“Something for the Dark”
Written by Randy Lundy
Published by University of Regina Press
Review by Shelley A. Leedahl
$19.95 ISBN 9-781779-400888
I’ve reviewed four of Randy Lundy’s transcendent poetry collections, and each time I’ve come away thinking surely this is as good as he gets. Then a new title’s released … and the ceiling rises again.
Something for the Dark, Lundy’s latest, follows Field Notes for the Self (2020) and Blackbird Song (2018) in a trilogy of meditative books that address the whole of it: life and meaning; connections with people and place (he’s often “on the back deck” with cigarettes and coffee, and his poems surreptitiously venerate the prairies he long resided on); seasons; his beloved creatures (particularly dogs and birds); nothingness and silence; and writing poetry (“These lines are getting the/discussion nowhere”).
I built a fire in the woodstove, lifted the old dog up onto the couch, and, in silence and solitude, let the words nourish me. Lundy possesses the artist’s gift of seeing, certainly, but he also exhibits the rare ability to render images and experiences into something other, something that borders on the holy—a crow feasting on the rib of a “road-killed deer” holds “a strip of meat/in its beak, a red prayer flag hanging limp in the February wind.” Poem after poem, we find a singular “kind of knowing” and acceptance, ie: “There will be dark and cold; it will go on for/days and months.”
There are at least a dozen uses of “nothing,” including “Nothing is hidden here;” “Nothing remains/to say;” and a “silent, brooding” father:
sitting at a kitchen table in a
fourteen-foot-wide trailer, one hand holding a cup of coffee
in front of him and a
cigarette hanging forgotten in the other,
staring out the single-pane
window and seeing nothing but
his past
Lundy’s father “died early and alone at the back/of the trailer [the poet] grew up in.” All these nothings contain much, including a grandfather who “taught me/to make of silence something rather than nothing,/something from nothing.”
I believe we all need poets to tell us what we didn’t know we were yearning to hear: that “A broken, long-/abandoned wasps’ nest [hangs] like the body/of a headless owl. And, for those who write and those who don’t, that “our job is to stand at a distance,/avert our gaze,/and wait.”
Lundy slices away the noise and gently, even reverently, delivers us to emotional ground zeros, ie: a man who has just chainsawed his rotting apple tree is weeping, in part because “rotted-into-emptiness” rings personal. The tears make him feel
embarrassed, even
slightly ashamed, though
there was no witness except the two
dogs, one on either side,
muzzles raised in concern, taking turns
rubbing and then leaning
their weights against [his] legs.
Consider “the dog’s/ears that hang like a pair of temple bells.” The red meat of Lundy’s prayer flag. This writing feels like a new religion, but it’s the oldest of all—the one in which “rocks breathe,” and “your spirit has nothing to do with/heaven or eternity./Just these things, here and now, that you can touch and see.” Preach, Poet.
THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM THE SASKATCHEWAN PUBLISHERS GROUP WWW.SKBOOKS.COM
“Into the D/ark”
Written by David Elias
Published by Radiant Press
Review by Shelley A. Leedahl
$22.00
ISBN 9-781998-926381
Into the D/ark is the dream-like and aptly-titled new novel by veteran Winnipeg writer David Elias, as all is not well for blacksmith/artist Clarence; his wife, Rose; and their fire-disfigured sons in rural Manitoba circa 1963. Indeed, Rose’s best friend, Martha—who inadvertently photographs JFK’s assassination while on holiday—and her fanatical, ark-building brother, Abe, are also battling demons. Like the snow-whipped landscape, the characters are driven toward a frenzy with their disparate obsessions: Rose’s love of women’s magazines; her self-exiled sons’ non-stop watching of American TV programs (their panacea in the rough shack they’ve named “Bachelor’s Paradise);” Martha’s black and white photography, and her secret love for Rose; Abe’s ark project; and Clarence’s shift from welding farm implements to creating nonsensical metal monsters.
The key to this original book’s success is manyfold. Firstly, the distinct characterizations and the author’s ability to credibly portray madness are remarkable: an entire, almost fantastical chapter is dedicated to Clarence’s unravelling, which coincides with the removal of his welding mask:
… he now bathed in glorious unending light,
all because he kept
his naked eyes fixed on the
dazzling blaze of metallic fusion, never
looking away, never yielding, until he’d
noticed the fiery sphere where
the welding rod met the steel grow and widen,
brighten, intensify, until
it expanded to fill the entire
room and left him standing in a sea of pure
white.
If this sounds Rapturous, it’s
deliberate. This is Mennonite country. Clarence’s fervour among his “phalanx of
iron creatures” takes on a quasi-religious tone, and it’s akin to
scripture-quoting Abe’s passion for his ark. These are creation stories of a
strange kind. Both men are “Not eating. Not sleeping or bathing. Wearing [the]
same clothes day in and day out.” Clarence is regularly “embroiled in the
maelstrom of a wildly complex idea that buzzed his brain like a crazed moth,”
and “a cocktail of toxic chemicals” is “slowly poisoning” him.
There’s heavy use of symbolism, ie: the image of “Tiny droplets of mist” is reimagined throughout the novel as sparks, snow, ashes, and the spray of blood on Jacqueline Kennedy’s pink pillbox hat. The “shiny” stool in Clarence’s shop echoes the boys’ burned skin; JFK’s “thick, shiny hair” the moment before he was shot; and the First Lady crawling across the car’s “shiny black surface” in the moment after.
Elias masters both sweet scenes (Rose milking a cow; Rose rubbing lanolin into her sons’ ruined skin) and the macabre—the blacksmith shop’s explosion that “[liquefied] the skin on her boys’ hands and faces,” and the Kennedy assassination, in close-up.
Elias also addresses the “self-imposed exile” of men, and Martha infers that “All that conspicuous absence and suffering was really a gesture. A feeble attempt at some kind of heroism.” Human connections, community—these render a person healthy and whole.
From the bright flame of the welding torch to the darkness of human nature, this brilliant novel contains it all. Its unforgettable climactic scene is something you must discover for yourself.
THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL
BOOKSTORE OR FROM WWW.SKBOOKS.COM
__________
“My Monster Mommy”
Written by Megan Ryan
Illustrated by Brenna Senger
Published by Meow! Pete’s Press
Review by Shelley A. Leedahl
$15.99 ISBN 9781069345912
The luckiest among us were read to as children, and long may that wonderful tradition continue. Giving children books as gifts—and spending quality time sharing these books with our loved ones—can lead to a lifelong love of literature. In today’s hectic technological era, I wondered if the sharing of “bedtime stories” is something that exhausted contemporary parents still have the time and energy for. After a little Googling, I learned that as recently as 2024, children's and YA books [still] accounted for 40% of all English-language book sales in Canada. That’s great news—for writers and readers.
With all the children’s books published over the centuries, coming up with original ideas can be challenging, but Saskatchewan writer—and busy mom—Megan Ryan has a delightful new children’s book that is indeed unique. My Monster Mommy is also timely: it addresses how mothers who also work outside the home might be extra tired, and require a little “alone time” as they switch gears between their jobs/careers and family time.
The softcover My Monster Mommy—digitally illustrated by Brenna Senger— introduces us to young Sammy, who’s concerned that his mother is some kind of monster because of the unusual things she says and does. After a “fraught” night, the child finds his father watching football—and here illustrator Senger uses humour to show a male figure literally watching a stationary football on a screen—and asks if mom’s “turning into a Yeti,” because “She was hairy and stinky and her mood was real sour.” Sammy’s patient and loving father ensures him that his mother is not becoming a Yeti, “but she does/need her time,/For personal hygiene,/to help her feel fine.”
The book, dedicated to “all the moms who feel like monsters,” addresses this grown-up theme in a way that children can both comprehend and enjoy. The story’s told in rhyme, providing a musicality that children aged three to eight might especially appreciate.
Still unconvinced, Sammy wonders if
perhaps his mother’s a Zombie (“She got up with her eyes closed and walked/into
the door!”), or a Ghost (“Sometimes when I look for her, she/vanishes! Poof!”),
or a Banshee (her awful shower singing has even Sammy’s omnipresent stuffed
dinosaur holding his hands over his ears). She comes home late and sometimes
Sammy doesn’t see her until the morning: could she be a Vampire? Again, each of
Sammy’s concerns is quelled by his compassionate father. He confirms that the
boy’s mother loves Sammy deeply, and that “Being a mother is the most precious
gift, But/sometimes she just needs a break from her/shift.”
We learn that Sammy’s mother is a nurse who works nightshifts. The book’s author is a longtime Care Aid in Saskatoon. This topical story, paired with Senger’s bold, humorous and telling illustrations, ie: dust bunnies under the couch, would be a great addition to any child’s library, but especially to the scores of youngsters whose mothers share the simultaneous responsibilities of earning income and trying to be the best mother possible.
THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM THE SASKATCHEWAN PUBLISHERS GROUP WWW.SKBOOKS.COM
__________
“The Chorus Beneath Our Feet”
Written by Melanie Schnell
Published by Radiant Press
Review by Shelley A. Leedahl
$25.00
ISBN 9-781998-926329
Regina writer Melanie Schnell’s debut novel, While the Sun is Above Us, earned her the Saskatchewan First Book Award and The City of Regina Award at the 2013 Saskatchewan Book Awards, and I expect her recently released second novel, The Chorus Beneath Our Feet, will also garner attention, particularly for its ambitious plot.
Schnell’s braided several surprisingly disparate elements and parallelled the relationships between two sets of siblings in this crime story set in “Ravenwood,” Alberta. The first brother and sister were among the 100,000 Barnardo’s Homes’ children shipped from England to Canada to labour on farms between 1869 – 1948. These 100,000 “home children” were ripped from their families and treated extremely poorly in Canada. Ravenwood rumours suggest that the bodies of these separated siblings are buried beneath the massive oak tree (the “Harron Tree”) in the city’s central park. A local construction company is razing the tree for the construction of a mall, and protesters are rallying around the stately oak.
The second set of siblings are Jes, an army Sargeant who’s returned home after eight years in Afghanistan—he’s accompanying his fellow soldier and best friend’s body, and Jes himself is sporting an eye patch thanks to the same explosion that killed his buddy—and Mary. Jes and his weird-since-childhood sister lived with a “mean drunk” father, and their mother was killed in a car accident when Mary was twelve. Mary stopped speaking shortly after the fatality, and now she’s “ended up in the park with the other homeless people,” including the delusional Norse-mythology-themed-cult leader, Izzy. Jes literally sleeps in the oak tree, which has “told [her] its real name” (“Oman”), offers her “a secret knowledge,” and has shared that the home children’s bodies are indeed buried beneath the oak’s canopy, and they must be reunited before the tree is felled.
Jes never treated his strange sister—who writes “maddening nonsensical notes”—kindly, and he’s remorseful now, especially once he learns that a newborn’s body was found hanging in the tree and the police want to question Mary in connection with the murder.
There’s a strong sense of immediacy here: the park’s demolition begins Saturday; Neil’s funeral in Edmonton is also on Saturday, and protocol requires that Jes be there; mentally ill “Charlie,” another unhomed park dweller, informs Jes that Mary’s life’s in danger; and nobody can tell Jes where his sister is. The clock’s ticking. Mary believes Jes can save the tree (and thus reunite the historical siblings), but as has been her way, she’s left only obscure notes for her brother. She’s learned that “in the cacophony of life, to pierce the rampant blindness and deafness, one must attempt to communicate in a way that the words can touch someone deep beneath their skin,” as Oman communicates with her.
The various subplots and the connections between characters are much like a tree’s tangled and extensive root system. This fast-paced novel reminds us to offer grace to ourselves … and to those who are nothing like us.
THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM THE SASKATCHEWAN PUBLISHERS GROUP WWW.SKBOOKS.COM
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