophia Coppola film when it came out in 1999. But in order to call myself a true fan I needed to backtrack and read the book that started the Eugenidi-mania.

There are certain themes that Eugenides never fails to leave out of his books. The books all take place in his beloved suburbia of Detroit, Michigan. There are often Greek-American characters (to a lesser extent in The Virgin Suicides). And there is bound to be a character or two suffering from varying degrees of depression. Eugenides was born in Detriot to a Greek family and has talked about his own bouts with depression in his numerous interviews. It makes the average reader wonder how autobiographical his books really are?

The Virgin Suicides is one of the those books that effects you so strongly you begin to take on the character's idiosyncrasies. I'm not saying I wanted to throw myself out of a window but I had this overwhelming sense of malaise that I couldn't quite pinpoint.

The book is told from the point of view of the neighbourhood boys many years after the tragic events depicted in the book. And although the book is told through the men's experiences the reader gets a vivid picture of what it's like it be teenage girls living a sheltered life in the 1960s under the watchful eyes of their religious parents. What I enjoy the most about Eugenides is his ear for the female voice. I was much more interested and invested in the girl's psyche than the boys even though the boys do suffer in their own right.

The real trouble doesn't start until after the youngest daughter, Cecilia commits suicide by jumping out her bedroom window and falling on to the fence below. The 4 remaining sisters get pulled out of school, have their rock 'n roll music taken away and eventually get put under lockdown.

What I found really fascinating was the way the community reacted and tried to cope with the initial tragedy. The school administration did their best to talk about depression and teen suicide at school, but ultimately failed. The neighbours did what they thought best and dug up the offending fence. Even the family's priest made his customary visit to the house and was stunned but the state of the place. What everyone fails to address is the infectious sadness that seems to be oozing out of the house and its inhabitants. And it's the communities failure and fear that could be argued what spurs on the remaining deaths.

It's not so much a book about depression or suicide but the mysteries and opression of adolescence. My favourite character is the over sexualized Lux who looks for the love she does't get at home in the "love" of her teenage counterpart. She also has a heavy hand in what happens to her sisters in the remaining events of the novel.

I highly recommend this book but warn you that you might need a pick me up afterwards. And if you know any teenagers perhaps its a good book to read together and prepare for some serious talking sessions.