I did it — I read the beast! Five hundred plus pages detailing a specific time period and specific policy, in which I was disabused of the notion that The Marshall Plan was merely a large airdrop of food to Berlin and a front to siphon off funds for the CIA. I don’t know why I had the food-drop impression, but before reading Steil’s book, literally, the Marshall Plan, in my brain, was a huge crate of food suspended from a helicopter and dropped into a field somewhere on the outskirts of Berlin. I also learned redound is a word, not a typo, and looked up autarky every time it appeared because that definition could not stay in my brain (my brain is a closed-economy for new words ha ha ha economics joke).

And … I read this big-ass book on that Marshall Plan and I don’t know how much I really got out of it (although that economic joke in the previous paragraph wouldn’t exist without it, so …). Most of the book is a historic detailing of what went on to get the Marshall Plan up and running, which old white dude met with which other old white dude, which old white dude was like “No way!”, which old white dude was like “Come on!”, which old white dude was put in charge of running things, which old white dude had just pissed off Stalin, etc. History is okay and all, but it isn’t, let’s just say, thrill-a-minute exciting detailing what had to be added onto the bill in regard to subsidies to appease constituencies, especially since (a) it was all in the past and (b) I’m not American so the whole Congressional/House system is already kind of fuzzy in my mind (my sketchy understand of the Marshall Plan, pre reading this book, should probably give you a hint that American politics and policy are not my forte). It’s all information, essentially archival rather than plot driven, and after a few hundred pages of this, I started to ask Couldn’t we have just gotten a timeline? Why present all this if there isn’t going to be any sort of analysis?

Ah me, be careful what I wish for.

So then comes analysis. Did the Marshall Plan succeed? Well, Western Europe didn’t collapse in 1949 and Soviet expansion didn’t make it all the way to Ireland, so yes. Didn’t need three hundred-odd pages to tell me that; I could have just dug up my map from my 1988 copy of Where In Europe is Carmen Sandiego. Would Europe have recovered as non-Communistly without the Marshall Plan? That analysis, which could have been an entire book itself, is sort of meandering, written like a last-minute history paper. The change in tone is staggering compared with the earlier sections, and the book falters. Then there’s some talk about NATO in the 90s and beyond that doesn’t tie in very well with either a historical recounting or analysis of the Marshall plan, and then it ends with a big, long, list of old white dudes who were important to the Marshall Plan and I was like huh. Okay. Good to know.

So I learned words, had my incorrect historical assumptions smacked up the side of the head, then forced myself to the end. A middling success for the book. Too bad I already used up my funny quota for the day because I feel like this should close with some sort of silly Marshall Plan joke (Marshall my resources?), but I’m spent.

The Marshall Plan by Benn Steil went on sale February 13, 2018.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

Tesfa reads this series, so whenever I see one on Netgalley, I request it for her. I haven’t read any since maybe number two (this one is number six). But I didn’t want to think too hard the other day, so I picked this one up and it was a nice break from my heavy, literary books I’m trying to read before their library due dates on Tuesday.

So Dakota has a bunch of goblins now, and there’s Max who likes electricity, and rather than being episodic/comic strip one-offs, Phoebe and Her Unicorn in the Magic Storm is a whole story about a magic storm and there’s a dragon and I thought it was kind of clever, the plot. Max has two moms and it’s just so normal and not commented upon and basically,
I loved that bit the most. I still think Phoebe and Marigold and Dakota are a bit too smarmy Disney-channel sitcom rather than genuine, but they aren’t bad; I’m just overly annoyed by stuff like that.

So yay, thar be dragons!

Phoebe and Her Unicorn in the Magic Storm by Dana Simpson went on sale October 17, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

Hmmm…it’s probably not a great endorsement that I finished this book and thought was that really necessary? Maybe because I just read another cat-loving book where the protagonist might be me (in a kind of Fight Club situation wherein I don’t actually know it is me but it is) and Life Lessons from Catsass is more from the perspective of an asshole cat. I have an asshole cat. While Catsass hits all the targets regarding asshole cat behaviour, all it made me do was remember the time my asshole cat peed on my half-way finished 3000 piece puzzle of Guernica, completely ruining it while looking smugly at me all the while.

Cats are jerks.

(Also I love cats.)

(Hopefully your cat isn’t an asshole.)

(And I keep typing Catass rather than Catsass.)

Fin.

Life Lessons from Catsass by Claude Combacau went on sale July 4, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

A writer of great descriptive power says the blurb on the front. Okay. Description. Except I don’t really enjoy reading description. Description reads heavy and unnecessary. From the name of one of the stories — Sylvia Wears Pink in the Underworld — I knew immediately it would be about Sylvia Plath, so much description is extraneous. A story with Diana in the title would be about Princess Diana. I think the titles do more than the stories, since they are short and snappy. The stories are pretty, but as I said, heavy. There’s no overall theme, except when there is (which we’ll say is beloved ghosts, like Diana and Sylvia and a great aunt who drowned in Cape Breton and Chekov and Angelica Garnett), and then the stories that don’t fit in with this theme (like In Praise of Radical Fish) are, like all the description, extraneous.

I liked the bits I liked. But then most of it is going to fade away like an empty spirit.

All The Beloved Ghosts by Alison MacLeod went on sale May 30, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

There’s a story in The Accusation about faking emotion: crying when we’re happy, laughing when we’re sad. Under such a system as North Korea, all emotions are either muted or exaggerated. In the same vein, and for the same reasons, the writing style of The Accusation
also veers between muted or exaggerated melodrama, but what else can one expect from a society that represses or fakes emotion? I didn’t come into these stories expecting literature as much as a window into North Korean life. The Accusation is important not because of its literary merits, but because it exists as an act of rebellion against the horror of the North Korean regime. It’s crazy that North Korea exists, and The Accusation exists to show us that.

The Accusation by Bandi went on sale March 7, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

Ah, rich people problems. To have a flat in London, sitting unoccupied. To jet off to Greece at the behest of a relative, and on a moment’s notice, because work, what’s that? To stay in a fancy Greek hotel, eating out at restaurants, and sure, it’s the off-season, but really? Come on.

And here we are, trapped inside the head of our nameless narrator, who, separated from her husband, still goes to Greece at her mother-in-law’s order, to find him. Her thoughts are banal because, like most people, her thoughts are banal and not in need of having every single on detailed. Her husband is rich and a playboy, and they separated because of his numerous infidelities, and I have used banal twice already but it is so banal and we have two hundred pages plus of this banality of our cipher narrator searching after her cipher husband with cipher locals poking about and there is absolutely nothing there. I can tell you nothing about the narrator or her personality or her likes and dislikes. Ditto everyone else in the book. Ditto why this woman would undertake this task. Ditto why this book got such accolades (amazon tells me Named a best book of the year by the New York Times, NPR, Huffington Post, The A.V. Club, The San Francisco Chronicle, The Guardian, Refinery29, Town & Country, Harper’s Bazaar, NYLON, BookRiot.). Obviously, there are far worse written books out there, but this is just a flat, monotone where I don’t care about anything, at all, ever.

A Separation by Katie Kitamura went on sale March 23, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

So this is a huh of a book. Definitely not a huh? (with a question mark) what the heck did I just read? sort of book, but a book you finish and go huh or any other of your non-committal sounds of choice. His dad dies. He may or may not have lost his job as a radio host. He may or may not be in love with his radio producer. His sister may or may not be getting a divorce. His best friend may or may not be unhinged. His friend may or may not be a rapist. So, sure, let’s go take his father’s ashes to Kashmir, his father’s homeland. And go skiing. And yes, there is a fugue state. And a death, and I always think of music fugues as death-y, so there’s that. But in the end, it’s just one of those books where

1. lots of stuff happens, and yet
2. I can’t shake the feeling that absolutely nothing has happened at all.

No one seems wiser or smarter or even changed by the end. Except I guess the dad, who is dead. But maybe he’s the same in death, so who knows?

Fugue States by Pasha Malla went on sale May 30, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

I’ve never been completely convinced Australia exists. I’ve met many Australians, I’ve know non-Australians who have been to Australia, I watched a lot of Heartbreak High when it aired on Showcase in the 90s. So, rationally, I know Australia exists, but if Australia were to suddenly be like “Psych!”, I could totally see where that was coming from.

All this to say that The Strays is set in Australia. But it doesn’t feel like Australia. It feels like the setting could be anywhere. Like rationally knowing Australia exists, I rationally know that books from Australia don’t all need to feature kangaroos and Ned Kelly, but then I read a book set in Australia with nary one mention of a koala and I’m like “Hmmm…are we sure this is in Australia? Just because the book references Melbourne and Sydney and says a few times that they are in Australia, do I really believe this book is set in Australia?” So, again, if The Strays were to suddenly be like “Psych!”, I could totally see where that was coming from.

(And, I mean, for goodness’ sake, I’m Canadian, I read plenty of Can-Lit, and I hardly expect every book set in Canada that I read to feature igloos and polar bears and poutine. I feel I am somehow mentally deficient in all things Aussie. Do I need to eat more some (because I’ve never managed to put even a little near my mouth) Vegemite? Why can’t my brain comprehend Australia? Australia, why are you so difficult?)

Framing this in a more positive light, The Strays transcends Australia and isn’t regional literature. It’s a compelling read of a colony of artists in the 1930s, but, unfortunately, has all the things I don’t like about first novels: an outsider narrator (the reader is already the outsider; I don’t need another removal for me to see through two steps removed) looking back (why not set it simply in that time frame, rather than use a flashback framing device) who views the rest of her life as somewhat inconsequential (so, again, why bother with the flashback and the little bits of her life after that? Just stay in the time frame if that was so important) with a somewhat deus ex-machina reason for getting the gang back together in the present time so that our narrator can reflect (seriously, just set it in the 1930s and be done with it) on the brilliant men surrounded by their supporting/adoring women (blehhhhhhhhh). I do not like these things. I think they weaken the novel. Luckily, the novel, especially the pretty writing, is strong enough (even with the lack of platypuses/platypii/platypodes) that the things I dislike serve as annoyances rather than deal-breakers, and, at times, the novel reads like a painting, with colour and slashes and visible brush strokes that I love. But still, I’m conflicted: did I need to read another flashback book about brilliant, abusive men who don’t really get their comeuppance, no matter how lyrical the writing is and how well I could see how everything looks even though Australia is imaginary I have never been to Australia? I guess I did since I did.

Plus the font was large, and the margins wide, so I did read it quickly. Yay.

Obligatory picture of my favourite Australian book:

Yeah, it’s completely unrelated, but Sometimes I Like To Curl Up In A Ball is a very cute book that I enjoy a lot.

The Strays by Emily Bitto went on sale January 3, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

Yay! A silly book where my home province of New Brunswick is run by a sinister cabal of feudalistic light house keepers and where all mentions of Fabricland must be followed by a more forceful shout of Fabricland! And, while Canada is indeed in the top three of non-Caribbean North American countries, having all these giggles and snark in one place can be somewhat overwhelming. A tweet now-and-then is less overwhelming. There’s a lot in this listicley book — and thankfully not too much about hockey since I know nothing about hockey (for example, I thought hockey had a half-time until I was twenty-six).

It’s cute, but I don’t know what you’d do with this book after you read it once. Maybe flip through now and then when the moose and polar bears outside your summer igloo want to steal your double-double and the barbaric cultural practices phone line doesn’t seem to be working to help cheer your Soviet Cannuckistan self up.

150 Years of Stats Canada! by Andrew Bondy, Julia Davidovich, Sam Montgomery and Thomas Eric Taylor went on sale June 6, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

There are many spoilers for Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine in this review. Also there is cussing. Proceed at your own risk.

This book made me cry. Eleanor gets sad, super sad, depressed, and I know that feeling. I am that feeling. So I cried and cried and cried along with Eleanor. Between this and that BoJack Horseman episode, it’ll be hard for me to say that I’m all alone in the world. So yay, I guess, for all the other people out there that have moments when that voice in the back of your head telling you you are worthless is so loud that it’s impossible to drown it out.

So at that point, in the middle of the novel, I started to forgive it for the standard tropes earlier along — Eleanor starts off dowdy, but she gets a makeover, she gets her nails done, she buys some stylish clothes, because her life fixes itself she’s still sad and depressed and lonely and that voice is louder than ever. The love interest fails her (not that he ever even knows who she is) and the secondary love interest, the nice guy who was there all along, is still a nice guy and they don’t hook up, and all these standard chick-lit tropes are falling apart, and it quiets that little voice for a bit, in between my crying bouts for Eleanor because she is feeling sad, and so I feel sad too.

And then fuck this, in the last ten pages or so, one of the characters is revealed to be a hallucination. F-Uhhhhhhhhhhh-C-K. Every piece of goodwill squandered. I could handle one bait-and-switch (look, this is going to be a standard maekover and smile and get the guy chick-lit novel, oh nope it’s not, it’s a meditation on depressed and loneliness), but two, especially the second one being so stupid. So I’m mad at this book because what the fuck? I can’t even rate this book because the last ten pages suck whereas the earlier ones aren’t that bad. In fact, they’re pretty good. And then this. I’m going to add a few more fucks here: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

At least I still have BoJack Horseman.

Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman went on sale May 9, 2017.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.