Top 10 Canadian books of the decade
By Brian Bethune - Friday, December 11, 2009 - 8 Comments
10. Paris 1919 by Margaret MacMillan (2002)
MacMillan’s revisionist take on the peace treaty that ended the First World War—and gave the world such ongoing headaches as Yugoslavia and Iraq—is a triumph of narrative history, one that downplays anonymous “historical forces” to place individuals like Woodrow Wilson and David Lloyd George back where they belong, at the centre of events.
9. The Life of Pi by Yann Martel (2001)
No one has ever found an easy way to sum up Martel’s novel, a surprise—but highly popular—Booker prize winner. That’s only to be expected, considering the storyline: take one teenaged boy—a devout Hindu who also prays to Jesus, Mary and Allah—put him on a lifeboat for some seven months with a hyena, a zebra, an orangutan (all soon to disappear) and an enormous Bengal tiger named Richard Parker (who causes the disappearances). A long, strange trip indeed, “something so bright, loud, weird and delicate as to stupefy the senses,” as Pi himself says about life in general.
8. This Is My Country, What’s Yours? by Noah Richler (2006)
There are an endless number of lesser matters to quibble over in Richler’s monumental literary atlas of Canada—one of the many great things about the book—but there’s no quarreling with the main themes of this shrewd and subtle consideration of CanLit. Canada is an anti-epic society, born of struggle with an unforgiving land, highly skeptical about authority, and fertile ground for ironic and individualistic novels.
7. The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill (2007)
Hill has been a very good writer for a long time, a graceful and understated stylist whose latest novel turns a thorny historical subject—the fate of black slaves who served the British in the American Revolution only to be shabbily betrayed in Nova Scotia—into a tour-de-force, an entire era personalized in one superbly realized female character.
6. River Thieves by Michael Crummey (2001)
Historical fiction is one of the dominant themes within CanLit, and there’s no more subtle and profoundly self-aware example than Crummey’s first novel. The weight of the extinction of the Beothuks, Newfoundland’s aboriginal population and the impossibility of truly understanding the past, hang over this story of mutual and tragic misunderstanding.
5. Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden (2005)
Nothing haunts the national historical imagination like the Great War. The eternal Canadian novel, the one we keep writing over and over again, is set, at least in part, against the mud and carnage of the Western front. Boyden’s first novel, the tale of two Cree snipers—one broken in body and spirit, the other destroyed morally—is perhaps the finest in a rich tradition.
4. There is a Season by Patrick Lane (2004)
The poet’s account of a year in his life and garden begins when Lane, then 65, was barely two months out of the rehab centre he entered after 45 years of heavy drinking. Memory floods him, much of it harsh to recall (and to read), but there are “moments of such joy that to remember them makes me reel through the thin air of the past.” An exquisite memoir, beautiful in its prose and terrifying in its honesty.
3. Where War Lives by Paul Watson (2007)
The author is the Toronto-born foreign correspondent who snapped the famous 1993 photo of U.S. Army Sgt. William Cleveland’s mutilated corpse being dragged in triumph by a howling mob through Somalia’s capital of Mogadishu. The book is Watson’s account—utterly devoid of self-pity and propelled by an apocalyptic mix of anger, guilt and post-traumatic shock—of the interplay of media and war, and his life since Cleveland’s spirit spoke to him that day: “If you do this, I will own you forever.”
2. The Little Girl Who Was Too Fond of Matches by Gaetan Soucy (2000)
Few anglophone readers know the work of Soucy; a pity, really, given he’s a writer of genius. This slim novel has more layers of meaning than most far fatter volumes can imagine. A word-drunk, hallucinatory, heartbreaking story of two isolated siblings adrift in a surreal landscape after their abusive father’s suicide.
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How faithful do you need to be?
By Brian Bethune - Wednesday, November 11, 2009 - 3 Comments
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Not all eyes are on the Prizes
By Noah Richler - Wednesday, October 14, 2009 - 0 Comments
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Margaret Atwood didn’t kill me
By Rebecca Eckler - Wednesday, September 23, 2009 - 9 Comments
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Margaret Atwood goes on tour, Anna Wintour thaws, and the director of fun
By Lianne George - Friday, August 28, 2009 - 0 Comments
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Autistic licence
By Brian Bethune - Monday, July 13, 2009 - 12 Comments
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‘Genesis’ by Bernard Beckett
By Brian Bethune - Wednesday, April 29, 2009 at 4:51 PM - 3 Comments
Bernard Beckett, 41 (or possibly 42), is a New Zealand high school teacher who has written eight (or is it nine?) novels for young adults. Accounts, to put it mildly, vary: Beckett is not exactly well-known outside his native land, a lamentable state of affairs—at least for foreigners—that’s liable to change very rapidly. Genesis, Beckett’s whatever number novel, written in 2006 and now available across the English-speaking world, is superb: a taut, thrilling, thought-provoking dystopia, just perfect for intellectually curious teens, and pretty damn good for adults too. And virtually all it consists of is conversation, a Socratic question-and-answer session between Anaximander, a young candidate for her society’s ruling Academy, and her examiners.
It takes place in late 21st-century New Zealand, now re-named the Republic after a reforming leader, Plato. It doesn’t need any further name, because it’s the last functioning state on earth, the rest having fallen to environmental catastrophe, nuclear war and endless waves of plague. The Republic has maintained itself at a cost: soldiers manning a giant seawall shoot down any refugees approaching by boat or plane; there is no individual liberty and all citizens function within their assigned roles.
Then comes a new Adam, young Adam Foote, the subject of Anax’s historian’s thesis, and the first Republican in decades to act independently. He ends up imprisoned, sentenced to become the human participant in an experiment with a new form of artificial intelligence named Artfink. Anax’s increasingly off-kilter conversation with the three Academy examiners reconstruct Adam and Artfink’s interaction, and raise millennia-old, never-to-be-solved questions about meaning and consciousness: what, if anything, really separates us from animals and machines?Genesis is beautifully written, with an eye-popping conclusion, but what really makes it stand out is its bottom-line difference from other, and more famous, dystopias like Aldous Huxley’s Brave New Worldor Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake. The difference lies not in the how of our fate—human greed and folly pretty much sums that up—but in the why of it. Most dystopias are dire warnings, allegories of now, that implicitly argue there’s still time to change. In Beckett’s novel, disaster takes on a kind of tragic inevitability, leading humanity down a path that’s as strangely triumphant as it is squalid. As Anax says of those men who made one particularly fateful decision: “Circumstances conspired against them.”
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Atwood sees all
By Rebecca Eckler - Wednesday, February 11, 2009 - 2 Comments
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Megapundit: Ottawa’s accountant vs. Washington’s poet
By Chris Selley - Friday, October 24, 2008 at 2:37 PM - 14 Comments
Must-reads: Colby Cosh on Obama’s geneaology; Dan Gardner takes on Margaret F***ing Atwood; Don Martin on Canadian asbestos; Rick Salutin on Stéphane Dion.
Get over it
Some pundits are turning their gaze to the future. Others can’t stop post-morteming the election.The Calgary Herald’s Don Martin understands just how impossible Canadian politicians feel it is to kill 700 jobs in a nation of 33 million people just to save a bunch of lives in the third world, but is baffled at “how Canada can argue that a commodity the government says is too dangerous to permit on domestic construction sites is okeedokee for a developing world where safety measures are far less stringent.” He speaks, naturally, of asbestos. And while he concedes a distinction must be drawn between “the old toxic fibre they’re extracting from office walls and the lower-health-risk asbestos they’re exporting as a cement additive,” he says scientists and doctors make a rather compelling case for caution. The least the government could do, he very reasonably suggests, is stop actively marketing the stuff and release the Health Canada-commissioned report on the subject that was delivered to them months ago. (The Post’s editorial board and Terence Corcoran take the contrarian view on this.)
The Vancouver Sun’s Barbara Yaffe speaks to Michael Byers, who had his academic cap handed to him in Vancouver Centre by Hedy Fry (and Lorne Mayencourt, for that matter), about what he learned from life on the campaign trail. Among other things, he tells her, “I now realize the demands of political debating, how difficult it is to perform at that level. As an armchair quarterback, it’s easy to criticize and focus on weaknesses.” Interestingly enough, that’s something we’ve felt like saying to Mr. Byers ourselves on a few occasions…
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Feeling the pinch
By John Fraser - Thursday, October 2, 2008 - 0 Comments
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Hurts like the Dickens
By Margaret Atwood - Thursday, October 2, 2008 - 0 Comments
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Maclean’s Interview: Margaret Atwood
By Kenneth Whyte - Thursday, October 2, 2008 - 0 Comments










