Review | Half Lives, Sara Grant

Imagine a lethal virus decimating most of the world’s population. Then imagine  that all that has survived for future generations are the words of a teenager. Not just any teenager, but one with a penchant for combining words just because she thinks they sound cool (e.g. freaking + idiot = fridiot, freaking + creepy = freepy). Now imagine a world where Facebook is the guide to living right, “crupid” is part of the vocabulary, and “whatever” is a form of prayer.

16131051On one hand, Sara Grant’s Half Lives could be seen as a sobering commentary on the devastating effects of nuclear waste. The story touches on terrorism and biowarfare, and makes a convincing argument about the horrors we humans inflict upon each other. On the other hand, the novel can also be seen as social satire — words and symbols that mean nothing to us can easily take on sacred meaning when taken out of context. Could the worship of the Great I AM, founded upon the group leader’s infinity symbol birthmark and based upon the teachings of Facebook, be a rather pointed dig at blind obedience to religious institutions? The problem is, as a reader well-familiar with the original context for these cultural icons and rather grouchily unimpressed by words like “freepy,” I was just annoyed.

The story switches between time periods and points of view. In the present day, seventeen year old Icie escapes the virus along with three other teenagers by hiding in an abandoned nuclear facility hidden inside a mountain near Las Vegas. The teens with her — spoiled rich boy, head cheerleader, and mysterious hot boy — aren’t particularly memorable, though I found Grant’s portrayal of one of the teens’ descent into madness interesting and I wish Grant had explored that character more. Random pieces of literature — To Kill a Mockingbird and Waiting for Godot — are conveniently brought into the story when the author wants to make a point, but neither is used enough to create a potent metaphor.

Generations in the future, Becket is a leader of a group of young people who live in the mountain. They have their own rules, based upon aphorisms paired with smiley faces. Again, on one hand, it’s somewhat believable and realistic; on the other hand, it’s simply annoying. Makes me wonder if some of the writers of religious texts may have included their own language’s version of “whatever” and we just have no idea. Becket’s group refuses to leave the mountain, because they believe crossing a border means instant death, as well because they fear running into Terrorists, whom they imagine as hulking beasts. This storyline had potential, and I really liked the character of Harper, Becket’s best friend and on the losing end of a love triangle. I also liked the storyline about the power struggle Becket has to face.

There are a few scenes in the book that pack an emotional punch, and the themes it raises certainly need contemplating. Unfortunately, much like the Facebook aphorisms of the Great I AM, the story remains comfortably on the surface and never quite brings the edge it promises. I wonder what an author like Margaret Atwood or Suzanne Collins would have brought to this concept.

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Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for an advance reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | Lean In, Sheryl Sandberg

16071764I’ve had Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In on my Books to Read list for a long time. I believe passionately in her argument that women shouldn’t be afraid to “lean in” and go after what they want. I also saw a tweet from the Lean In organization which posited the question: “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?” This was from Sandberg’s book, as well as an aphorism on her office wall. I also just learned that Lean In has begun using this as a campaign. It’s a great question, a very powerful one, and one that I believe we all need to ask ourselves more often.

Sandberg acknowledges that there are many factors that prevent women from achieving equality in the workplace — social structures, unjust legislation, etc. Yet she also argues that part of what holds women back is internal, and since this is something we can change in ourselves, this is what she chooses to focus on. Her book makes some really interesting observations on how we (perhaps unconsciously) hold ourselves back. For example, after giving a talk on gender equality, Sandberg is approached by a young woman who says she learned from the talk not to put her hand down. Near the end of the talk, Sandberg said she had time for only two more questions — all the women with their hands raised immediately put them down, whereas the men kept theirs raised, and so were called on. Sandberg was horrified that she, even given the topic of her talk, hadn’t noticed the gender disparity at the end. More importantly, however, she uses this example as a call to action for women: keep your hand raised, because even a manager attuned to gender issues may not notice you if you don’t.

The book is filled with many similar examples. As a woman, I found myself realizing how many of these behaviours I am guilty of myself. She makes the case for women needing to lean in more at the corporate table and for men needing to lean in more at the kitchen table — certainly a gender double standard that is slowly shifting, and yet still has a long way to go. She also notes the disparity in gender attitudes towards work, where women are more likely than men to hold themselves back on the off-chance that a higher position would interfere with future child-caring responsibilities.

Some of what she writes is good advice for the workplace in general. For example, she talks about the importance of mentors. She writes about how many young women have asked her to be their mentor, and how when giving a talk to a graduating class, a couple of male students asked about company strategy and a couple of female students asked about more personal things, including how to find a mentor. Sandberg cautions against looking for a mentor as if looking for Prince Charming. Women, she says, are taught from a young age to await rescue, and this is an attitude that needs to change. She does give a few tips on how to go about finding a mentor, but ultimately, it shouldn’t be seen through the lens of a Disney Princess.

Sandberg advocates for setting your own limits for a work-life balance. She gives the example of a company whose employees quit because they felt burned out, and yet the boss later noticed that all of these burned out employees had unused vacation days. As that boss told Sandberg, the company will always make demands of you; it’s the employee’s responsibility to set the limits on how much they are willing to do. Granted, that’s rather naive, particularly when needing to work multiple jobs just to make ends meet, but it’s still advice worth heeding.

I only wish Sandberg had delved deeper. Her arguments are primarily anecdotal, and therefore limited. Even her examples usually focus on public figures or people she knows personally, who are inevitably CEOs or other people in power. She acknowledges her privilege and admits that for women not in power, it may be more difficult to do the things she suggests. I agree with her argument that even with those circumstances, a drive to “lean in” may still be helpful; I only wish she’d included stories and anecdotes from women who haven’t yet achieved the top of the corporate ladder.

The book as well focused only on the challenges women with children faced. As a single woman without a desire to start a family anytime soon, I wish Sandberg had gone beyond arguing that a family life and a successful career aren’t mutually exclusive. What about the issues single women without children face in the workplace? I understand that this book is primarily anecdotal, but when coaching women to “lean in,” I expected some discussion about a wider range of circumstances that prevent women from doing so.

Sandberg does give one example on this subject, with a woman complaining that she has to pick up the slack because her co-workers’ time with their children takes precedence over her own free time. Unfortunately, that woman then continues by saying that her going to a party is just as important as her co-workers’ spending time with their kids, because it’s by going to parties that she can meet a man and then start her own family. In principle, I agree that her right to go to a party should be given as much respect as her co-worker’s right to attend a child’s soccer game. But again, why does the right to go to a party have to be justified by the desire to start a family?

Even when Sandberg tries to be inclusive, she maintains a very narrow view, and I can’t help but think of all the different voices that were left unheard. Single women, women of colour, women from a lower income bracket, and so on. Understandably, no one book can hope to encompass the full range of issues women face in the workplace. However, the core of Sandberg’s message is so powerful, and so important I think for women to heed, that I really wish she’d made more of an effort to represent more of women’s voices.

Review | Six Metres of Pavement, Farzana Doctor

10367577I don’t know what it is about romance between mature individuals that I find so fascinating. When working as a bookseller, one of my favourite go-to recommendations was Helen Simonson’s Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, about a retired English major and a Pakistani shopkeeper. With Nicholas Sparks’ The NotebookI was more interested in the older version of the couple (yes, this despite Ryan Gosling’s undeniable hotness). And when reading Farzana Doctor’s Six Metres of Pavement, I absolutely melted at the slow-simmering romance between Ismail and his neighbour Celia.

Part of my response has to do with the fluidity of Doctor’s language. Take the following quote, for example, which not only made me squeee in public but also compelled me to post immediately on both Facebook and Twitter:

The widow across the street is an enigma to me. And yet, she is so very familiar, in a way. We co-exist, almost co-habiting, a six metre stretch of pavement the dividing line between us. We’re waiting for the other to cross the road. [p. 165]

That image, of a six metre stretch of pavement, of two individuals hesitant to be the first to cross the road… It’s evocative; it’s beautiful; and, to me at least, it’s a testament to the power of the written word. While I can image this scene being re-enacted on a movie screen, complete with swelling music and longing gazes, the power of restraint shows best on a page.

The best part for me is that the above phrase is written by Ismail almost thoughtlessly. He’s in a creative writing class and given ten minutes to come up with a character sketch. Unlike his classmates, all scribbling furiously, he has no idea what to write, and so comes up with this at the last minute, “in one long rush of ink.” I love that.

Later on, we get this other absolutely lovely bit of writing:

She kissed me. It was short, yes, just enough to leave me questioning if it happened… The sort of kiss that at once satiates a longing never before acknowledged while leaving behind a desire that simmers long after. [p. 270]

I’m not a romantic, but well, who wouldn’t want a kiss like that?

Six Metres is about so much more than the romance. It’s about grief and family and all the social and cultural norms that we cannot escape. Twenty years ago, Ismail accidentally leaves his infant daughter behind in the back seat of his car. He is reminded only when police officers come to his office asking for him. That scene, possibly the most potent in the book, is absolutely heart wrenching, and it’s a testament to Doctor’s talent that Ismail’s pain practically overflows from the page and yet the scene itself never descends into melodrama.

How can one ever get over that type of grief? More importantly, how can one even forgive himself for doing that? I can’t (and quite frankly, don’t even want to) begin to imagine. This isn’t an easy novel to read — so much pain in the characters, and Doctor’s mastery with words pulls us in. But it’s definitely worth reading.

The idea of love being the answer is, quite frankly, one that makes me roll my eyes whenever I see it in a movie trailer or on a book cover. Doctor, however, pulls it off. Partly because of her writing, which I love, but partly as well because the love angle is handled with such subtlety that it feels natural rather than cliche.

Along with the developing romance between Ismail and Celia is the friendship between Ismail and Fatima, a young queer activist whose parents have kicked her out of the house. About the same age as Ismail’s daughter would have been, Fatima forces Ismail to face his grief and to act upon his feelings for Celia. She also enlists Ismail’s help in convincing her parents to accept her queerness. Ismail’s reluctance to become involved, as well as his awkwardness when he finally attempts to help out, are endearing. When for example he sees Fatima and her girlfriend making out, he feels awkward, then immediately tells himself that he shouldn’t be feeling that way, that two women making out is perfectly natural. I love that, a middle aged man recognizing that he still harbours some old-fashioned beliefs and making a genuine effort to change.

As well, and it’s quite possible I just haven’t read widely enough, it seems rare to find a middle-aged Indian man in literature struggling with alcoholism, having sex with strangers and supporting LGBTQ rights. As a Filipina who would love to see more complex Filipino characters in North American literature, I love that Doctor has created a character like Ismail. I generally find Filipinos in North American literature to either be household help characters or, when given an actual role in the story, fairly whitewashed (just mentioned to be Filipino, or perhaps with a Filipino-sounding name, but the character would have been exactly the same even if the author makes him not a Filipino). In contrast, Ismail is complex, certainly troubled, and most importantly, his South Asian heritage plays a big part in his story.

Six Metres of Pavement is a powerful, beautifully written novel. I was fortunate enough to hear Doctor read from this book at a recent event at the Art Gallery of Mississauga. (Full disclosure: I work at the AGM and helped organize the event.) If you have a chance to hear her read the book, or if she ever comes out with an audiobook version, I highly recommend it. She’s really good with character voices, and hearing her read made the story come alive.