Lilian Nattel

Amazing animals – Mudskipper – YouTube.

Today I walked to the post office to mail a copy of my book to my dear friend J who is currently living in China. I’ve meant to do it for ages, but I was too busy and then I was recovering from being too busy.

So this afternoon I printed out the address in English and in Chinese characters, and packed the book, tape, a glue stick, pen and the address in my bag. I’d already inscribed the book, but on the way I planned to stop in a shop and buy a pretty card. I forgot. I forget a lot of things these days. Memory returned when I got to the post office, which takes up one corner of Shopper’s Drugmart. There were get well cards, birthday cards, anniversary cards, even cards of military appreciation there, but not a single, pretty blank card.

I checked the time. There wasn’t enough to go back to the card shop and get home in time for my children. I considered leaving without posting the book–and thought about how long it might be until I got around to the post office again. So I sent it without the card, all the while thinking about J and what a good friend she is, and how she sent a package to me with all kinds of delightful things in it, all the way from China. She is one of those friends with whom you can share all of yourself–a rarity.

So for J, I post this picture (click to enlarge) and the story that follows it:

At Shopper’s I bought a get-well card for someone I know who has just had back surgery. And while I was waiting in line, L, the cashier, was talking to the woman ahead of me. I missed the beginning of the conversation, but heard her say that she’s grateful every day because her son survived the car accident.

I asked L how old her son was. Thirteen, she told me, the same age as my older daughter. But he had been just five when the accident happened. That must have been hard, I said. Yes, she told me, her husband and daughter had died in the car accident.

My eyes misted. My son survived for a reason, L told me. For one thing, he kept me sane. You’d need a reason like that, I said.

I couldn’t say much, I was too inchaote with emotion, and thinking that this was about her and not me and I was not going to burst into tears. I said, Whenever I need a reminder that the small things don’t matter, I’ll come here and have a chat with you.

She said, The small things are important. And I said, yes we need them to lift us up.

I was wondering if the extent of her tragedy separated her from other people, the way these things sometimes do. Life had scarred her. It had raked her heart. It had made her different. We looked into each other’s eyes. That was all I could give her right then. A customer was behind me.

I walked away appreciating the gorgeous day and the fact that both my children were on their way home from school, that I kissed my husband this morning, that I have a friend of rare beauty in China. And I thought this: sometime when I tell someone what I went through as a child, and I am feeling different and scarred, I’ll have to remember that there are a lot of us walking around with invisible scars, and we are teaching each other gratitude.

“That must be a heckuva book,” the elderly man said. He stood before me, hand in hand with his lady friend, as they walked the boardwalk on an afternoon constitutional.

“It definitely is,” I answered, emerging from my reverie.

“I bet it’s a love story,” he said with a smile.

“Well, not exactly – not a conventional love story.” I held the book up so he could see the title. “It’s called Web of Angels and the author is Canadian

via Simply Reading: Web of Angels | Bookstack.

Oh, do read the rest by the inimitable Becca at the link above. It’s not only a fine review but a delight to read. Thank you Becca! You have my eternal gratitude.
 

Inside our minds great forces rage and collide and strange convoluted processes are developed in order to avoid internal obstacles and keep the status quo. Former versions of ourselves wander through the inner labyrinth, exerting terrific pressure on our decision making and often dictating reactions in illogical ways. We have this charming, quaint idea that we’re in control of ourselves, but it only takes a little stress, conflict or fear to make a mockery of that. It’s a jungle in there.

Lilian Nattel’s latest novel, Web of Angels, goes further than any novel I think I’ve ever read in dramatising the strange brilliance of inner life.

via Saving The Children | Tales from the Reading Room.

I was a bit nervous about what the marvelous Litlove would make of my latest, though of course I was thrilled she would make the effort to order a copy from across the pond. So it is with the greatest delight I can say thank you to Litlove and urge anyone who has a moment to read the review at the link above.

I just finished The Uninvited Guests by Sadie Jones, and found it delightful, which spurred me to tell you about how I came to it.

I met Sadie Jones at the author series hosted by A Different Drummer Books. She and I and Liza (pronounced Lisa) Marklund were on the bill the same morning. We rode from Toronto to Burlington together in a car hired for the occasion. Lock up three writers from three countries in a moving vehicle for an hour and great conversation ensues.

Liza Marklund is a crime writer from Sweden. She comes from the remote and rural north. As a young single mother, she made a living as an investigative reporter in dangerous places, and then turned her hand to crime fiction as a way of dealing with social issues of particular concern to women. Her first novel in the series, featuring a hard-nosed female journalist, sold a million copies in Sweden alone.

Sadie Jones has had a literary trajectory similar to mine. Her first novel, The Outcasts, was a smash, short-listed for the Orange prize. Her second novel, similarly serious and set in the same time period (1950s) was a critical success. Her third novel is entirely different–an Edwardian ghost story with comic touches. I wasn’t sure about the first chapter, but as soon as the “uninvited” arrived, the book took off and I loved it. Like me, she has two children, with whom she was texting about homework, and we had much to say to each other on that topic.

As an aside, I would like to say that the other two women were both elegantly tall; I was a shrimp between them, at least in height, if not in spirit. Liza Marklund was tall and blonde, dressed in black, her look and speaking style dramatic; Sadie Jones was tall, dark eyed and dark haired, with a softer style that suited her quieter presentation, though just as engaging.

And then we arrived to business: authors and readers getting together first thing on a weekday morning for coffee, cakes, and the written word. I wondered at the time. Would anyone come to an event at that time?

Yes indeed. The author series hosted by A Different Drummer Books is an example of how it should be done. I’m not sure how the magic originates, but I was witness to the result. It’s held at Geraldo’s, an elegant banquet and conference centre overlooking Lake Ontario, in a bedroom suburb about 60 km (36 miles) from Toronto. The room was packed, at least 200 people attended, mostly retirees with a sprinkling of younger folk. But what a fantastic audience!

The chemistry that morning–you could feel it in the air. Every joke brought gales of laughter; every serious comment was met with intense attention. The questions were thoughtful and thought provoking. They bought books galore.

And here’s some background on this store–even more to be admired in the current economic climate, which is leading to so many closings of fine independent bookstores as well as chains.

Visitors have written in their blogs of their delight with the store “made possible through the genius of the proprietor, Mr. Richard Bachmann, a warm, witty, and very knowledgeable gentleman indeed. He is a man who cares about books, literature, publishing…Richard Bachmann retired in February 2010, selling the business to longtime employee Ian Elliot, who is himself well known to publishers and customers, and passionate about continuing the Different Drummer tradition.

(Via Norma Lundberg.)

Ian was an intelligent host, whose introductions clearly came from his personal knowledge of, and interest in, the authors’ work. He handed me The Uninvited Guests, for which I’m still touched and thankful. And now the pics (click to enlarge).

First the view:

The author and her books!

The book table:

“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.”–Henry David Thoreau.

For a long time literary critics and philosophers have argued, along with the novelist George Eliot, that one of fiction’s main jobs is to “enlarge men’s sympathies.” Recent lab work suggests they are right. The psychologists Mar and Keith Oatley tested the idea that entering fiction’s simulated social worlds enhances our ability to connect with actual human beings. They found that heavy fiction readers outperformed heavy nonfiction readers on tests of empathy, even after they controlled for the possibility that people who already had high empathy might naturally gravitate to fiction. As Oatley puts it, fiction serves the function of “making the world a better place by improving interpersonal understanding.”

via Why fiction is good for you – Page 3 – Boston.com.

Research further goes on to show that fiction raises people’s awareness of common human values that promote social well-being like friendship and helping one another.

Chalk up another one for book lovers everywhere.

I never did post all the photos I wanted from my last Sunday Ramble and there’s been another ramble since! (Click on any photo to enlarge.)

This old Hi-Fi cabinet reminded me of my childhood though I think it pre-dates it with about 4 settings for different radio stations imprinted on the cabinet.

I have to wonder who hung the chandelier in the tree and why.

The foot on the left is A’s, mine on the right!

From that particular vantage point the church spire a couple of blocks away and the CN tower near the lake are about the same height. It seems symbolic somehow.

BookNet bestsellers: Canadian fiction in great company! Web of Angels hanging out with Why Men lie by Linden MacIntrye, The Winter Palace by Eva Stachniak, Half-Blood Blues by Esi Edugyan and Room by Emma Donoghue! | Quillblog | Quill & Quire http://ow.ly/aDxgZ

Anyone who follows this blog knows how much I love photography:

Holding a camera makes me pay closer attention to what’s around me. I look at the ordinary—for instance a picket fence in late fall, a shriveled vine clinging to it, a single flower still blooming—with new eyes. I notice the blessing of colour, red berries against snow, a bright yellow bulldozer, the gigantic green dinosaur leaning sadly over the dumpster in a building site. As I look through the viewfinder, my city becomes new to me. Other cities become mine. With my camera, I’m willing to brave the unknown…

Read the rest at the National Post!

An excerpt from my third “special to National Post“:

Now I’m doing something quite different: watching an episode of Bewitched with my younger daughter. Though it was a TV show I adored as a kid, when I saw it again a few years ago, I winced over the sexism. Before becoming a parent, I knew that I would never expose my children to anything like that. Media has too much impact. No Barbie; no Bewitched. Then along came Netflix, Crackle.com and YouTube and my kids caught me looking up the shows of my childhood.

Read the rest here!

This isn’t one I took, but I just have to share it with you. This is in my neighbourhood. In fact I may just walk past it this afternoon to crow (quietly of course)! Look at the picture and then I’ll point something out to you (other than the obvious).

You see the reflection of Wiener’s Hardware in the window? In my novel I moved it to Crookshank Lane (the original name of Bathurst St) and called it Berliner’s. Now scroll down

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That is the window of Book City on Bloor St, an independent bookstore just minutes from my house.