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my fave is problematic.

Disclaimer: I love Harry Potter with all my heart.

Those who know me know that the Harry Potter books, stories, and magical world are the closest things to my heart fictionally speaking, and have been since I was very small.  I can attribute 99% of my friendships to a mutual love of the wizarding world, and I was once the Head of the Department of Mysteries for York University’s Ministry of Magic; our resident expert on real (aka book) trivia, Chapter liason for the Harry Potter Alliance, etc.. I am a proud Gryffindor.  I still reread the entire series almost every year (I am currently working my way through them in French).

I have also been known to refer to J. K. Rowling as “Our Queen” as many in the fandom like to do when some new brilliant bit of cleverness is discovered in the books or she does something wonderful in the world.  There can be no denying that the Harry Potter books and franchise have made the world a brighter, happier, and better place for billions of people.  There is no denying that Jo Rowling has done some pretty good things for the world herself, including founding the non-profit Lumos and at one point donating so much to charity that she was reduced from billionaire to millionaire status (this was a while ago. pretty sure she’s back to being a billionaire again).

But sometimes we need to take a deep breath and recognize that our heroes are not always right.  They have flaws.  They make mistakes.  They get lost.

Diversity & Lack Thereof

Newcomers to the books and fandom have been critical of some lack of diversity in Jo’s writing of the Harry Potter books.  We do have to give her some credit in recalling that she did write the first book and the outline for the entire series in the early 90’s.  Times were different then.  In our current cultural atmosphere of “extremely woke”, these criticisms by younger readers are understandable.  I am referring mainly to the critique of the lack of sexual and gender diversity in the characters; Dumbledore, the only non-hetero person apparently in the entire series, was never explicitly “out” in the books; it only became public knowledge when Jo revealed it soon after the publication of the 7th book.

I myself do not blame Jo Rowling for this particular lack of diversity, because she had trouble enough publishing the first book as it was–a children’s book about witchcraft?? written by a woman?? the horror!!–I imagine adding even one openly gay character to a children’s book in the 90’s would have stopped every publisher from even considering it.  Here is a discussion of what Jo would have been up against in Britain at that time.  So no, I am not angry with Jo Rowling for all of the characters throughout the books appearing to be straight–but I am a little miffed that those characters whose identities were vague could not have become more diverse when she did her later “reveals” on Pottermore.  If you were wondering, she revealed all of them (Dean, Seamus, Luna, Neville, etc.) to be straight.  That was already into the 2010s and the books were over, she could have done anything but it apparently didn’t cross her mind that more than one non-hetero person could exist in Hogwarts/the British wizarding world.

Anyway, that’s just a little miff, and I can look past it (though I can’t blame any of my LGBTQ+ friends for being less forgiving).  The second critique I’ve been seeing more recently is regarding cultural and ethnic diversity–if you look past the Golden Trio (Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all white–headcanons aside) and the Silver Trio (Ginny, Neville, and Luna, all white), the cast of characters in Hogwarts is fairly racially diverse.  However I recently saw this slam poem pointing out the flaws and apparently lazy writing that made up the series’ lone Chinese character, Cho Chang, and it gave me pause.

I think a lot of the things that people nowadays, including myself, critique regarding Jo Rowling’s writing of the wizarding world (especially as it continues to expand with stories happening outside of Britain) can be attributed to lazy writing or lack of research.  This is deeply upsetting and frustrating when the intricacies and tightly woven subplots and complexity and well-roundedness of the entire story throughout the 7 books prove that J. K. Rowling is perfectly capable of excellent writing that is the opposite of lazy.

The Problem With Ilvermorny

Up until now I have been writing about some things that I have heard and read in the past few years that have irked me, but now I’m going to get into the things that really started to make me lose faith in J. K. Rowling as she is today.  I still whole-heartedly love who she was when she was releasing all of the original Harry Potter books, but I think since then the wizarding world (both the fictional one and the one created by the fandom) has grown far to large for one person to be able to supply all of the “canon” stories and people and identities and cultures to fill it.  The last new stories I was entirely happy and excited about were the ones surrounding the Quidditch World Cup in 2014.  Back then the Pottermore stories still felt true to the world, pure and fun and unproblematic.  At this point, however, I’d be happy if Jo stopped posting her post-Hogwarts “reveals” and stories on Pottermore–the books are done, the books are ours now, and I think it’s up to the fans to choose what journeys their favourite characters might have gone on to next.

The first time I was truly taken aback and disappointed by Jo Rowling’s new writings was when she released the information on the American wizarding school Ilvermorny in anticipation of the Fantastic Beasts films.  Her history of the school and explanation of the Ilvermorny houses was stylistically exactly the way she wrote all of the British and European wizarding world content; it was therefore entirely ignorant of actual American history.  One of the wonderful things about the wizarding world of Harry Potter is that Jo always tied the magical history to actual British and European history, pointing out real historical figures as being magical, turning mythological creatures into real creatures, etc.

Which is all well and good when you’re writing about your own culture, but becomes problematic when you think you can do the same thing with other people’s cultures, especially when those cultures are already oppressed, misused, and appropriated in a million different ways.  If you look at the description and history of Ilvermorny you will see that it is founded by British settlers in America, in particular a witch and her children who stormed in over Indigenous territory and built the school in the style of Hogwarts, naming the four houses after four magical creatures that they encountered in the new world.  The problem with these creatures, however, is that they are all modelled after actual spirits which are sacred and significant to four different First Nations peoples.  Jo Rowling also went so far as to say that the First Nations peoples did have their own magic, but that it was unorganized and primitive until the Western wizards arrived to bring some order to things.  Now, if I read this without thinking about the author I can still see it as canon because it seems exactly the sort of thing colonial wizards would do, behaving with just the same sort of superiority and dismissiveness as actual colonists in history–but while I can fit it that way into the overall canon of the wizarding world in my head, it does not excuse Jo for writing it the way she did.

td;lr Ilvermorny is founded upon cultural appropriation and it is not okay.  This critique explains it in a lot more detail.

I don’t think Jo Rowling meant any harm by it, she just didn’t do enough research (aka talk to any Indigenous people about the significance and potential impact of this) to know that writing about Thunderbirds and Wampus is not the same thing as writing about dragons and banshees and other Western mythological creatures.  I think it’s pretty sad that nobody in her entire team managed to catch the error in this, and I also think it’s pretty sad that Jo Rowling has failed to comment, when the critique has surely been raised to her by now.

Fantastic Beasts and Disappointment

Fantastic Beasts 2: The Crimes of Grindelwald
Crime #1: Casting Johnny Depp as Grindelwald

The final straw that broke any present-day faith I had in my one-time hero and idol J. K. Rowling was her continued support of Johnny Depp in his role as Grindelwald after the mess of abuse allegations and divorce proceedings that went down last year.  If you don’t know about this, just look it up any pop culture news source from 2016-17.  I’m not going over the entire story but basically Johnny Depp was accused of physical and verbal abuse by his (at the time) wife Amber Heard and after a long time their divorce was settled along with a statement from both of them that made the abuse allegations out to be less serious.  Now I and many other people took this to mean that the abuse did happen but they were both putting it behind them.  J. K. Rowling seems to have decided to align with those who say the abuse never happened at all.

I obviously don’t know enough about it to be certain either way, but I think given the evidence, the statements, and the fact that celebrities break under the strain all the time and Johnny Depp seems exactly the type… At any rate there is likely more than a grain of truth in the allegations .  The point is that there have been calls for Johnny Depp to step down or be fired from the cast of Fantastic Beasts (it would be simple enough as he was only seen for about 30 seconds in the first film) but they went unanswered and J. K. Rowling has openly stated her support of Johnny Depp in this role.  I recently read an article in which she commented on the complaints and defended the casting of Johnny Depp, and not only do I not agree with that being “the right thing to do”, but the fact that she says she’s happy to have him continue in the role… I have no more words, to be honest.

There are other reasons why I don’t want to see the second Fantastic Beasts film but they aren’t really relevant.  Aside from the whole Ilvermorny business/American wizarding society completely excluding Indigenous peoples except to appropriate their culture, which I’ve already discussed long enough, I think.

So now what?

So now that I have lost faith in the one whom I once called “Queen”, now that everything she creates for the HP universe from now on will be tainted with these disappointments in my eyes, can I still love the original work that has brought so much joy and empowerment and friendship into my life?  Can I still admire the person who J. K. Rowling was back when she wrote those seven beautiful, life-changing books?

Yes, I can.  I can still love the stories I have always loved, the characters I have always loved.  I can still get lost in the world alone in my room or discuss theories and plot points and headcanons with friends for hours on end.  I can still say I’m a proud Gryffindor and dress up in a robe and house tie and practice duelling with my custom-made Allivan’s wand, dream of opening an HPA chapter in my hometown, read the Harry Potter books to my kids when I have them.

I just have to enjoy all of these things out of the context of their creator from now on.  I just have to say “books belong to their readers” and stop taking every new mistake J. K. Rowling makes to heart.  She gave so much goodness to the world, and I’m not about to let her take it away from me just because she’s become to wrapped-up in it and overwhelmed and blinded by fame and fortune.

My fave is problematic.  It’s taken me a while to admit it to myself because I was worried it would make me like the books less, or feel guilty liking them, but I think the best thing to do is acknowledge the problem and move on, choosing new role models for writing, and continuing to find joy in the magical world I have loved and learned from since I was 8 years old.

beach wizard

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2016 best books

me-books

at the Williamsford Mill, one of my favourite places

I read a lot of amazing books in 2016!  47 books in total (not counting rereads of Harry Potter and The Fellowship of the Ring) and I gave 5 stars to 34 of them, which you must admit is a pretty good ratio.  So let’s get to it.

Number 1. The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

The is a book that I’d never heard of.  I just picked it up one day while browsing in the library, and it took me completely unawares.  The Goblin Emperor is a very complex story full to the brim with politics in this world of elves and goblins and elf-goblins. A world the reader has to try to navigate while keeping track of what feels like over a hundred names and titles and places, all mouthfuls, including formal and informal pronouns and titles and names that change depending on the situation and status of the person in question.  The writing is incredibly crisp and clever.  I fell deeply in love with the characters, particularly Maia, a half-elf half-goblin who by some twist of fate finds himself on the throne.  Maia, the emperor who does not want to rule, who only wants everyone to be happy and healthy and safe and doesn’t understand why he’s not allowed to do that.  As much as I love characters that are full of flaws, it’s the completely selfless and self-deprecating underdogs that I love the most.  And Maia is certainly that.  And yet his life at court is fraught with peril as he faces discrimination and hatred from the elven nobles… here is my spoiler-free review.

Number 2. Dragonhaven by Robin McKinley

This book is pure gold.  I know others who have read it and found it too dense and slow, but I loved everything about it. You think you’ve read about dragon-raising before, but Robin McKinley brings the trope of teenage-boy-fosters-baby-dragon to a whole new level of brilliance. A level that is so intense, so specific, so blow-by-blow, so all-consuming, that you immediately realize, yeah, this is the only way that could possibly happen.  The protagonist, Jake, is blunt about his feelings while also full of sarcasm, and the book is narrated in such a way that it almost feels like one long monologue.  The world the story is set in is also fascinating–a contemporary, normal world, except that dragons exist.  The whole story takes place in a dragon conservation park called Smokehill.  I think it’s because the book goes into so much detail about the day-to-day keep of Smokehill, and the cost and stresses of the people inside and the misguided opinions of people on the outside, that it feels so real. It’s like reading a book about any other nature preserve, zoo, and/or national park.  Except, you know, with dragons.  The progression of the plot is great, all of the trials and suffering and twists and problematic people and good luck and instinct and family flux and research and mistakes and discovery–it all meshes together perfectly and makes the book a joy to read from start to finish.  Highly recommend to all lovers of dragons, science, and magical realism.  My full review is a lot more detailed and includes a few more excellent quotes.

I’d pretty much always secretly believed that she was, you know, intelligent, more like humans are intelligent than like dogs (or mynah birds) are intelligent, but I also knew I was loopy from the strain of the relationship that was keeping her alive… But I also thought about Mom and Katie and I figured it’s just part of momming that you think your kid’s wonderful. Even if you’re a human and your kid’s a dragon.

Now you just sit there and think that back at yourself for a minute. Why do dragons live quietly in caves and human beings have invented global warming and strip mining and biological warfare and genocide? Who’s the real winner here in the superior species competition? What dragons do is think. That’s what they’re really good at. Like it or lump it.

Number 3.  The Martian by Andy Weir

I am not a scientist. I am not even that big of a sci-fi fan, really. And this book is far more sci- than -fi.  But I certain got caught up in this story from the start.  This book feels like it could literally be a record of a real Mars-mission-gone-wrong.  My favourite thing about The Martian is the narration. Narration can make or break a story, and this is some of the best. It was easy to get lost in the world of a single astronaut stranded on a dead planet, because the words feel like they come from Mark himself, like he’s just telling you the trials of his day each night before he goes to sleep. There’s nothing flowery about the language; it gets right down to business. It’s both a joy and a trial following Mark through his various adventures and misfortunes.  It’s an experience reading this book. It’s not something you can just sit back and enjoy. You’re part of it, as the reader.  You’re not only rooting for Mark from the very beginning, but you begin to really grow attached to him until you can’t bear the thought of things going wrong for him (again).  Here’s my full, spoiler-free review.

It’s a strange feeling. Everywhere I go, I’m the first. Step outside the rover? First guy ever to be there! Climb a hill? First guy to climb that hill! Kick a rock? That rock hadn’t moved in a million years!

Number 4.  The Little Country by Charles de Lint

2016 was the year I finally discovered Charles de Lint, at the recommendation of my father.  I devoured every book of his I could find, but this was my favourite.  Full of magic and quaint English countryside and standing stones and little people and the thread of traditional music woven throughout… yes please.  I think a common feature of Charles de Lint’s books is a large and diverse cast of characters, all with their own motivations and goals and ways of seeing the world, all in grey areas of morality with only one or two who are truly evil. The Little Country is no exception.  The characters are frustrating and terrifying and relatable and real, and their development is excellent.  The imagery is stunning, the magic is fresh and unique, and it’s all tied up in myths and legends and traditional folk music and I loved it!  Here is my spoiler-free review.  Some other favourite de Lint books I read in 2016 include The Onion Girl, Memory and Dream (minor spoiler alert), and Trader (all Newford books, all read out of order, oh well).

“Doesn’t matter how poor you are, you can still be kind. Doesn’t cost a tuppence, and maybe those you’re kind to won’t be kind back, but at least you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that you tried to leave the world a bit of a better place, even if all you had to spare was a smile.”

And hadn’t there been a music playing, just before the light took her away and brought her here? A wonderful, heart-stopping music that brought tiny chills mouse-pawing up her spine when all she did was just think about it? A music that when you heard it, you realized you’d been sleeping through your life, because what it did was it woke you up. Suddenly and completely.

Number 5.  The Rest of Us Just Live Here by Patrick Ness

This is a quirky, semi-lighthearted book about a world where superheroes and monsters and people with magic exist, but the story centres on the normal people who have to go on living their lives in spite of the chaos and destruction caused by all of the “indie kids”.  The concept is funny, but the conversations and development and relationships between the characters are really heartfelt.  Also I found the main character, Mikey, incredibly relatable.  This was the first book of Patrick Ness’s I’d read after Chaos Walking, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that he could be just as brilliant a writer without destroying my heart.  My review is short, but there are some more quotes in it.

“Not everyone has to be the Chosen One. Not everyone has to be the guy who saves the world. Most people just have to live their lives the best they can, doing the things that are great for them, having great friends, trying to make their lives better, loving people properly. All the while knowing that the world makes no sense but trying to find a way to be happy anyway.”

“I wonder if realizing you’re not sure about stuff is what makes you a grown-up?”

Number 6.  More Than This by Patrick Ness

… And then I read this, which just shows that while Mr. Ness is perfectly capable of writing lovely, lighthearted things, it’s the soul-crushing stories that he enjoys writing most.  This book is very sci-fi, very YA, slightly painful, very bewildering, and took me so long to process that I couldn’t really write a comprehensive review. A faint outline of the story is that it’s about kids who wake up in a post-apocalyptic world where humanity is completely living in virtual reality, and these kids have to survive in this empty world while also trying to figure out where all of the people are who are still “sleeping”.  None of Patrick Ness’s books are my first choice (you know I love high fantasy more than anything else), but he always manages, within the first few pages, to pull me in so completely that I forget about anything else while I’m reading. His books make you question everything you read and root for the heroes harder than you thought possible, with all of your heart.  This book is a puzzle from start to finish. And all of the puzzle pieces have razor-sharp edges.

“There’s more than this,” Seth says. “So let’s go find it.”

Number 7.  The Thessaly books by Jo Walton (The Just City, The Philosopher Kings, Necessity)

Never have I read philosophy so quickly or with so much attention and investment. These books are so full. They’re stuffed with so many things to think about that by the time I finished each one, I felt like my brain was all wrung out.  It’s a utopian/dystopian sci-fi/fantasy like none I have ever read before. Greek gods, time travel, potentially sentient robots, art and music and the pursuit of excellence, and so many questions.  The first book, The Just City, is about humans and gods and robots trying to build Plato’s Republic and discovering many flaws in the plan as they go.  It’s a page turner because of the narrative, because of the dynamic characters and hopes and fears and potential disasters at every turn, but it’s also so philosophical. Each chapter is riddled with expertly-worded dialogue on the nature of Truth, happiness vs. excellence/justice, choice, freedom and volition, souls, etc. etc. etc.  The second book is mainly about picking up the pieces in the aftermath of the failed experiment, and the third gets… really weird (but the writing is still brilliant and the story still fascinating).  Here’s my review of the first book, which does not contain spoilers.

“Plato wanted to give people something to aspire to. That’s why he isn’t here, he didn’t really imagine it as a possibility, just as something to encourage everyone to think, and to work toward excellence. In reality, while we aim for excellence, we’re always living on somebody’s dunghill. But that doesn’t mean we’re wrong to aim to be the best we can be.”

Number 8.  The Farseer Trilogy by Robin Hobb

The very first line in my review for the first book was “I am undone”, and that about sums up my feelings throughout this trilogy.  Even after reading The Rain Wilds Chronicles in 2015, I was not prepared to have my heart trampled so quickly and so repeatedly throughout these books.  Robin Hobb is relentless with the treatment of her characters, with her manipulation of your feelings and perceptions and fears, with the complexity of her storytelling. It is incredible.  Again, an underdog protagonist who finds himself swept up in the politics and intrigue of court life; Fitz as a narrator becomes so close, so vulnerable to the eye of the reader that you can’t help but love him and just wish that he had the chance to find some small measure of happiness.  Spoiler alert: he doesn’t.  One of the most interesting things in these books to me was the constantly shifting relationships between Fitz and those close to him, as he struggles to trust and fears to love and constantly puts himself down.  And like in The Rain Wilds Chronicles, the main villain in these books is expertly written and perfectly hateful.  Robin Hobb’s character writing is some of the best I’ve ever read.  Here’s my spoiler-free review of the first book, and my spoiler-filled reviews of the second and third books.

“Not all men are destined for greatness,” I reminded him.
“Are you sure, Fitz? Are you sure? What good is a life lived as if it made no difference at all to the great life of the world. A sadder thing I cannot imagine. Why should not a mother say to herself, if I raise this child aright, if I love and care for her, she shall live a life that brings joy to those about her, and thus I have changed the world? Why should not the farmer that plants a seed say to his neighbour, this seed I plant today will feed someone, and that is how I change the world today?”

Number 9.  After Hamelin by Bill Richardson

This is actually a book that I read for the first time when I was around eleven, and only just happened to come across it in a used bookstore last year.  I loved it as a child, and now, not only does the writing hold up, but I find myself imagining reading it to children myself. After Hamelin is the story of a deaf girl who rescues the children spirited away by the Pied Piper.  It has a fresh, silly quality to it like Roald Dahl, while at the same time being sprinkled with poetic language and heartfelt moments. The main character, Penelope, is darling, both as a child and as an elderly woman as she recounts the tale of her adventures. It is a whimsical tale, rambling and silly and imperfect, but I do love it and I do want to share it with my students when I have them.  Also, there are dragons.

I say I have made it a rule not to preach. However, anyone who is 101 has earned the right to break her own rules. Once in a while, at least. And so, I am going to give you one piece of advice. Pause once a day and relish the moment. Look around. Notice the colours, the smells and the sounds. Take them in, for that moment will pass and no one can say what the next moment will bring. I know this better than most.

Meeting a dragon is like falling in love. Even though you have never experienced it before, you will know when it has happened.

Number 10.  Come, Thou Tortoise by Jessica Grant

This is a precious book that I never would have found had I not happened to stop in at a local independent bookstore when I was early for work one day… Heartwarming and entertaining and sad, it’s the story of an eccentric young woman (Audrey, known by all as Oddly) going back to her hometown to deal with the aftermath of her father’s death by a freak accident.  It is also the story of her pet tortoise, Winnifred, who was left in the care of some friends and wants nothing more than to escape and make her way back to her human, but can’t do more than think about it while making a running commentary on the lives of the people she’s been left with.  It’s such a unique book in terms of the characters–one of them so full of the boundless imagination and reckless determination of a child, the other a mere tortoise.  It’s also unique in terms of the writing style, because there are no quotation marks and no question marks–which gives the narration a sort of dry and ironic tone.  Quite delightful (and this summary is more than I wrote in my very lazy review, so I’ll not link that).

Number 11.  The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

This book was so cool and interesting, let me tell you.  The idea of a planet of human beings with no gender is fascinating, especially looking at familial and societal structures as well as how the main character, a human ambassador to the planet, views and interacts and judges the Gethenians.  The book gets quite political and sociological, but it also delves deep into the friendship that grows between Genry (the human ambassador) and Theram/Estraven, and that is really what I loved the most about the book.  Genry learns so much through this relationship, not only about the planet Winter and its people, but also about himself.  It is a tale of love and discrimination, of survival, of the concept of war, of kindness and of humanity.  It’s brilliant.  Here’s my review, which has some more quotes as well as a bit of a critique on one aspect of the book.

It is a terrible, thing, this kindness that human beings do not lose. Terrible, because when we are finally naked in the dark and cold, it is all we have. We who are so rich, so full of strength, we end up with this small change. We have nothing else to give.

I certainly wasn’t happy. Happiness has to do with reason, and only reason earns it. What I was given was the thing you can’t earn, and can’t keep, and often don’t even recognize at the time; I mean joy.

Number 12.  Buffering: Unshared Tales of a Life Fully Loaded by Hannah Hart

This may be the book that affected me most, mentally and emotionally, in 2016.  Hannah Hart is one of my favourite humans; but those of us who are fans of her as a YouTuber, the bright, shiny vitality of a personality that is Hannah Hart as she presents herself to the world, could never have imagined anything close to a backstory like this. I admire her and the incredible strength and courage it took to let it all out into daylight after thirty years of being bottled up (at least in the public view).  There tends to be an inclination to dismiss books written by YouTubers because so many YouTubers have been publishing books lately… I wasn’t expecting brilliant writing, but I was completely blown away.  Buffering is equal parts raw, deep, heavy, heartfelt, soul-achingly real, but also wonderfully charming, light, and funny.  And the language and detail and word choice and everything is just so precise and fitting–it’s a memoir that reads like a gut-wrenching urban fantasy novel, like Charles de Lint but more personal, more impactful because it’s real. The way she tells her life story you can see it play out like one of those indy films that leave you with tears choking up your chest and a deep sense of connection with the world.  Hannah is one of those strong and humble and honest souls who survive a traumatic past to become a force for good in this world. She is still struggling and learning and processing and growing, and she acknowledges that.  Buffering is another reminder that everyone has their demons, or as I like to put it everyone has their bitterness, and it is often difficult to see from the outside, especially when they are someone you admire. It takes a lot of trust for them to show it to you. And it is amazingly gratifying when they do.  I shared my full review in a blog post a few months ago.

I guess this is a message for those of you who contemplate permanent solutions to temporary problems. You never know what could be coming in the future. There is so much music you’ve yet to hear.

More

I also read a couple of really excellent graphic novels in 2016 and didn’t write reviews for them, but I highly recommend checking out Nimona and Lumberjanes by Noelle Stevenson for some really excellent and interesting strong female-led adventures.  I also finished of several different series’ in 2016 that I had started previously: the great Library of Souls by Ransom Riggs (third book in Miss Peregrine’s series), The Voyage of the Basilisk by Marie Brennan (third book in the Memoirs of Lady Trent) and of course the long-awaited The Raven King by Maggie Stieffvater (fourth book in The Raven Cycle).  All of these were fantastic and definitely among the best books I read in 2016.

If you’re interested in a comprehensive list of all of my book recommendations ever, categorized by genre and subject and emoji-coded for your convenience, I made one.

My goal for 2017 is again 40 new books because there are still so many books I want to reread as well.  I’ve only read 5 so far, which is terrible compared to last year when I had already read 12 by this time (and that was with school going on too!), but I’m going to the library tomorrow to rectify that.  I just finished The Reptile Room by Lemony Snicket and started my 30th (or so) reread of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

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have a harto

Over the past ten years, I’ve processed a lot. I’m still processing. And there is more to be done. But I’m very proud of the person I am today. I’m proud to be gay. I’m proud to be a reckless optimist. I’m proud to keep learning and sharing what I’ve learned. I’m proud to be a work in progress.

~ Hannah Hart

This is a (spoiler-free) review of Buffering: Unshared Tales of a Life Fully Loaded, an incredible book by one of my favourite people in the world, Hannah Hart.

(Disclaimer: I wrote this review between 3 and 4:45 in the morning, after reading and watching old MyHarto videos pretty much all day and night.  So it might be rambly.)

I was going to wait to finish the book until today but I couldn’t. I was going wait to write my review until today, but I couldn’t. I had to lie on my bed and process for a while, but then I had to grab my laptop and force myself to stay up just a little longer. I didn’t want these thoughts to drift away.

We, the community surrounding the bright, shiny vitality of a personality that is Hannah Hart as she presents herself to the world, could never have imagined anything close to a backstory like this. Her belated “coming-out” video a couple of years ago was probably the closest she ever came to revealing the slightest crack in her superhero image, and that was barely a pinpoint on the tip of the iceberg of her incredibly difficult life. I don’t want to focus too too much on the actual events of Hannah’s life (Hello, that’s what the book is for. Read it.) but rather on how deeply I admire her and the incredible strength and courage it took to let it all out into daylight after thirty years of being bottled up (at least in the public view).

I would like to take this opportunity, however, to talk about what a freaking brilliant writer Hannah is.  Buffering: Unshared Tales of a Life Fully Loaded is equal parts raw, deep, heavy, heartfelt, soul-achingly real, but also wonderfully charming, light, and funny (there are puns. and emojis. and footnotes!!). And the language and detail and word choice and everything is just so precise and fitting–it’s a memoir that reads like a gut-wrenching urban fantasy novel, like Charles de Lint but more personal, more impactful because it’s real. The way she tells her life story you can see it play out like one of those indy films that leave you with tears choking up your chest and a deep sense of connection with the world. Heck, her old journal entries themselves are poetic and beautiful. Perhaps other people are not as blown away as I was because they have already read My Drunk Kitchen and know her writing style but I haven’t and I just can’t get enough so I probably will read that at some point.

Speaking of My Drunk Kitchen, Hannah of course mentions her channel and her videos, in particular the drunk cooking show that put her in the spotlight in the first place. Although I knew about her soon after I joined the YouTube audience community (very soon after she started, actually), I avoided watching her videos because I didn’t like the idea of someone making light of getting drunk on a regular basis. I think I was watching Grace Helbig first and loved Hannah in her videos, and then I subscribed to Hannah and watched a bunch of her non-Kitchen videos and fell in love with her as a human being, and then sometime in the past year and a half or so I kind of accidentally started watching My Drunk Kitchen and loving it just as much as everything else she does.

Anyway, Hannah talks about specific episodes of My Drunk Kitchen in the first half of Buffering, namely, the very first episode (which has a lovely story behind it and is so true to who Hannah is!), and the special The Burning Man; so I decided to scroll waaaay down through youtube.com/myharto and watch those two episodes to enhance the experience of reading the book. 5 hours later I had watched the first 47 episodes of MyHarto in chronological order and was struggling to decide whether to keep watching or keep reading Buffering. Spoiler alert: I watched 15 more videos, and THEN read the entire rest of Buffering. Hence the being up at 4am still writing this review. Anyway, I’m rambling, which tends to happen when I’m tired. My point is that I am glad I chose to watch all of those videos, because the book was giving me a context, a deeply complex backstory for the Hannah portrayed onscreen all those years ago, and now I am deeply invested in following her video journey all the way through to becoming the Hannah Hart I know and love today. Also, the book explains why Hannah is in a different kitchen nearly every video for the first year or two, which could otherwise be quite puzzling.

Hannah is one of my favourite people in the world. She is one of those strong and humble and honest souls who survive a traumatic past to become a force for good in this world. She is still struggling and learning and processing and growing, and she acknowledges that. I don’t know why I was shocked that some of the most terrifying trials outlined in Buffering Hannah was dealing with within this past year (2016)–perhaps because I have been following her online presence closely in that time and she is oh-so-good at putting on a cheery face and cracking jokes for the camera. It is hard, apparently, to remember that entertainers aren’t just that.

Buffering is another reminder that everyone has their demons, or as I like to put it everyone has their bitterness, and it is often difficult to see from the outside, especially when they are someone you admire. It takes a lot of trust for them to show it to you. And it is amazingly gratifying when they do. Of course as an internet celebrity who is recognized as a positive force in this world, Hannah has a lot of support outside of family and friends, she has this community she can count on to take this gift she has given us and love her 1000 times more for it. But that doesn’t mean that opening her heart and soul to us and the world could have been anything less than terrifying. So thank you, Hannah, for baring your soul and sharing your story with us.

PS.
I am a very lucky person who has led a very blessed life. I know nothing really helpful comes of comparing your life to another’s, but reading Hannah’s story, especially with regard to her mom, has made me that much more grateful for what I had and have. I lost my mom but I had her, whole and complete, for long enough to have had a healthy, fulfilling childhood. As much as I am feeling the power of this story, I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for people reading this book who can relate to Hannah’s story directly. I hope that this book serves to educate those who are ignorant and lift up those who are fighting to survive or close to giving up. A reminder to hope, because…

You never know what might be coming in the future.
There is so much music you’ve yet to hear.

so…

Practice reckless optimism.

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belated: best books of 2015

I meant to do something like this in January, but forgot… So here’s a look back!

Every year I set myself a reading challenge on goodreads—usually somewhere around 50 books. In 2015 I read 51 books (not counting rereads of Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, The Farsala Trilogy and The Silmarillion) because I am a nerd and a strange child. And without further ado, here are the best books I read in 2015:

Number 1: The Magicians by Lev Grossman

I loved so many things about this book, in fact, there’s really only one thing I didn’t like about it, unless you count the stuff the reader is probably not supposed to like, such as how depressing a lot of it is, or how much of an a-hole Quentin Coldwater can be sometimes. In a nutshell, The Magicians is about being miserable, and trying desperately to find happiness, but happiness is always two steps ahead. It’s about working your butt off to perfect a skill that you think will make you happy, cultivating near-perfect relationships, stumbling upon the literal fantasy world of your childhood dreams, and finding everything much harder and much less magical than you imagined. It’s about everything becoming too much, so that after losing it all, you hide your emotions from the world, and choose to be neither happy nor miserable nor special, but cold and normal and nothing at all. Until… but that would be spoiling the ending!  If you don’t mind spoilers, here’s my full review of this book.

Number 2: Blood of Dragons by Robin Hobb

This is the fourth and final book in the series called The Rain Wilds Chronicles and let me tell you, those books are fantastic. The world building is magical and the character development is incredible. All four books are full to bursting with politics and fluctuating relationships and irritating human squabbles, not to mention the dragons! This series cemented my undying love for dragon books and bumped Robin Hobb up into my collection of favourite authors. Also, the villain is one of the best and most awful villains I’ve ever read, and Robin Hobb has this excellent habit of killing off her least likeable characters in really satisfying ways—no spoilers.  Here’s my review (spoiler alert).

Number 3: The Book of Unknown Americans by Cristina Henriquez

Every once in a while I force myself to read something non-fantasy, maybe in an effort to expand my horizons or get my head of the clouds.  It is important for me to read books like this sometimes, books that, instead of plunging you into an exhilarating and all-consuming other world, just reflect this one. The parts we don’t think about enough, or forget exist. The Book of Unknown Americans is about the experience of living as immigrants in the United States, where you alternate between being ignored, hated, ridiculed, and feared. It’s about parents throwing everything away for the sake of their children. It’s a reminder of what the world is really like, beyond our comfortable little lives. False and sad and unpredictable and unfair. But also happy, in small ways, and full of love, and with maybe a little bit of hope. Also, it’s been years since a book has made me cry this much, so that should already be enough to make you want to read it.  Here’s my spoiler-free review.

We’re the unknown Americans, the ones no one even wants to know, because they’ve been told they’re supposed to be scared of us and because maybe if they did take the time to get to know us, they might realize that we’re not that bad, maybe even that we’re a lot like them. And who would they hate then?

Number 4: The Stone Angel, by Margaret Lawrence

What, another non-magical book? What was I doing last year? But really, who knew that a book about a cranky old woman’s reminiscence in the last week of her life would be so enthralling? Margaret Laurence does an amazing job of capturing the discomforts, fears, anger and insecurities that come with being elderly, losing independence and to some extent, respect, in your declining health–but all in such a way that it is somehow still relatable to younger readers such as myself. Plus, the writing is extremely clever and has lots of lovely imagery and brilliant metaphor—two of my favourite things!  Here’s my review (spoiler alert!).

Pride was my wilderness, and the demon that led me there was fear. I was alone, never anything else, and never free, for I carried my chains with me, and they spread out from me and shackled all I touched. Oh, my two, my dead. Dead by your own hands or mine? Nothing can take away those years.

Number 5: A Natural History of Dragons and The Tropic of Serpents by Marie Brennan

These books, otherwise known as the Memoirs of Lady Trent, are really great. They’re interesting in a dense, intellectual kind of way, because of the “scientific” focus of the story. But on top of that there’s the frivolity of a Victorian-esque world, the light rhetoric and rather dry humour of Lady Trent, who is an excellent narrator, and the thrill of adventure and discovery interspersed with moments of harsh reality and loss. And of course there are the dragons, which are different than other dragons books I’ve read in that they are more like wild animals, a kind of endangered species that people didn’t know a lot about until Lady Trent and her team start their “natural history” field research. I thoroughly enjoyed reading both of these books and can’t wait to read the third—as soon as it comes out in paperback!  

Number 6: Solstice Wood by Patricia A. McKillip

Now, this is actually the sequel to a book called Winter Rose, which I have not read yet, but I don’t think that matters too much (it still made sense). Patricia A. McKillip has been one of my favourite fantasy authors since I discovered her about four years ago. Solstice Wood is a little bit different than the other books of hers I have read, mainly because it is set somewhat in our world, rather than in one of the mystical imaginary lands she has created for most of her other stories. But what I love about her writing is the way she builds the story, introduces the tangled plot one thread at a time, never tells you more than you need to know for the moment, sparks your curiosity over each of the many characters and their roles as the story unfolds, and of course, fills all of the spaces in between with stunning imagery and elegant word play. Solstice Wood is actually my new favourite modern faerie tale.  Here is my review (spoiler alert).

Number 7: The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

I read a lot of really excellent books in 2015, but these (The Raven Boys, The Dream Thieves, and Blue Lily, Lily Blue) were the ones that were able to draw me in the most, to the point where I was almost late for commitments because no just one more chapter! The fantasy aspect of the story is interesting, but when I think about it it almost seems like a sideline plot beside the intricacies of human characteristics and choices and relationships that are explored. The books are all around well-written, but my favourite thing about them is how every character is so specific and precise in their personalities and in their relationships with one another. Stiefvater’s writing is stunning in a different way than McKillip’s–stunning in cleverness and specificity in word choice and plot devices rather than beautiful imagery; in that way I’d say her style is more akin to Neil Gaiman’s. I can’t wait to get my hands on the fourth book when it comes out!  Here is my review for the first book (spoiler alert) and here is the second (also spoilers–I was just too excited!).

What do you want, Adam?
To feel awake when my eyes are open.

Number 8: The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin

When I first picked this book up, I had no idea I would love it as much as I did by the end. It’s not fantasy, it’s not an adventure, it’s not particularly dramatic… but it’s magic. It is a beautiful book about booklovers and about books bringing people together in more ways than one. It’s about a book shop in a small town, its cantankerous owner, and the family that he finds in a very unexpected way. And the last chapter almost reduced me to a sobbing mess. It’s just really, really lovely.  Here is my spoiler-free review.

“A place ain’t a place without a bookstore, Izzie.”

Number 9: The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender by Leslye Walton

When I pulled this book off the library shelf, I was expecting your typical mediocre YA fantasy about a young and magical girl and her various struggles with romance, but I knew from the first page how wrong that assumption was. The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender is just that—strange, beautiful, and full of sorrow. The sort of twisted and unexplainable urban fantasy and the deft matter-of-fact-ness of the narrative reminds me a bit of Francesca Lia Block’s writing, although this is sticks a little closer to reason. The characters, few as they are, are great and round and believable, and the writing is filled with little bits of wry humour and clever twists of phrase. It’s also quite sad, most of the book, and horrific, parts of it. The villain—ugh. But the journey that each of the other characters takes as they navigate their relationships and their individual strangeness, is really beautiful, so on the whole, the book is beautiful.  Here is my spoiler-free review.

books

the book wall at FIKA Cafe in Kensington Market

Tada! Those were the best books I read in 2015!  My 2016 goal is just 40 books, and I am currently on my 12th, so I think I’ll have plenty of time for re-reading again this year.  I just finished Library of Souls by Ransom Riggs and I am currently reading The Martian by Andy Weir.  What are you reading?

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a conundrum

It’s getting close to that time.  It kind of hit me today: one year.  One year without my mom.

It seems like an appropriate time to mention the strange coincidence of that time, which I have thought of writing about at various points throughout the year, but was never really sure what to say.  I’m still not sure–I haven’t even written in my journal about it.

The anniversary of my mom’s passing is officially this coming Thursday, October 9.  At least, that was the day they stopped life support.  But in reality, she left us a week and three days before that.

On September 29, 2013, a Sunday, I was doing homework, in Thornhill.  My mom was being dropped off at the detox centre in Owen Sound by my grandma.  The night before, I’d talked to my mom on the phone.  She was nervous and ashamed, but also proud to finally be taking a real step towards recovery.  The last thing I said to her was “I love you.”

This is what I posted on tumblr that Sunday, in the middle of reading something for an education class:

2014-10-04 19.47.54

What is important to note here is that at the point of finding it mentioned in my readings for school, I did not remember what this particular Robert Munsch book was about–it had been a very long time since I read it.  But I saw the title Love You Forever and immediately choked up and felt tears pricking my eyes, without having the faintest idea why.

For those who don’t remember, the picture book follows a mother who rocks her son to sleep every night, singing the song that I will link at the end of this post.  She continues to do so even when he is an adult.  But then at the end of the book, the mother is dying, and it is the son who cradles her in his arms as he sings the song.  That Sunday, I went on Robert Munsch’s website to find the book, and discovered a recording of him reading it aloud.  I thought, then, that I had found the source of my mysterious sense of sadness at seeing the title in my readings.

The following night, I got the call from my uncle and grandma, telling me that my mom had collapsed at the detox centre on Sunday evening and was in a coma in the hospital.

I don’t really have anything else to say about this strange coincidence, I just wanted to get it out of my head to where it’s easier to look at more closely.

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memories I

I went through a mystery novel phase between the ages of six and nine.  Someone gave me the first six Nancy Drew books in a boxed set, and she was my favourite of favourites for a long time.  I used to love going to the library booksale every November, where I could buy a box of ten old books for less than a toonie.  It wasn’t long before I acquired almost the whole (ridiculously expansive) collection of Nancy Drew books, as well as some other lesser known teen-girl-detective books like Trixie Belden and Herculia Jones.  My favourite Nancy Drew books were the ones in which Nancy fainted at some point in the story (which is a hilariously high percentage of the books); I’m not quite sure what that says about the type of child I was.

    

Sidenote: I was just trying to find the title of another series I vaguely remember and stumbled across this very interesting article about how positively dated the original Nancy Drew books were in terms of social and political correctness.  I guess that wasn’t really something I was thinking about when I was seven.

I have several very clear memories from my mystery-binge era.  I remember Trixie finding a locket (or perhaps an earring?) in a lawn full of clover.  I remember feeling righteously furious at whoever wrote on the back of a Herculia Jones book “look out Nancy Drew, Herculia Jones is coming through”.  Almost as angry as I feel now when I hear anyone say “this will be the next Harry Potter”.

One memory has given me the rather interesting realization that I was reading full novels and somehow understanding them before I even knew what a sentence was.  I had been reading, unsurprisingly, when my best friend and her mom came over to visit, and my mom suggested that we go up to my room and read together; “Take turns reading sentences,” was what she said.  When we got up to my room and jumped on my bed, we had to figure out what she had meant by “sentences” and I decided that a sentence simply meant three words.  So we read three words at a time, back and forth, until my friend got bored.  Incidentally, the book we were reading was of the series I can’t remember the title too, though I’m about 99.9% certain that the protagonist’s first name was Arizona… if anyone feels like going on a book hunt for me?

I remember my mom getting a very battered copy of Sherlock Holmes from the library for me on the grounds that I liked mysteries, but I stopped reading it after the first couple of pages because I wasn’t quite ready for literature-level murder mysteries at the age of eight.

Through these girl-detective books I learned words like “sleuth” and “blazer” (improperly: in my imagination Nancy went around wearing neon-bright sweaters!).  I learned that fainting is a fact of life and mysteries always have a simple and logical answer that is usually obvious from the get-go.  In short, I didn’t really learn anything at all.  I started to lose interest in the genre when I noticed I could predict the ending of the books from the first couple of chapters–probably less because I was some kind of prodigy and more because they all had pretty similar and clear-cut solutions.  I was catapulted out of this phase of my life as a reader when my dad bought me the first Harry Potter book for Christmas when I was eight–out of the mystery phase and straight into the fantasy world I have lived in to this day, where I probably will stay for the rest of my life!

What sort of reading did you get up to when you were a kid?  Did you go through distinct genre phases?  Can you remember the first book that gave you very strong opinions about something?  Which books triggered your changes in taste?

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practically perfect

I.

“The first time I read the Bible cover to cover, I was in an army hospital in Washington,” I said. “I had a mind to make myself believe every single word was true. The second time I read it to satisfy myself it was all a lie. Now I read it to weigh both sides, and find some truth.”
Bengough nodded. “And what in the Good Book have you decided is absolutely and indisputably true?”
I thought for a moment. “That verse that says ‘Jesus wept.'”

 

“Do not follow your present course. It is a dead end. The dead end of the perfect English gentleman.”

It has taken me nearly a month, but I finally finished reading Guy Vanderheaghe’s The Last Crossing, and wow.  What an extraordinary book that is, friends, let me tell you.  It has changed me.  I feel like my inside, my spirit, is filled with the vast expanse of pre-colonial Canadian wilderness, glaring blue sky, the sound of wind over plains and through forests.  I sound like a crazy person.  I just spent two and a half hours writing a really long review, which you can read here if you wish (spoilers are minor, I think).  I’m still recovering from the harrowing and humbling adventure of reading this book.

“We are a family of dissemblers,” he said. My brother gravely pursed his lips, a judge momentously weighing a sentence. “And I am the greatest dissembler of us all,” he said at last.

II.

Last night I stayed late at school to see the third year choreography showcase, which was comprised of nineteen stunning works created by my incredibly talented classmates and friends.  There was one piece among all of those, however, that had a greater affect on me than any dance performance I have ever attended before.  The surface meaning of the piece was to do with the ordeal of a person who is harbouring a dark secret, feeling trapped by it, consumed by it, and terrified.  Then there’s how you deal with the burden, through precise and careful tucking and patting, radiating a demeanour of prettiness and simple perfection, when inside you are crying for rescue.  The piece was danced to spoken text (which was also written by the choreographer) rather than music, and the text affected me as much if not more than the dance itself–it was achingly beautiful, frighteningly sad, confusing, heart wrenching.

There was so much below the surface that I can’t grasp any thought, just this inexplicable, puzzling, profound feeling I’ve had ever since.

it was like a thorn of regret/nostalgia/fear/beauty going into my soul and it hasn’t left yet. the more I think about it the more I want to cry. I want to watch it again and again and again and again.

– from my tumblr post about it

 

I have just enough time to tell you about the indescribable thing that lodged a metaphorical thorn in my chest yesterday and which still threatens to make me cry every time I dwell on it for too long.  Will you believe me now if I tell you that it’s not a bad thing? … Something about it really hit home to me, like it seized my heart and mind and hasn’t yet released them.  … I don’t fully understand this myself.  All I know is that although it makes me cry, and not happy tears, it is not a bad thing at all.

– from my journal entry this morning

I don’t think anyone can quite comprehend what the past twenty-four hours have been like… the experience of watching that piece has consumed the majority of my thoughts.  I told the choreographer last night that the piece really hit home for me, and she gave me a hug, and then I told her today that the more I think about it the more I feel like crying, and she gave me another hug.  Honestly I’m all in a muddle about this and I can’t even organize my thoughts.  Hence why I wrote about it everywhere… I’m trying to make some sense of why it had such an impact on me.  I’ll let you know if I ever have a revelation on that front.

On top of that, the music from my other friend’s piece has been playing on repeat in my head all day, and it seems to coincide perfectly with everything that I’ve been thinking about and feeling, so I don’t even know what to do any more.  The music was the main theme from Disney/Pixar’s Up played by a live pianist on stage… a little bit like this, to give you some idea.

III.

I went on my tumblr blog to listen to the playlist I have on there (because I haven’t listened to it for a while) and then one song happened to perfectly coincide with all of everything just in terms of the beauty of it and… just the way it captures the strange and unexpected state of mind I’ve been.  So I’ll leave you on this note, and go make myself some supper, because I’ve been writing for over five hours straight and my body is telling me it requires sustenance.

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and more?

Right after publishing that post I realized that I wanted to keep writing, so now I am going to tell you about my three smiles of the past week.  This past week was reading week for university students in Ontario, which for me meant going home (escaping the city) to hang out with my cats and my dad and dance at my home studio, among other exciting activities.  Because of this, my good things count is much higher than three, but I believe I shall have to choose which smiles to elaborate on…

1.  On Monday, my dad and I took my crazy cat Luna(tic) to her new home, a friend’s farm out in the middle of nowhere.  Luna has always had a wild streak, but in the few months since she moved in with a family friend after my mom passed, she turned alarmingly feral.  We’ll never know whether it was due to the stress of moving, missing the contact with my mom and myself, or just something that would have developed anyway; but something had to be done.  So on Monday, an unfortunately frigid day for introducing an indoor cat to the outside world, we drove out and introduced Luna to her new home.  I was worried that she would be cold and stressed, but I’ve been receiving updates all week and Luna has apparently taken ownership of the barn.  She has many new friends which include several dogs, countless sheep, a calf, a few horses, and many chickens and other birds.  I think it will be very good for her.

Image

my Luna(tic) looking none too please with me upon arriving at the farm

2.  On the way home from that adventure, my dad decided to stop at Great Books & Cafe at the Williamsford Mill and I fell in love.  Basically, it’s an old mill in the tiny town (hamlet. street.) of Williamsford, Ontario, which was converted into a beautiful bookstore and cafe, filled from top to bottom with shelves upon shelves and rooms within rooms of used books.  The building is beautiful, the food is delicious, and there are woodstoves.  It is now one of my favourite places in existence, and I’ve decided I want to live there.  If heaven exists, that’s what it looks like.

Image

a view of the second floor from the loft at the Williamsford Mill

3. This last one is just brief, but on Wednesday I spent two hours chatting in a coffee shop with two of my best friends from high school, whom I hadn’t seen for several months, and it’s one of those social interactions I can look back on without a single regret or qualm.  There’s something innately special about the kind of friendship that is built whole heartedly of love and laughter and understanding and support, with absolutely no space for anxiety or misgivings of any kind.  I am so grateful to have such beautiful people to call my friends.

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Stars

It’s been ages, I know.  I haven’t been keeping up, and I have very few excuses.  I’ve had plenty of good things to talk about for my three smiles a week, but I’ve lacked the motivation to write.  Which is especially unfortunate given that it means I’ve been breaking my New Year’s resolution every day since the last time I wrote in my journal (about two weeks ago).  

This post will be part book promotion and part charity promotion.  This month, my excuse for missing the charity post dates is that one of them was my birthday and the other was too full of cats and dancing to have much space for writing.  Hopefully in March there won’t be an excuse and I’ll just post on the days I promised I would!

Anyway, another reason I didn’t post earlier in the week was because I didn’t really have an idea which charity I wanted to promote.  The world is full of good people, but who to talk about first?  But not today.  Today I went to the bookstore for the first time in ages and was finally able to purchase This Star Won’t Go Out, the memoir/biography/autobiography/journals/art of Esther Grace Earl, a quirky nerdfighter and queen of compassion whom cancer stole from this earth at far too young an age… I’ve been reading all day, in a state of almost-tears, and am already halfway done.

I would highly recommend this book to everyone, whether or not your life has been affected by cancer, because it is just full of light and depth and clarity and wisdom beyond Esther’s sixteen years.  And while your at it, check out This Star Won’t Go Out, the foundation that Esther’s family started in her name, to give much needed financial aid to the families of children with cancer.  Here’s a similar Canadian foundation too, just for good measure.

Esther’s book makes me want to write more, do more, think more, feel more, and be more.  I hope you decide to pick it up and find it as inspiring as I have.  

“Just be happy, and if you can’t be happy, do things that make you happy.  Or do nothing with the people that make you happy.”

– Esther Earl