Category: Laura Langston

I Read Canadian

 Tomorrow, Wednesday, November 2nd, is I Read Canadian Day. This national day is geared toward raising awareness and celebrating the richness, diversity and breadth of Canadian literature. Though the day is heavily geared toward celebrating Canadian books for young people, all Canadians are challenged to ‘Read Canadian’ for 15 minutes and to share their experience at their library, in their schools, at home with their families, or on social media. Leading by example is a great way to get young people to read. So here are a few titles for adult book lovers written by Canadian authors.

The Maid by Nita Prose

The Vanished Days by Susanna Kearsley

The Lost Kings by Tyrell Johnson

A Season on Vancouver Island by Bill Arnott

Fayne by Ann-Marie MacDonald

Looking for Jane by Heather Marshall

Mindful of Murder by Susan Juby

The Witches of Moonshyne Manor by Bianca Marais

Happy reading!

My October Reads

We’ve had an unusually warm fall here on the west coast and a dry one too. My hometown of Victoria, a few hours south of us, has experienced the driest 90-day period since records began in 1898. While most of us have loved the endless summer weather (some have taken to calling it Augtober), virtually everyone also recognizes that rain is badly needed. Water levels are so low that salmon have had trouble spawning in some areas, and western red cedars and Douglas firs are also stressed. Thankfully, rain is forecast for Friday. I’m looking forward to it, not only for the environmental relief it will provide but for the opportunity to get out of the garden and into my reading corner. So here’s what I’m reading this month.

The Kitchen Front by Jennifer Ryan

The Last Good Funeral of the Year by Ed O’Loughlin

Mad Honey by Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Finney Boylan

Books read to date in 2022: 67

An Ode to October

 I am, for the most part, a spring and summer person. The gardener in me craves sunshine and warmth. That said, fall and winter are restful and rejuvenating, and with more time to read and cocoon, I appreciate them for different reasons. And I especially love October. The beauty of the changing leaves against a brilliant blue sky . . . the crisp fall air . . . the chance to pull out those cozy sweaters that have been tucked away . . . and pumpkins! Lots and lots of pumpkins (though I’ll pass on the pumpkin-flavoured lattes, thank you very much).

October is also a significant month from a literary point of view. Oscar Wilde was born this month, and so were Eugene O’Neill, Dylan Thomas, Anne Tyler, and Zadie Smith.  Frank Herbert and R.L. Stine. Nora Roberts, Michael Lewis, and Wally Lamb.  Doris Lessing and Ursula K. Le Guin.  Emma Donoghue. I could go on, but you get the idea.

Many bestselling literary characters came to life in October too. On October 2nd, 1950, Charlie Brown, Snoopy and the rest of the Peanuts crew first appeared, thanks to creator Charles M. Schulz. Winnie-the-Pooh by A.A. Milne made its debut in October, as did Paddington Bear by Michael Bond. Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was published in October, and so was Moby Dick by Herman Melville, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte and For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemmingway.  More recent October releases include The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, Small Great Things by Jodi Picoult and The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles.

October definitely has a long-standing literary leaning. No wonder it’s an excellent month to pull up a chair, light the fire and open a good book.

The Wrath of Poseidon

                                              

In mythology, Poseidon is the Greek god of the sea and rivers, the creator of storms and floods, and the bringer of earthquakes and destruction. He’s considered one of the most disruptive of all the ancient gods, yet he’s not always seen as a negative force. He is the protector of mariners, the patron saint and the protector of horses, and he was known as Neptune to the Romans.

Whether you call him Neptune or Poseidon, right now, he’s angry.

Last week, Hurricane Ian brought widespread and devastating destruction to parts of Florida and the Carolinas. Further north, some Prince Edward Island residents are still cleaning up after Hurricane Fiona and only now getting their power back. At my house, we’re preparing to move out while our floors are replaced because of a very small (and we thought easily dealt with) kitchen flood last March. No wonder floods are on my mind.

One of the oldest flood stories known to man, The Epic of Gilgamesh, was recorded on 12 stone tablets and dates back to 650 BC. And we can’t forget the ancient biblical story of Noah’s Ark. Scholars still debate which story came first. Regardless of where the truth lies, floods have been featured in literature for centuries.

The threat of a coming flood was used as a plot device by Geoffrey Chaucer in The Miller’s Tale. George Eliot used a flood to bring her novel The Mill on the Floss to a dramatic conclusion. More recently, Clare Morrall’s gripping When the Floods Came is a futuristic novel set in a Britain prone to violent flooding and ravaged 20 years earlier by a deadly virus. Much more uplifting is the children’s six-book series The Children of Green Knowe by Lucy Boston, which focuses on an only child sent from boarding school to spend the Christmas holidays with his great-grandmother. She lives in a mysterious and ancient ark-like home Green Knowe, a place regularly surrounded by the flood waters of the fens and only accessible by boat. It sounds magical and almost makes the idea of being surrounded by flood waters appealing.

But almost isn’t good enough for me right now. So, as we pack up and head to temporary lodgings while our floors are being replaced, I’m scanning my ‘to be read’ book pile for stories where water does not feature prominently. Something set in a dry desert, perhaps?

September is Literacy Month!

The theme for this year’s Literacy Month is ‘Literacy Connects Us.’ If you think about it, literacy connects us in a myriad of ways. It connects us to health by helping us find, understand, and use health information. It connects us to employment, giving us more job opportunities and greater money-making ability. It connects us to civic engagement and that, in turn, promotes options for volunteering and encourages us to get out and vote. It helps us understand what to do in legal situations, in the digital world, and it connects us to other people. Imagine not having the ability to read a newspaper, to write or read a letter, to share details with your friends about the latest book you read.

In the big picture, literacy is fundamental to reducing poverty, building life skills, and achieving gender equality. Though world-wide literacy rates continue to improve, there are still over 700 million adults and young people who cannot read. In BC, that number is over 700,000. The Decoda Literacy Foundation is working to change that. Their work is ongoing, but this month in particular, they have a number of initiatives to boost awareness of literacy issues.  For more information on the organization and the important work they do, go here: https://decoda.ca/about-us/decoda-literacy-foundation/

If you know someone who is struggling with literacy or you need to access a literacy program in a specific area of B.C., this site might be helpful: https://decoda.ca/program-map/

What can you do on a personal level to promote literacy? Read to your children. If you don’t have children, give books as gifts to the children (and the adults!) in your life. Start a neighborhood free library or donate books to one. Set up a book basket or book exchange at work. Volunteer with your local literacy program.   https://decoda.ca/get-involved/   Support your local library as best you can. Finally, make reading a priority for yourself. Talk to others about what you’ve read. Share the love . . . and share the joy of the written word.

My September Reads

Fall is always a busy time in the publishing world. A fall book release is coveted by authors since it coincides with the busy holiday book-buying season. And publishers always consider fall when releasing noteworthy titles. Not to suggest that other release seasons are poor – they aren’t! – but fall finds those of us who live in the northern hemisphere at least cozying up with our books. Here’s a Publisher’s Weekly article on what books to look for this fall. https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/new-titles/adult-announcements/article/89655-adult-books-for-fall-2022.html   And here’s what I’m reading this month:

The Maid by Nita Prose

Book Lovers by Emily Henry

Alone in the Great Unknown by Caroll Simpson

Books read to date in 2022: 58

The Element of Surprise

                                             

A few weeks ago, four of us went out for dinner. We went to Mahle House in Cedar (which I highly recommend!) to enjoy something called Chef’s Adventurous Wednesdays. Billed as a five-course adventure menu, each diner receives a different item for each course, and you don’t know what you’re getting until the plate is put in front of you. Though the restaurant can accommodate gluten-free, pescetarian and vegetarian diets, realistically, the evening wouldn’t work for picky eaters or people who don’t like surprises.

We knew we would be fed, and we knew, based on the restaurant’s reputation, that we were in good hands, but we didn’t know what we’d be eating. So, we’d discussed ahead of time the option of trading plates if someone was served something they truly disliked (for me, that would be oysters or lamb). Luckily, we were all extremely happy with what we were given, though I gave away my dessert crème Brule, but only because I’m not a fan of sweets at the best of times and rarely order them.

We had a fantastic evening out. The element of surprise elevated the night from enjoyable to memorable.  

In storytelling, the element of surprise is an important one. It allows the writer to heighten dramatic tension, add suspense, and introduce humour. It keeps the reader engaged. Surprises also tend to stick in readers’ minds, helping them to remember the story. I recently read Jodi Picoult’s Wish You Were Here, and there was a surprising twist I didn’t see coming that spun the story in a completely different direction. It’s not something I’m likely to forget. The surprise was also credible – which is essential – and in keeping with Picoult’s particular style or brand of storytelling.   

A well-crafted surprise in fiction can take you on an unforgettable journey of discovery. A well-thought-out surprise at the dinner table can take you on an unforgettable journey of discovery too. And both are well worthwhile!

September is the New January

In case you haven’t seen a calendar lately, heads up: tomorrow is September 1st. And while the asters are blooming in my garden and the days are still warm, there’s a hint of cool in the early morning air; fall is definitely coming.

September always feels like a fresh start to me, a new beginning. Like every new beginning (writing that first chapter or painting that first stroke, leaving on a journey, witnessing a birth), there’s anticipatory joy and excitement. Out with the old and in with the new. New seems to be a running theme around here. In the last three weeks, I’ve needed to replace my cell phone and my laptop, and I’ve put four badly-needed new tires on the car too. I’m considering them my new year expenses.

I’m not alone in thinking of September as the start of a new year. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which is one of Judaism’s holiest days, begins this year on September 25th.  The literal translation is ‘head of the year’ or ‘first of the year.’  

The ancient Egyptians considered September 11th the start of the new year. In fact, this September will mark the year 6264 in the Egyptian calendar.

Fresh starts are good for us. They can lead to greater productivity and more willingness to embrace change, and that, in turn, can be empowering.

Plato said beginnings are the most important part of the work. They frame everything that comes after.

So, here’s to September. May this new month bring us all renewed energy, enthusiasm and opportunities!  

My July Reads

It doesn’t seem that long ago that I wrote about suffering through a cold, wet spring. But with summer well and truly here, it seems the weather is making up for lost time. It’s hot and expected to get hotter later this week. Our little town has announced the opening of a cooling centre at town hall where people can go during the next week to escape the rising temperatures. And I was happy to see them recommend a few other options, too, including the local libraries where people can linger, enjoy the cooler air, and read! Here’s what I’m reading this month:

The Last of the Moon Girls by Barbara Davis

The Inside Story by Susan Sands

Soul Friends by Stephen Cope

Books read to date in 2022: 43

When a Writer Goes Into the Woods

If this were a story, it would have a prologue something like this:

One morning about three weeks ago, while walking sweet Luna, I ran into a neighbour who told me she was woken up around 1 am by someone (something?) crying. She went onto her deck and saw two bear cubs up her cedar tree. Seconds later, she heard a growl coming from the darkness below. Then the cubs tumbled out of the tree onto the ground and presumably joined Mama before lumbering off into the night. Or maybe they jumped. I don’t remember the specifics of the descent because, at this point, I was calculating the number of feet between her house and mine (not nearly enough) and wondering just how far the trio had travelled. They obviously didn’t get very far because there were regular sightings over the next week and a half.

Despite that, I wasn’t thinking about bears as we set out for a bike ride a few Sundays ago. Instead, I was looking forward to a change of scenery and getting some heart-pumping exercise. So we decided to cycle the Big Qualicum Fish Hatchery trail, a route that’s new to us but one our neighbours, Rusty and Carol, ride regularly. They love it because it’s a wide gravel trail with easy climbs.  It’s also beautiful and surrounded by forest. “There’s never anyone around,” they both love to say. “We sometimes do the whole route without encountering a soul.” Since we were expecting a tradesman shortly after noon, we planned a short ride of about 10k and left early in the morning.

We cycled to the trailhead. There was a sign: bears in the area. I quickly hit the brakes and turned to Mr. Petrol Head, who said, “Look, it’s a permanent sign. It’s there twelve months of the year. There are no bears around here.”

Technically, he was correct. There were no bears in the immediate vicinity. And I was pretty sure if bears were an issue, Rusty and Carol would have alerted us. [They have kind and altruistic hearts; this story is not a thriller].

We rode on. The route followed the Big Qualicum River. It was lovely. The air was fresh; the sun sparkled off the water. We could see eagles soaring above the tree canopy. I whined again about the sign, mentioning that animals are typically more active early in the morning and that rivers are favourite gathering places.  

Mr. Petrol Head ignored me. “We should have brought our breakfast and had a picnic by the river,” he said. “That would have been romantic, don’t you think?” [It was our anniversary weekend. If my lack of response surprised him, then he’d forgotten who he’d married]

We continued. After about 1k, the tree canopy grew thicker. The trail began to twist. River glimpses became less frequent. It was still lovely and peaceful. It was quite literally a cathedral of nature’s making. I began to relax. I began to consider future picnics.

We cycled around the bend. And there it was.  Smack in the middle of the path in front of us. Substantial evidence of Smokey’s morning constitutional. “That pile is the size of a toaster,” I said as we gave it a wide berth. “A toaster oven.”

Mr. Petrol Head found my panic fear nervousness funny. I did not. This was not the kind of heart-pumping outing I’d had in mind when we’d set out.

We didn’t turn back. Of course not. We were only a few kilometres into the ride and wanted to continue (at least one of us did), so we cycled on. I tried to relax [I did not relax]. I wouldn’t let Mr. Petrol Head get too far ahead. By this time, we were climbing and descending. The forest canopy was becoming even thicker. We were banked on one side by a small mountain. Cougars were mentioned. One of us laughed.

And then, around another bend, right about the kilometre three mark, was another mound of bear scat. Smaller than the first one but unmistakable.

“I’m sure it’s from a dog,” Mr. Petrol Head said.

“I have a well-honed shit detector, plus I know dogs. That’s not from a dog.”

We agreed to keep going but to turn back at the five-k mark.  Over the next three kilometres (we missed the five-k marker), we saw not one, not two, but three more piles of bear scat. No dogs, no other people . . . nothing but us, our bikes and deserted forest. I rang my bell a few times occasionally a lot. “Stop it,” said Mr. Petrol Head. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” I asked. “There’s nobody here but us and the bears.” By now, I was convinced Mama and her two cubs had travelled from our neighborhood to this one. Where they belonged and we did not.

Finally, finally, we turned around and started back the way we came. After a while, the tree canopy thinned. We could see the sky again. Soaring eagles. Glimpses of the river. My shoulders loosened. I began to think about picnics, to laugh at Mr. Petrol Head’s teasing. We were nearly to the trailhead and talking about how we might want to do the ride another time when we saw more bear scat. A very fresh and very large pile that hadn’t been there on the ride out. By this point, even Mr. Petrol Head wasn’t laughing.

A few days after our ride, I emailed Rusty and Carol to thank them for telling us about the trail. I also mentioned how anxious disconcerted I was by the bear scat we’d seen.

They laughed. “Oh, there aren’t many bears in the summer,” they said. “That was probably from the horses. There are horses on that trail all the time.”

I laughed too. Of course, it was horse manure. That’s what happens when you set a writer loose in the woods. Her imagination turns horse shit into bear shit every time.

Except. Many doesn’t mean none. Probably isn’t definitive. And we didn’t see a single horse the entire time we were on that trail.  So, I’m still betting on Mama bear and her two cubs, which means no romantic picnics by the river any time soon and a lot of bell ringing if we ever go back.