My seasonal reading has been grotesque, unsettling: just as it should be. (Except for Witch Hat Atelier: #cute) There have been a lot of short stories. Not only the Gardam, Carter and Saona pictured below, but also selections from a volume of Shirley Jackson’s stories, and a few from
Sometimes the books that affect us most profoundly are the most difficult to write about; this has been the case for me, with Wendy McGrath’s poems in The Beauty of Vultures, which was published in April this year—a collaborative work with photographer (and musician) Danny Miles. Not a week
Bigamy, fraud, prison: the life of Frederick P. Grove reads like a novel. His 1925 novel Settlers of the Marsh both does, and doesn’t, hint at the unconventional choices he made in his own life. In one sense, it feels like a quintessential early Canadian novel. It even begins
Partly because the humidity makes it hard to inhabit my own skin, this summer was a tough one for me. It felt like I started to read a dozen different collections of short stories—but never finished one. I’ve written about Carleigh Baker’s Last Woman (2024) and the Russian stories
Anyone can have their own MargaretAtwoodReadingMonth, really---chose a month and read—but it’s so lovely to have company. Many thanks to all who have participated and are planning to do so once more. When last November wrapped up, a few MARMers shared their favourite flip-box quotes from the seventh event.
