This is my third Toews book, and it is probably good I waited. I found it interesting to read this less tightly written story after reading her two best novels. It's like looking at film of a minor hockey player after he has made the NHL. You see the potential as it relates to the now seasoned pro.
One thing stood out for me in this story -- Ms. Toews ability to end scenes and paragraphs. I bet a crafty professor could build a creative writing course in how to end things based solely on this book. Many times I had to sit back, re-read the sentence, and say wow. "Better a late father than an absent father" is a random ending I pulled out. Unfortunately you need to read the paragraph to get it. Novels are like that.
The rest of the story didn't do much for me. Ms. Toews writing is nice. Not as airy and jovial as her other stories, but she uses small words that flow well. I never need a dictionary reading her work, and IMHO that is a good thing. She is definitely no Mordecai Richler.
What bothered me was the main character and the various images painted. Lucy is a plain, unimaginative, background people watcher. A young single mom on the dole with apparently zero creativity, charm, or balls. Yet she makes a big lie. She lies out of the blue from some flimsy situation she thinks she sees. Fine. I can live with that. It didn't rankle me. But later as we're winding down, she makes some thoughts that come out of left field:
p.191 - Cactus Flats. Where history was made, thanks to me and my big need to shape other peoples' lives.
Huh? What? Where did this obsessive bitch come from? It was definitely not the character speaking in my oppressed male brain.
p.195 - And I think any more confusion at that point would have made me certifiably insane.
Such a hyperbolic statement needs at least some building. I am confused as to where all this confusion was.
p. 207 And not only that, but things were happening without me making them happen.
An allusion to the fact she had been manipulating everything. If everything was the one big lie, well, okay. But everything else in the story was not manipulated. Even the stolen buggy was an impulsive need.
Really, if she had taken these three sentences and then written the story, I think it would have turned out much differently. For the better. We might have witnessed more of a personal transformation.
Lots of unrelated scenes and events throughout. Lots of non-story-related prose that grew tiresome, did not build strong images with me. Lots of telling comments. Yawned a lot but kept reading. The author is extremely easy to read, even when her subject matter drifts into the prosaic.
And I found four mistakes, dammit. I hate finding mistakes in Can-lit. And I found four of the darlings. If I found four, how many are there really? By iceberg logic there might be forty. Damn the editors!
1. p.87 Men were crawling in and our of our beds.
2. p.158 She told my dad to rake a nap.
3. p.189 Out dad died and came back to life so he could see us.
4. p.213 When you're only pulling in nine grand, and extra thousand bucks in worth a little blackmail.
Dreadful editing by somebody. Who do I blame, Turnstone Press, Vintage Books, Random House, or the author? All of them? (Honestly, if I ever get published, I'd be grateful for only four screw-ups like this.)
A worthy read if you are a Toews fan. If not, definitely read her chicken and pelican books before this mosquito book ;)