In a loose way, these six books—suspense, horror, mystery—are arranged in the order I would read them through the course of a single day; the first two require full-on daylight, and the last I would read even after dusk (but it’s still a gripping story, though largely character-driven). For
It’s the twenty-fifth book by an Indigenous author that I’ve read this year and, if I had to choose only one, my recommendation would be Tanya Talaga’s The Knowing for its skillful navigation of personal and socio-political history. It’s both the story of a great-great-granddaughter searching for her ancestor’s
New in paperback last month, I just squeaked in with my bought-in-hardcover read of Nalo Hopkinson’s Blackheart Man. I wanted to read it for fun—no notes—and carried it around in my stack for most of the past year, while other books nudged in line in front. The opening chapter
Most of the time, I turn to a story for some sense of security. For an explanation or a way to orient myself. If I’m not sure how to think about something, how to feel about a situation, sometimes reading about it in fiction has allowed me to temporarily
Douglas Bruton’s Blue Postcards (2021) came to me via ILL (thanks to the Forest Hill branch of the Toronto Public Library) because Susan, Mme Bibi, Kaggsy and Simon all loved it; so I was expecting to enjoy it, but I was not expecting to find summer in it.
