Monthly Archives: May 2017

The Disturbing Attraction of the Dystopian Novel

I’m putting aside my novel writing for the summer. I’ve decided to concentrate on other blog themes, and catch up on things like gardening, home decorating, and of course, reading, an enduring summer pleasure.

With the new TV adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale  in the news, I headed down the stacks in the local library to pick it up, but instead found myself reaching for her newest book, The Heart Goes Last

“Why not?” I say, and add it to my take out pile. The truth is, I don’t have what it takes to read The Handmaid’s Tale again. I remember it as profoundly disturbing—a chillingly futuristic novel about Gilead, and how its female inhabitants are forced to have sex with powerful men and bear their children. read more

Fergus Retires, Clare Has a Meltdown.

Clare was having a bad day. She spun her car around the corner of Quadra and McKenzie one more time. This was her second attempt at finding the entrance to the Lodge. She had driven past it a hundred times, why couldn’t she find it?

It was just her state of mind, Clare knew. She was stressed. This had been a harrowing few weeks. First, there was the excitement and buildup to Fergus’s retirement, the banquet, the phone calls, the well-wishers, the late-night conversations. Then there were the disastrous first two days as Fergus tried out a couple of his retirement ideas. Now the neighbors weren’t talking to her, the manager at Fairmart Center was giving her dirty looks, and Mrs. Pereira had quit her job cleaning their house. read more

The Enduring Appeal of Reading

For me, reading is magical, and has been a part of my life since I was five years old, when I first started to make sense of the squiggles in the old comic strip, “Annie”

In a previous post, I quoted Alberto Manguel, whose words are so apt, that I will include them again:

“At one magical instant in your early childhood, the page of a book—that string of confused, alien ciphers—shivered into meaning, and at that moment, whole universes opened. You became, irrevocably, a reader.” read more

Fergus and the Retirement Gremlins

Fergus had gremlins in his head. Retirement gremlins. It was like having mice in the attic, or a monkey on his back. They wouldn’t leave him alone. They were the last things he thought of when he fell asleep at night, and the first things he thought of when he woke up. They never let up, even in his dreams.

“Remember how you could hardly wait to retire,” they gloated, “Remember all of the wonderful ideas you had? Where are they now?”

“Years from now,” Fergus worried, “I’ll still be doing this.” He imagined himself, a stooped old man, trudging along, saying, “What will I do when I retire?” It was not too far-fetched, he already had the stoop, and the trudge. read more