Genocide Bad, by Sim Kern

This book was thought-provoking and sometimes difficult, even though the audiobook (read by the author) was easy to listen to. It took me awhile because I kept pausing for a few days between listens to absorb and think, not just about the book but my reactions to it.

Sim Kern is a Jewish anti-Zionist, pro-Palestine activist who became well-known on TikTok for videos condemning Israel’s genocide in Gaza. Kern’s premise is simple, and it’s all in the title: Genocide is bad, no matter who is committing it or for what reasons, and it can never be justified.

I’m definitely in agreement with this premise, and absolutely in agreement that, while the Hamas terrorist attacks of October 7, 2023, were horrific crimes, the Israeli government response has been brutal and disproportionate. Kern dives deeply into history that goes back long before October 7, to the roots of the Zionist movement. Their basic premise is that the statement “Israel has a right to exist” is incorrect: no nation has a right to exist as an ethno-state that only offers full citizenship and human rights to one group of people.

Again, so far, so good. However, I think Kern’s speculations about what “Free Palestine” might mean in practice are unrealistic and oversimplified. Kern is an anti-capitalist and an anarchist who believes in the dismantling of all empires and all oppressive systems, and urgers their readers to imagine broader possible futures than capitalism and neo-liberalism allow. While I’m not an anarchist, I definitely agree that there are better ways to imagine and organize human societies than what we’re currently doing, and imagining and exploring such possibilities could lead us to a more peaceful and sustainable world.

But I think you also have to be a realist and recognize that often (many times just in my lifetime), well-intentioned revolutionary movements calling for freedom have been co-opted by totalitarians, so that people wanting freedom end up just living under a different type of authoritarianism. I absolutely believe that the horrific and genocidal attacks on the people of Gaza by the current Israeli government need to stop, and that anything Canadian government, institutions, and business can do to stop funding this is essential. I also believe that all Israelis and all Palestinians deserve to live in peace and freedom. But the path to getting there is hardly straightforward, and ignoring the possibility that a “free Palestine” could become a puppet state for another power, posing the threat of another genocide against Israeli Jews, is naive.

This book definitely opened my eyes to some history and some present reality that I was previously unaware of, and confirmed my belief that, yes, “genocide bad” in any and every situation. I just think the path out of the current situation that Kern proposes is, like most proposals put forward by anarchists, a utopian dream that doesn’t honestly wrestle with geopolitical realities. So on that ground, it left me with mixed feelings.

Gin, Turpentine, Pennyroyal, Rue, by Christine Higdon

This book is such a good example of why I generally think it’s a bad idea to DNF (Do Not Finish, for those of you not over-immersed in online booktalk) a book. I made two stabs at getting into this book, could not get into it either time, and each time put it aside for something more urgent, like a library hold coming due or a book I was just more excited about reading. But I gave it a third chance, and on the third try I got past those first few chapters, got to know the characters, and I was hooked.

The novel tells the story of four young women, sisters — Georgina, Morag, Isla and Harriet — in early 1920s Vancouver. Some of the ground trodden here is familiar — the aftermath of the First World War and the flu pandemic (which killed the sisters’ only brother); the frustration of women making their way in a male-dominated world. But there are subjects explored here that don’t make it into a lot of historical fiction — as the title (four traditional abortifacents) suggests, the inciting incident for the story is a botched back-alley abortion. Gender and sexual orientation come into question as well, with gender-nonconforming and gay/lesbian characters trying to carve out a space to live and love how they want in a world that has no room for them.

The writing is beautiful, often lyrical, and I came to love all the characters (including the family dog, from whose point of view a few chapters are narrated). Very glad I gave this novel three chances!

Heated Rivalry (and others in the series), by Rachel Reid

Well well, what to say about the unexpectedly hottest Canadian book series of the year? I have not read the whole series, but I read the first two books, Game Changer and Heated Rivalry, and then jumped ahead to The Long Game, which continues the story of Shane and Ilya from Heated Rivalry. Also, I watched the TV series, which is surprisingly much, much better than you’d think a miniseries based on a smutty gay hockey romance to be. (Or than you’d usually expect a Canadian TV series to be, honestly — we’ve had a few big hits but Canadian TV often feels low-budget in a way this definitely does not).

First, let’s address the “smut” factor. Some might call this smut; some might call it a very spicy romance. (The author herself uses the term “cute smut” for her writing). In other words, there a sexually explicit scenes. It’s not porn or erotica because the explicit scenes are not the only thing going on; there’s a strong storyline and great, well-drawn characters. But there are explicit sex scenes, between two men, and if explicit scenes are not your thing you may want to skip this series.

Or, as I do (and do in pretty much any book with explicit scenes), just skip those scenes. I have absolutely no judgement on anyone else for what they want to read, but I do not enjoy reading detailed descriptions of anyone having sex, whether they’re gay, lesbian, straight, or any other combo you might be able to think up. It just doesn’t interest me and always makes me feel a little icky, like I’ve violated someone’s privacy, even though I know they’re fictional characters. So this was always going to be an unlikely read for me.

And yet, once the cultural buzz around it got loud enough, I picked up the first book out of curiosity and genuinely liked it. The premise of all these books is “there are gay hockey players in the NHL who can’t come out because of the extremely homophobic subculture of hockey players and fans” and though the characters differ, the conflict is basically the same in every book. The TV series focuses on the couple at the centre of the second and sixth books, Canadian Shane Hollander and Russian Ilya Rosanov, the two greatest players of their generation, whose on-ice rivalry runs parallel (for like TEN YEARS!) with a spicy but completely secret off-ice affair. First it’s “just” sex, with intense but only very occasional hookups when they happen to be in the same city (usually because their teams are playing against each other; they play for lightly fictionalized versions of Montreal and Boston, two teams with a long and storied rivalry). But eventually, hot secret hookups turn to true love, and Shane and Ilya must decide if they can risk their careers to be together openly.

The thing with this series is, as Stephen Fry once said about the music of ABBA: it’s so much better than it needs to be. Yes, all the romance tropes, the archetypes, the predictable outcomes are here — but, as in the very best romance, the fun is in getting to know the characters and seeing how they get to their happy ending. A good romance writer can make us feel like there’s real stakes to the outcome, even though we know going in that there has to be some version of happily ever after. Another skill with great romance writing is making the setting feel real, vivid, and believable, rather than feeling like it’s a Hallmark movie that takes place in “Anytown, USA” and this is another area where Rachel Reid shines. Not only is Shane Hollander’s Montreal a real and recognizable version of that city (as are Ottawa and Boston, not to mention Shane’s cottage-country Ontario summer place, all key locations in the books), but the on- and off-ice atmosphere of professional hockey feels vivid and engrossing and believable. In fact I’m probably the only reader to feel that both books and TV series would be even better if there were less on-page/on-screen sex and more hockey, but that’s me!

I probably won’t read every book in this series (the NHL is littered with out gay players by the time you get through it all) but I will read Unrivaled, the conclusion to Shane and Ilya’s story, when it comes out this fall, because I really enjoy those characters and their world.

Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts, by Mary Gibson

This is a fairly “light read” novel about a lot of quite serious subjects. It’s set in pre-WW1 London and the “Custard Tarts” of the title are young woman who work in a custard powder factory, a typical low-income job for working class women in that era. There’s labour union action, the suffrage movement, grinding poverty, anarchist violence, the war, postwar PTSD, and a love triangle — yet somehow, the book never feels heavy or intense. I found this glimpse into a slice of early 20th century life I knew little about to be informative, engaging, and a quick read.

My Wife Said You May Want to Marry Me, by Jason B. Rosenthal

I’ve been aware for some time of the late writer Amy Krause Rosenthal, who shortly before her death penned an essay called “You May Want to Marry my Husband” which went viral; I knew of her not because of the essay (which is a beautiful and touching tribute to a strong marriage) but because she was friends with fellow-writer John Green and he has often referenced her and her untimely death in his own work, most notably in his essay collection The Anthropocene Reviewed. Knowing a little bit about Amy was enough to make me want to pick up her husband’s memoir about marriage, loss, and grief, cleverly titled My Wife Said You May Want to Marry Me.

This is a sweet little memoir, but not a lot beyond that except in the meaning it may have for people currently going through, or recovering from, the loss of a loved one, especially if that loss involves extended caregiving through a cancer diagnosis such as Amy Krause Rosenthal had. There is an understandable lack of narrative tension here: the Rosenthals had a happy, healthy marriage, loving in-laws, great kids who seem to have grown up without too many issues, and fairly successful careers. It seems like Amy’s tragic death was the one bad thing that happened to them (and not to minimize it, because it truly was awful, and occurred just as their kids had left the empty nest and Jason & Amy were looking forward to years of adventures and fun together). Even after that, Jason seems to have a pretty normal (though sad) journey through grief, with a lot of support from kids, extended family, and friends.

This is all good! It’s wonderful to have a marriage so happy that the only really bad thing that ever happens is that your wife dies far too young. Compared to, say, the other partner/cancer/death memoir I’ve read recently, Elizabeth Gilbert’s All the Way to the River, I would obviously much rather have the Rosenthals’ life than the one Gilbert and Raiya shared (and indeed am actively trying to cultivate that kind of life and marriage, minus — so far — the untimely death). There’s no doubt which one makes for more compelling reading, but it’s better to have a good life than a good story. It sounds like the Rosenthals had a great life together and I wish Jason Rosenthal every happiness in his widowhood (several years have now passed since Amy’s death, and it seems he does have a new partner, just as Amy wished for him, though that relationship is in no way a focus in this memoir).

People We Meet on Vacation, by Emily Henry

I think this is the only Emily Henry novel I hadn’t yet read, and as always, I really enjoyed it. This is an earlier book that has very recently been made into a movie for Netflix. It lacks the “everybody is involved in books/publishing in some way” element that’s present in a lot of her later novels, but it’s still lots of fun. The novel tells the story of the ten-year platonic friendship between Alex and Poppy, who meet in college, never date each other, but remain close friends. There’s obvious attraction between them, but they want very different things out of life plus they have that “if we slept together it’d ruin a great friendship” vibe. After college, they stay in touch by taking a vacation together once a year, a plan driven by Poppy who dreams of being a travel writer.

All this unfolds in the novel’s backstory, as Poppy, now in her 30s, is living her dream of writing for a big travel magazine, flying around the world, but is unhappy because two years ago something happened on her annual trip with Alex to Croatia (that sounds like they went to Croatia every year, but no, they went someplace different every year — the crucial trip just happened to be in Croatia) and they haven’t really talked since. We don’t learn the history of the friendship or what happened in Croatia (though we can guess; it’s pretty obvious) until later int he novel; in the present-day story, Poppy reaches out to Alex and they reconnect during a disaster-laden trip to Las Vegas for Alex’s brother’s Big Gay Wedding.

Like all good romances, there is not a shadow of a doubt from Page One how this will end up, but the fun is in getting there, seeing how it unfolds, getting to know the characters, and enjoying Henry’s fun, sparkling writing. I thoroughly enjoyed this one.

None the Wiser, by Rachel Amphlett

I picked up this contemporary mystery novel 100% because someone told me the detective lives on a canal boat (it’s set in England) and I’ll read anything set on a canal boat. Unfortunately, while I enjoyed the canal boat scenes, there weren’t nearly enough of them, and apart from that it’s a pretty standard by-the-numbers mystery where neither story nor characters really intrigued me. It’s the first of a series but I’ll probably only pick up the next if someone can assure me that Detective Mark Turpin spends like half his time on his boat in the next book. I’m just here for the canal life.

Good Guys, by Sharon Bala

I was absolutely riveted by this book, but I’m not going to do a full review here (though I have a lot to say about it). It’s set in the world of international charity, among people who are (mostly) genuinely trying to do some good in the world, but, typically, don’t trust people in the ground in the communities where they are working to make decisions for the good of their own communities. White savior do-gooders making compromises and big mistakes, essentially. For someone coming from the churchy background that I come from, it was an intriguing read. But for a deep dive into this, I’m going to suggest you listen to my great conversation with author Sharon Bala on my Shelf Esteem podcast. Check it out!

Birnam Wood, by Eleanor Catton

This book was a big hit when it came out a few years ago but I only got around to reading it this year. It’s a big, ambitious, engrossing novel set in New Zealand, about a small environmentalist group — a collective, if not actually a commune — committed to creating urban gardens, often on land they don’t own and don’t have permission to use. The group members are idealistic, but also prone to the stresses, cynicism, discouragement, and interpersonal conflicts that plague all groups of idealistic people who mean well.

When the group’s leader encounters a super-rich businessman who has his own reasons for wanting to court the group and offer them the kind of financial support they can only dream of, decisions have to be made about compromises and values. Does it end well? Well, the book’s title is a reference to one of Shakespeare’s best-known and bloodiest tragedies, and you know how Shakespearean tragedies usually end? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Pineapple Street, by Jenny Jackson

This novel was a very quick and enjoyable read for me, about a wealthy New York family and the “outsiders” who have married into it. It was definitely more character than plot-driven, with the main emphasis being on the family dynamics between the parents, their grown children, and the children’s partners. What I particularly liked was how explicit the novel is about wealth and social class; how much those elements put strain on the relationships between the couples in the novel. We don’t think or talk enough about social class in contemporary North American society, I think, and I really liked the way this novel explored that aspect of the family dynamic.