Review of EVERYONE KNOWS YOUR MOTHER IS A WITCH by Rivka Galchen

 4.5 Stars

In the early 17^th century in the German town of Leonberg, a woman was accused of being a witch.  That woman was Katharina Kepler, the mother of the famed German astronomer, Johannes Kepler.  This is a fictionalized account of her story. 

Katharina Kepler is accused of poisoning the wine of Ursula Reinhold and thereby causing her chronic pain.  As the accusation becomes public knowledge, more and more people come forward arguing that they too have seen evidence of her sorcery.  Katharina’s only allies are her three children, Johannes (Hans), Christoph, and Greta, and her neighbour, Simon Satler, who becomes her legal guardian. 

Three perspectives are given.  Katharina tells her version of events to Simon who writes down her story:  “This manuscript is for after my case has ended, whatever the outcome.”  Then Simon explains his relationship with Katharina and finishes her story after the trial.  And the testimony of various townspeople is presented; these are presented as court transcriptions. 

Katharina does not conform to societal norms.  Though widowed and illiterate, she is wealthy (having inherited her father’s house) and has three successful children, including a son who is the Imperial Mathematician.  She is intelligent, stubborn, and independent.  One man criticizes her behaviour:  “Widows generally keep to themselves and don’t go here and there all over town like a whirligig.  Frau Kepler has been more like a man in her out-and-aboutness.”  She is outspoken and offers her opinion and advice even if not asked.  Simon notes her “intrusive nature” when he mentions that “Katharina was decisive as a ship captain:  calling out plans in what I now recognize as her usual off-putting way.”  Katharina lives with Johannes for a while; at the end of her stay, he says, “’How could this happen to Mama, who works so hard, who is kind even to animals, who never complains, who never uses foul language, who has no troubles with drink? . . . But how has Mama, who has been a hardworking widow for so many years, who has been so generous to so many – how has she been so viciously turned on?  . . . But living again with you here, I remember.  I understand.  I’m not surprised.’”  And Katharina herself sees her tendency to speak in such a forthright manner “like a child who doesn’t understand the intersection of tactics and truth.”

Katharina’s bold and meddlesome ways make her a perfect scapegoat since it is easy to demonize someone, especially a woman, who does not behave as expected.  The evidence against her is hearsay which sees to grow more and more outlandish.  Many of the accusers are jealous or greedy.  For instance, the schoolmaster attended school with Johannes and he interprets Katharina’s behaviour as wanting “to make me feel [Johannes’] success over my own.  . . .  Here I have worked so hard in my life, and faced so much adversity.”  Ursula’s motivation is financial compensation:  While in prison, Katharina must pay her two guards, and Ursula’s husband writes to the governor asking that she be given only one guard so “this draining of funds more properly destined to victims be halted.”   

The novel emphasizes the powerlessness of women.  Though Katharina is a mature woman who has successfully raised a family on her own, she has to have a man serve as her legal guardian in all official proceedings.  In a man like her son Johannes, intelligence and determination are seen as signs of genius; because she is a woman, those traits make her a witch.  Intelligent, independent women were perceived as dangerous and needed to be silenced.

The book also examines “the destructive power of rumor.”  Simon describes Katharina’s accusers as “the guild of rumormongers.  The society of theft-by-accusation.  People are stupid, sure, they’re ignorant, yes, they’re greedy, okay – but these people are fine with basically murdering her if it suits them.”  People who are resentful, jealous and/or greedy start false rumors and make unfounded accusations.  These rumors spread quickly, “You rarely see a spider spinning a web, you more often see webs already spun.”  Then others looking to find an explanation for their own suffering or misfortune join the bandwagon.  Simon concludes, “If you see someone as a monster, it is as good as attaching a real horn to them and poking them with a hot metal poker. . . . In order to avoid turning people into monsters by suspecting them of being monsters, I do my best to keep myself mostly to myself.”

There are numerous parallels between this story of 400 years ago and today.  In the novel people believe the strangest stories about Katharina with no evidence whatsoever.  Today people scorn science by disavowing the safety of vaccines, accept ridiculous QAnon conspiracies, and believe that the 2020 American presidential election was stolen, despite all evidence to the contrary.  We, like the characters in the novel, live in a culture of fear and misinformation and scaremongering. 

Despite the novel’s serious themes, there are some wonderful humourous moments.  Katharina’s observations about others are wonderful.  She notices that the governor has a lot of silver and she comments, “I doubt all the silver objects were gifts from his mother.”  She gives people descriptive titles:  “the Werewolf Ursula, her horrible forest administrator brother the Cabbage, the dog-killing False Unicorn ducal governor.”  Then there’s the more subtle humour:  a woman making a false accusation against Katharina doesn’t see the irony of saying “Many false charges are made” when it is mentioned that her husband is being charged with theft.  I loved Simon’s comment that “a note had been nailed to [Katharina’s] door, complaining of the weeds traveling.  Everyone thinks himself a Luther.”

This book is highly recommended.   It is entertaining and thought-provoking; though set in the 17^th century, it has relevance to the 21^st. 

Review of AN ISLAND by Karen Jennings

 4 Stars

I came across this title on the 2021 Booker Prize longlist.  It’s a short novel but packs a punch.

The protagonist is Samuel, a septuagenarian who has spent the last 23 years as a lighthouse keeper on an island of an unnamed African country.  Though bodies have washed up on shore in the past, one day a survivor arrives.  Because of the language barrier, Samuel and the man can communicate only through facial expressions and gestures, so he knows nothing about his visitor.  When the man begs not to be removed by the supply boat that comes every two weeks, Samuel begins to wonder whether the man is a refugee or a fugitive.  Samuel often retreats to memories of his traumatic past and these, along with his years of isolation, make him fearful and distrustful so he tends to interpret the man’s actions as threatening. 

Though the duration of the novel is a short four days, it actually covers most of Samuel’s life against the backdrop of the country’s turbulent history.  The country experienced colonial rule, political independence, and a military dictatorship.  Samuel was affected by all of this political history:  because of colonialism, his family was forcibly removed from their home; because of his involvement in the independence movement, Samuel’s father was disabled; and because of his role in an uprising against the dictator, Samuel served a 23-year prison term.  There is no doubt that his experiences have shaped him. 

Only in his years as a lighthouse keeper has Samuel found peace.  After his years in prison, he was unable to adjust to life in the outside world: “Freedom came to Samuel as something he feared.”  The island with its solitude has been his haven.  He resents that solitude being disturbed when the man washes up on shore and initially hopes the man will just die.  Having lost his home more than once in the past, he is terrified that the man will take the island from him:  “The island.  The island.  The island belonged to Samuel.  It was his and his alone.” 

The novel is narrated in third person limited omniscient point of view.  We see things only from Samuel’s perspective, so we too know nothing about the man, and this creates suspense.  Is Samuel in danger?  We see how memories of being helped by others influence him to have some sympathy for the man, and we also see how past humiliations and his anger and guilt over his cowardice haunt him. 

Samuel is an Everyman.  He is not exceptional in any way:  he is not educated or wealthy, and he has not behaved heroically.  Violence has dominated his life; sometimes he has been the victim; sometimes, a witness; and sometimes, the perpetrator.  So the book shows the effects of political events on the ordinary person.  Certainly, Samuel’s behaviour is totally understandable given his traumatic past. 

It is suggested that the history of Samuel’s country is typical of that of most African countries:  colonialism, revolution, failed self-governance, military dictatorship, uprisings, and fragile parliamentary democracy fraught with corruption scandals, perhaps because of foreign investments.  No country is named but readers can surely identify African countries with similar political histories.  Samuel’s neighbours in the slum disagreed with Samuel’s father that independence would solve the country’s problems; having fled because of a post-independence civil war, they argued, “’It was like this for us too . . . We were exactly like you. . . . You will see.’” 

Xenophobia, racism, and the plight of the displaced are examined.  Samuel’s family is forced off their land; the arable land becomes the property of the colonists while those evicted are told, “’You are to return to the mountains where monkeys belong.’”  The family ends up living in a city’s slums where their neighbours are also displaced, a couple who fled their own country’s civil war.  Years later, to gain popularity with the masses, a general proclaims, “’Why are we still sharing our country with foreigners . . . Let them go back to their own homes . . . We don’t want them here, taking from us, stealing what we fought so hard for.  This country is ours, no one else has a right to claim it.  No one else has a right to be here.  This country is ours alone, only ours.’”  This general instigates a “’culling’” of foreigners like Samuel’s neighbours. 

Even later, not much has changed.  When Samuel reports bodies washing up on the island, he is asked, “’What colour are they?  . . . Are they darker than you or me?  . . . We cannot come out to the island every time another country’s refugees flee and drown.  It’s not our problem.’”  And the man who comes with provisions for Samuel, says, “’They deserve it, don’t they?  . . . Anyone stupid enough to pack themselves in a rotting boat like that and try to enter another country illegally is asking to die.’”

Though short, this novel is thought-provoking.  The legacy of colonialism, xenophobia, the migrant crisis, the long-lasting effects of violence, and even climate change are examined.  Be forewarned:  there is little optimism.   

Review of PIRANESI by Susanna Clarke

4.5 Stars

Though Piranesi won the 2021 Women’s Prize for Fiction and was shortlisted for the 2020 Costa Novel Award, two book awards which I respect, I hesitated to read it because it is classified as fantasy, a genre I seldom read.  I’m so glad I finally decided to give it a chance.

The eponymous narrator’s entire world is the House which consists of countless halls and passageways filled with statues.  Above is a limitless sky and below is an ocean.  Piranesi believes he and the man whom he calls the Other are the sole inhabitants, though he has found the skeletal remains of thirteen people.  He spends his days exploring his world, studying the tides, fishing for food, and writing detailed entries in his journal.  He has an intimate knowledge of the various halls and statues, believing it is his duty “to bear witness to the Splendours of the World.”  For an hour every Tuesday and Friday, he meets with the Other who often asks Piranesi to bring him information about a particular part of the House. 

Piranesi and the Other have different attitudes to the House.  The Other, who refers to the House as a labyrinth, sees only “endless dreary rooms all the same, full of decaying figures covered in bird shit.”  He does, however, think that the House hides some ancient and secret knowledge which he enlists Piranesi to help him find.  On the other hand, Piranesi does not see the House as a place to be exploited:  “The House is valuable because it is the House.  It is enough in and of itself.  It is not the means to an end.”  He sees the House as a sacred place; he repeats, “The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its kindness infinite.”

The book is structured as a series of journal entries written by Piranesi.  Readers soon realize that he knows almost everything about the House but he knows nothing else.  Gradually we come to suspect there’s much more going on than Piranesi knows.  A concern about losing his memory has Piranesi re-reading his old journals and making some surprising discoveries.  The novel then unfolds like a puzzle with new revelations arriving at a steady pace until we and he are able to piece together the truth of his past. 

Piranesi is an innocent, gentle soul.  He sees the world as one “before the iron hand of modern rationality gripped one’s mind.”  He is surprisingly incurious about himself.  The Other addresses him as Piranesi; though he knows this is not his real name, he is not curious to find it out.  He does occasionally wonder how he has knowledge of things that do not exist in his world, but he doesn’t obsess about that.  The Other has many more possessions but, instead of questioning where he got them, Piranesi just assumes the House is more generous with the Other because he is less skilled at taking care of himself.  When the Other gives him things, he doesn’t ask about where he got them; instead, he lists them so he will remember to be grateful to the House for giving him such a good friend.

Though Piranesi is naïvely oblivious, there is much to admire about him.  He is so kind, taking loving care of birds and the human remains.  He is so empathetic that he shows concern for others, even those who might mean him ill.  Because he is guileless, he is an easy target for manipulation, and from the beginning, a reader will suspect that the Other is taking advantage of Piranesi.  Even his naming Piranesi after an Italian artist known for his etchings of imaginary prisons suggests an ulterior meaning. 

It is Piranesi’s sense of innocent wonder that suggests a major theme:  there is a magical beauty in the world which people can find if they slow down and observe life around them.  Even if a person’s world is narrow and confined, it need not be a prison.  Even if a person is isolated from others, s/he need not be bored or lonely.  Everyone can achieve a state of joyful mindfulness.  

For this reason, though it was not intended as such, the novel is a perfect read in pandemic times when we are being confined and forced into isolation.  I am so happy that I disregarded my misgivings about the book’s genre because the novel, like Piranesi’s House, possesses a beauty that can be transformative.

Review of ALL IS WELL by Katherine Walker

 2.5 Stars

Christine Wright, an ex-Special Forces soldier, Victoria Cross recipient, and recovering alcoholic, is now an Anglican minister in Victoria, B.C.  The novel begins with her killing a man in self-defense.  Rather than call the police, she buries the body.  Besides trying to avoid criminal charges, Christine has other problems.  Shawna, the widow of Christine’s victim, is angry and suspicious; Mrs. Dee, one of the church ladies, dislikes their new minister and is upset about a missing rug and damaged candlestick; and Seth Kassman, a retired military police officer, has a vendetta against Christine. 

This book reads like two books.  There’s a serious element in that Christine has been scarred by life and her military experiences and is deeply troubled.  She suffers with survivor guilt and feels alienated from God, believing that He has not forgiven her for past actions.  She is lonely, having no friends except for Joey.  Then there’s the comic element with totally implausible events, especially at the end.  This incongruity jars; I found it difficult to reconcile the serious theme with the light-hearted tone.

There is a suggestion that in the end Christine does find inner peace and a sense of belonging, but she has her epiphany only after some of her parishioners behave in a totally unbelievable way.  I kept hoping that indeed all would be well for Christine, but her happiness because her parishioners imitate her behaviour does not bode well.  How can all be well if she continues in the same behaviour as at the beginning? 

There are several problematic characters.  I don’t expect ministers and priests to be totally prim, proper, and pious, but would one actually think, “God damn that Mrs. Dee”?  Then there’s Joey, Christine’s bishop-appointed “spiritual director” who once served in a cathedral, “before he got as far away as possible from religion, a challenge for a Catholic priest.”  At one point he tries to join a group of faux-Benedictines who “are just run-of-the-mill do-gooders playing dress-up.”  Joey gives Christine absolution even though she makes no attempt to right her wrong but also dispenses wisdom like “’We are made from love to love and be loved’”?

Mrs. Dee is another character who behaves inconsistently.  In the beginning, she resents Christine, thinking of her as arrogant and tiresome and an idiot.  She is aghast at a man’s erection and very bothered by Biblical references to circumcision.  Yet this same woman doesn’t flinch at people modeling in the nude, and gives her husband a special visit?  And all of this change takes place in about 6 ½ months, between Easter and All Souls Day? 

The novel is described as “wickedly funny,” but I found the humour uneven.  I did like some of the more subtle humour like Christine’s describing Mrs. Dee as “a face shifter.  Like a chameleon.  Like that Michael Jackson video, but not with the upbeat tune” and a bar owner ejecting the fake Benedictines by proclaiming, “’Brothers and Sisters:  there’s no room at the inn.’”  The description of the missionary window with its jagged hole is wonderful commentary.  But then there’s the slapstick comedy:  the events at the wedding ceremony, at Christine’s aikido class, and during Christine’s visit to the RCMP depot are replete with cheap humour.  We even have Christine managing “to get the straw into her mouth after poking herself in the face a few times”?

I wish the proofreading had been more assiduous.  Reading alter when altar is needed is irritating.  Raphael, the French martial arts teacher, would know that “’mon cherie’”should be ma chérie because he is speaking to a woman.  And Christine says, “’I really wish they hadn’t of printed that’”??!!  These types of errors do not leave a positive impression. 

It has been said that writing humour is the most challenging of writing, so I applaud the author on her efforts.  However, I was left confused and dissatisfied.  Was the book’s purpose to be funny or to convey a serious theme?  In the midst of tragedy, people will joke and find humour, but the book’s comic antics overshadow the book’s serious purpose.  If the book’s main goal was humour, it didn’t work for me because it too often relies on physical comedy which I don’t find funny.  This novel might appeal to other readers, but it just wasn’t the book for me. 

Note:  I received a copy of this book from the publisher.

Review of FACELESS by Vanda Symon (New Release)

 4.5 Stars

Bradley Fordyce, a middle-aged man unhappy with his life, impulsively picks up Billy, a homeless teenager who occasionally works as a prostitute.  Misinterpreting her “reassuring smile” as a derisive smirk, he lashes out and keeps her captive in an abandoned warehouse he owns.  While Bradley wrestles with what to do, Max, a homeless man who befriended Billy, becomes concerned when she doesn’t return to her usual sleeping spot.  He sets out to find her even though doing so forces him to confront his past and the events which lead to his living on the streets of Auckland. 

Faceless is identified as a thriller, and it certainly is one.  At times, I found the suspense almost overwhelming.  The last 20 percent of the book had me so anxious I read late into the night because I just had to find out what happens.  The ticking clock in the book made me ignore the clock ticking on my bedside table. 

The book has multiple points of view.  Bradley, Billy and Max have the majority of brief chapters, but there are also ten giving the perspective of Meredith, one of Max’s former colleagues, in the latter part of the novel.  The chapters presenting Billy’s viewpoint are in present tense, creating an even greater sense of urgency and immediacy.  Alternating among characters creates suspense, especially when a chapter has a cliffhanger ending, but also increases the impression of a fast pace.

A great advantage of the multiple points of view is that readers come to know each of the characters intimately.  As a consequence, we understand their motivations so that they emerge as believable characters.  Max, for instance, at the beginning describes his relationship with Billy in almost dismissive terms:  “she was nothing to him – well, other than company, and someone to talk to, share a fag with.”  His obsession with finding her, however, makes total sense when Max’s past is revealed.  Another character realizes there is more to his search:  “’This isn’t just about Billy is it?’” 

Creating a believable villain can be tricky, but Symon succeeds here too.  Bradley feels unappreciated and “less and less in command of his life” so his satisfaction when he feels he has control over something is understandable, as is his conclusion that “He couldn’t give that up now.”  He discovers dark depths within him.  His justifications such as “It was all the girl’s fault” and “his conscience had finally allowed him to explore a different morality” clearly show him spiraling out of control.  The author makes this downward spiral convincing. 

Though a suspense novel, the book also touches on other topics.  The situation of the homeless is emphasized.  Max describes how he is largely ignored:  “Most of the time he felt invisible, just one of the faceless, nameless lost minions of this city that the everyday people automatically filtered out of their consciousness.”  Max has difficulty being taken seriously when he asks for help in finding Billy.  Other themes are obvious:  friendship, betrayal, loss, grief, and redemption. 

Anyone wanting a real page-turner need look no further.  Just be forewarned:  you’ll be biting your nails and losing sleep!

Review of COLD AS HELL by Lilja Sigurðardóttir

 4 Stars

This is the first novel I’ve read by this Icelandic author, but it won’t be my last.

Áróra Jónsdóttir, a financial investigator living in Scotland, travels to Iceland at the behest of her mother Violet because Áróra’s older sister Ísafold has disappeared.  Áróra suspects that Björn, Ísafold’s abusive partner, knows more than he’s admitting.  Violet contacts Daníel Hansson, a police officer and the former husband of Áróra’s aunt, and he and Áróra join forces to find Ísafold.  At the same time, Áróra meets a man whom she discovers may be guilty of fraud so she opts to also investigate his financial dealings. 

Alternating points of view are presented.  Although Áróra is the focus, the perspectives of other characters are presented, especially those of two residents of Ísafold’s apartment building.  These include Olga, a widow who is sheltering an undocumented Syrian refugee named Omar, and Grímur, a man who is so repulsed by hair that he shaves his entire body, often more than once a day.  Because they have secrets, they do not want to draw attention to themselves and so are not totally forthcoming about what they might know about Ísafold. 

This is the first of a series so I was especially interested in the development of Áróra’s character.  What I appreciated is that she is a complex character.  Her relationship with her sister is interesting.   Áróra is angry with repeatedly having to come to rescue Ísafold, only to have her return to her abusive partner.  At the same time, she regrets their estrangement and feels guilty for refusing to come the last time.  Áróra is intelligent and determined, but I didn’t always approve of her choices.  Because she is flawed, she is believable.  And authenticity is much more important that likeability. 

There is considerable suspense.  The multiple viewpoints give characters’ inner thoughts but also keep the reader guessing because more than one possible suspect emerges.  Ísafold seems to have been friendly with both Omar and Grímur; the latter even claims that “He knew her well.  Sometimes he was convinced that he knew her considerably better than [Björn].”  Olga’s relationship with Omar raises questions.  How well does she really know the man she has sheltered? 

I loved the local colour.  The descriptions of the lava fields and the lupins, and the references to Mount Keilir, Mount Esja, and the spooky lava formations near Mývatn all brought back fond memories of a June visit to Iceland a few years ago.  References to the midnight sun, sulphur-smelling hot water, ten drops of coffee, and Icelandic hot dogs reminded me of experiences I had.  (All I missed was a mention of skyr to which I became addicted.) 

There is one aspect that irritated me.  There are so many references to Áróra’s jittery belly:  “a twitch of excitement in her belly” and “a flutter of anticipation in her belly” and “setting her belly fluttering.”  She even “felt a burst of illogical anger towards Ísafold in her belly.”  (The misplaced modifier in this sentence creates a bizarre image too.)  To make matters worse, Daníel also experiences “a weird jittery feeling in his belly” and has a “desperate beast” turning “somersaults in his belly.”  (Maybe it’s the word belly that is the problem?) 

The novel is a quick read.  The short chapters (108 of them) and the brief duration (2 weeks) create a fast pace.  There are some unanswered questions so there is clearly at least one more book.  It is one I will definitely be picking up.

Note:  I received a copy of this book from the publisher in return for an honest review.

Review of CHINA ROOM by Sunjeev Sahota

 3.5 Stars

This novel, which appeared on the 2021 Booker Prize longlist, has two storylines.  

One is set in 1929 in rural Punjab.  Mehar Kaur is a Sikh child bride.  Along with two other women, Harbans and Gurleen, she is married into a family with three sons:  Jeet, Mohan and Suraj.  Because women are heavily veiled in the presence of men and must always keep their eyes cast down; because they have sexual relations only in the dark; and because Mai, the tyrannical mother-in-law, controls information and everyone’s actions, Mehar does not know which man is her husband.  While speculating as to the identity of her husband, she spends her days working with her sisters-in-law in what is called the china room. 

The second storyline is set in 1999.  Mehar’s 18-year-old great-grandson travels to India.  A recovering heroin addict, he initially stays with an uncle, but circumstances cause him to take refuge at the now-abandoned family farm where Mehar lived once she was married.  On the farm, he moves into the china room. 

Though the author doesn’t explicitly discuss connections, there are definite parallels between the two narratives.  Both involve young people who are displaced and isolated; both are affected by social strictures and expectations; and both are searching for freedom and some form of self-determination.  I couldn’t help but see the young man’s work on fixing up the china room as his attempt to fix the wounds inflicted on Mehar and his decision to “forge a life of my own choosing” as a way of honouring her. 

For me, the interest in the novel lay in Mehar’s story; her grandson’s feels much less developed.  Certainly, Mehar emerges as a memorable character.  She is intelligent, affectionate, curious, and strong-willed; it is heart-breaking to see such an independent spirit so powerless.  Some of the grandson’s experiences are also heart-wrenching, but there is insufficient development of his struggles.  Mehar earns the reader’s sympathy more than her grandson does, perhaps because, despite the pressures of prejudice, he has many more options; he chooses to isolate himself but has many opportunities for self-actualization.    

I liked how the novel shows how things have changed and yet have not changed.  For instance, Radhika has options which Mehar did not, but her friendship with Mehar’s grandson raises eyebrows; villagers are certainly ready to gossip about a man and woman seen together.  Just as Mehar had no choice in her husband, Kuku didn’t either.  Mehar knows that men can have affairs and emerge unscathed while women are punished for such behaviour, “her head shaved and her naked body paraded through the village on the end of a rope”; likewise, Kuku was “forced into a loveless marriage” while the man she loved “carried on affairs with whomever he wanted.  He had moved on and out of love with her.  She had never been allowed the means to do the same.”   

I enjoyed this book.  Apparently, it is based at least in part on the author’s family; the novel ends with a family photo described earlier in the novel:  “It was of my great-grandmother, an old white-haired woman who’d travelled all the way to England just so that she might hold me, her new-born great-grandson.  She’s looking down and smiling, unused to a camera’s eye, her chunni sliding off her head.”

Review of THE LISTENERS by Jordan Tannahill

 3 Stars

I found this title on the 2021 Giller Prize shortlist and so chose it for my latest audiobook.  It was disappointing.

Claire Devon, a middle-aged high school teacher, starts hearing a low-frequency noise that no one else hears.  She can find no obvious source for the sound which has negative health effects.   Eventually she finds others who can also hear the hum; the group meets regularly and, as their personal and family lives disintegrate, finds a sense of community.  Claire, for instance, alienates her family and friends with her behaviour but forms a close bond with Kyle, one of her students who also hears the humming sound.  The outside world, however, views the group with suspicion; it is seen as a cult. 

Claire is a problematic character.  The book is framed as her memoir in which she gives her version of events.  She claims she is being as objective as possible, but I could not but wonder how reliable a narrator she is.  Claire is not a likeable character.  She makes fun of friends who have religious faith.  She gives her daughter Ashley a vibrator for her 14^th birthday.  She is very self-obsessed; she claims she loves her daughter more than life, but her actions don’t always suggest this is true.  Claire is also not realistic.  She is supposedly logical and rational but soon buys into the belief that the hum makes the listeners special and can even bring them to a euphoric state.  Some of her decisions indicate very poor judgement.  For example, she spends time with Kyle outside of school and then seems amazed when her job is at risk. 

Other characters are also not realistic.  Claire’s husband Paul and daughter Ashley quickly dismiss Claire’s complaints about the hum.  She has physical symptoms like nosebleeds, insomnia, and headaches, yet her family does little to help her and eventually just abandons her.  Ashley is particularly detestable, though her selfishness reminded me of Claire’s self-centredness:  the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  Claire’s family abandons her so one can understand her need for another family, but the bond among the group members seems to develop very quickly even though they react differently to the hum and have conflicting views as to what they should do about it.  They are soon referring to themselves as a family, though the ending suggests that the bond is not very strong. 

It would not be a stretch to suggest that the book reflects the current political situation in the United States where Republicans and Democrats seem to live in very different realities.  Conspiracy theories and extreme beliefs are tearing apart families and communities in reality, just as they do in the novel, sometimes with catastrophic consequences.  I could think of many parallels between one group member’s paranoia and insistence on arming himself and the behaviour of some Americans who feel their ideas of themselves and their country are threatened. 

I did not enjoy the book.  I found Claire’s constant self-justifications annoying; in fact, much of the book is repetitive.  Several times, I turned off my iPod because I just didn’t want to listen to anymore of her whining and self-pity.  I can’t understand why this book was nominated for as prestigious an award as the Giller Prize.  

Review of THE MAID by Nita Prose (New Release)

4 Stars 

The narrator of this cozy mystery is 25-year-old Molly Gray who is on the autism spectrum, though there is no reference to such a diagnosis.  She works as a maid in the Regency Grand Hotel, a job tailor-made to her because she loves order and routine, is obsessive about cleanliness, and takes great pride in returning things to “a state of perfection.”  One day she discovers the body of Charles Black, a wealthy man who frequently stays at the hotel with his much-younger wife.  Molly eventually becomes a suspect and has to ask for help to prove that she is innocent. 

Much of the appeal of the book for me was the character of Molly.  Because of the point of view, the reader learns Molly’s fears, disappointments, and dreams.  Since her grandmother’s death, Molly feels adrift and lonely, but she tries to live according to Gran’s lessons.  She is honest, unfailingly polite, and hard working.  Molly is socially awkward; she has difficulty reading social cues and facial expressions.  At one point Molly admits that a woman who comes to her apartment is “the first guest to pass through the door in nine months . . . the first guest I’ve ever entertained on my own.”  Because of her desperate loneliness, she trusts the wrong people.  Because she is different, she is often the target of ridicule, being called “Molly the Mutant.  Roomba the Robot.  The Formality Freak.”  Many guests at the hotel just don’t see her; Molly often speaks about being invisible.  It soon becomes obvious that she is also being exploited by others.     

Molly takes things very literally because she is unable to accurately interpret meaning and intention behind people’s words.  Her literalness gets her into difficulty with the police who do not like her blunt responses.  At one point, she is advised to “’remain silent at this time’” so when she is next asked a question, she doesn’t speak. 

There is considerable suspense.  One technique used to create this suspense is point of view.  Since Molly is the narrator, the reader knows only what Molly sees, hears, does, and thinks; the reader has to determine which of her observations are accurate.  Another technique used to create suspense is dramatic irony:  the reader does understand some things which Molly does not.  This irony creates suspense because the reader wonders whether Molly will realize the truth before she is placed in more danger. 

Some plot issues bothered me: 

Molly is very honest and she tells her landlord she will have the overdue rent to him by the end of the day, yet there is no indication she would have the money were it not for an unforeseen stroke of luck.

There is a problem with Molly’s uniform.  The impression is that she has only one uniform which is “dry cleaned daily in the hotel laundry.”  One day, Molly is taken from the hotel to the police station and then driven home, yet when she gets to work the next morning, she is “greeted by my trusty uniform, crisp and clean.”  Since she was not allowed to change out of her uniform, how could her uniform be waiting for her? 

Why would a man travel with a deed to a property in his possession?

A woman knows which bank Molly uses? 

Why do so many of the characters have names of colour:  Molly Gray, Charles and Giselle Black, Cheryl Green, and Wilbur Brown?  Even names like Mr. Snow and Mr. Rosso indicate a colour.  Molly seems attuned to colour because she often describes the colours of what she sees, but Molly is not responsible for characters’ names. 

Perhaps what bothered me most about these issues is that the author is described as “a longtime editor” who has “worked at several publishing houses.” 

Characterization also has some weaknesses.  Several of the secondary characters are one-dimensional.  The good guys are really good, with no flaws, and the bad guys are really bad, with no redeeming qualities. At times, Molly does seem almost too gullible and naïve.  She is an expert on episodes of Columbo but can’t recognize stereotypical villains like the “two behemoths with shaved heads and perplexing facial tattoos”? 

I did appreciate that Molly does experience personal growth.  She is aware of her flaws:  “sometimes I overexplain, which I’ve learned can be annoying to others” and “It’s a fault of mine, to be quick to judge or to want the world to function according to my laws.”  In the end, she comments, “I am learning to be less literal, less absolute about most things.  The world is a better place seen through a prism of colors rather than merely in black and white.” 

I did also appreciate that some themes are developed.  For instance, the author comments on the perception and treatment of the working class.  Molly refers to her uniform as “the ultimate invisibility cloak.”  She describes being a maid as “existing in plain sight while remaining largely invisible” because hotel guests often totally ignore her or treat her like she is their inferior.  One woman comments, “’Maids and doormen are often underpaid and undervalued’” and Molly learned from her grandmother that “You can’t judge a person by the job they do or by their station in life; you must judge a person by their actions.” 

Despite its flaws, the book is an enjoyable read which I’d recommend to those who like cozy mysteries.  Certainly the protagonist is engaging and has a unique voice.  In a pandemic winter, a hopeful, heartwarming book is most satisfying.  

Note:  I received a digital ARC from the publisher via NetGalley.

Review of THIS IS HOW WE ARE HUMAN by Louise Beech

4 Stars 

I thought I’d begin the new year with a book by an author new to me.  I will certainly be reading more written by Louise Beech. 

Veronica Murphy is a widow and mother of a neurodivergent son.  Twenty-year-old Sebastian has autism.  He is high functioning but struggles with his sexual urges:  because of misconceptions and prejudices, it is difficult for him to have relationships with people.  Veronica decides to hire an escort to have sex with her son.  That escort is Isabelle, a student nurse who is working as an escort because she desperately needs money.  Of course, there are unforeseen consequences for all. 

Characters are complex and flawed.  Veronica is selflessly devoted to her “beautiful, complex, challenging, difficult, wonderful boy” and fiercely protective of him, perhaps too protective.  Sebastian is perceptive but brutally honest and has difficulty with changes to routine.  Isabelle is loving and compassionate but has self-esteem issues and is sometimes naïve.  The point of view of each of these three is provided so the reader is able to see that each faces a dilemma.  Veronica, for example, wonders whether she has made the right decision for her son, and Isabelle also has to contend with the choices she makes. 

When I first read the promotional blurb, I wondered how realistic the plot would be.  I was pleased to see that the author took pains to detail characters’ motivations so that the bringing together of these characters is believable.  And then this inciting incident marks the beginning of three journeys of self-discovery.  Through sometimes painful experiences, each character learns something about him/herself and others. 

The novel highlights an issue faced by families with autistic children but an issue to which I had not really given much thought.  A person may be neurotypical, but that doesn’t mean that he/she doesn’t have needs and desires; Sebastian is autistic but he, like everyone, wants love and acceptance and has sexual desires.  The book certainly left me wondering what I would do if I were in Veronica’s position.  I found it interesting that the author mentions that the story was inspired by a family with a son on the autism spectrum, a young man who gave her “emotional feedback” as she was writing.  The author obviously wanted an authentic portrayal, and I think she has succeeded. 

This book is a sensitive and compassionate portrayal of people about whom society often makes assumptions.  Though there is pathos in abundance, there is also humour.  Most importantly, it is thought-provoking.