Delicates

~ Lisa Helm ~ 1 Comment

Delicates is the second in a graphic novel series by Breena Thummler. Where the first novel Sheets introduces us to Marjorie Glatt’s story and her story, Delicates continues her story but also introduces us to a new character Eliza Dunn.

At the beginning of Delicates, Marjorie is still coming to terms with her mother’s death with the support of her ghost friend Wendell. Marjorie has started eighth grade and is now struggling to be part of the “popular” group who seems to be behaving like a typical group of obnoxious “judgey” teenagers. The ghost Wendell sees these friends for who they truly are and often calls Marjorie on her association with these newfound friends. And if truth be told, Wendell is feeling a little bit neglected.

Where Marjorie was the main character in Sheets, in Delicates she shares the page with Eliza Dunn, a classmate who is bullied because of her social awkwardness, and her peculiar preoccupation with photography, particularly photographing ghosts. 

Marjorie’s and Eliza’s lives soon become intertwined largely in part because of Wendell’s involvement. To Marjorie’s surprise, Eliza can also see Wendell. 

Along with a hugely emotive story, the artwork (especially the colour choices) are really quite beautiful. The story itself is a timely one, friendship, and acceptance, and the strength it takes to recognize and proactively stop bullying.

I would add both Sheets and Delicates to any school or classroom library.

Thank you NetGalley and Oni press for the free copy.

A Meditation on Thornton Wilder

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“There arose a perfume of tenderness, that ghost of passion which, in the most unexpected relationship, can make a whole lifetime devoted to irksome duty pass like a gracious dream” (pg. 74)

The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder.

I have fallen in love with Thorton Wilder because of this quote.

How wonderful would a relationship like this be? Having to get close enough not only in physical proximity but emotional proximity as well, to one person and stay there long enough to inhale that “perfume of tenderness”

where your first instinct would be to wrap your arms around this person and hold them close.

Tenderness without forethought, without premeditation, without an agenda.

No pretension.

To be pleasantly surprised at a love that grows where you didn’t expect it to grow. And you look upon it in wonder, finding it near impossible to believe that it truly exists in you,

the most unlikely of places,

or so you believed.

Where obligation and duty never really existed in its denotative form. All business-like and astringent.

No boundaries set by written laws or verbal promises but rather

a fidelity that is unexpected and natural.

Some of us have found in our relationships some such a manifestation of Wilder’s love

and some of us are still waiting.

Whatever the case I hope we recognize it as such

and hold on to it as a dream come true,

feeling blessed.

The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

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Ok, I’ve read a lot lately about Matt Haig’s books. I’ve meant to increase my exposure to speculative fiction, and Haig’s books seem as good a place to start. If you look on Goodreads, almost all of his books have a 4+ star rating (not that Goodreads ratings matter. Ok, Goodreads reviews may gently nudge me towards a title or two). Haig’s premises to me, seem deeply philosophical, and I love books that make me think. So I finally picked up one of his titles, his newest The Midnight Library. And yes, it did make me think.
Our anti-hero Nora has had a REALLY bad day. Her cat died, she lost her job, and no one is responding to her texts. So Nora decides to die. No, I did not just spoil the plot…the first sentence literally says so.
Because of a choice she makes, Nora finds herself in the Midnight Library, a sort of purgatorial holding place where she is forced to consult a “book of regrets” and then choose from books that hold all the choices she could have made in life. Once she opens a “book of choice” she is transported to that life where she experiences what “could have been”.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve often thought about “what could have been if I’d only…”
Which undoubtedly is a wasteful use of time. This novel reminds me of this waste. I really appreciated the slow and steady character growth Nora exhibits. An example is her view of loneliness. On page 5 Nora states “all though she’d studied enough existential philosophy to believe loneliness was a fundamental part of being human in an essentially meaningless universe”, but by page 120 this view has changed to “amid pure nature solitude took on a different character. It became in itself a kind of connection. A connection between herself and the world. Between her and herself.” Loneliness vs solitude. HUGE paradigm shift. One, we all must make at least once in our life. I’m not going to tell you Nora’s perception of “loneliness” at the end of the book, but you can probably surmise what it will be.
Even though this book is philosophical, it is extremely accessible. It was a perfect “deep” read during a time in our history where I find reading deeply difficult.
It’s a good book! Read it!

Covid Conundrum

~ Lisa Helm ~ 1 Comment

I wanted to read.
But I couldn’t
I wanted to write.
But I didn’t.
I am at a time in life that is opaque, where there are no bold lines,

only shadow and shades.

So I have begun to redefine myself.


On the cusp of retirement, a time when I aspire to hone my passions and strengths (without being guided by a paycheck) I take solace in the fact that there is one thing I will always be-

a reader.


It has only been in my later years, where I have become confident enough to identify as a writer. To claim that I am one.

And as I begin to wind down in my career (after 30 years), I have full intentions to read more, and write more

and grow creatively and profoundly in voice

and in imagination.

I aspire to be the embodiment of a sentient library where those seeking stories can come and confer. Suggestions of titles would trip off my tongue like water over rock.

To read.
To write reviews.
To write short stories.
To finish that novel.And then…

A global pandemic.

Oh, I thought, now that my life is limited in both act and engagement, I will have copious amounts of time to read and write and create.

But alas, I have yet to take advantage of the circumstances in which I find myself.
Instead,

I check updates,
And outbreak patterns,
And my temperature.


My concentration is non-existent. Sadly I can scarcely focus long enough to live in another world if even for a minute.


And all of this has been heartbreakingly disconcerting.


So not only has my identity been challenged, but the one place where I used to be able to claim respite from reality has slammed the door without giving me a key.

I long to wander freely in fiction where I can think of nothing else but plot points and protagonists.

Soon.

The Sound of Lightening

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We are having a bout of hot weather and lightning storms before the arrival of autumn.

I love the sound of lightning.

No, I don’t mean thunder. I don’t like thunder. It sounds ominous and threatening and downright mean.

But lightening…the flash in the distance.  The moments of silence.

The beauty without the boom.

It’s seems to be a revelation before an announcement a power has arrived.

It reminds me of little gleams of insight. Glimpses of pure truth

before the racket and fuss distracts us from the light.

How often is the truth this simple.

Backlighting the clouds

helping us to see what lies behind.

Rarely the need to cover our ears.

“Time Heals What Reason Cannot

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Time heals what reason cannot. ~Seneca 

It’s interesting

how much difference a day can make.

I am continually amazed at how,

over the course of a measly twelve hours

a person can go from being mired in the deepest darkest pit of disappointment

to walking on sunshine.

This change cannot merely

be a matter of perspective.

Maybe it’s the alignment of stars?

or a shower of meteors?

or

the pull of the earths gravity with the passing of night into day?

“Time” has to play a part.

True, the passing of time wrecks havoc

but

it also creates miracles.

Time is not the erasing of memories,

but the blurring

and sanding

and softening the harshness

some memories can bring.

Patience is the key to living the cliché “this too shall pass”.

Because it does.

In the meantime you just need to remember

to breathe.

And wait with hope.

The Cabinets of Barnaby Mayne

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

written by Elsa Hart
I am a reading fiend. I can read book upon book upon book upon book. Summer holidays usually offers the opportunity where I make up for the lack of time I had during the work year. But this year was different. You would think that with a quarantine one would have more time to do what one loves. For me, this was not the case. I’ve been finding it really difficult to concentrate on reading for long periods of time. Short Stories? No problem. Poetry? Easy. But novels, no. And I’ve been crestfallen because of it. Luckily I was given an advanced copy of Elsa Hart’s The Cabinets of Barnaby Mayne, and my reading drought has thus been ended.
I started reading this novel one early evening after dinner, and I was pretty my all the way through before the sun rose the next day. I could not put it down!
What magic did Elsa Hart conjure to break me of this stifled reading curse? First off, an intriguing setting London 1703 where most of the action is centred around the home of a “collector”l Barnaby Mayne who is in possession of THE most extensive collection of wonders. This collection includes everything from skeletons of exotic animals from across the world, to strange fish preserved in chemicals, to gemstones, and rare flower and much much more. Secondly, memorable characters. Our protagonist, Lady Cecily Kay, has come from Smyrna to access Baraby Maynes “plant room” in an attempt to identify the various plants she collected in her travels. There is also an assortment of other characters who live within Sir Barnaby’s walls, all of whom have a different interest in his collection. Unfortunately, upon her first night, the house Cecily’s host is murdered, but why? The man who confesses to the crime cannot possibly be capable of the atrocity? Or can he?
This novel is a wonderful murder mystery that keeps the reader captive with each secret revealed. And thirdly, I loved, loved, loved, the plot. The portrayal of the female characters, both Cecily and the character Meacan are smart and independent and interesting. I also really appreciated the fact that they were older and therefore approached situations with the wisdom and foresight that comes with age and experience instead of “learning as they go”.
I was also charmed by this novel because a couple of summers ago, I was fortunate enough to visit Dublin. While there, I explored the museum that housed an extensive collection of all sorts of wonders. This book reminded me of that visit and how entranced I was with all the wonders that I saw.
The Cabinets of Barnaby Mayne went on sale yesterday! Buy it! You’ll love it! Plus its a sure-fire remedy to the frustrating curse of a reading drought.

PS… here are some pictures from the Dublin museum. These are EXACTLY how I imagined Barnaby Mayne’s collection!!!!!

The Toll by Cherie Priest

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“The things I take are mine to keep” (135)


One of my favourite genres is Gothic Literature so one day, a couple of months ago I Googles “Contemporary Gothic Literature” and up popped a wonderfully detailed list of titles. One of the titles on this list was “The Toll” written by Cherie Priest. The caption under the title reads “Southern Gothic Horror with a Contemporary Twist”. Perfect.

Admittingly I bought this novel thinking it was an escapist pulp fiction – something easy to read and entertaining enough to distract me from the realities at hand. I soon found out; however, this novel is not only entertaining but wonderfully written as well—a combination of horror, mystery and humour.

What is it’s the premise? A bridge appears where no bridge should be. Right in the middle of the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia. If you happen to be driving along the road when this bridge appears you just might be “taken” or rather there is a good probability you WILL be taken. By whom? By what? And what is it that lurks in the water….watching….waiting.

This novel possesses a variety of memorable characters however I absolutely adore the “godmothers” Miss Daisy and Miss Claire two rick as 80-year-old heroines who “[know]about everything that [goes]on within a hundred miles (pg. 11).

I found this novel highly entertaining, and because I love her writing so much I definitely will be reading more of Cherie Priest’s novels.

An Intelligent Hell

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“An intelligent hell would be better than a stupid paradise” Victor Hugo

Interesting.

Once in a while I’ll have a day where I find it difficult being nice to stupid people.

Now, I know that doesn’t sound very kind of me but I seriously have no patience for anyone who just seems,

well,

juvenile.

And by juvenile I mean having a blatant disregard to anything or anyone other than themselves.

They spill a cup of coffee and expect someone else to wipe it up.

They drink and drive and drink and drive and drink and drive

until they get caught.

They grumble and complain about organizations and institutions they are a part of without ever attempting to facilitate change.

And stupid people are often mean.

Taking out their insecurities on innocent servers at Tim Hortons, or the service department at Best Buy.

I’ve often thought that the older one gets the more grace and patience one acquires. That wisdom and gentleness are cultivated and expressed no matter how irksome or heartbreaking the situation.

But I’ve learned stupidity knows no age.

There are a lot of grown up pouters out there as well as those that revel in melodrama created over the most superfluous of reasons. But, in my opinion, melodrama only exacerbates the stupidity.

Because nowhere, in all of this,

not in complaints,

not in cruelty,

is there any attempt in the acquisition or the application of knowledge or understanding in any way shape or form.

At least not the way I see it.

Antonia Finds a Husband

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Chapter 3

Once there was a young girl named Antonia Gigglegoose. Antonia came from a very large family. There were Gigglegoose brothers in the first and second grade, and Gigglegoose sisters in the fourth and fifth grade, and there were even Gigglegoose triplets in kindergarten! Antonia herself just finished the third grade. 

It was summer holidays, and Antonia was working as an Emergency Medical Technician, or, as the grown-ups called it, an EMT. She had started this job unexpectantly when Winnie Walker, her doll, unfortunately, got her leg caught in the spokes of Antonia’s bike when Antonia was pretending to be a school bus driver. It was a slow day as an EMT. No doll needed her immediate attention, so Antonia was thinking of going home and having an early supper.

“Dad! I’m hungry!” Antonia announced as she entered the house.

“Sorry Tony” (Tony was what Antonia’s dad called her when he was in a good mood), but supper won’t be ready for another hour. I just put the meatloaf in the oven, and I’m still waiting for the potatoes to boil.”

“But I’m huuuuuuuuuuungry” Antonia bellowed.

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait.”

“Well, that’s not good at all. My stomach is growling so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts” Antonia thought to herself, “I’m going to find my own husband so that I can have someone to cook my supper.”

“Where can I find a husband,” Antonia wondered to herself.  “I can look at books? Hmmm, Jack in Jack and Jill is too clumsy. He might spill soup or milk when he is cooking my dinner.” Prince Charming? No, he looks like he is dressed for a party or for church all the time. What if I looked at school? 

“Dad, I need the phone.”

“Why?”

“I want to ask a boy that was in my class if he wants to be my husband.”

“No, maybe when you’re older”.

“Ok, then can I ask a girl that was in my class if she wants to be my husband?”

“No, maybe when you’re older” her dad answered mindlessly as he tested the potatoes with a fork.

“Fine,” thought Antonia. “I’ll look somewhere else. Perhaps television will be helpful.”

Antonia went into the living room and turned on the T.V. There seemed to be a curling match taking place on channel 2.  Antonia watched and listened for a few minutes. She didn’t like the yelling the curlers were making “hurry, hard” “sweep faster” began to annoy Antonia and just before she was about to turn the T.V off her heard this wonderfully sonorous voice commenting on the game. “He sounds nice,” thought Antonia to herself. And sat with her chin in her hand to listen to more. It was at a commercial break that Antonia began to wonder what name was attached to the voice she heard. “

“Welcome back to curling corner. My name is Fred Ferguson, and we are in the middle of a riveting game with only 3 shots left.

“Fred”. Antonia said the name aloud. “Fred. That is a very suitable name for a husband.”

 “I should probably learn everything I can about his job so that we have something to talk about over supper”. So, Antonia went to find a notepad and pencil.

Antonia found her notepad and paper and made herself comfortable on the sofa. The curling commenter continued talking about curling and as he did, Antonia took notes. “Rock. Sweep. Key. Ok, I think I’ve got it”. 

After about 10 minutes of listening, Antonia thought she could understand curling enough to have Fred as her husband. Besides, she had lots of stuff of her own to talk to him about. Her job and an EMT, the family dog “Six Toes”, her breadbox playhouse provided lots of stories to share with a husband while he prepared her supper.

Antonia spent a wonderful hour with her new husband. Fred had prepared the most delicious meal. In fact it was her favourite imaginary spaghetti and meatballs!

“Antonia! Supper!” Antonia’s father yelled from the kitchen.

“Sorry, Dad, but I’m not hungry,” Antonia replied, wiping her face with a napkin after eating her supper.

“But you were complaining you were hungry an hour ago. Did you sneak a snack when I wasn’t looking?” Asked her father.

“No, my husband made me supper” Antonia retorted as she attempted to make her way out the door to play with Six Toe.

“Just wait there, young lady. Go wash your hands and sit yourself at the table.”

“Argh, alright. But it would be very rude of you not to invite Fred to dinner.” 

Antonia’s dad blinked at her in confusion. You want to invite who for supper?”

“ Fred. My husband.”

“Fred? Ohhhhkay’. So Antonia’s father squeezed an extra placemat, plate, fork, spoon and knife between Antonia and her sister Arabella.. 

“Who is sitting here?” Arabella asked, gesturing to the extra plate as she plunked herself down at the table.

“That place is reserved for Fred. He is my husband if you must know. He cooks me supper when I’m hungry.

“You’re so weird” Arabella muttered under her breath as she filled her glass with milk.

Every day, after Antonia had finished working as an EMT, she would come home and find Fred on the television. Fred was a very reliable husband. Antonia would turn on the television right at 6:45and there he was. “Hello, Fred. How was your day?”. Fred didn’t really answer her questions so Antonia would have to come up the answers herself. “That’s wonderful, Fred. I’m so glad your friend Bob is recovering from bonking his head on the ice. I do hope he will be out of the hospital soon and back at work soon.” 

Fred was lovely to have around for the remainder of the summer. By the end of the holidays, when school was about to start, Antonia often forgot about her husband and was starting to get excited about fourth grade. One Saturday afternoon, just before the beginning of the school year, Antonia turned on the television to watch Fred at work. Lo and behold Antonia could not find Fred on any of the channels. 


“Hmmmm. I wonder what happed to Fred?  He’s always here waiting for me at this time of day,. Oh well, I guess he had better things to do.” Antonia was momentarily melancholy thinking about how wonderful a husband Fred had been, but then she got distracted by the smell of fresh cookies coming from the kitchen. Her father was back to school baking!

“Would Fred like a cookie or two”, her father asked as Antonia came into the kitchen for her cookie. 

“No. I’ve decided I don’t have time in my life for a husband now that I am going into the fourth grade. I’ll be too busy with my friends.”

“Well just in case you change your mind, here is an extra cookie just in case you run into Fred”. 

“Thanks, Dad!” said Antonia and as she left, she shoved both of the cookies into her mouth. 

A Person Upon Which to Perch

~ Lisa Helm ~ Leave a comment

Friend (noun) a person upon which to perch


At times
it seems sincerity is difficult to come by
because
for the most part,

most of us are afraid to be judged for who we are.
So we tweak and change what we say
and what we do
so we will be accepted rather than be alone.

And besides,
we don’t want anyone to know we are crazy. Especially if we’re young. (Thankfully we eventually reach an age where we can wear “crazy” like an accessory)

To have friendships that have withstood the test of time.
where I can “think aloud” and have someone listen.

friends can make sense of my nonsense
or
if they can’t
gently point me at any over-analyzing
or second-guessing
or insecurity

and

either give me a hug

or

kick me in the ass.

It’s a relief to not have to wear a mask
that restrains and suffocates the genuineness of self.

I imagine if no such friends would exist

we’d all be birds
with no place to perch.

Flying around and around
exhausted
from trying to keep aloft of our truth.

Too Much and Never Enough

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by Mary L. Trump

Most of the audible books I download are nonfiction. “Too Much and Never Enough” is the second book I’ve downloaded regarding our “interesting” political leader to our south.

Honestly, four years ago, I had a weird fascination with American politics, but now I just find it all too exhausting. I was drawn to downloading this book because I listened to Mary Trump being interviewed and she seemed so extremely articulate and dignified I felt compelled to use this month’s free credit on Audible to hear her story.


Mary’s story is one of her own experiences growing up as a Trump. The account of her relationship with her father Fred, his descent into alcoholism and death is heartbreaking. Mary’s writing not only effectively conveys the love she had for her father she also convincingly presents the confusion with the circumstances surrounding her father’s death and the Trump family’s response to this death.


Yes, she talks about Donald, however not from (in my opinion) a political standpoint. She mostly talks about him within the context of the Trump family dynamic.


Mary Trump narrates her book. Her voice is easy to listen to, and I found it easy to focus on her story while I was working throughout my day.

Legendborn

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Legendborn
Tracy Deonn
Love, love, loved this novel. From the first page until the last I was swept away in the story Deonn has written. I’ve always been a sucker for stories about secret societies that may or may not exist on campus, any campus. What would make someone special enough to be admitted to one? What rituals take place? Is there a price to pay?
Bree is our protagonist. She is beautiful and brave and has a huge chip on her shoulder since the trauma of her mother’s fatal accident. Needless to say when she has the opportunity to attend a boarding school for gifted students she jumps at the chance if only to escape the memories of her mother’s death and the guilt she possesses for the cruel way she spoke to mother at what would be their last conversation.
Strange things start happening right from the onset of her move. She can see “things” other people cannot see. What are these terrifying flying creatures that create mayhem and chaos among her fellow students? And who if the breathtakingly handsome young man who is trying to modify her memory?
Bree soon finds out the answers to these questions but in the meantime faces a plethora of other questions about her identity, her legacy and most importantly, the identity of her mother.
Spoiler alert…this story touches upon the Arthurian Legend, which is a tale I adore!

With the importance of the Black Lives Matter movement, I have been consciously trying to read more novels written by black authors. I was so grateful that Netgalley and Simon and Shuster Canada sent me a free advanced copy to read.
Legendborn will be an obvious addition to any classroom or school library. It will also make a perfect novel for a choice in classroom literature circles. Not only is the plot entrancing, and the characters dynamic, the discussion of the various themes presented would be beneficial in any classroom. It is also so well written it can serve as a mentor text.