She awoke before dawn, when the sky was still a pearly white and the birds were barely stirring. One of the cardinals on her block had a habit of omitting the second note of his call and repeating just the first in a flinty, bright staccato. “Vite! Vite! Vite!” he seemed to be saying, like an overeager Frenchman. A jet plane crossed the hightest windowpanes perfectly level, perfectly silent, and somethimes a wan translucent moon still hung behind the neighbours’ maple tree. (254)

This book disappointed me. The premise sounded fascinating: two families adopt Korean children. One couple is a typical, white, yuppy couple. The other is an Iranian family. The story is mostly told from the perspective of Maryam, the Iranian grandmother.

The book’s strength is its depiction of the lives of Iranian immigrants to America. The snapshots of the customs and culture are intriguing. The examination of the dilemmas immigrants face is poignant and believable.

But beyond this, the book falls short. There is so much potential for something deeper and meaningful in the plot, but that potential is squandered. Throughout the book, I felt like something was missing. It felt shallow to me. The characters were two-dimensional, the story plodded along. I think I would have liked to see the author explore the different issues the two families faced in raising a child from a different culture. She only lightly touches on this. I would have liked to understand the other characters better, but the story is told almost exclulsively from Maryam’s perspective.

Overall, I didn’t enjoy the book and I was relieved when I finished it. The ending was anti-climatic and the characters didn’t hold my imagination after I turned that last page. Not recommended.

They ask me if I’ve done any drugs in the last twenty-four hours, and I say no. Then I say, I guess I smoked some pot and snorted some coke also, but that was just to make the Ecstasy last longer. I also admit to them that I had some beer, maybe a couple of sea breezes somewhere in there, too. And the nthe doctor asks if I have a substance abuse problem, and all I can do is laugh. I laugh really hard and really loud, a howling hyena laught because what I’m thinking is how nice it would be if my problem were drugs, if my problem weren’t my whole damn life and how little relief from it the drugs provide. (120)

This is a slow-motion-trainwreck of a book, sometimes entertaining, often disturbing, always thought-provoking. It’s a memoir of sorts; the story of Elizabeth’s Wurtzel’s account of her battle with depression. It’s a tale of her pain, but also a love story because, by the end, Elizabeth seems to be in love with her own torment.

She first noticed her dramtic mood swings shortly after puberty and she was transformed from a smart, happy little girl into a dangerously moody, angry teenager. Her problems were aggravated by the ongoing war between her divorced parents. I guess no one expects a teenager to be bright and happy, because her parents really didn’t take note – they merely wrote off her moods to teen angst. Year and year, her mental state became worse until, by the time she was in university, she had sunk into a deep depression, accompanied by heavy drug use, disasterous relationships and even suicide attempts.

After years of therapy and muted cries for help, she finally find the right therapist and was placed on a therapy of Prozac and Lithium, among other drugs.

For me, this was the most interesting part of the book – seeing the difference between Elizabeth-depressed and Elizabeth-on-Prozac (the difference was stark). Also interesting was the author’s examination of her own depression, how it developed and morphed into something that became her identity. Much like an alchoholic who has no sense of self without the bottle, Elizabeth had no sense of self without pain.

This is a hard book to get through at times, and I found the author’s voice a bit too whiny and self-absorbed. ‘This is the nature of depression,’ we’re told, but it smacked of drama and I didn’t enjoy the book as much as I wanted to.

“Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little uptickes – the traffic signal that said ‘Walk’ the second you got there – and the downticks – the itchy tag at the back of your collar – that happened to every person in the course of a day. Maybe everybody had the same allotted measure of happiness within each day.” (312)

I liked the movie better – that goes without saying (I absolutely loved the movie). Reading the book after seeing the film was interesting – usually, when I read a book, my mind creates the scenes and the characters. In this case, the movie replayed in my mind.

Rather than evaluate this book by the same standards I would apply to Toni Morrison or Anne Tyler, I’ll use a more appropriate measure: I’ll compare it to other novels in the young adult genre and by that measure it’s very good. The language, the style, the spirit of this book is teen spirit – no mistake. The ‘teen-speak’ occasionally irked me, but I’m sure it resonated with the target audience.

I like the way it grapples with values and family and relationships and grief with a deft hand. The plot flows along. The characters are real and I loved the friendships and bond between the girls. The girls are potrayed vividly, with flaws, insecurities and quirks that make them believable.

And yes, parts of it made me cry. A good read – great for girls and a quick, entertaining read for grown-up girls. I do plan to read the sequel.

“Food is an ethical issue, but you don’t have to be fanatical about it.” (281)

It’s very rare that a book will make an actual, measurable impact on my life. This one did. I’ve been a vegetarian, almost-vegan for a long time. Despite this, I’ve long resisted buying organic, mostly because I didn’t see a point. This book made me see a point.

The book is well-written and cleverly organised. The authors introduce us to three families: The typical meat-and-potato eaters, the compassionate meat-eaters and the vegans. We go shopping with each family, peer through a keyhole into their day-to-day lives and meals and here’s the best part: we get a behind-the-scenes peek at the farms and companies that are behind the food.

It wasn’t particularly shocking to discover that the factory farms were less-than-open to scrutiny while the organic and free-range farmers were generally an open book. It was heartening to read the success stories of ethical farmers and businesses. I got tears in my eyes reading about a cocoa co-operative in Ghana. Granted, I love chocolate, but I really love the idea of fair trade and will now seek out this brand (Divine chocolate).

One of the strengths of this book is its sharp analysis – all angles are explored. Buying local vs. buying fair trade. The fuel consumption involved in transporting food. Environmental impacts. One example: the authors explore the environmental impact of tomatos trucked up from Florida vs. locally grown hothouse tomatos (here’s a hint: think of the energy required to keep the hothouse tomatos warm). These details kept the book interesting, even when the subject got a tad dry.

Like John Robbins’ book ‘Diet for a New America,’ this book contains some graphic descriptions of factory farm conditions. I found these sections less dramatic than in Robbins’ book, but I appreciated that the sections were clearly identified for the more squeamish reader and, in one case, presented as a sidebar. In a way, this made it more powerful.

The books ends on a positive note. Rather than browbeat the reader into accepting a completely vegan diet, the authors advocate a more balanced approach. Do what you can. Do your best and make small, positive changes.

So in the checkout line, I was able to feel good about my organic carrots and mango without feeling bad about the conventional cherries and mushrooms. I felt a sense of victory when I discovered that the wheat pasta I already love is actually organic. I understand more about GMO foods and why I might want to avoid them. I feel re-committed to a vegan diet.

This book informs without preaching, it flows nicely and it’s a fairly quick read. Definitely recommended.

I sat against one of the house’s clay walls. The kinship I felt suddenly forthe old land…it surprised me. I’d been gone long enough to forget and be forgotten. I had a home in a land that might as well be in another galaxy to the people sleeping on the other side of the wall I leaned against. I thought I had forgotten about this land. But I hadn’t. And, under the bony glow of a half-moon, I sensed Afghanistan humming under my feet. Maybe Afghanistan hadn’t forgotten me either.” (253)

This book was on Nuke’s list, but I’ve seen and heard of it other places. When I picked it up, I knew only that it was about Afghanistan.

For me, that one fact can sum up the entire book. The writing was okay, but not great. The plot moved along, but it was predictable and often seemd contrived. Where the book absolutely shines is in its depictions of Afghanistan and her people. The cultural aspects of the book were so amazing, that it made me sad that the other elements didn’t fall into place.

The plot revolves around the main character, Amir, and his childhood in Afghanistan. His friendship with his father’s servant’s son, Hassan, is central to the story. Amir is a Pashtun, Hassan is a Hazara. Hazara are the lowest class of Afghani society – they exist to serve the higher classes. It was poignant to read about the friendship between the two boys in tandem with descriptions of their daily life. Each morning, Hassan woke long before Amir in order to start the fire, launder and iron Amir’s clothes and serve him breakfast. Then Amir went to school while Hassan stayed behind to work.

Hassan loves his friend Amir and is endlessly loving and loyal to him. Amir has a lofty sense of entitlement and taunts Hassan because he can’t read. Ultimately, Amir betrays his loving and loyal friend in the most horrific way. Amir rejects Hassan but he lives with that guilt long after he has immigrated to the United States with his father, leaving Hassan behind. As an adult, Amir goes back to his homeland to visit a friend of his father. Afghanistan is under Taliban rule. Hassan’s family is in danger. Amir decides to do the one thing that can make things right.

I had trouble with parts of the story, particularly the ending. I hesitate to say very much, as I don’t want to spoil it for others. But suffice to say, I wish the author had researched child psychology before writing this book.

Overall, it was an okay read. Not fantastic or anything, but I learned a lot about the culture of Afghanistan and that alone made it worthwhile.

I tried to think about what I’d do if the shoe were on the other foot – if one day a gang of thugs seizd Toronto and took everythign from me, and in order to earn a living I had to leanr to make and sell soup on the sidewalk; and I wondred what it would have bee nlike if I had found a way to get on a boat with my family and land in Ho Chi Minh City?. (Page 119)

This book was mentioned on the website The Torontoist. I can’t resist a good book about my city, so I put it on my list.

I found this book poorly written and edited, particular in the first several chapters. It’s never a good sign when you find typos, but when some of them render entire sentences meaningless, it’s frustrating. Also irritating was the author’s use of cliches and the many funny little sentences dropped into paragraphs without any context (‘Hey Joe, Whaddaya know?’). It felt like the author was ‘thinking out loud’ and it felt awkward.

I didn’t enjoy the author’s style and this is a shame, since I genuinely enjoyed the subject matter (I’m a Torontonian, how can I not love reading about my city?). Many of the stories were compelling and moving. I learned new things about Toronto and, in particular, I learned new things about the people who live here.

The author is fabulously well-connected with the most interesting people in Toronto, and many of these people aren’t the movers and the shakers. They’re the immigrants, the small business people, the cobblers and butchers and cab drivers. This book is rich in these stories. Chapter 12 is my favourite. I was deeply moved. Some of the author’s observations are insightful and thought-provoking. And even if the stories are sometimes not as well-conveyed as they could be, they outshine the occasionally bad writing.

If you can grit your teeth and endure the bizarre style, you’ll find a treasure trove of Toronto tales.

I sipped rice wine and thought about what Nuharoo had said to me about her method of ahieving internal harmony: ‘Lie in the bed others have made, and walk in the shoes others have cobbled.’ The sentiment made very little sense to me. My life so far was a piece of embroidery with every stitch sewn by my own hands. (page 212)

I found this book on Jaynesmommy’s list. I had really enjoyed ‘Snow Flower and the Secret Fan’, a book about a Han Chinese woman. This book is about a Manchu Chinese woman and I thought it would be good to counter-balance the reading I’ve done so far with a different perspective.

This is historical fiction at its best. I never seem to be able to wade through non-fiction books about Chinese history, but this novel spoon-fed it to me. I was so seduced by the story that I never quite realised how much I was learning until the very end.

Author Anchee Min leads introduces the reader to a complex and fabulous world, the Emperors court in the Ch’ing Dynasty of China, seen through the eyes of Orchid. She’s an ordinary Manchu girl who aspires to be a wife of the Emperor of China, even though her family is destitute and practically homeless. Orchid does achieve her goal, but the court unstable and treacherous. The Ch’ing Dynasty is in decline and the young Emperor both ill and ill-at-ease in his powerful role.

In the court, six wives and thousands of concubines compete for the attention of one, very powerful man. Orchid takes matters into her own hands and bribes an attendant in order to get close to the Emperor. Ambitious and extremely bright, Orchid becomes an indispensable confidant and secretary to her husband. She bears him a son and becomes increasingly involved in the governmental affairs of her country.

The focus on international affairs could have made for a dry book, but the author mixes history and politics with a vibrant and fast-moving plot to keep things fresh and interesting. The characters are lively (in particular, I was grateful for Orchid’s sharp intelligence and ambition) and the book is well-written.

The result is an interesting and educational foray into Chinese history. If this topic interests you, it’s a worthy read.

“Hoshino looked up from his map again and gazed into Nakata’s eyes. He frowned, looked at the sign, and slowly read it again. He patted a Marlboro out from the box, put it between his lips, and lit it with his plastic lighter. He slowly inhaled, then blew smoke out the open window. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, this is it.”

“Chance is a scary thing, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” Nakata agreed.” (Page 137-138)

I’ve never read anything by Haruki Murakami before, but I was eager to because he’s a Japanese author and the original book was written in that language. I really enjoyed the small glimpses of day-to-day Japanese life that the book offers.

But the plot was uneven and quirky. Even now, days after finishing the book, I don’t know what to make of it. This is simply one of the oddest books I’ve ever read.

The author does a great job of developing the characters and injecting a sense of mystery into the plot. These two things kept me turning the pages. I continued reading because I genuinely wanted to find out what was going on and I genuinely cared about the characters.

I didn’t have a problem with some of the stranger plot elements: A man who can talk to cats, fish and leeches raining from the sky, government documents describing events that might have something to do with aliens, etc.

What I did have a problem with was the ending, which did nothing to tie up loose ends or bring the story to a graceful close. The author brought the story speeding toward a titillating conclusion, only to allow it to peter out. It was a huge letdown.

I found myself feeling disappointed and a bit bitter. After all of that weirdness, the characters calmly went back to their lives as if nothing had even happened and I, the reader, was left to wonder whether I should bother to read the other novel by this author, which was sitting on my desk.

After a few days of thought, I made my decision: I took it back to the library, unread.

Stephen now dreamed in music, a clamor of remembered voices, a density of souls in which no individual spoke the truth, but in which the accumulated layers of lies and loss gave way to a truth rare and great and capable of stripping wounds from a part of the world. (Page 274)

Author Christopher Rice writes about four childhood friends growing up in New Orleans. The novel explores the social tensions of the New Orleans elite and how these effected children moving through adolescence into adulthood.

If, like me, you had a rocky and quasi-traumatic high school experience, this book will ring many bells for you. Rice sets the stage nicely by introducing the main characters as 13-year-olds and then tracing their journey through high school and in the years following.

I found the characters were a bit uneven – some were better developed than others. The plot drew the reader in and I quickly found myself absorbed in the story. There were a few eye-rolling moments when a turn of the plot was just too ludicrous, or over-the-top, and I found this detracted from the flow of the story. On the other hand, this gave the book an almost surreal flavour and it could be argued that this is part of the author’s original style.

I particularly enjoyed Stephen, the gay character. His thoughts and story are offered with a great deal of sensitivity and a deep understanding. In fact, of all the characters, Stephen seemed most genuine to me, and despite the traumas he endures, he remains real to the end.

From a simple reader’s perspective, this book is a great read, thoroughly absorbing. The plot is skillfully guided to a powerful conclusion and in the last few chapters, I found it impossible to pull myself away. This a nice addition to any summer reading list.

Just an aside: I was particularly impressed with the way the author forged his own style, in light of his family connections. Read the author’s bio on the dustjacket if you’re curious to know more – I don’t want to spoil it.

This primordial sound is called spanda, or vibration. It created the universe and still pervades everywhere, continually vibrating. Even modern physists agree that there is a vibration reverberating ceaselessly a the center of the universe. This vibration is the source not only of the universe, but of our entire being, and it pulses within us. (Page 17)

This is a lovely little book for anyone who is interested in Hinduism and yoga philosophy. I imagine it would be dead boring to anyone else.

I found it clear and simple to read. The ideas are presented in a lively and straightforward way, the intellectual content sprinkled with examples and anecdotes.

The central theme of the book is the mantra Hamsa or So’ham. The author explains that this mantra describes the natural movement of prana (understood as both energy and breath). All of us repeat this mantra constantly, but will only benefit from it if we cultivate awareness.