In Imagining Ancient Women (2011), Annabel Lyon declares that “literary fiction is uniquely poised to perform an important ethical function in our lives—namely to teach us compassion”. She warns of the pitfalls: moral outrage, forbidden love, and excessive decoration. All of which she avoids in Consent. So much so,
Annie Proulx’s Bird Cloud (2011) immediately invites readers into Wyoming: “The blue-white road twists like an overturned snake showing its belly.” She describes the dust and the sage-brush and how it’s impossible not to think of “old ash-spewing volcanoes” as you move through Wyoming with its powdery soil. “The
I read Gil Adamson’s The Outlander (2007) in February 2009, on my daily subway commute, and on the afternoon that I was nearly finished reading, I started a conversation about it with another commuter, who was also reading it. I waited until I’d moved towards the door, prepared to
The characters in Shani Mootoo’s fiction often carry a burden. Cereus Blooms at Night (1996) is a lyrical and painful story of reconciling past trauma with present-day understanding (and a personal favourite). In Moving Sideways Like a Crab (2014), one character believes that all they “learned about women and
Ironically, I requested Italo Calvino’s Mr. Palomar (1983; translated by William Weaver, 1985) with Kyoto in mind, for the scene at the “garden of rocks and sand of the Ryoanji”: “The rectangular enclosure of colorless sand is flanked on three sides by walls surmounted by tiles, beyond which
