A Man Called Ove by Fredrick Backman

Image from Simon and Schuster

In this tragicomic story, we meet a man who is larger than life. Laid off, widowed, and no longer engaged with life, Ove just wants to kill himself. While minimizing fuss, waste and mess, of course. The story builds as "ignorant" people "without principles" keep right on interfering with Ove's plans. Demands multiply, bringing him into unwanted contact with those he despises most: tattooed thugs, the mechanically inept, IT consultants, and men in white shirts. Again and again, Ove's suicide plans are derailed by others. He's obliged to repair machinery, babysit, rescue a "vagrant" cat, help a gay man come out to his parents, and teach a pregnant "foreigner" to drive. From tragic to hysterical, this rollicking read is also available as an inspiring and hilarious movie.

There was, or possibly not...

Image of "The Bald Boy" from Turkish story site

Bir varmis, bir yokmus... So begin the Turkish fairy tales. This may be translated as "There was, there wasn't," an indication of the story's existence in a place beyond time.

At Southbank this past summer, I learned from writer Christine Leviczky Riek that Hungarian stories begin with a similar phrase. This made sense to me, as some linguists consider Turkish and Hungarian to be related.

Reading Karim Alrawi's The Book of Sands, I was surprised by the similarity of his translated Egyptian story openings, "There was, or maybe not..." Since Arabic is from a different linguistic lineage, the similar story openings may be a regional phenomenon.

The Book of Sands by Karim Alrawi

Cover image from The Star

Published in 2015 by HarperAvenue, a HarperCollins imprint, this novel, set during the Arab Spring protests, portrays just about every ill human beings are heir to: fear, anger, judgment, hypocrisy, xenophobia and violence. Yet the book is full of light and hope.
Protagonist Tarek is enormously appealing. devoted to his nine-year-old daughter Neda, this former political prisoner resorts to math equations, both to explain complex ideas to her, and to encourage his patient wife Mona. Since prison, he's earned his living with a travelling troupe of entertainers. Yet an act of rash curiosity takes this member of "a generation jailed, murdered or fled," to the edge of the protests -- and obliges him to for a second time to abandon a beloved woman in a late stage of pregnancy.

The minor characters are memorable, too. Yara is a fearless medical intern who risks freedom and safety to provide medical aid to the anti-government protesters in Tahir Square. Omar, the devout but increasingly unhinged taxi driver, edges toward an act of breathtaking and irreemable violence. Yet his ignorance, fear and confusion make him pitiably human.

As Tarek and Neda flee the city, readers encounter infernal genies called afrits, uncover breathtaking horrors of past history, and get caught in a terrifying sandstorm. Yet the reader is also immersed in lovely images of the desert and those who live there, full of kindness to strangers in that inhospitable land. Through stories told to Neda, we glimpse the mythical Peacock Angel, and witness the mystery of the cave of swimmers, real or imagined, with its ancient wall paintings.

Along with the characters, we grapple with the big questions. What is the meaning of life? Is reincarnation a reality? How should we behave in order to be good? These ideas are framed in a variety of ways, from scriptural quotations to Russell's Paradox.

Formerly a writer for The Royal Court Theatre in London, Karim Alrawi has hit the ground running with this first novel. This book is at once a mythical journey into the middle ages and earlier, and a glimpse of the very contemporary problems facing middle eastern societies. The HarperCollins/UBC Prize for Best New Fiction couldn't have gone to a more deserving winner.

Chateau Whistler evokes memories of old Quebec

As seen here outside the Frontenac Ballrooms, the spacious lobby of the Chateau Whistler features beautiful wood and stone, as well as an impressive domed ceiling. The view from the windows adds to the magic.



So do the traditionally fashioned benches and rockers where guests can wait in comfort under the shelter of the portico for parking valets to fetch their cars.

 

Pistachios then and now

Image from Meditate and Medicate

The first pistachios I saw were dyed a garish red. At sixteen, as a part-time clerk in a small town news stand, I sold newspapers, tobacco, magazines, candy, and records -- LPs and 45s.

The nut machine kept a variety of roasted nuts warm with a heat lamp. We sold them by the pound, sliding them into paper bags from the removable dish on the scale.

Pistachios were the most expensive nuts we had for sale. Not only were they dyed red, they were drowned in salt. When years later I discovered their beautiful natural hues, I was astonished. I still find it hard to imagine what motivated people to use the dye that turned fingers red and made those gorgeous pistachios look so singularly unappealing.

Joys of autumn sky and leaf light

Joys of autumn colour

Chinese lantern plants colour the back garden, while beauty berries enhance the front berm.