In Sickness and In Health by Nora Gold. Reviewed by Jerry Levy
In Sickness and In Health is the second of Gold's two novellas published as a flip-book by Guernica Editions. Last month, I reviewed the book's first novella, Yom Kippur in a Gym. In Sickness and In Health is perhaps the more traditional of the two works of fiction in that it focuses on a single protagonist. Lily is an art school teacher who grows up with epilepsy, and now, as an adult, suffers periodically from a mysterious illness that doctors suspect may be Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (though even that seems uncertain, as her doctors seem particularly clueless). This is how the novella begins:
“Sickness is a foreign country. You are lost there, you don’t know the language, no matter how many times you’ve visited before. Nothing is familiar. You’re alone, but a different kind of alone than usual, because when you’re sick, you don’t have yourself.”
This sickness is the alternate reality the protagonist now has to occasionally deal with, one in which she can only lay in bed, sweating and burning up. A strange sickness that ignores the social and spiritual realms of her more “normal” self, and insists on being recognized as the only emperor of her body, a messy and vegetative one. It quickly morphs into a decrepit and bedridden doppelgänger that clashes and attempts to override Lily’s more optimistic, healthy self. It haunts and brings with it not only decay and a metabolic physical breakdown but also vulnerability, despair, shame, and limitations. Not only that, but it is, if truth be told, a dance with death, brought forth from the underworld, and has its own timetable on when (and if) recovery might be forthcoming. It brings forth all these things and more, including secrets Lily does not wish to share with anyone, even her husband, Perry.
Lily harbours secrets, ones related to her childhood, her epilepsy, the drugs she was obligated to take, and all that entailed. A time when growing up, she was horribly misdiagnosed and labelled, put into neat little boxes by others, presumably so that they could understand her (i.e. diagnosed as being ‘mentally retarded’). Even her mother did as much: “People like you don’t drive cars, hold jobs, get married, or have children.” So now, our protagonist doesn’t dare reveal all those childhood secrets. But why not? What is she so afraid of? After all, she obliterated her mother’s ideas about what she could become: She has two children, a husband, a career, and even drives a car. She’s no longer a sick little girl. Or is she? Is it possible that she perhaps believes that because she was never normal (or told repeatedly she was never normal and certainly traumatized as a result), that she continues to be abnormal? Dr. Gabor Mate, the “stress doctor,” has opined in his book The Myth of Normal that “trauma is a ‘stupid’ friend that our minds and bodies don’t forget.”
If the mind indeed doesn’t forget, then we may continue to carry throughout our lives the notion that we are undeserving of any happiness or rewards, a more “normal” life. Lily says that very thing, that she isn’t normal, never was, and never will be. That putting in long days at work (including volunteer work), running a household, pushing herself, has summoned forth the “Sickness God.” She believes she is being punished for thinking she is normal (which is all she ever wanted), for her “hubris.”
A question arises out of this: Is it a good idea to let those long-standing secrets out of the vault? To your friends, work colleagues, even to your family? The burden of silence is undoubtedly very hard and can create a cycle of shame, betrayal, and the like. It may be though that Lily feels her secrets are too destructive to reveal. It may also be that these secrets will somehow leak out. All this and more, author Gold explores in the novella.
Although the more traditional of Gold’s two novellas, the writing is still most unusual in that much of it is told in second-person point of view. It is as if readers are experiencing the story themselves, living vicariously through the main character. But for a number of reasons, this POV is little-used in narrative fiction. First, a lengthy story told in second-person can weary the reader, especially when the protagonist of the story is unpleasant or someone they can’t relate to. After all, being immersed in the narrative, a reader might take themselves out of the story (and perhaps stop reading) by thinking they wouldn’t react the way the off-putting protagonist does. Second, many readers might not like being told what to think or do. Finally, because second-person is so uncommon, it can be jarring or distracting to the reader. However, this POV can arguably provide the richest sensory experience of any of the POV’s; something an exceptional writer like Jay McInerney used to great effect in his novel Bright Lights, Big City. So too did the poet Gwendolyn MacEwen in her exquisite poem Dark Pines under Water, excerpted as follows:
“This land like a mirror turns you inward
And you become a forest in a furtive lake;
The dark pines of your mind reach downward,
You dream in the green of your time,
Your memory is a row of sinking pines.”
Dreams. Memories. Gold allows "you" as the reader to follow her protagonist’s dreams and harrowing upbringing. It’s an internal journey, a strange pilgrimage in the mind of the protagonist/reader.
At times, the novella switches to third-person and even first-person (especially in the very last chapter entitled "Wednesday," which may indicate that Lily is alive and well and has shed her demonic doppelgänger). Keeping a constant POV would have made things simpler and easier for the reader. But maybe Gold didn't want to do that...maybe she wanted to make this a more challenging read, something more experimental. Even avant-garde. For In Sickness and In Health is, in a word, uncommon. Different and innovative.
The novelist Jonathan Safran Foer (Everything Is Illuminated Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Here I Am) said that “fiction works when it makes a reader feel something strongly.” To be certain, Gold’s In Sickness and In Health makes you as the reader feel exactly what the protagonist, Lily, does: all the disturbing episodes of her life, but also her successes. This will undoubtedly resonate with those who have undergone (or are undergoing) debilitating illness. Moreover, because Lily appears as a good and decent person, just like the main characters in Yom Kippur in a Gym, we root for her to overcome her pain and suffering and surface intact from the toxic underworld.
Although In Sickness and In Health is a vastly different novella to Yom Kippur in a Gym, it emerges as a wonderful companion piece, primarily because both deal with protagonists undergoing massive amounts of grief and despair. They are both thought-provoking and fascinating works that showcase Dr. Nora Gold’s fine talent as a writer.
Jerry Levy's third collection of short stories, The Philosopher Stories, will be published in 2024 by Guernica Editions. He will be teaching a short story writing course in the spring/summer of 2024 at The Life Institute, affiliated with Metropolitan University.
In Sickness and In Health is the second of Gold's two novellas published as a flip-book by Guernica Editions. Last month, I reviewed the book's first novella, Yom Kippur in a Gym. In Sickness and In Health is perhaps the more traditional of the two works of fiction in that it focuses on a single protagonist. Lily is an art school teacher who grows up with epilepsy, and now, as an adult, suffers periodically from a mysterious illness that doctors suspect may be Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (though even that seems uncertain, as her doctors seem particularly clueless). This is how the novella begins:
“Sickness is a foreign country. You are lost there, you don’t know the language, no matter how many times you’ve visited before. Nothing is familiar. You’re alone, but a different kind of alone than usual, because when you’re sick, you don’t have yourself.”
This sickness is the alternate reality the protagonist now has to occasionally deal with, one in which she can only lay in bed, sweating and burning up. A strange sickness that ignores the social and spiritual realms of her more “normal” self, and insists on being recognized as the only emperor of her body, a messy and vegetative one. It quickly morphs into a decrepit and bedridden doppelgänger that clashes and attempts to override Lily’s more optimistic, healthy self. It haunts and brings with it not only decay and a metabolic physical breakdown but also vulnerability, despair, shame, and limitations. Not only that, but it is, if truth be told, a dance with death, brought forth from the underworld, and has its own timetable on when (and if) recovery might be forthcoming. It brings forth all these things and more, including secrets Lily does not wish to share with anyone, even her husband, Perry.
Lily harbours secrets, ones related to her childhood, her epilepsy, the drugs she was obligated to take, and all that entailed. A time when growing up, she was horribly misdiagnosed and labelled, put into neat little boxes by others, presumably so that they could understand her (i.e. diagnosed as being ‘mentally retarded’). Even her mother did as much: “People like you don’t drive cars, hold jobs, get married, or have children.” So now, our protagonist doesn’t dare reveal all those childhood secrets. But why not? What is she so afraid of? After all, she obliterated her mother’s ideas about what she could become: She has two children, a husband, a career, and even drives a car. She’s no longer a sick little girl. Or is she? Is it possible that she perhaps believes that because she was never normal (or told repeatedly she was never normal and certainly traumatized as a result), that she continues to be abnormal? Dr. Gabor Mate, the “stress doctor,” has opined in his book The Myth of Normal that “trauma is a ‘stupid’ friend that our minds and bodies don’t forget.”
If the mind indeed doesn’t forget, then we may continue to carry throughout our lives the notion that we are undeserving of any happiness or rewards, a more “normal” life. Lily says that very thing, that she isn’t normal, never was, and never will be. That putting in long days at work (including volunteer work), running a household, pushing herself, has summoned forth the “Sickness God.” She believes she is being punished for thinking she is normal (which is all she ever wanted), for her “hubris.”
A question arises out of this: Is it a good idea to let those long-standing secrets out of the vault? To your friends, work colleagues, even to your family? The burden of silence is undoubtedly very hard and can create a cycle of shame, betrayal, and the like. It may be though that Lily feels her secrets are too destructive to reveal. It may also be that these secrets will somehow leak out. All this and more, author Gold explores in the novella.
Although the more traditional of Gold’s two novellas, the writing is still most unusual in that much of it is told in second-person point of view. It is as if readers are experiencing the story themselves, living vicariously through the main character. But for a number of reasons, this POV is little-used in narrative fiction. First, a lengthy story told in second-person can weary the reader, especially when the protagonist of the story is unpleasant or someone they can’t relate to. After all, being immersed in the narrative, a reader might take themselves out of the story (and perhaps stop reading) by thinking they wouldn’t react the way the off-putting protagonist does. Second, many readers might not like being told what to think or do. Finally, because second-person is so uncommon, it can be jarring or distracting to the reader. However, this POV can arguably provide the richest sensory experience of any of the POV’s; something an exceptional writer like Jay McInerney used to great effect in his novel Bright Lights, Big City. So too did the poet Gwendolyn MacEwen in her exquisite poem Dark Pines under Water, excerpted as follows:
“This land like a mirror turns you inward
And you become a forest in a furtive lake;
The dark pines of your mind reach downward,
You dream in the green of your time,
Your memory is a row of sinking pines.”
Dreams. Memories. Gold allows "you" as the reader to follow her protagonist’s dreams and harrowing upbringing. It’s an internal journey, a strange pilgrimage in the mind of the protagonist/reader.
At times, the novella switches to third-person and even first-person (especially in the very last chapter entitled "Wednesday," which may indicate that Lily is alive and well and has shed her demonic doppelgänger). Keeping a constant POV would have made things simpler and easier for the reader. But maybe Gold didn't want to do that...maybe she wanted to make this a more challenging read, something more experimental. Even avant-garde. For In Sickness and In Health is, in a word, uncommon. Different and innovative.
The novelist Jonathan Safran Foer (Everything Is Illuminated Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Here I Am) said that “fiction works when it makes a reader feel something strongly.” To be certain, Gold’s In Sickness and In Health makes you as the reader feel exactly what the protagonist, Lily, does: all the disturbing episodes of her life, but also her successes. This will undoubtedly resonate with those who have undergone (or are undergoing) debilitating illness. Moreover, because Lily appears as a good and decent person, just like the main characters in Yom Kippur in a Gym, we root for her to overcome her pain and suffering and surface intact from the toxic underworld.
Although In Sickness and In Health is a vastly different novella to Yom Kippur in a Gym, it emerges as a wonderful companion piece, primarily because both deal with protagonists undergoing massive amounts of grief and despair. They are both thought-provoking and fascinating works that showcase Dr. Nora Gold’s fine talent as a writer.
Jerry Levy's third collection of short stories, The Philosopher Stories, will be published in 2024 by Guernica Editions. He will be teaching a short story writing course in the spring/summer of 2024 at The Life Institute, affiliated with Metropolitan University.
Yom Kippur in a Gym. Reviewed by Jerry Levy
Some of literature’s most enduring and beloved stories include Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, George Orwell’s Animal Farm, Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, Albert Camus’ The Stranger, Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, and Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Aside from having cemented themselves as classics into the hearts and minds of readers, what all these works have in common is that they are all novellas. While there is no universally-accepted definition, novellas typically run between 17,500–40,000 words (anything shorter usually constitutes a short story and anything longer, a novel). Moreover, they generally encompass a single or central character, rarely accompanied by the many side plots one often finds in novels. Because of the condensed word count, character development is normally/often confined to that single character (expanding too broadly upon multiple characters can lead to them being perceived as one-dimensional, perhaps even shallow). By doing so, the reader is allowed to focus on the one main character’s mindset and emotional universe.
What then, are we to make of Dr. Nora Gold’s novella Yom Kippur in the Gym, a story that has many characters and more than one side plot? Here the reader is exposed to Ira, a young student intent on committing suicide, Tom, a physician who hated his father and who has a strained relationship with his two sisters, Lucy, whose husband has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, Ezra, seemingly a failed artist, and Rachel, the shul’s cook and baker. An ensemble as diverse as Tevye, Golde, Perchik, Chava, and Hodel, in Sholem Aleichem’s series of shtetl tales (Tevye the Dairyman stories), adapted into the popular Broadway musical and film Fiddler on the Roof. But therein lies the rub: Aleichem’s characters were spread out over many short stories, whereas Gold’s characters (each has their own unique story, encompassing yet other characters) are packed into a single novella. The question then is: does Yom Kippur in a Gym work? Is it cohesive enough to adequately give the reader a sense of each character’s personality and, most importantly, provide a readable and entertaining story?
In the hands of a lesser writer than Gold, this novella, with its host of characters and multiple backstories, might have been a “balagan.” (Balagan is a term of Slavic origin, used in modern Hebrew and Yiddish to refer to a chaotic, messy situation, or just a complete mess). And yet, it works. In fact, the novella works wonderfully and readers will certainly be enchanted by all the storylines and characters. The cast is fully fleshed out and just as importantly, we find ourselves rooting for the main ones, for these warm and complex people, wishing the best despite the difficulties inherent in their lives.
Certainly, there’s a lot to unpack in Yom Kippur in a Gym. In some respects, it reads like a treatise or meditation on what makes life worth living, a philosophical essay wrapped in a lyrical, poetic story. There are wide-ranging discussions and insinuations about the life-sustaining value of food, of singing, of a nurturing community. Further, it delves into the nature of existence, the problems and value of forgiveness, the dire ramifications of the lack of friendship, kinship and civility, the passing flicker of time, the fleeting nature of our thoughts, what constitutes “success,” belonging, love, secrets, self-loathing, suicide, sin, God, prayer, rituals, resilience, illness, death, dysfunctional families…many, many deep things to consider and reflect upon. And these are not directed solely at the reader, but rather also to the characters themselves. For instance, while Ira, intent on doing himself in because of a failed love affair (perhaps for other reasons as well), quotes the philosopher and novelist Jean-Paul Sartre in No Exit that, “hell is other people,” he later comes to understand that he has perhaps been too hasty in silently uttering such a line; when he is invited to Tom’s house to break the Yom Kippur fast with others, he muses that maybe people aren’t so bad after all.
Gold utilizes literary devices exceptionally well. In addition to enticing the reader with flawed characters we can root for, we are also witness to “foreshadowing,” subtle hints at what may develop later in the story. At the beginning, the members of the shul, many of whom appear pale and wan, akin to what some might say are ghostly figures (presumably because they have been fasting) “seat themselves gingerly on un-comfortable folding chairs and glance up warily at the basketball hoops hanging over their heads like swords of Damocles…” And indeed, something terrible later occurs to someone in the gym/shul. And we are also witness to a bird slamming against the gym window, lying dead on the outer ledge. Perhaps an omen that something untoward will befall one (or a number) of the characters in the novella? Or conversely, a hint that something good will happen to them? In many world cultures, the idea of a bird hitting a window entails that a great change is coming (seen as either good or bad).
Without giving away too much of the plot, two characters readers might find especially endearing are Rachel, the baker, and Ezra, the painter. Throughout the story, Rachel is concerned that she hasn’t made enough honey cake to feed everyone once the fast is over. She frets and worries and tries to come up with solutions, such as cutting the cakes into smaller and smaller pieces. She loves food, it’s an artistic creation for her, and is chagrined when the shul outlaws sugar, instead advocating the use of grape juice! But no matter, we know she’ll somehow overcome this atrocity, her love affair with baking is simply too great. We read some of her exacting recipes, such as the three-tiered White Chocolate and Raspberry Cheesecake, a beautiful mélange of chocolate, cream cheese, eggs, Cointreau, raspberries…goodness! Reading about Rachel and how much she loves food and feeding others (including herself, hah!) reminds one of the plot of Karen Blixen’s Babette’s Feast, where a French maid prepares an exquisite meal for a group of starkly pious and austere villagers in late nineteenth-century Denmark. The sensual food nourishes the people seated at the table and a certain mystical redemption of the human spirit settles over them such that divisions are healed and bonds formed. If ever they were to remake Babette’s Feast, it seems logical that Rachel should be cast as Babette!
The other character that we can’t help but pull for is Ezra, a talented artist who never made a name for himself in the arts world, mostly because he didn’t have the gumption to promote himself properly and who relied on others to do so (they failed), but also because he had to juggle the practical reality of earning a living and caring for his family. Now, many years later, he laments his failings and his lack of recognition as an artist. Ezra feels lost and disillusioned and realizes that time is quickly passing him by (he is 66) and that he will never attain what he most longs for, what other artists of lesser talent have. An existential crisis if ever there was one. Again, without providing any spoilers, this failed artist seems to find the ability and resources to rise above his deepest fears and doubts and give himself the chance to imagine a more fulfilling artistic life.
Both of these characters, just like Ira, Tom, and Lucy, are depicted as flawed, but fascinating. Moreover, Gold presents them in such a dignified way such that the reader will no doubt find them endearing and, as stated, will cheer for their happiness. For their dreams. Overall, Yom Kippur in a Gym is a wonderful read, a beacon of light in dark times.
Yom Kippur in a Gym is published by Guernica Editions, alongside a second novella, In Sickness and In Health, that we will review in our next issue of ORB.
Some of literature’s most enduring and beloved stories include Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, George Orwell’s Animal Farm, Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, Albert Camus’ The Stranger, Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, and Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Aside from having cemented themselves as classics into the hearts and minds of readers, what all these works have in common is that they are all novellas. While there is no universally-accepted definition, novellas typically run between 17,500–40,000 words (anything shorter usually constitutes a short story and anything longer, a novel). Moreover, they generally encompass a single or central character, rarely accompanied by the many side plots one often finds in novels. Because of the condensed word count, character development is normally/often confined to that single character (expanding too broadly upon multiple characters can lead to them being perceived as one-dimensional, perhaps even shallow). By doing so, the reader is allowed to focus on the one main character’s mindset and emotional universe.
What then, are we to make of Dr. Nora Gold’s novella Yom Kippur in the Gym, a story that has many characters and more than one side plot? Here the reader is exposed to Ira, a young student intent on committing suicide, Tom, a physician who hated his father and who has a strained relationship with his two sisters, Lucy, whose husband has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, Ezra, seemingly a failed artist, and Rachel, the shul’s cook and baker. An ensemble as diverse as Tevye, Golde, Perchik, Chava, and Hodel, in Sholem Aleichem’s series of shtetl tales (Tevye the Dairyman stories), adapted into the popular Broadway musical and film Fiddler on the Roof. But therein lies the rub: Aleichem’s characters were spread out over many short stories, whereas Gold’s characters (each has their own unique story, encompassing yet other characters) are packed into a single novella. The question then is: does Yom Kippur in a Gym work? Is it cohesive enough to adequately give the reader a sense of each character’s personality and, most importantly, provide a readable and entertaining story?
In the hands of a lesser writer than Gold, this novella, with its host of characters and multiple backstories, might have been a “balagan.” (Balagan is a term of Slavic origin, used in modern Hebrew and Yiddish to refer to a chaotic, messy situation, or just a complete mess). And yet, it works. In fact, the novella works wonderfully and readers will certainly be enchanted by all the storylines and characters. The cast is fully fleshed out and just as importantly, we find ourselves rooting for the main ones, for these warm and complex people, wishing the best despite the difficulties inherent in their lives.
Certainly, there’s a lot to unpack in Yom Kippur in a Gym. In some respects, it reads like a treatise or meditation on what makes life worth living, a philosophical essay wrapped in a lyrical, poetic story. There are wide-ranging discussions and insinuations about the life-sustaining value of food, of singing, of a nurturing community. Further, it delves into the nature of existence, the problems and value of forgiveness, the dire ramifications of the lack of friendship, kinship and civility, the passing flicker of time, the fleeting nature of our thoughts, what constitutes “success,” belonging, love, secrets, self-loathing, suicide, sin, God, prayer, rituals, resilience, illness, death, dysfunctional families…many, many deep things to consider and reflect upon. And these are not directed solely at the reader, but rather also to the characters themselves. For instance, while Ira, intent on doing himself in because of a failed love affair (perhaps for other reasons as well), quotes the philosopher and novelist Jean-Paul Sartre in No Exit that, “hell is other people,” he later comes to understand that he has perhaps been too hasty in silently uttering such a line; when he is invited to Tom’s house to break the Yom Kippur fast with others, he muses that maybe people aren’t so bad after all.
Gold utilizes literary devices exceptionally well. In addition to enticing the reader with flawed characters we can root for, we are also witness to “foreshadowing,” subtle hints at what may develop later in the story. At the beginning, the members of the shul, many of whom appear pale and wan, akin to what some might say are ghostly figures (presumably because they have been fasting) “seat themselves gingerly on un-comfortable folding chairs and glance up warily at the basketball hoops hanging over their heads like swords of Damocles…” And indeed, something terrible later occurs to someone in the gym/shul. And we are also witness to a bird slamming against the gym window, lying dead on the outer ledge. Perhaps an omen that something untoward will befall one (or a number) of the characters in the novella? Or conversely, a hint that something good will happen to them? In many world cultures, the idea of a bird hitting a window entails that a great change is coming (seen as either good or bad).
Without giving away too much of the plot, two characters readers might find especially endearing are Rachel, the baker, and Ezra, the painter. Throughout the story, Rachel is concerned that she hasn’t made enough honey cake to feed everyone once the fast is over. She frets and worries and tries to come up with solutions, such as cutting the cakes into smaller and smaller pieces. She loves food, it’s an artistic creation for her, and is chagrined when the shul outlaws sugar, instead advocating the use of grape juice! But no matter, we know she’ll somehow overcome this atrocity, her love affair with baking is simply too great. We read some of her exacting recipes, such as the three-tiered White Chocolate and Raspberry Cheesecake, a beautiful mélange of chocolate, cream cheese, eggs, Cointreau, raspberries…goodness! Reading about Rachel and how much she loves food and feeding others (including herself, hah!) reminds one of the plot of Karen Blixen’s Babette’s Feast, where a French maid prepares an exquisite meal for a group of starkly pious and austere villagers in late nineteenth-century Denmark. The sensual food nourishes the people seated at the table and a certain mystical redemption of the human spirit settles over them such that divisions are healed and bonds formed. If ever they were to remake Babette’s Feast, it seems logical that Rachel should be cast as Babette!
The other character that we can’t help but pull for is Ezra, a talented artist who never made a name for himself in the arts world, mostly because he didn’t have the gumption to promote himself properly and who relied on others to do so (they failed), but also because he had to juggle the practical reality of earning a living and caring for his family. Now, many years later, he laments his failings and his lack of recognition as an artist. Ezra feels lost and disillusioned and realizes that time is quickly passing him by (he is 66) and that he will never attain what he most longs for, what other artists of lesser talent have. An existential crisis if ever there was one. Again, without providing any spoilers, this failed artist seems to find the ability and resources to rise above his deepest fears and doubts and give himself the chance to imagine a more fulfilling artistic life.
Both of these characters, just like Ira, Tom, and Lucy, are depicted as flawed, but fascinating. Moreover, Gold presents them in such a dignified way such that the reader will no doubt find them endearing and, as stated, will cheer for their happiness. For their dreams. Overall, Yom Kippur in a Gym is a wonderful read, a beacon of light in dark times.
Yom Kippur in a Gym is published by Guernica Editions, alongside a second novella, In Sickness and In Health, that we will review in our next issue of ORB.
All Creatures Weird and Dangerous. Reviewed by Jerry Levy
The story goes that in the 16th century, the chief rabbi in the city of Prague, Rabbi Juddah Loew ben Bezalel, erected a golem from the mud and clay of the Vltava River to help the Jews during their persecution by the Holy Roman Emperor, Rudolf II. The latter had decided to expel or kill Prague’s Jews owing to malicious accusations of blood libel, the belief that they used the blood of a Christian child during Passover.
The golem, an enormous unformed creature possessive of supernatural strength, did exactly as planned, attacking and killing all those who sought to harm the Jews. So much so that The Emperor pleaded with Rabbi Loew to deactivate the monster and in turn, he would stop his assault on Prague’s Jews.
Legend tells us that the remains of the golem (indeed deactivated by the rabbi but with the understanding that it could be brought back to life if Rudolf II reneged on his promise) were stored in the attic of Prague’s Old-New Synagogue. Legend? Well, perhaps. But apparently, so many people made the trek to view the golem (including the Nazis) in the years that followed, that the synagogue was forced to remove the lowest three metres of the stairs leading to the attic from the outside. Today, the attic is not open to the general public.
It seems reasonable to assume that anyone who were to encounter a golem would immediately scream and run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Not so Timm Otterson, doctor of veterinary medicine and author of the book All Creatures Weird and Dangerous, who would undoubtedly gaze in contemplation at the golem and determine whether the latter required some sort of medical assistance. And if so, use his veterinary training to try and heal the creature.
This then, constitutes the premise of All Creatures Weird and Dangerous, the story of a veterinarian who encounters strange creatures (‘cryptids’) in his travels, and, using his acquired learned skills, attempts to work his medical magic (such as when he removed a chain and large dog collar chain from the stomach of a unicorn – yikes!); although in fairness, on one occasion, the thunderbirds in New Mexico, actually helped him (when he and his son cascaded perilously down the side of a mountain). Along the way, we are introduced to a whole phalanx of weird cryptids, including a unicorn, chupacabra, sasquatch, various fairies, thunderbirds, mermaids, and others. It’s like a modern-day re-telling of Jules Verne’s classic Journey to the Centre of the Earth, where living prehistoric creatures from the Mesozoic and Cenozoic eras were encountered. Well, not quite the same (as the plots are vastly different), but still, with unknown and sometimes terrifying creatures lurking around every mountain top, bush, tree, and lake bed, we can draw a parallel.
On the face of it, this seems like nothing new. We’ve seen these types of stories not only in Journey to the Centre of the Earth but also in fantasy tales/movies like King Kong, Frankenstein, The Mothman Prophesies, Harry and the Hendersons, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, The Legend of Boggy Creek, Ondine, Splash, Lady Cottington’s Pressed Fairy Book…and many others. But All Creatures Weird and Dangerous is a different type of story, a quite unique one, told from the perspective of a real-life veterinarian. It is also storytelling with a heart (the author’s deep respect, love, and empathy for all living things, no matter how creepy they may be, is prevalent throughout), and with a message – while not in the least preachy, it chronicles man’s devastation of our planet (climate change, overfishing, poaching) and the terrible consequences, not only for man himself but also for animals. Quoting John Muir, the 19th-century Scottish-American naturalist and environmentalist, Otterson adopts the same philosophical outlook: “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.”
Where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul. Of course. And Otterson does a stellar job illuminating just that, the healing world of flora and fauna, such that the reader feels a certain intimacy with them, and nature herself becomes nothing less than a character in the book. Here’s one example: “For me, it was heaven. There were old dirt roads all over the property and abandoned fields that had become meadows or groves of bamboo. There were ponds full of fish, turtles and frogs where they had once watered their livestock. There were several houses with barns and greenhouses. But most importantly, there was nature. I saw water moccasins and alligators, and alligator snapping turtles, foxes, and deer. The far end of it even had a rookery for egrets with thousands of white birds nesting in the cypress trees high above the water. We would paddle our canoes and pirogues (that’s a Cajun kayak) around the trees looking at the chicks above and trying to spy the lurking alligators as they waited for a meal of failed fledgling.”
Although we are introduced to a whole “other-world,” a world replete with both myth and imagination (along with a liberal sprinkling of science), some of the most endearing moments in the book occur when the author brings his family and friends into the mix. We come to learn how his grandmother managed to navigate The Great Depression when her husband died unexpectedly of a heart attack at an early age. And there are delightful scenes of gatherings, many of which revolve around food and eating. But also around shared camaraderie involving veterinary medicine, hiking, exploring, and story-telling. A certain homespun quality reminiscent of Farley Mowat (whom the author references), Will Ferguson, and even Stuart McLean, infuses All Creatures Weird and Dangerous. Added to the fun are charming illustrations of many creatures, cryptid and non-cryptid alike, scattered amongst the pages. They’re not exact replications (they obviously couldn’t be because although we have ideas, we don’t for certain know what, say, a sasquatch looks like up-close), but good enough to spark one’s imagination.
While an engaging short book (it runs roughly 150 pages), with many attributes, All Creatures Weird and Dangerous might have benefited from more dialogue in certain strategic spots. There are long stretches of uninterrupted narrative, with no dialogue. It wouldn’t have been necessary to incorporate copious amounts of speech (since this wasn’t a play), but still, there is always a place for dialogue. A perfect spot for it would have been when Otterson and his son tumble down the side of a mountain. It appeared the author had broken his leg/ankle. He might have called out with a sentence like this: “Damn, I think I’ve broken my foot.” Adding: “I don’t think I can stand.” And his son, who took a heavy blow to his ribs from a large rock and may have broken them, might have responded in kind (what’s that old adage? – a little less telling, a bit more showing). In any case, this lack doesn’t really detract from the book
Overall, All Creatures Weird and Dangerous is a wonderful read, an unusual gem of a book, highly recommended for those who find wisdom by keeping an open mind to the mysteries of the world. And to those who grew up sleeping with the light on and who believed in monsters lurking in their closets.
All Creatures Weird and Dangerous is published by Guernica Editions.
The story goes that in the 16th century, the chief rabbi in the city of Prague, Rabbi Juddah Loew ben Bezalel, erected a golem from the mud and clay of the Vltava River to help the Jews during their persecution by the Holy Roman Emperor, Rudolf II. The latter had decided to expel or kill Prague’s Jews owing to malicious accusations of blood libel, the belief that they used the blood of a Christian child during Passover.
The golem, an enormous unformed creature possessive of supernatural strength, did exactly as planned, attacking and killing all those who sought to harm the Jews. So much so that The Emperor pleaded with Rabbi Loew to deactivate the monster and in turn, he would stop his assault on Prague’s Jews.
Legend tells us that the remains of the golem (indeed deactivated by the rabbi but with the understanding that it could be brought back to life if Rudolf II reneged on his promise) were stored in the attic of Prague’s Old-New Synagogue. Legend? Well, perhaps. But apparently, so many people made the trek to view the golem (including the Nazis) in the years that followed, that the synagogue was forced to remove the lowest three metres of the stairs leading to the attic from the outside. Today, the attic is not open to the general public.
It seems reasonable to assume that anyone who were to encounter a golem would immediately scream and run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Not so Timm Otterson, doctor of veterinary medicine and author of the book All Creatures Weird and Dangerous, who would undoubtedly gaze in contemplation at the golem and determine whether the latter required some sort of medical assistance. And if so, use his veterinary training to try and heal the creature.
This then, constitutes the premise of All Creatures Weird and Dangerous, the story of a veterinarian who encounters strange creatures (‘cryptids’) in his travels, and, using his acquired learned skills, attempts to work his medical magic (such as when he removed a chain and large dog collar chain from the stomach of a unicorn – yikes!); although in fairness, on one occasion, the thunderbirds in New Mexico, actually helped him (when he and his son cascaded perilously down the side of a mountain). Along the way, we are introduced to a whole phalanx of weird cryptids, including a unicorn, chupacabra, sasquatch, various fairies, thunderbirds, mermaids, and others. It’s like a modern-day re-telling of Jules Verne’s classic Journey to the Centre of the Earth, where living prehistoric creatures from the Mesozoic and Cenozoic eras were encountered. Well, not quite the same (as the plots are vastly different), but still, with unknown and sometimes terrifying creatures lurking around every mountain top, bush, tree, and lake bed, we can draw a parallel.
On the face of it, this seems like nothing new. We’ve seen these types of stories not only in Journey to the Centre of the Earth but also in fantasy tales/movies like King Kong, Frankenstein, The Mothman Prophesies, Harry and the Hendersons, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, The Legend of Boggy Creek, Ondine, Splash, Lady Cottington’s Pressed Fairy Book…and many others. But All Creatures Weird and Dangerous is a different type of story, a quite unique one, told from the perspective of a real-life veterinarian. It is also storytelling with a heart (the author’s deep respect, love, and empathy for all living things, no matter how creepy they may be, is prevalent throughout), and with a message – while not in the least preachy, it chronicles man’s devastation of our planet (climate change, overfishing, poaching) and the terrible consequences, not only for man himself but also for animals. Quoting John Muir, the 19th-century Scottish-American naturalist and environmentalist, Otterson adopts the same philosophical outlook: “Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.”
Where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul. Of course. And Otterson does a stellar job illuminating just that, the healing world of flora and fauna, such that the reader feels a certain intimacy with them, and nature herself becomes nothing less than a character in the book. Here’s one example: “For me, it was heaven. There were old dirt roads all over the property and abandoned fields that had become meadows or groves of bamboo. There were ponds full of fish, turtles and frogs where they had once watered their livestock. There were several houses with barns and greenhouses. But most importantly, there was nature. I saw water moccasins and alligators, and alligator snapping turtles, foxes, and deer. The far end of it even had a rookery for egrets with thousands of white birds nesting in the cypress trees high above the water. We would paddle our canoes and pirogues (that’s a Cajun kayak) around the trees looking at the chicks above and trying to spy the lurking alligators as they waited for a meal of failed fledgling.”
Although we are introduced to a whole “other-world,” a world replete with both myth and imagination (along with a liberal sprinkling of science), some of the most endearing moments in the book occur when the author brings his family and friends into the mix. We come to learn how his grandmother managed to navigate The Great Depression when her husband died unexpectedly of a heart attack at an early age. And there are delightful scenes of gatherings, many of which revolve around food and eating. But also around shared camaraderie involving veterinary medicine, hiking, exploring, and story-telling. A certain homespun quality reminiscent of Farley Mowat (whom the author references), Will Ferguson, and even Stuart McLean, infuses All Creatures Weird and Dangerous. Added to the fun are charming illustrations of many creatures, cryptid and non-cryptid alike, scattered amongst the pages. They’re not exact replications (they obviously couldn’t be because although we have ideas, we don’t for certain know what, say, a sasquatch looks like up-close), but good enough to spark one’s imagination.
While an engaging short book (it runs roughly 150 pages), with many attributes, All Creatures Weird and Dangerous might have benefited from more dialogue in certain strategic spots. There are long stretches of uninterrupted narrative, with no dialogue. It wouldn’t have been necessary to incorporate copious amounts of speech (since this wasn’t a play), but still, there is always a place for dialogue. A perfect spot for it would have been when Otterson and his son tumble down the side of a mountain. It appeared the author had broken his leg/ankle. He might have called out with a sentence like this: “Damn, I think I’ve broken my foot.” Adding: “I don’t think I can stand.” And his son, who took a heavy blow to his ribs from a large rock and may have broken them, might have responded in kind (what’s that old adage? – a little less telling, a bit more showing). In any case, this lack doesn’t really detract from the book
Overall, All Creatures Weird and Dangerous is a wonderful read, an unusual gem of a book, highly recommended for those who find wisdom by keeping an open mind to the mysteries of the world. And to those who grew up sleeping with the light on and who believed in monsters lurking in their closets.
All Creatures Weird and Dangerous is published by Guernica Editions.
Fractured by Susan Mockler. Reviewed by Jerry Levy.
Susan Mockler’s memoir, Fractured, is a journey into the surreal world of doctors and nurses and hospitals but it is also a journey into the soul, into the psyche of an able-bodied woman who very suddenly finds herself physically broken, “fractured.”
One evening, on an excursion to the White Mountains in New Hampshire, Eric Clapton’s music playing on a tape player, the car Mockler was in struck a moose on a darkened highway. The harrowing events that followed were a murky blur of having her clothes cut off by a doctor, being intubated, told that her lung had collapsed but she would be perfectly fine with only one lung, and ultimately ending up in a hospital in Ottawa for months on end, unable to move her limbs. Curiously, her companion and driver of the car, Gary, remained uninjured.
The ensuing weeks and months chronicle the author’s ordeal in the hospital. Everything from having a metal halo screwed into her head, having catheters inserted to allow her to urinate, being washed by nurses and fed by other people (including family members). It all amounted to a complete loss of independence. It also equated to waiting: an endless wait for medical appointments, therapies, and for her body to somehow recover. But as she would discover, illness, dredged up from the depths of the underworld, has its own timetable and laws, unrelated to desire and motivation.
There an old adage that it takes a village to raise a child. And in Fractured, it brings home the notion that it also takes a village to resurrect a damaged body –
Physiotherapists, occupational therapists, doctors, nurses, residents, x-ray attendants, so many others. Including, of course, trusted family and friends. But the book is replete with a few of those same doctors and nurses who appeared uncaring, far too cavalier at times. As an example, two physicians challenged each other to a race to unscrew the bolts from the halo, only to leave Mockler bloodied as her hair got caught under one of the bolts; a more serious and careful removal would have prevented that. As well, some members of the public themselves seemed unable to deal with her disability, such as a mailman who refused to deliver mail to her home’s post box because it was out of his way. Ten feet out of his way.
The memoir seamlessly alternates between the present and the past and outlines Mockler's difficult upbringing, and her current relationship with family and boyfriends, some of which remain strained. But again, being disabled, she was now at their whim in some respects, unable to do things for herself. The book also deals with her now-uncertain future and all the little things (and bigger things) she did to not give over to total despair (like a fellow-patient did, a woman who was similarly severely injured when a bale of hay dropped on top of her). Things like dabbing holy water from Lourdes on her lower abdomen to help her pee (it actually worked!), leaving Gary’s house abruptly when the situation became unbearable, and just reconciling to the fact she might have to reinvent herself and learn to be different in the world, the same way highly accomplished people like Steven Hawking and Helen Keller had done.
One thing apparent throughout the ordeal is that although the author’s body was badly crippled, her mind remained intact. In fact, her insights into human behaviour are astounding (given that Mockler a successful psychotherapist, that is perhaps not surprising). She profiles one patient named Denny who didn’t want to return home, although he had full use of both his arms and could walk well. He said he lived alone and that it wasn’t safe at his place. In a paragraph that followed, Mockler imagines that his home was a rooming house, “lit by a naked bulb, maybe a hotplate for heating canned beans or making a cup of tea, a lumpy cot, and threadbare sheets.” Not easy reading, cringe-worthy to be certain, but insightful and on point.
Fractured outlines the limitations imposed on disabled people by society and how it is generally not equipped to deal with them. “A sickbed is a grave,” wrote John Donne, the 16th century English poet and cleric. Maybe so, but my takeaway from this compelling memoir is that human resilience can overcome many obstacles, many private tortures. Maybe not all, of course, but many. Susan Mockler is certainly a testament to the human spirit at its best.
Fractured is published by Second Story Press.
Susan Mockler’s memoir, Fractured, is a journey into the surreal world of doctors and nurses and hospitals but it is also a journey into the soul, into the psyche of an able-bodied woman who very suddenly finds herself physically broken, “fractured.”
One evening, on an excursion to the White Mountains in New Hampshire, Eric Clapton’s music playing on a tape player, the car Mockler was in struck a moose on a darkened highway. The harrowing events that followed were a murky blur of having her clothes cut off by a doctor, being intubated, told that her lung had collapsed but she would be perfectly fine with only one lung, and ultimately ending up in a hospital in Ottawa for months on end, unable to move her limbs. Curiously, her companion and driver of the car, Gary, remained uninjured.
The ensuing weeks and months chronicle the author’s ordeal in the hospital. Everything from having a metal halo screwed into her head, having catheters inserted to allow her to urinate, being washed by nurses and fed by other people (including family members). It all amounted to a complete loss of independence. It also equated to waiting: an endless wait for medical appointments, therapies, and for her body to somehow recover. But as she would discover, illness, dredged up from the depths of the underworld, has its own timetable and laws, unrelated to desire and motivation.
There an old adage that it takes a village to raise a child. And in Fractured, it brings home the notion that it also takes a village to resurrect a damaged body –
Physiotherapists, occupational therapists, doctors, nurses, residents, x-ray attendants, so many others. Including, of course, trusted family and friends. But the book is replete with a few of those same doctors and nurses who appeared uncaring, far too cavalier at times. As an example, two physicians challenged each other to a race to unscrew the bolts from the halo, only to leave Mockler bloodied as her hair got caught under one of the bolts; a more serious and careful removal would have prevented that. As well, some members of the public themselves seemed unable to deal with her disability, such as a mailman who refused to deliver mail to her home’s post box because it was out of his way. Ten feet out of his way.
The memoir seamlessly alternates between the present and the past and outlines Mockler's difficult upbringing, and her current relationship with family and boyfriends, some of which remain strained. But again, being disabled, she was now at their whim in some respects, unable to do things for herself. The book also deals with her now-uncertain future and all the little things (and bigger things) she did to not give over to total despair (like a fellow-patient did, a woman who was similarly severely injured when a bale of hay dropped on top of her). Things like dabbing holy water from Lourdes on her lower abdomen to help her pee (it actually worked!), leaving Gary’s house abruptly when the situation became unbearable, and just reconciling to the fact she might have to reinvent herself and learn to be different in the world, the same way highly accomplished people like Steven Hawking and Helen Keller had done.
One thing apparent throughout the ordeal is that although the author’s body was badly crippled, her mind remained intact. In fact, her insights into human behaviour are astounding (given that Mockler a successful psychotherapist, that is perhaps not surprising). She profiles one patient named Denny who didn’t want to return home, although he had full use of both his arms and could walk well. He said he lived alone and that it wasn’t safe at his place. In a paragraph that followed, Mockler imagines that his home was a rooming house, “lit by a naked bulb, maybe a hotplate for heating canned beans or making a cup of tea, a lumpy cot, and threadbare sheets.” Not easy reading, cringe-worthy to be certain, but insightful and on point.
Fractured outlines the limitations imposed on disabled people by society and how it is generally not equipped to deal with them. “A sickbed is a grave,” wrote John Donne, the 16th century English poet and cleric. Maybe so, but my takeaway from this compelling memoir is that human resilience can overcome many obstacles, many private tortures. Maybe not all, of course, but many. Susan Mockler is certainly a testament to the human spirit at its best.
Fractured is published by Second Story Press.
Flicker by Lori Hahnel. Reviewed by Jerry Levy.
In Lori Hahnel’s Flicker, the world turns completely on its axis, morphing from homespun events such as skating on a homemade backyard ice rink and Hockey Night in Canada, to a very strange mélange involving visions ("flickers"), psychic abilities, mythologies, crystal balls, Tarot cards, and odd ancient machines and amulets that allow for time travel. Add in inventors Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison, the actress and singer Lillian Russell, as well as Vikings to the mix, and indeed, the world as we know appears to make little sense. It becomes an alter-reality, a warped world some might say is akin to Superman’s Bizarro world, where ‘up’ is ‘down’ and ‘hello’ means ‘goodbye.’ But upon closer inspection, this most unusual universe may not be as warped as first thought. For at heart, Flicker is really about loss and relationships; moreover, it is a love story, something of course eminently relatable throughout the ages.
Flicker opens up in Calgary in 1971, where our protagonist Cassandra (Cass) is skating with her brother Jim on the ice rink bought by their father from Simpsons Sears (the ‘instant rink kit’). She suddenly sees a vision of a tall man standing at the end of the yard, someone who appears vaguely familiar to her. That event throws Jim (who does not see the man) off-kilter and Cass, swerving to get out of his way, falls and hits her head on the ice. Taken to the hospital by her parents for a possible concussion, she later comes to learn that they died in a car accident on their way home that very night. Now living with their grandparents, Jim and Cass veer down very different life roads, the former becoming sullen and withdrawn, dropping out of school and departing the house, (shortly thereafter selling drugs and living a marginalized lifestyle), and Cass going to high school and working as a cashier at a grocery store.
The summer of 1981 brings the Calgary Stampede to the city where Cass and her friend Marty wander into the tent of Madame Freyja, a fortune-teller with a shady past. Convinced that Cass has a gift for seeing premonitions and visions, she offers the young woman a job as an assistant. It means leaving Calgary and going on a travelling circuit throughout Canada and the U.S., something Cass (with a bit of cajoling from Marty), readily accepts. That one event, walking into a fortune-teller’s tent, will soon change Cass’s life forever. For Freyja turns out to be a true rogue, scamming customers and not teaching Cass anything worthwhile. It culminates with her stealing the $300 Cass’ grandparents gave her as a parting gift. Fed up with Freyja and realizing her life on the road with this sham fortune-teller would amount to nothing, she leaves and returns to Calgary to begin anew. But not before she takes a thousand-year-old sun amulet that belonged to Freyja, an amulet that supposedly, alongside an electrical instrument (now lost), possesses supernatural powers.
Back in Calgary and now working in a thrift shop, Cass happens upon an unusual device in a donated Post Toasties Corn Flakes cereal box. A simple old radio? Hardly. For this device (which has the name ‘Edison’ in gold scroll at the bottom) starts her on a very strange journey; in conjunction with the amulet, it allows her to travel back to 1900 to the Thomas Edison Laboratory in West Orange, New Jersey. And it is there that she meets the love of her life, the dashing Ragtime piano player Erik Thorvaldsen. But Freyja lurks in the shadows, travelling to Calgary and demanding her amulet back. Without it, and as stated, Cass will no longer be able to time-travel.
Flicker is not a simple time-travel novel. It brings to mind aspects of Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library and Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler's Wife. Even Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Aspects to be certain, but not entirely like any of them. For Hahnel’s novel is a sophisticated story about loss (loss of family members, loss of innocence), regret, love, estates and wills, friendships, the lonely sensation of being an orphan, and difficult life choices against many odds. It is also about fate; Freyja, as despicable and underhanded as she is, appears to embody certain powers, the mythological incarnation of destiny or fate. For those that oppose her and stand in her way suffer terrible consequences. In Greek mythology, the span of a person’s life was set at birth by three goddesses, the Moirai or Fates, as they are known in English. Those three sisters created the thread of a person’s lifespan, measured it, and cut it, signalling the end. We see three similar sisters, or Norns, in Norse mythology. Clearly then, Freyja, as a Daughter of Time as she is referred to in the novel, is not someone to be messed with.
The novel moves seamlessly between time periods. Clearly the author has done a lot of research, for her depictions of 1900 on and the later periods of the 1970s through the 1990s, involving dress, mores, language, physician prescriptions, music, and the like, are impressive (how bout opium, or ‘laudanum’ as it was called in 1900, for a simple headache!). So too is her depiction of rugged Newfoundland (even the writer Annie Proulx and her novel The Shipping News is talked about). And there are realistic discussions about the seemingly endless obstacles inherent in a love situation where the characters involved are roughly 80 plus years apart.
To some degree, the novel lightly touches upon Cass’ mental sanity as a number of people don’t believe her when she tells them what’s really going on, including an advice columnist who suggests she needs a good therapist, and Henry, a potential new boyfriend, who never calls her back after she reveals the time-travel situation. But there are no indications that Cass is mad, delusional, psychotic, on prescription drugs (or illicit drugs for that matter) and ultimately untrustworthy. Even an unreliable narrator who is unsure of herself because the entire time-travel affair is just too implausible. Indeed, she appears not to question herself, as the following shows: “But I had Marty. Marty believed me. As for the rest of them, I thought, fuck them. Fuck all of them. I know what I lived. I know what I feel.” Of course, had Cass been depicted as an unreliable narrator, it would have changed the entire trajectory of the plot.
With a unique and surprise ending that involves a terrible thunderstorm, Lori Hahnel’s Flicker is a page-turner, a delightfully compelling read that ties all the threads of the novel nicely together, including who the tall man at the edge of the skating rink might have been, how Cass’ visions could have started, and moreover, how it is possible to bridge an 80-90-year time gap between soul mates.
Highly recommended.
Flicker is published by University of Calgary Press.
In Lori Hahnel’s Flicker, the world turns completely on its axis, morphing from homespun events such as skating on a homemade backyard ice rink and Hockey Night in Canada, to a very strange mélange involving visions ("flickers"), psychic abilities, mythologies, crystal balls, Tarot cards, and odd ancient machines and amulets that allow for time travel. Add in inventors Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison, the actress and singer Lillian Russell, as well as Vikings to the mix, and indeed, the world as we know appears to make little sense. It becomes an alter-reality, a warped world some might say is akin to Superman’s Bizarro world, where ‘up’ is ‘down’ and ‘hello’ means ‘goodbye.’ But upon closer inspection, this most unusual universe may not be as warped as first thought. For at heart, Flicker is really about loss and relationships; moreover, it is a love story, something of course eminently relatable throughout the ages.
Flicker opens up in Calgary in 1971, where our protagonist Cassandra (Cass) is skating with her brother Jim on the ice rink bought by their father from Simpsons Sears (the ‘instant rink kit’). She suddenly sees a vision of a tall man standing at the end of the yard, someone who appears vaguely familiar to her. That event throws Jim (who does not see the man) off-kilter and Cass, swerving to get out of his way, falls and hits her head on the ice. Taken to the hospital by her parents for a possible concussion, she later comes to learn that they died in a car accident on their way home that very night. Now living with their grandparents, Jim and Cass veer down very different life roads, the former becoming sullen and withdrawn, dropping out of school and departing the house, (shortly thereafter selling drugs and living a marginalized lifestyle), and Cass going to high school and working as a cashier at a grocery store.
The summer of 1981 brings the Calgary Stampede to the city where Cass and her friend Marty wander into the tent of Madame Freyja, a fortune-teller with a shady past. Convinced that Cass has a gift for seeing premonitions and visions, she offers the young woman a job as an assistant. It means leaving Calgary and going on a travelling circuit throughout Canada and the U.S., something Cass (with a bit of cajoling from Marty), readily accepts. That one event, walking into a fortune-teller’s tent, will soon change Cass’s life forever. For Freyja turns out to be a true rogue, scamming customers and not teaching Cass anything worthwhile. It culminates with her stealing the $300 Cass’ grandparents gave her as a parting gift. Fed up with Freyja and realizing her life on the road with this sham fortune-teller would amount to nothing, she leaves and returns to Calgary to begin anew. But not before she takes a thousand-year-old sun amulet that belonged to Freyja, an amulet that supposedly, alongside an electrical instrument (now lost), possesses supernatural powers.
Back in Calgary and now working in a thrift shop, Cass happens upon an unusual device in a donated Post Toasties Corn Flakes cereal box. A simple old radio? Hardly. For this device (which has the name ‘Edison’ in gold scroll at the bottom) starts her on a very strange journey; in conjunction with the amulet, it allows her to travel back to 1900 to the Thomas Edison Laboratory in West Orange, New Jersey. And it is there that she meets the love of her life, the dashing Ragtime piano player Erik Thorvaldsen. But Freyja lurks in the shadows, travelling to Calgary and demanding her amulet back. Without it, and as stated, Cass will no longer be able to time-travel.
Flicker is not a simple time-travel novel. It brings to mind aspects of Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library and Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler's Wife. Even Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Aspects to be certain, but not entirely like any of them. For Hahnel’s novel is a sophisticated story about loss (loss of family members, loss of innocence), regret, love, estates and wills, friendships, the lonely sensation of being an orphan, and difficult life choices against many odds. It is also about fate; Freyja, as despicable and underhanded as she is, appears to embody certain powers, the mythological incarnation of destiny or fate. For those that oppose her and stand in her way suffer terrible consequences. In Greek mythology, the span of a person’s life was set at birth by three goddesses, the Moirai or Fates, as they are known in English. Those three sisters created the thread of a person’s lifespan, measured it, and cut it, signalling the end. We see three similar sisters, or Norns, in Norse mythology. Clearly then, Freyja, as a Daughter of Time as she is referred to in the novel, is not someone to be messed with.
The novel moves seamlessly between time periods. Clearly the author has done a lot of research, for her depictions of 1900 on and the later periods of the 1970s through the 1990s, involving dress, mores, language, physician prescriptions, music, and the like, are impressive (how bout opium, or ‘laudanum’ as it was called in 1900, for a simple headache!). So too is her depiction of rugged Newfoundland (even the writer Annie Proulx and her novel The Shipping News is talked about). And there are realistic discussions about the seemingly endless obstacles inherent in a love situation where the characters involved are roughly 80 plus years apart.
To some degree, the novel lightly touches upon Cass’ mental sanity as a number of people don’t believe her when she tells them what’s really going on, including an advice columnist who suggests she needs a good therapist, and Henry, a potential new boyfriend, who never calls her back after she reveals the time-travel situation. But there are no indications that Cass is mad, delusional, psychotic, on prescription drugs (or illicit drugs for that matter) and ultimately untrustworthy. Even an unreliable narrator who is unsure of herself because the entire time-travel affair is just too implausible. Indeed, she appears not to question herself, as the following shows: “But I had Marty. Marty believed me. As for the rest of them, I thought, fuck them. Fuck all of them. I know what I lived. I know what I feel.” Of course, had Cass been depicted as an unreliable narrator, it would have changed the entire trajectory of the plot.
With a unique and surprise ending that involves a terrible thunderstorm, Lori Hahnel’s Flicker is a page-turner, a delightfully compelling read that ties all the threads of the novel nicely together, including who the tall man at the edge of the skating rink might have been, how Cass’ visions could have started, and moreover, how it is possible to bridge an 80-90-year time gap between soul mates.
Highly recommended.
Flicker is published by University of Calgary Press.
from The Ocean in the Well by Nino Fama. Reviewed by Jerry levy.
In a world of noise, of temptations, uncertainties, alienation, and questions about our journey and who we are, one might imagine that life in a seminary would offer a welcome refuge. That once you join, you’re good for life. But herein lies the paradox of escaping into the life of faith – it too does not confer absolute certainty. Rather, it is a continual delving into spiritual questioning, of Scripture and of yearning to understand God’s insights. Where, for example, is God to be found in our suffering? But supposedly, if one asks good questions in prayer, then God will speak and lead on a journey of purpose and greater understanding. But even that journey, on the face of it, appears to be long and perhaps not linear, where doubt can make itself known. And what happens when the outside world creeps into that life of faith and piety to muddy the waters even further? When temptations from that world become too much to bear? This is at the heart of Nino Fama’s The Ocean in the Well.
The main character in the novel, Stefano, is lured from seminary life in Italy because of a woman, Milena, with whom he falls in love. Of course, this disappoints not only his family but also the villagers where he lives, who hold a religious life in high esteem. But we learn that Stefano only entered the seminary because of his family’s urgings, as a means to escape the life of the peasantry. In fact, his departure provides him with a sense of relief.
The novel opens up with a wide-eyed Stefano sitting in a taxi, about to embark on a new journey in America. He has come to New York to realize a dream of greater opportunities and wealth, paving the way for a new life for both Milena and himself. His first experience in this new world is hardly glamorous; we follow him as he settles down in a decrepit rooming house, where he shares a bathroom with other guests and has to wait in line to eat breakfast in a semi-dark basement where “frequent burping sounds hovered over the steady din.” As time passes, Stefano’s situation improves when he gets a manual labour job in a warehouse, loading and unloading heavy crates of fruit and vegetables from trucks. It’s not great, but something. A start. And things look up even more when he obtains a place of his own. All the while the image of his beloved Milena remains steadfast in his mind.
Unlike the three friends he makes at the warehouse, Antolin, Pastafasu, and Robledo, Stefano exhibits a lot of enthusiasm and determination for his job. And this does not escape the eye of his shady boss, Don Vincenzino, who offers him a new and important assignment. Stefano, fresh from cloistered seminary life, is naïve, and the assignment leads him down an unchartered path he did not anticipate, straight into prison. Naivety, it appears, is no defence when it comes to American law. It is there, languishing in prison, that he soon discovers through a series of letters from his mother that much has changed back home. He comes to realize that time doesn’t stand still for anyone, and he becomes deeply affected by the changes. Undoubtedly, while leaving seminary life might have felt like freedom for Stefano, it was followed by disorientation and a black cloud of suffering. Transition into a secular life was indeed painful.
Sorrow, grief, and regret populate the novel but it is hardly a dour read. For resilience holds equal weight and offers hope for the future, including a very unexpected ending for Stefano. So too does the power of genuine friendship, which permeates throughout the story. As the great painter Matisse once said: “There are always flowers for those who want to see them.” To wit, when the world appears most barren and ugly, our thoughts can help us see life through a different filter, allowing for visions of beauty, allowing us to see those flowers. And for Stefano, as he grows, he begins to see through that filter.
Make no mistake about it though: this novel is replete with very ‘heavy’ issues. Everything from the immigrant who sacrifices all for the sake of his children, only to have those same children later eschew his old-world values, to infidelity, cynicism about one’s country, issues of war, the justice system, regret, the burden and danger of back-breaking and wretched work, the value of religion, good and evil, race, the perils of material wealth…so many things. And although these topics are indeed heavy, the writing is somehow light and crisp so that one doesn’t feel overwhelmed by them. They’re carried in a hefty burlap sack but liberally sprinkled as fine dust on the page so as to make them imminently readable. Having said that, the novel might have benefitted from more spots of humour, simply to break up the tension.
The Ocean in the Well reminded me of Chaim Potok’s novel My Name is Asher Lev. In that novel, Asher Lev is a Hasidic Jew who keeps kosher and prays three times a day. His is a life of ritual and revolves around his religion. But he is also an artist and he has to skirt the line between the life he was born into and the life of the imagination. And just like Stefano, he leaves the religious life, the one consecrated to God, which estranges him from the world he knows, leading him down some heartbreaking paths.
If I had one issue with the novel, it is that Stefano’s decision to leave the seminary happens too quickly. It might have been protracted out, vacillating wildly between the duty he owes to his family, even to the villagers where he lived, and the duty he owes himself. Sure he goes to the head of the seminary Father Adelmo and tells him of his dilemma and asks for advice, but the brevity of that part of the novel appears almost as an afterthought. Surely various members of the village where Stefano lives would have tried to dissuade him from leaving. Even his grandfather. Perhaps his mother herself, who, upon learning of his decision, only kneels before an image of Christ and recites Our Father. This part of the story might have been fleshed out, encompassing many more pages and bringing into the fold some very interesting characters. But this is a very small oversight, in this reviewer’s opinion. Overall, The Ocean in the Well is a thoroughly enjoyable read, a true page-turner that deals with life issues in realistic and well-turned prose.
The Ocean in the Well is published by Guernica Editions.
In a world of noise, of temptations, uncertainties, alienation, and questions about our journey and who we are, one might imagine that life in a seminary would offer a welcome refuge. That once you join, you’re good for life. But herein lies the paradox of escaping into the life of faith – it too does not confer absolute certainty. Rather, it is a continual delving into spiritual questioning, of Scripture and of yearning to understand God’s insights. Where, for example, is God to be found in our suffering? But supposedly, if one asks good questions in prayer, then God will speak and lead on a journey of purpose and greater understanding. But even that journey, on the face of it, appears to be long and perhaps not linear, where doubt can make itself known. And what happens when the outside world creeps into that life of faith and piety to muddy the waters even further? When temptations from that world become too much to bear? This is at the heart of Nino Fama’s The Ocean in the Well.
The main character in the novel, Stefano, is lured from seminary life in Italy because of a woman, Milena, with whom he falls in love. Of course, this disappoints not only his family but also the villagers where he lives, who hold a religious life in high esteem. But we learn that Stefano only entered the seminary because of his family’s urgings, as a means to escape the life of the peasantry. In fact, his departure provides him with a sense of relief.
The novel opens up with a wide-eyed Stefano sitting in a taxi, about to embark on a new journey in America. He has come to New York to realize a dream of greater opportunities and wealth, paving the way for a new life for both Milena and himself. His first experience in this new world is hardly glamorous; we follow him as he settles down in a decrepit rooming house, where he shares a bathroom with other guests and has to wait in line to eat breakfast in a semi-dark basement where “frequent burping sounds hovered over the steady din.” As time passes, Stefano’s situation improves when he gets a manual labour job in a warehouse, loading and unloading heavy crates of fruit and vegetables from trucks. It’s not great, but something. A start. And things look up even more when he obtains a place of his own. All the while the image of his beloved Milena remains steadfast in his mind.
Unlike the three friends he makes at the warehouse, Antolin, Pastafasu, and Robledo, Stefano exhibits a lot of enthusiasm and determination for his job. And this does not escape the eye of his shady boss, Don Vincenzino, who offers him a new and important assignment. Stefano, fresh from cloistered seminary life, is naïve, and the assignment leads him down an unchartered path he did not anticipate, straight into prison. Naivety, it appears, is no defence when it comes to American law. It is there, languishing in prison, that he soon discovers through a series of letters from his mother that much has changed back home. He comes to realize that time doesn’t stand still for anyone, and he becomes deeply affected by the changes. Undoubtedly, while leaving seminary life might have felt like freedom for Stefano, it was followed by disorientation and a black cloud of suffering. Transition into a secular life was indeed painful.
Sorrow, grief, and regret populate the novel but it is hardly a dour read. For resilience holds equal weight and offers hope for the future, including a very unexpected ending for Stefano. So too does the power of genuine friendship, which permeates throughout the story. As the great painter Matisse once said: “There are always flowers for those who want to see them.” To wit, when the world appears most barren and ugly, our thoughts can help us see life through a different filter, allowing for visions of beauty, allowing us to see those flowers. And for Stefano, as he grows, he begins to see through that filter.
Make no mistake about it though: this novel is replete with very ‘heavy’ issues. Everything from the immigrant who sacrifices all for the sake of his children, only to have those same children later eschew his old-world values, to infidelity, cynicism about one’s country, issues of war, the justice system, regret, the burden and danger of back-breaking and wretched work, the value of religion, good and evil, race, the perils of material wealth…so many things. And although these topics are indeed heavy, the writing is somehow light and crisp so that one doesn’t feel overwhelmed by them. They’re carried in a hefty burlap sack but liberally sprinkled as fine dust on the page so as to make them imminently readable. Having said that, the novel might have benefitted from more spots of humour, simply to break up the tension.
The Ocean in the Well reminded me of Chaim Potok’s novel My Name is Asher Lev. In that novel, Asher Lev is a Hasidic Jew who keeps kosher and prays three times a day. His is a life of ritual and revolves around his religion. But he is also an artist and he has to skirt the line between the life he was born into and the life of the imagination. And just like Stefano, he leaves the religious life, the one consecrated to God, which estranges him from the world he knows, leading him down some heartbreaking paths.
If I had one issue with the novel, it is that Stefano’s decision to leave the seminary happens too quickly. It might have been protracted out, vacillating wildly between the duty he owes to his family, even to the villagers where he lived, and the duty he owes himself. Sure he goes to the head of the seminary Father Adelmo and tells him of his dilemma and asks for advice, but the brevity of that part of the novel appears almost as an afterthought. Surely various members of the village where Stefano lives would have tried to dissuade him from leaving. Even his grandfather. Perhaps his mother herself, who, upon learning of his decision, only kneels before an image of Christ and recites Our Father. This part of the story might have been fleshed out, encompassing many more pages and bringing into the fold some very interesting characters. But this is a very small oversight, in this reviewer’s opinion. Overall, The Ocean in the Well is a thoroughly enjoyable read, a true page-turner that deals with life issues in realistic and well-turned prose.
The Ocean in the Well is published by Guernica Editions.
from U is for Upside-Down House by Jordan Moffatt. Reviewed by Jerry levy.
In the cubed-shaped Bizarro world of the chalk-faced Superman, up is down, ugly is beautiful, and it is a crime to make anything perfect; in other words, everything is the opposite from what might be expected on Earth. Seemingly, this is the world of Jordan Moffatt’s U if for Upside-Down House, a collection of twenty-seven short (very short) stories. Here we find a house that without explanation has somehow flipped and now rests on its roof (thankfully it has a flat roof!), pop-up shops that miraculously manifest through sheer imagination, a garden slug that takes a protagonist on a road trip, a dog that talks like he’s Confucius, a Chief of Police who doesn’t know the name of the officer that accompanies him to oust a falcon out of a supermarket. Bizarre. And yet, there are kernels of wisdom inherent in many of the stories. Life lessons to be gleaned. One only needs to be willing to peer beyond the distorted lens that twists the tales into Surrealist-type archetypes seen in Salvador Dali paintings, for meaning. For instance, in "I Think my Philosophy Professor Is the Hamburglar," a Philosophy Professor who teaches Nietzche and Wittenstein and Heidegger, has arrived at the conclusion that by eating a hamburger that he’s stolen from MacDonald’s, he becomes ten minutes younger. So he steals a lot of them and reverses the aging process. His name? Hamilton B. Urglar. Of course. And it’s not just eating the hamburgers that transform the prof into a younger life – it’s the stealing of the hamburgers that does it. The unethical part. Here’s the exchange between the prof. and his student who eventually finds him out:
Hamilton B. Urglar: “I aged naturally for thirty years. I was living a life of virtue. But then something happened that you might not understand: I got old. And when you get old, you’re willing to give up your ideals to be young again.”
Student: “You’re confusing living young forever with living forever young…”
Brilliant.
As shown in this and other stories ("The Only Customers at My Brewpub Are Ghouls" comes to mind, where the main character opens a craft brewpub near a haunted cemetery and learns a valuable lesson about remaining true to one’s ideals from the ghouls who frequent it), Moffatt has an uncanny ability to distill big ideas into simple and short narratives. His fiction has elements of Rivka Galchen’s and Ottessa Moshfegh’s works.
The writing is crystal-clear, and the storytelling fresh and succinct. Humour abounds. Everything is told in first-person, which lends consistency to the collection. One gets the sense that Moffatt feels a lot of joy in playing with ideas, words and language. He occasionally eschews basic rules of punctuation and uses run-on sentences that go on and on like the Energizer Bunny, an idiosyncratic tool to exemplify the manic state of characters. It works.
The stories, as mentioned, are short. Vignettes of a sort. The characters step into the spotlight for a very brief time and then retreat, leaving it up to the reader to infer who they are and what they’re about. This is always an issue with this type of fiction: for those who want deep character development, even a more traditional type of story, these tales would probably not suffice. Similarly, they might not be particularly enjoyed by anyone who prefers not to suspend their belief system (we’re talking about bears who eat pizza and party with a protagonist, a meteorite sent to Earth to gather secrets from anyone who finds it…). But if readers want to look beyond these things and simply enjoy the stories for what they are, perhaps even attempt to answer a fundamental question like, what is this all about?, they will find untold gems in the collection.
It will be interesting to see what Jordan Moffatt’s next work will be. He has all the tools to write good prose, longer works perhaps, and become a valued member of the Can-Lit scene for many years to come.
U is for Upside-Down House is published by Applebeard Editions.