Anxious People

   

By Fredrik Backman  

Is it possible for a book to be at once heart-wrenching yet heart-warming, improbable yet realistic, farcical yet deeply, utterly human? If so, Fredrik Backman’s Anxious People has done just that. Anxious People follows a group of people who, while attending an apartment open house, find themselves held hostage by an unlikely bank robber.  Don't worry, they make it out – and this is not a spoiler, as this is where the story begins. 

Though what happens within the apartment walls is the plot’s focal point, the book is not about being held captive: at least, not literally. Instead, this is a story about each person that finds themselves there on that day, and indeed, the secrets keeping them trapped within themselves. We meet a couple considering the apartment as their next project – just another distraction from a marriage that is falling apart. We meet a second couple looking for the perfect home in which to raise their first child, though neither seems ready for either home ownership or parenthood. We meet an elderly woman who claims to be viewing the apartment for her daughter, though the truth appears to be far more solemn, and a bank director seeking the perfect place to die. Finally, we meet the bank robber, who epitomizes being in the wrong place at wrong time – not only in the apartment, but, ultimately, beyond. 

This book is spell-binding, perhaps because there is something within each character that is so relatable. Though I found myself laughing aloud throughout (there are certainly points of sheer ridiculousness), this is a story about loss: of that which we let go of willingly, and that which we cannot control. This is a story about aspects of life that we allow to define us, as letting them go may mean redefining who we are. Above all, though, this is a story of hope. Backman expresses, yes, how we sometimes find ourselves facing someone who reflects to us what we most fear about ourselves. Anxious People suggests that sometimes our biggest fear is staring us right in the face and all we need to do is look up. But when we do look up, and we see someone who understands, that can be exactly what we need to begin moving forward. If you are looking for both a hearty belly laugh and a mirror of your own humanness, Anxious People could be your stellar next read. 

                                

Was the Cat in the Hat Black?

 

by Philip Nel

February is Black History Month, which is a time to celebrate Black voices and Black lives while also recognizing the work that must be done in the present to ensure diversity and racial justice is part of the future. One part of this necessary work is highlighting the importance of creating ongoing conversations around diversity and representation, beyond the single month of February. A place to look to in creating such conversations is that of children’s literature. Movements like the We Need Diverse Books movement advocate for diversity in children’s literature, fighting for the publishing industry to create books in which all children see themselves reflected while simultaneously arguing against problematic representations of race. A critical part of this work is to examine where such representations have occurred and continue to occur, identifying where conversation and change is necessary. Philip Nel’s Was the Cat in the Hat Black? does exactly that.  

A scholar in children’s literature, Nel examines how racist stereotypes and representation in children’s books perpetuate racism in adulthood, shielded by the presumed innocence of childhood culture. Analyzing works dating back to the early 1900s, Nel illustrates how, historically, children’s literature has incorporated both overt racism and subtler racism and also establishes the contexts from which such racism has emerged. He identifies how publishers have attempted to obliterate racist representations through omission of race, and how such omissions create more harm than good. Though much of his focus, as the title would suggest, is on analysis of Dr. Seuss’s works, Nel also evaluates both older works and newer pieces. Finally, while much of the book is dedicated to identifying the problematic nature of many children’s books, Nel establishes how children’s books can also combat racist ideologies, concluding with 19 suggestions for how to begin the process of change and minimize the diversity gap currently present in children’s literature. 

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. It is worth noting that Nel is clearly an academic writer, which is evident through the tone of the book and the consistently cited research. As such, I found this to be a slower read: both due to the density of the content and the richness of its delivery. I found I often would read, put the book down for a bit to consider it, and then begin again. Despite its density, however, I could not stop thinking about this book; Nel’s writing is engaging and the arguments are well-considered, founded in research, and thought-provoking. I would highly recommend this book to anyone looking to approach children’s literature from a critical evaluative lens and to anyone seeking ideas for discussing representation with young readers.

Migrations

 

by Charlotte McConaghy

In a world robbed of rainforests and birdsong, ornithologist Franny Stone embarks to track the final migration of the Arctic terns, known for their unmatched resilience as the birds with the longest migration period – and also as the last birds on Earth. Prepared for the harsh venture to the northernmost part of the globe, Franny seeks out a fishing vessel to take her on her journey, promising that with the terns they will find an abundant, and increasingly rare, supply of herring.  She somehow finds her place within the jigsaw crew onboard the Saghani, led by an ill-tempered captain who begrudgingly allows Franny to tag along, despite her lack of sea legs and know-how. What the crew does not know is that upon arrival at the Arctic, Franny plans to die, this trip being her swan song to a life coloured by loss. As Migrations progresses, readers learn how Franny came to track the terns, inspired by her absent environmentalist husband and seeking to fill the void left in childhood, when Franny’s mother disappeared.  

Charlotte McConaghy’s Migrations drew me in immediately with its vivid description of a world without wildlife. McConaghy paints this world as a shell of what it used to be, all but barren, and this is in turn reflected in her characters. This book asks difficult questions, challenging the reader to consider what a world without wildlife looks like – and beyond this, questioning how far someone might go to preserve even a whisper of how life once was. Each character, even those who make only a minor appearance, is illustrated with a depth often emerging from their own form of loss. At the same time, this is a story of survivors, of resilience: from the unyielding terns, to the enigmatic Captain Ennis Malone, to Franny herself, and offers a fulfilling read to anyone looking to experience the full spectrum of emotion through one written work. This book is heart-wrenching, evocative and exquisitely written: both a love letter and a goodbye.