Brother

Every once in a while I find a book that is so good, so compelling that I find myself reading it in every free minute. While I'm waiting for my eggs to be ready to flip, read a few pages, while I'm in the elevator to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer, read a few more, while eating dinner, read more, read and read before bed until you are so tired you read the same paragraph six times before finally having to admit, one hour after you normally are asleep, you really can't possibly read any more. A book of this length often takes a week or more for me and this was done in two days. And now I'm sad because it's over and I'll never read it for the first time again and these characters I love will be gone. I'll miss them.

I've been to this part of Scarborough several times, sometimes going to visit the library in the area on a project to visit all of Toronto's libraries. Other times I cycled through the Rouge valley myself. So of course I had a lot of mental images as I read. And now when I ride through there on my bike again part of me will be looking for folks, wondering how they're all doing.

This one's going to be a hard one to follow.

Beautiful, and, damn, so hard to organize my thoughts for this one. For me it struck chords of living on the edges of society, never belonging or fitting in anywhere: Francis, the hep older brother whose assertiveness masks tragic insecurities; Michael, our narrator, seemingly ineffectual, living in his brother’s shadow, paralyzed by his own more overt insecurities; their mother, an immigrant having long lost the hope of an education and better life for herself, fiercely pushing that dream on her uncomprehending children. All of them bearing crushing responsibilities, trapped in bleak circumstances; and then, after a tragedy, trapping their own selves even further.

There’s so much I’m thinking but just can’t express, and really, why should I? This is a book to ponder, to discuss in person, perhaps to reread; not one to pontificate about. I‘m not sure it’ll work for everyone, but if you’ve ever felt the lonely isolation of not fitting in; if you’ve ever struggled—whether or not you’re an actual immigrant, whatever color your skin—to assimilate, and other times worked just as hard to defend who you are; if you’ve ever striven toward a better life, if it hasn’t quite worked out; you might appreciate this book.