Jay Goldman

A very broad reaching and thorough overview of Toronto's lost St. John's Ward neighbourhood, now buried somewhere beneath Nathan Phillips Square and New City Hall. The Ward was the first stop of many immigrant families — first predominantly Jewish and Italian, later Chinese — as they arrived in Toronto.

This book is a collection of short stories and essays from a wide variety of authors. Some are excellent, most are good, and a few are thankfully short. The editors chose not to organize the pieces in chronological order, which they point out but don't explain in the intro, leading to a narrative that jumps all over The Ward's timeline. I found it interesting but difficult to keep straight, especially as many of the pieces mention the same people, places, or incidents.

Hidden at the back is a “ghost map”, showing where The Ward's old streets align to today's buildings. I wish the map had been at the front as I only found it part way through reading. I really wanted two maps, side-by-side, one showing The Ward as it was in the 1920s and a second showing how it sits today. I also wanted to learn more about the expropriation and eventual demolition of most of The Ward to make way for Nathan Phillips Square, which is lightly covered but not in much detail. The City of Toronto archives have a pretty good collection of photos of the construction itself (http://www1.toronto.ca/wps/portal/contentonly?vgnextoid=8cf9757ae6b31410VgnVCM10000071d60f89RCRD&vgnextchannel=6c21226b48c21410VgnVCM10000071d60f89RCRD) but not much of The Ward coming down.

I would recommend the book if you're very curious about that part of Toronto's history, but suggest that you feel free to skip pieces and jump around. It's perhaps best considered as The Ward itself was: a somewhat motley collection whose sum is greater than its parts.

A beautiful read

This is the universal story of fathers and sons regardless of where they're born and raised. Ta-Nehisi and I are almost the same age and yet grew up in parallel universes on the same continent. My beautiful struggle was much less intense than his — much more of the “normal” that he describes as the desired state — and yet his beautiful turn of phrase gave me an understanding of how his life was lived. So lucky for all of us that he chose to share it, and to shed light into what may otherwise have remained in darkness.

I read 100 Days after spending five days in Rome and Tuscany. The locations were highly evocative of my own travels and I could easily picture Oscar's bakery or the Chitchat shop tucked away down medieval Roman alleyways.

As a parent, this book struck some deep nerves around the quality of the time we spend with our “heirs”, the lessons we teach them, and the way they will remember us when we eventually leave. It has already made me want to be more intentional about all three.

And, as half of an incredible relationship, it's made me reflect on the inconsolable ways I would be devastated to be on either side of this story. Brizzi has created a loveable rogue, flawed but filled with the kind of dedication and passion we all wish we brought to our own lives. I can confidently say that Lucio will come to mind many times over the rest of my (hopefully) much more numerous days.

I'm not a big YA reader in general so I can't compare this to other books in the broader genre. My daughter is reading City of Ember for a school reading group and I read it so we could discuss together.

That said, DuPrau has done a good job with a fairly complex idea. The narrative moves quickly and the characters are likeable, though a little shallower and more predictable than I would have liked. I'm guessing YA in general doesn't get into the nuanced characterization of more adult fiction, so that's probably less of a comment about Ember as a book and more of a sweeping generalization on the genre.

Given the success of the series, and the star-studded movie adaptation, DuPrau has obviously lovingly crafted a whole world built out of the darkness. Without giving anything away, the first book is a well done novel on its own but also an obvious setup for the next story. I'm looking forward to reading it when my daughter gets through this one!

John MacDonald was a recommendation from my Dad, who sang the praises of his storytelling, structure, and writing. I wasn't disappointed at all — MacDonald is an excellent author and this book shines even 61 years after its original publication. Some of the language is a little dated (particularly in reference to women), and the plot wouldn't entirely survive the iPhoneitization of modern days, but the story is crisp and original and remains a page turner. MacDonald almost seems wasted writing crime thrillers, particularly when he waxes philosophically about the state of the world and the humans who occupy it. Definitely looking forward to more Travis McGee in my life!

This is a hard book to read. Life on the street in the throes of addiction is never an easy story and Thistle does a good job of pulling us through the depths with him. I held onto the knowledge that he would be okay in the end since I was holding the proof and he is - more than just okay. I genuinely cheered for him in the end and for the exceptional life he has made.

The writing is consistent with the exception of a few parts that impart important life lessons, when Thistle's narrative fades away in favour of the need to communicate key points. It's a difficult balance to maintain and perhaps that shift signals a spotlight in the need to pay more attention even if handled a little awkwardly.

I would have liked more depth on his discovery of his Métis heritage and on the parts of his journey connected to that. Although promised in the title and in some of the early setup, much of this book is similar to other stories of homelessness and drug and alcohol addiction. Thistle has a unique story to tell and I would have liked more of it to come through.

Beautifully Strange

This Kindle Single was unlike anything I've read before and am likely to read after, at least until I crack open Borne itself. It's hard to categorize this into a single genre, though I suppose the setting and topics land it closest to sci fi. Highly enjoyable if you can suspend yourself in the narrative and evocative environments.

A very challenging read. This “experimental” novel is an undertaking, although I warmed to the style about a third of the way through. Saunders plays with narrative structure, sometimes quoting from period reference pieces, sometimes narrating through his characters. The end result is perhaps less satisfying than a traditional read but by no means any less creative.

The Bardo, which I had to look up (Tibetan བར་དོ་ Wylie: bar do — antarabhāva (Sanskrit) is an intermediate, transitional, or liminal state between death and rebirth), is a beautifully rendered limbo state parallel to the real world, populated by incredible ghosts of lives lost. They come alive (if you'll pardon the pun) through the vivid descriptions of their graphic mutations and behaviours, doomed in their limbo state to represent their true desires and mortal fates. I found it hard to keep up with all the character names at first, realizing later that many of the bit parts aren't even worth remembering as they weave in and out of the main narrative.

This book definitely isn't for everyone, but there is a brilliance to the way Saunders has constructed the world, to the rules that define the characters and their goals, and to the presence of the sombre and depressed Mr. Lincoln as he travels through the Bardo and out the other side.

Whitehead has achieved a remarkably readable alternate history of America's dark slavery period. Although the broad brushstrokes follow the familiar and despicable story, Whitehead's characters live in a slightly altered timeline that brings a remarkably literal interpretation of their escape to life. Without revealing Underground Railroad's secrets, it feels almost like a steampunk interpretation of running away, fleeing into alternately terrifying and paradise-like interpretations of real life.

The story of Cora and Caesar and Mabel and Royal is heartbreaking, not just for the regular shattering of their brief forays into hope but also for the incredible hatred that humans did (and still do) bring against each other. It's especially poignant to finish on the eve of Donald Trump's inauguration, rife as his campaign was with vitriol toward an almost innumerable selection of his fellow men. His rallies became increasingly frenzied, thankfully stopping short of the pure violence of Underground Railroad's public hangings and lynch mobs. Still, though, over a hundred years has passed since Cora fled into the swamp and not nearly enough has changed.

It's hard to get an original look behind the scenes of Pixar, one of the most famous companies to emerge from Silicon Valley (or, at least, from near the Valley). The story of Toy Story is well known, as is the rise from hardware and software vendor to Luxor lamp animator to Disney acquisition. We've all seen their movie — many times over — and are well acquainted with Jobs' triumphant sale to Disney that turned him into their largest shareholder overnight.

Levy had his work cut out for him in bringing a fresh look to life. He does a reasonably good job of skipping the well-known parts and focusing, instead, on the less-known financial story that he oversaw as Jobs' chosen CFO. Where the book runs into trouble, aside from a tendency to repeat the same thing many times over, is in the depths he takes it to. Seeking to appeal to a more lay audience, Levy avoids any overly technical description of the financial and legal aspects, attempting to keep them more at the level of anecdote than valuable business lesson. I would have preferred the ‘management book' edition, aimed at a professional audience, which would have perhaps provided more value to the business audience.

All the same, I very much enjoyed the description of his relationship with Jobs and his deft handling of situations that might have otherwise destroyed Pixar before it even released its first feature. The work his team accomplished reshaped the company from a $50m hole to a real venture that ultimately enjoys a highly lucrative IPO following immediately on the heels of Toy Story's release. Much of the credit rightfully goes to Pixar's brilliant creative minds, and to Jobs for sticking with the investment far beyond where most would have abandoned, but Levy and team deserve their fair share for transforming much of their industry.

The “Beyond” portion — his life since Pixar — gets a short but very interesting mention at the end. Juniper is an unexpected second life for him, but their work on introducing meditation to a broader, more modern audience is compelling. I'm glad he chose to include it!

An exploration of what it means to be human, and especially what it means to love, told through the eyes and noses of fifteen Toronto dogs unexpectedly given human intelligence.

Brilliantly executed

Effortlessly weaves through different eras, memories, stories, and people. I was deeply struck by the reality of the characters even as they lived through such a (hopefully) unrealistic scenario. It's masterfully written with lines that catch you even asylum skip ahead to find out what happens. Toronto is one of my favorite cities and is beautifully rendered here with all the attention it deserves, not as a Hollywood stand-in but as the major metropolis it actually is. I'll think of Kirsten, Javeen, August, Arthur, Miranda, and Clark often and I can already tell that future re-reads will be tinged with sadness for not being able to re-read Station Eleven again for the first time.

This book terrified me and everyone on my team who read it after. We identified so many Brents in our business that we lost track. The story isn't the best written novel you'll read but if you're in any way in the software business you should stop what you're doing and read this now (unplanned work!)