Kate Morton’s The Lake House is a wonderful doorstop of a historical mystery to lose yourself in. It begins in 1933, where teenage Alice Edevane’s idyllic summer is marred by the disappearance of her baby brother Theo. “Back when it first happened she’d considered confessing,” states the first page, and the content of this confession forms the bulk of the mystery for most of the novel.

Flash forward to 2003, where police detective Sadie Sparrow is on enforced leave due to a lapse in judgement at work, and is staying with her grandfather in Cornwall, at the same town in which Alice grew up. Restless, Sadie stumbles upon the unsolved mystery of Theo’s disappearance, and decides to reopen the case. Alice is now a mystery novelist in London, and very reluctant to have her family’s history dredged up.

I love the beautiful way in which Morton interweaves the past and the present in this novel. The mystery of Theo’s disappearance drives the plot, but it’s really the interlocking stories of Alice’s family members that propels the story forward. Alice isn’t the only one with something to hide, and as Sadie digs deeper into the case, other family secrets come to light.

Morton has a lovely way of writing, and manages to cast a very old-timey feel to the historical parts of the narrative. The subplot of Sadie’s career and the case that forced her to go on leave in the first place felt jarring in contrast, and while it all came together in the end, part of me wanted to remain with Alice and her family’s story.

The ending tied things together a little too well, in my opinion, and took the entire novel down a notch or two. In Morton’s desire to obfuscate the circumstances behind Theo’s disappearance, she piled on the revelations and plot twists. The final big reveal in particular was just too big a coincidence to swallow.

That being said, I did enjoy this book a lot, and I found it wonderfully easy to lose myself in the dramas surrounding the Edevane family.

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Thank you to Simon and Schuster Canada for an advance reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

In a nice little bit of serendipity, I read Kristine Stewart’s Our Turn immediately after Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic. While Big Magic inspired me to tap into the creativity within me, Stewart’s book inspired me more in the vein of Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In and Anne-Marie Slaughter’s Unfinished Business. Like Sandberg and Slaughter, Stewart is a powerhouse of a role model for young women — currently overseeing Twitter’s North American media partnerships, her previous roles included Managing Director for Twitter Canada, Executive Vice President of CBC’s English services and Senior Vice President of Programming for Alliance Atlantis. It’s a helluva resume, though as Stewart wryly tells us, upon being named one of Canada’s “Top 40 under 40,” her ten-year-old daughter’s immediate response was, “Well, what number are you?”

Stewart builds upon Sandberg’s advice to “lean in” and posits that the time has never been better for women to rise to power career-wise. Power has shifted from money to information, and with the proliferation of the digital age, access to information has become a lot more democratic. More importantly, thanks to social media and the internet, the era of top-down marketing spin has given way to a multiplicity of voices, and active listening has become a much more valuable leadership skill than old-school authoritarianism. As such, soft skills traditionally associated with femininity have become valuable currency, and while I would not ascribe such skills to one gender over the other, I agree with her observation that traditional power structures are already shifting, and that new types of leaders are emerging as a result.

A wonderful example of this new type of leadership is a trip that Stewart took with her programming staff at Alliance Atlantis, “a train ride out of Toronto and as far west into suburbia as a GO ticket could carry us.” At the time, the company’s networks were presenting home styling shows that featured duck confit and Le Creuset cookware, and Stewart realized that many Canadian viewers would not be able to relate to this content. The goal of the company field trip was to “get out of our little urban bubble [and] recognize that people, their choices and their aspirations, were different everywhere, and those differences mattered.” (p. 32) The result was shows like License to Grill and Property Virgins, shows that were still aspirational but definitely more within reach for a larger swath of viewers. Stewart’s leadership relied on listening rather than dictating, and while she faced some resistance from more traditionally minded corporate suits, her gamble paid off. I especially love this line about her philosophy to programming, which can be applied to many other types of business:

Sure it was still worth seeking to inspire and elevate viewers, but if you make them feel like they don’t belong in the tent, they’ll never enter it, and you’ll never reach them at all. (p. 32)

Especially inspiring about Stewart’s story is that she never even planned to enter the media business. Her degree was in English literature, and she’d planned to have a career in publishing. It was only when a job offer with a publisher fell through that she was forced to take a job with a media outlet, and discovered a love for the industry. It’s no wonder she considers herself “anti five-year-plan, because in my experience the best things do not flow from making a plan and sticking to it.” Her career choices have been directed by intuition rather than long-term planning, and so far it’s been paying off.

This is somewhat of a relief to learn, since circumstances so easily have a way of changing up five-year-plans, and while I admit to being somewhat intimidated by all that Stewart has accomplished and is continuing to accomplish, I’m also quite inspired by the fact that she didn’t plan all of it out from the beginning. This is not to ascribe her successes to luck and external circumstance, but rather to note that, true to her leadership style, a lot of her success has to do with responding to circumstances and taking initiative in a way that fits best. I love that, because it shows there is no single best path to success, and more to the point, that there is no single definition of success. Stewart notes:

What I tell [my daughter] about ambition, as I would tell any woman, is that success is not just about climbing. Leading comes from learning, in all its forms, and personal happiness will only be yours when you choose your own ladder. (p. 12)

From Stewart’s career trajectory, most notably making the risky decision to leave the top job at CBC for a risky venture heading Twitter Canada, I would add that the ladder to success isn’t itself quite as straight as traditional wisdom would have it. Rather, it branches out, and offers all sorts of interesting possibilities.

I love, and am inspired by, the listening and learning mode of leadership that Stewart presents. As with Gilbert’s Big Magic, this appears to be the right book at the right time for me, and I would recommend it to women everywhere.

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Thanks to Random House Canada for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

I don’t know what drew me to pick this book up, but I’m glad I did. My copy of Big Magic is filled with underlined passages, and experience reading it punctuated by head nodding and random exclamations of “So true!” This book resonated with me. It’s a bit more “woo woo” than I usually like (e.g. Gilbert compares bursts of creativity to a living force than can transfer between human beings), but did it ever resonate. It was exactly the right book at the right time for me, and it all began with this quote from writer Jack Gilbert, in response to an aspiring writer:

Do you have the courage? Do you have the courage to bring forth this work? The treasures that are hidden inside you are hoping you will say yes. (p. 7)

What I love about Gilbert’s book is that she doesn’t limit the creative endeavour to traditional art forms, nor does she limit the idea of living creatively to making a career out of art. She writes about her friend Susan, who gave up skating when she realized she wasn’t talented enough for a professional career. At age 40, Susan realized that she missed being on the ice, and decided to take it up again. Gilbert writes:

Please note that my friend did not quit her job, did not sell her home, did not sever all her relationships and move to Toronto to study seventy hours a week with an exacting Olympic-level skating coach. And no, this story does not end with her winning any championship medals. It doesn’t have to. In fact, this story does not end at all, because Susan is still figure skating several mornings a week — simply because skating is still the best way for her to unfold a certain beauty and transcendence within her life that she cannot seem to access in any other manner. (p. 11)

Usually, when we think of living creatively, we tend to think of the big moments: the painter finally getting a gallery show, the writer finally getting published, the artist of whatever genre finally making the leap to give up their day job and focus on their craft. I love that Gilbert emphasizes that this is not necessary for creative living, that in fact you can live just as creatively even with a 9 to 5 desk job.

Gilbert also puts the power of our artistic aspirations into perspective: “There’s probably never going to be any such thing in your life or mine as ‘an arts emergency.’ That being the case, why not make art?” (p. 130) She makes the case that part of the beauty of art is that it is non-essential, compared to, say, food and shelter. Some artists may take exception to this, and indeed I don’t think Gilbert denies that art is important and can uplift people’s lives. But she’s right to give us a reality check about the work a lot of us would produce: Chances are, no one will die because you screwed up creatively.If we write a bad book, paint a bad landscape or sing horrifically off-key, the worst that will most likely happen is a blow to our own ego.  On the other hand, the best that can happen is that you’ll inspire someone somehow. Gilbert makes the case that we have nothing to lose and everything to gain in being creative, and that therefore, we may as well go for it. I personally find this a freeing concept. I tend to agree with Gilbert when she says, “It doesn’t discourage me in the least, in other words, to know that my life’s work is arguably useless. All it does is make me want to play.” (p. 128)

Playfulness is a huge part of Gilbert’s credo, and she encourages readers to be tricksters rather than martyrs. She cuts through the BS of the tortured artist ideal and calls it messed up. “That doesn’t even make sense!” she exclaims. “How does creativity possibly benefit from such an arrangement?” (p. 217) It’s a fair question, and very much tied to her idea that creativity is a living force that chooses you to bring it to life. She also cautions against the trap of perfectionism and the also dangerous trap of viewing your work as your baby, unable to withstand criticism.

I love that Gilbert keeps it real, and that even as she describes bits of creativity as simply waiting for the right host, she remains utterly pragmatic about the realities of bringing your creative work to the public. I especially love how she urges curiosity over passion, because this privileges the spirit of exploration over the single-minded pursuit of an ideal. It’s a lot more attainable, and to be honest, sounds quite a bit more fun.

This book isn’t for everyone. If none of what I said above resonated with you, then possibly this book isn’t quite for you. But if some of Gilbert’s ideas do spark a bit of curiosity, then by all means, give this book a chance. It certainly sparked something in me, and I’m so glad I picked it up in the first place.

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Thanks to Random House Canada for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.