thebacklistborrower's reviews
538 reviews

Shut Up You’re Pretty is a debut novel from Téa Mutonji, published in 2019. It was the first novel published under the VS. Books imprint, curated and edited by Vivek Shraya for work by new and emerging Indigenous or black writers or writers of colour. For a debut, this book is very well decorated, being shortlisted for the Rogers Writers’ Trust,  Publishing Triangle Award Winner, and a Trillium Prize. 

So I think this is a case of “its not the book, its me”. For one reason or another, I didn’t connect with this book, and I can’t put my finger on why. I often found myself thinking back to Scarborough by Catherine Hernandez, which takes in the same Toronto neighbourhood, and covers similar topics, but which I connected with more. Looking at the individual storeis in Shut Up, I thought they were well written. There was vivid imagery, they were well-developed and show the external and internal influences on Loli’s life, but as a collection it just didn’t connect with me.

For a book to carry us forward, Loli feels like just that -- carried forward through time. The stories ended without the reader seeing the outcomes or growth from each, but Loli is in the next story, present, but never reflective, we don’t see how she got from ‘there’ to ‘here’. 

All that being said, I’ll definitely check out out any future novels from Mutonji as there was a lot going for Shut Up You’re Pretty and I think this was a book that maybe just wasn’t right for me at the time.

Listen. I know they are just so incredibly popular but romance is not my preferred style of genre fiction. I gave them a good run, I really did. But partway through RWRB-- the last romance I read before this one-- I just realized I couldn’t suspend my disbelief enough to enjoy the story. In that context, I still enjoyed Meet Me At the Lake well enough. 

I listened to the audiobook, and it was well done. The voice actor played the characters well, without caricature. In terms of the book, I thought the back-and-forth story of Ferns and Will’s first day together, followed by their reconnection 10 years later kept things interesting, and once I made myself lean into the tropes and the fantasy of it all, I mostly enjoyed the story. But like any genre fiction, its really hard to review if you just don’t jive with it, so I’ll keep it simple.

Overall, I generally felt I cared about the characters, their story, and their history. I never wanted to DNF it. And all that is good. If you are not usually a romance reader, you still might like this book. 

As for its standing in Canada Reads as a “Book to Carry Us Forward”, I think it is a little weak. Fern and Will carry forward through assorted trials, but I don’t think we see enough of that to really learn from it and bring it into our own lives. In fact, the book skips right over the years when both are dealing with trials, and while they are referenced, it was not present or in-depth enough for it to be meaningful. I think there's just too much fantasy in romance. Its life, idealized, and you know when you start what the ending will be. I don't think that sets it up to carry us forward, except to offer solace and an escape.

This was the book on the Canada Reads shortlist I was most excited to read, and by fluke, the first I read. I finished, wondering how any of the other books would surpass this one, and now, 3.5 books in, none have.

In part, the illustrations by Daniel Innes show us the evolution of the Kensington area of Toronto over time. Careful observers will notice that multiple illustrations on a page or spread will be showing the same space -- from different angles, at different times, or both (and they will also see a bottle collector on each page). We see streets and sidewalks overrun with vibrant, busy markets overrun by bland boutique shops. Even in black and white, we see the change in tone, and colour, and vibrancy.

Then a reader can turn it around (literally) and see a very human story of somebody navigating these changes. At the start of Denison Avenue, Wong Cho Sum loses her husband in a hit-and-run, and with the help of a friend, starts to collect cans. Like the illustrations, we see Kensington through her memories-- first arriving in Canda, the restaurant they went to when she got her citizenship, their favourite Sunday Congee place-- and the present. Relying on her husband to speak English, Cho Sum is excluded from the new gentrified development, but also the public engagement that informed them.

But even so, people do not forget Cho Sum. Her neighbours see her (the story is bookended by their POV), the librarians notice when her and her husband stop coming by. She laments that she and her husband See Hei (Henry) are to be forgotten, but also sees that somebody refreshes the flowers at the intersection where he died. Young people ask her where her can-collecting friend has been (she found them a basketball once!). Both sides of Denison Avenue show a complex story of human relationships against money-driven development. It shows Cho Sum and her community carrying forward through so much adversity and change, and is my pick for Canada Reads 2024.

We are going back a ways here, but I re-read this book just after seeing the new movie remake. I recalled reading this book when I was growing up, but it wasn’t a childhood favourite -- all I remembered was the “I must increase my bust!” scene. After seeing the movie, I was curious as to why I hadn’t liked the book more. I was not raised practicing any religion, and this naturally grew into athiesm as I grew up. However, in the 90s, one was not just an atheist, and I do recall struggling with this gap in my life, such as when promising “to be true to my god/faith” in Girl Guides (fun fact: girl guides is now fully agnostic with no references to religion in the organization!),  in much the same way Margaret does. 

Then I read the book and I kind of see why maybe it didn’t strike a chord with me. In the same way that not practicing a religion seemed unusual in the 90s, it was even more so when this book was written, and while the topic itself is progressive, the rest of the book is a measure of its time. The mothers are flat and stereotyped, and the ending happens with Margaret getting her first period, and with many of the the rest of the book’s conflicts left unaddressed

The movie, on the other hand, made necessary plot adjustments that bring the story into the 2020s without feeling anachronistic for the 1970s setting. The ending of the movie is satisfying, with Margaret making friends with the class outcast and leaving mean-girl Nancy behind, and her mother having her own career. Blume has apparently stated the movie is better, and I agree! I’d happily re-watch it, but would leave this book on the shelf.

Magic and feminism and just a little soupcon of romance??? Omg sign me up (again). 

I reread The Midnight Bargain recently when I realized I needed a fun book to lighten things up. Beatrice is a young woman with magical powers, and dreams of becoming a great sorceress. However, her family is relying on her to get married in the upcoming Bargaining Season to save them from financial ruin, and married women are blocked from using magic. Beatrice is torn -- save her family or save her dreams? It is complicated further when Beatrice falls in love with the richest bachelor at Bargaining Season, and those feelings are returned.

This book is so fun. It is very fast paced, starting off quick and not slowing down until the very last pages. Despite the pacing, we still get some very cute romance, character growth, enemies made and friends forged. The magic system is compelling and very enjoyable to read. 

I’d recommend this book to people looking for a really fun, feminist, magical book with just a bit of regency-appropriate romance (but if you suffer from second-hand embarassment, be warned!). I enjoyed it just as much the second time as the first, and am already looking forward to reading it again.

In this book, the MC is named Hiro Protagonist, but if it weren’t for the two badass women in the story, YT and Juanita, would probably lose the plot and/or dead five times over by the end. 

This book, published in 1993, coined the term “metaverse”, but not necessarily the concept of the alternate reality via internet. In a hyper-capitalist world, governments have fallen, leading to privatized neighbourhoods and citizenships. Hiro, a hacker, makes a living finding information and selling it on a bidding site (formerly the Library of Congress). As an early adopter of the metaverse, he partially owns a very elite club in a desirable part of the virtual world, and for some reason is also the best swordsperson (virtually and in real life). He more or less bumbles around and is guided along by others (especially the aforementioned women) to keep up with the story.

YT is a teenaged courier who delivers packages using a high tech skateboard and a magnetic cable that she connects to vehicles on freeways. This is supremely hardcore. She ends up in all the worst parts of town, fends for herself, and makes friends with a mafia mob boss with an expert pizza delivery. I loved YT, and she ends up crossing paths with Hiro and they end up in a weird professional partnership, and she does him a lot of solids.

Juanita is an ex-lover of Hiro who ends up following the money to a mysterious story that may be at the root of a weird virtual drug/virus called Snow Crash which not only crashes your computer but your human brain as well. She gives Hiro the hint of the story which he then follows. 

This is a book of its time. YT ends up having sex with a character a lot older than her under dubious circumstances and that was seriously ick. There is a ridiculous amount of infodumping. It probably could have been half as long and twice as interesting with some plot changes. I can’t say I’d recommend it to anybody except those who like to read stuff like this for the archaeology of it, but not for the story itself.  

A book where nobody is happy and everybody cheats on everybody else (in many cases (but not all), with consent by the partner), the title is both ironic and a little funny. Like many Atwood novels, the book is heavy with the lives of women, with just a few men to act as foils. 

I don’t think it was the intent that I felt the most for the husband, Nate, of the main couple. His wife Elizabeth regrets marrying him, and initiated an open relationship so they could remain together by appearances for their two daughters and society, but she could still sleep around (and encourage him to do the same, albeit imo he did this with clearly less interest). Nate was trained as a lawyer, but was struggling to make ends meet as a classic wooden toy maker, as he saw this as being more fulfilling, while still benefitting society. It was truly endearing, but leaves Elizabeth as the primary breadwinner with her job at the Royal Ontario Museum. 

Things start to fall apart when Nate ends up with Elizabeth’s coworker, Lesja, who doesn’t really get people, preferring to fantasize about a life amongst the dinosaurs. Elizabeth finds a new lover after her previous lover (also a co-worker) commits suicide, and their carefully crafted life begins to strain as Nate and Elizabeth both demand more from each other. 

It wasn’t my favourite Atwood book, but I was eager to find out how it ended and kept reading. 

 

I was sold on this book way back in 2022 when I saw @dessayo’s review. As somebody who wonders what gender even means weekly, I was instantly hooked when she wrote that the book was “casually obsessed with gender… What IS gender? Does anyone know??” And now I’m regretting not writing this review sooner. 

Maria is a trans woman living in New York, slouching her way through her job, her relationship with a cis woman, and her life. Finally living as a woman, she’s still unhappy, and eventually, she buys a bunch of heroin, and steals her girlfriend’s car to drive to Nevada. Partway there, she meets a man in a Walmart who she sees as being trans, but he doesn’t know it yet. She befriends him and invites him on her pilgrimage in a bid to mentor him and help him come out, but even that goes wrong.

Nevada is a fascinating, thought-provoking read. As Maria is a punk, it is perhaps fitting that nothing fits a standard narrative, or matches a reader’s expectations. Nobody has an epiphany, nobody dies, nobody falls in love. In a weird way, Seinfeld-style, it is a book about nothing. OR that would be the case, except for the internal narratives. We spend most of the book with Maria, who ponders gender, relationships, social justice, privilege, gender, the 2010s-era internet scene, drugs, the Womyn’s Music Festival, hormones, gender, and more. It wasn’t an uncommon experience for me to find myself staring at the book but thinking along a tangent. The other characters we follow, a chapter here and there, all ponder some of the same things, but add Maria to the mix (“How do you solve a problem like Maria?”). 

I really enjoyed Nevada. It is intensely quotable, and I filled up my camera with pages of the book for transcription later (haha, as if). I’ve read this book doesn’t show transness for the curious, it shows it for trans people. I’d add that it shows it for anybody who has maybe thought a little too much about gender. “While gender is a construct, so is a traffic light, and if you ignore either of them, you get hit by cars. Which, also, are constructs.”

 

Strange, beautiful, alarming, endearing, a little dark, comical, and wholesome. Motherhood or Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder? I’m no mother, so I can’t really answer that, but from what I can see, this book resonates with a lot of readers -- mothers and non-mothers alike.

Our MC is unnamed in this book, and at the opening, she is reconciling losing a dream of being an artist to look after her child full-time, while her husband works out of town all week. Alone every day with a 2-year-old and a whiny cat, she’s anxious, stressed, and overwhelmed. But one day, she feels like she’s turning into a wolf, slowly, she grows hair, a tail, a little bit of rage, and a desire for meat, and eventually gives us the only name we are ever given for her: Nightbitch. I don’t want to say too much, but this book is not a horror or a thriller. It is about a woman finding her identity and connecting with her child outside the societal expectations placed on mothers. It has some weird scenes, but even more often I found myself smiling at an endearing scene, and urging Nighbitch to lean into the change and find the peace in it. 

Is it insanity, magical realism, or an allegory? We don’t know. But what we get to see is the positive change to her life, relationships, confidence, and friendships wrought by Nightbitch as she works through this transformation. This book was popular at book club and amongst my internet friends. Regardless of whether you’re a parent or not, this book will have appeal and make you laugh, smile, and squirm just a bit.