Saturday, September 19, 2026

Three New Reviews: Lost in Translation by Edward Willett; Broken Realm by Jenna Greene; and Queer and Muslim: On Faith, Family and Healing edited by Rahim Thawer and Maryam Khan

 

"Lost in Translation"

by Edward Willett

Published by Endless Sky Books

Review by Shelley A. Leedahl

$26.99  ISBN 978-1-998273-58-4

 

It took me several days to complete Regina author and publisher Edward Willett’s far-future science fiction novel, Lost in Translation, as it required taking copious notes to keep the various humans and aliens straight, and to follow the out-of-this-world plot. Of all the Willett books I’ve read, this one’s been the most challenging, but I’m guessing that it is this very multitude of strange, double-consonanted characters; weird planets inhabited by “the Seven Races;” special abilities; the complex hierarchy of command; and violent wars that would have true sci-fi afficionados heralding this well-crafted novel.      

The book opens with Jarrikk, a bat-like, red-eyed S’sinn creature on planet Kikks’sarr, who’d been hobbled from flight due to an attack by humans (“bloody-handed murderers”). This attack also resulted in the death of his youngling fellow S’sinns—his “brothers.” Jarrikk understandably fosters a huge hatred toward the three murdering humans, who left behind “a pile of bloody meat indistinguishable from any dead beast.” The author scores A+ for gore.

Trouble’s been brewing on Kikks’sarr ever since humans arrived to the planet—the S’sinn no longer live in their “airy treetop structures,” and instead, for safety, have withdrawn into “high mountain caves.” Jarrikk’s first order of business is to let Flight Leader Kitillikk know what’s happened to his mates, then to repeat the sober story for the Hunters. A retaliation starts a human/S’sinn war.

Another thing about Jarrikk: a flightless S’sinn has few options; they include suicide, or taking the Oath and working for the Translators’ Guild. Translators “never lie,” and they must “Link” with other Translators, who are few and far between. Linking requires dual injections, which spread “Programming,” and using the “warm silvery cord” to connect the parties’ via a “contact patch behind [their] right ear.”

Jarrikk’s required to Link with a human, Kathryn, who has been suffering since her parents were slaughtered by S’sinn on the “farming planet” called Luckystrike, “a thousand light-years from Earth.” Both Kathryn and Jarrikk can empathetically read others. Poor Katy always gleaned her parents’ emotions, and after their obliteration she was whisked to an orphanage on Earth. Her trauma catapulted her into “bondcut” …  “an endless emotional loop”). Due to their perception and empathy, both Katy and Jarrikk are indoctrinated into the Guild of Translators, which serves the Commonwealth. The Translators “cannot lie under Programming.” Their responsibility is to translate during trade negotiations.

This complex story is not unlike what’s unfolding in real-world geopolitics right now. There are violent wars over territory, and one despotic figure, in particular—in this story it’s Flight Leader Kitillikk—is hell-bent on destroying anyone or anything that stands in the way of obtaining power through war. We have NATO, this book has the Commonwealth, which decrees that “̒the war between the S’sinn and the humans is ended,’” because “̒trade has been disrupted. Innocent ships have been destroyed,’” and there will be “̒serious economic consequences …’” Sound familiar?  

With attraction, revenge, and regeneration therapy also in the mix, Willett’s created a 309-page interstellar storm.


THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM THE SASKATCHEWAN PUBLISHERS GROUP WWW.SKBOOKS.COM

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“Broken Realm”

By Jenna Greene

Published by Shadowpaw Press

Review by Shelley A. Leedahl

$24.99  ISBN 9-781998-273546

 

Jenna Greene’s action-filled fantasy novel, Broken Realm, stars seventeen-year-old seamstress and loner, Keely Thompkins, and Briggs Ray, an eighteen-year-old woodsman and outsider. The pair are vaguely connected in the “real” world (they’d attended the same school), but when they meet in the woods and both see and touch “a faint distortion between a pair of high-branched trees” with a “strange, multi-coloured shimmer” and “faint heat,” the pair are transported into a realm in which they’ll be fighting for their lives, without even knowing why. What they do know: after passing through the portal and discovering their village has disappeared, they both now sport unusual parallel lines on their skin—Briggs on his wrist, Jenna on her shoulder blade.

The major strengths in this 350-page, slow-burn romance are the characterizations of the leading pair (both of whom battle demons); Greene’s ability to write riveting action scenes; and the detailed description of something called “The Frosting,” where winter instantly descends … and takes lives with it. These terrifying and icy descriptions are where Greene shines, ie: “[Briggs] spied whorls slithering across the ground, creeping over cobblestones and up concrete foundations. Grey steps turned frosty. Trees were wrapped with ribbons of ice.”

It’s also interesting that the story is timeless: we don’t know where this real world is, or when the story is taking place.

We immediately learn about Keely’s crippling phobia concerning doors and crossing thresholds—a specific kind of agoraphobia—which mostly confines her to the attic room where she works. “Her goal was to endure, not thrive,” Greene writes. 

Keely’s mother died years before, and, in his perennial grief, her father’s disinterested in his daughters, but at least Keely has family; Briggs has no recollection of ever having one. “̒No one claimed me,’” he tells Keely. His childhood consisted of “begging for crusts while wearing ill-fitting, threadbare clothes,” and school was a place to keep warm during the winter. Now, as a woodsman, he could earn money, though it was “barely enough to survive on.” Fortunately, having “lived half his life outdoors,” Briggs is able to start a fire and forage tubers to keep them alive.

I do have a gripe with this author’s distracting and frequent habit of beginning sentences with gerunds (“ing” words), ie: “Taking the book back, she cracked the spine.” Strong, active subjects and conjugated verbs create more direct and engaging sentences; gerund phrases often add unnecessary length to a sentence without adding clear meaning; overusing sentence-beginning gerunds blurs the flow of thoughts and bores readers; and this practice can also lead to dangling modifiers. Avoid!    

But back to those strange marks. After much effort, the young pair learn that they “bear the symbol of the gods,” and it will be up to them to repair “The Great Rift” that separated the Twin gods, Ahisa and Menor, and caused the world to transform—and not in a good way. Can they do it?

Greene has previously published other YA and children’s titles. See more: jeannagreen.ca .


THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM THE SASKATCHEWAN PUBLISHERS GROUP WWW.SKBOOKS.COM

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“Queer and Muslim: On Faith, Family, and Healing”

Edited by Rahim Thawer and Maryam Khan

Published by University of Regina Press

Review by Shelley A. Leedahl

$25.95  ISBN 9-781779-401281

   

The anthology Queer and Muslim: On Faith, Family, and Healing, edited by Rahim Thawer and Maryam Khan, is a collection of personal essays, poems, letters and interviews that gives voice to LGBTQ+ Muslims and, in doing so, it creates a community for both authors and readers.

The text presents opportunities to learn about the personal struggles, traumas, and joys inherent in the lives of LGBTQ+ Muslims around the world, and it illustrates how storytelling is a transformative tool in healing from self-hatred, racism, family complexities, faith issues, societal expectations, alienation, and abuse. The editors consider the book “an intervention in both LGBTQ and Muslim communities, addressing the erasure of queer and trans Muslim voices from mental health discourse and from within their religious and cultural spaces.” It collectively highlights “the stormy convergence of faith, queerness, and mental health,” and opens with a powerful introduction by Imam Muhsin Hendricks, “one of the world’s first openly queer Imams,” whom, we learn, was “murdered in cold blood” in February 2025. This tragic fact alone underscores the often threatened existence of LGBTQ Muslims, and demonstrates why these voices need a stage.

Thawer is a Toronto-based social worker, psychotherapist, and author who “explores intersections of mental health and systemic oppression,” and Khan is an associate professor of Social Work at Wilfrid Laurier University who changed her own focus from trauma to healing. They’ve organized the anthology into four parts to address “Identity and Family;” “Struggles and Resilience;” “Healing and Transformation;” and “Community and Spiritual Practices.”

In Part One, writer Sami Sharif addresses their difficult relationship with their mother, “born and raised in one of the poorest states in India,” and how they—“a queer boy in the suburbs of Ontario”—can reconcile their very different lives and experiences. Sharif explains that “relief” came once they “reframed [their] journeys (safar) as overlapping rather than being in opposition.” Now they can “embrace [themselves] as two weirdos (ajeebon) making it through this life together (saat milkar).”

Some of the authors of these raw pieces have understandably used pseudonyms. In her essay “Samajhdaar,” Y.K. speaks of being an outsider. “By the age of fourteen, I knew that nobody had ever loved me … I craved just one word, one word that would make me feel complete.” During university, mired in shame re: her queerness and feeling she’d disappointed her parents, she writes: “I broke my heart every day, healed my wounds, and waited for my next misfortune to arise.”  

Ayan Yusuf Karshe, an anti-oppression educator, has also struggled with identity, and, with a Somali-born mother who lived years in Saudi Arabia, the Canadian-raised Karshe had to learn—through workshops and reading—how to show their “ostracizing” mother more empathy. “Belonging is a lifelong journey,” Karshe writes.

Other powerful contributions include essays on self-care and creating new faith communities; a letter to an inner child; and a lyrical essay, “The Garden is My Home,” which ends “I am not broken (over and over); I am broken open. Alhamdullilah—praise God.”


THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM WWW.SKBOOKS.COM

 

 

Thursday, September 3, 2026

Three New Reviews: Sadi's Dragons, by Beverley Brenna; Apron Apocalypse, by Jeanette Lynes; and Critters: Wandering Monsters, by Allan Dotson

“Sadi’s Dragons”

By Beverley Brenna

Published by Thistledown Press

Review by Shelley A. Leedahl

$16.95  ISBN 978-1-77187-296-6

   

Some authors always “deliver the goods” when it comes to arresting plots, compelling characters, and technical proficiency. Saskatchewan’s Beverley Brenna—a Governor General’s Literary Award nominee, author of numerous books for young people, professor emerita at the University of Saskatchewan’s College of Education, editor, and visual artist—is one of those consistently reliable writers, and her new middle years’ novel, Sadi’s Dragons, is another grand success. Brenna books are not only entertaining, they also feel important, and her latest is no exception.

The intergenerational novel deals with serious issues: poverty and the unhomed; a fatal boating accident (and the fallout for eleven-year-old protagonist, Sadi, and her struggling mother); dementia; abuse; and lies. It also positions storytelling, art-making and forging new friendships as integral to the characters’ healing. In short, this is no ordinary juvenile novel with goofy characters, puppy love and slapstick humour … it’s far more layered and impressive, and it credits young readers with having both the interest and the ability to digest more complex plots and realistic, contemporary issues.

We meet Sadi when she’s been alone for five days and living in a tent near a river while her mother has “gone back to the city.” Food is sometimes found in garbage cans, washing is done in the river or—as October’s blowing in—a shopping mall bathroom. We know that Sadi has buried a tragic secret and the imaginative young girl tries to keep it locked up in her “memory box.” Also, as a result of the boating accident that killed her beloved father and twin brother, she’s suffered a brain injury.

Sadi’s chapters alternate with those of Marguerite, a senior artist challenged by dementia. Never-married Marguerite lives quietly with her dog (whose name she can’t recall, and whom she sometimes forgets to feed). She hasn’t painted in a year, and her gallerist is pressuring her for new work. She has no friends, often naps out of boredom (“Because if she was sleeping, she didn’t have to think about anything”), and is so frustrated with her memory loss she’s been throwing items—including canvases and paint supplies—into her back yard.

Brenna skillfully sets tone with the increasingly poor weather, and by using the colour grey. The dog is “like a small grey shadow,” Marguerite’s room is grey, and a day is described as “grey.” Sadi thinks that the river looks “like a long silver dress,” and even though she has an acquired brain injury, she’s always pondering, and comes up with ideas like putting calculators on shopping carts so “you’d know just how much you were spending.”

As much as Sadi is trying not to remember, Marguerite is desperate to remember, and asks herself: “What if I forget who I am?” I won’t reveal how Brenna masterfully connects the girl and the artist—the former fearing foster care, the latter fearing a care home—or what dragons have to do with it. I  encourage you to buy the book, and enjoy finding out for yourself.

THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM WWW.SKBOOKS.COM

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“Apron Apocalypse”

Written by Jeanette Lynes

Published by Thistledown Press

Review by Shelley A. Leedahl

$24.95  ISBN 978-1-77187-294-2

 

I’ve previously admired Jeanette Lynes’ poetry and fiction, but with her latest book—Apron Apocalypse, an intimate yet highly-accessible collection of lyric essays—the Ontario-born, Saskatoon-based Lynes hoists an already high bar, and clears it. Lynes is well-known for her numerous books; as the Coordinator of the M.F.A. in Writing at the University of Saskatchewan; and for her wit and wardrobe. Her work—frequently surprising, tight, and always entertaining—has given her a national literary presence. Wikipedia page? Absolutely.   

Apron Apocalypse is smart, candid, stylish and illuminating—a book I’ll be recommending to anyone who loves the hybridity (poetic prose and real-life experience) of lyric essays, and will appreciate how Lynes has imaginatively harnessed her joys, failures and obsessions. She writes extensively about her failed marriage and “divorce trauma,” and self-forgiveness is a theme. She also examines—with linguistic precision—her rural upbringing (sans hot water); paintings (ie: Mary Pratt’s work), poetry (especially Elizabeth Bishop), music and movies (hurray for Sarah Polley!); aprons (she had a collection, but “Pretty aprons couldn’t rescue us all”); mental health; COVID’s toll; etymology (she makes it fun); her own height (“I’m the grain elevator to lots of folks’ woodsheds”) and physical features; and the many rooms, real and metaphorical, that’ve harboured her as she’s moved across the map.

Her prose is saturated with poetry. On the Isle of Mull, “decayed trunks shagged with moss form a sculpture gallery,” she writes, and in wintery Saskatoon, “sunlight will stroke in brief punches, bracing bouts of glare with windchill blasts that bitch-slap one’s cheekbones.” In her “marital house by the shore, a pretty/bungalow with pink siding,/the apron on its hook, hung, like a headless woman.” Lynes “wanted to be a writer more than a wife.” (Ditto.)

She addresses mental health head-on: her ex-husband “once dubbed [her] a sad clown,” and she walks us through campus to counselling sessions when her “inner darkness wails for help.” Of those eponymous aprons, Lynes asserts that rural women “sewed and sewed to stave off sorrow,” but it didn’t always work: a neighbour hung herself in the barn … “apron strings morph[ed] into lengths of rope.”

As a writer and professor, Lynes also writes about writing, and how “During the plague, [her] syntax took a beating. Prose barely clung to the page, kept peeling away from its margins.” She maligns “the hard c,” calling it her “least-loved sound,” and “never cared for the ellipsis,” though “suspect[s] it’s wrong, being prejudiced against certain elements of punctuation.”

One of the strongest essays is the tragicomedy “Sea Cow,” about trying to have a fun holiday in Florida while her “marriage [was] unravelling,” and her efforts “not to be a cow” on the disastrous vacation.

“A lot of one’s life is finding the words,” Lynes writes. For some, much of life is also about the act of forgiveness. “Forgiveness is tough for her,” Lynes contends in second person, “But she keeps trying, stabbing words onto the screen, pushing towards first-person voice. Closing in on her core.”

THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM THE SASKATCHEWAN PUBLISHERS GROUP WWW.SKBOOKS.COM

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“Critters: Wandering Monsters"

by Allan Dotson

Published by YNWP

Review by Shelley A. Leedahl

$29.95  ISBN 9-77869-066-2

  

Critters: Wandering Monsters, is another tour-de-force graphic novel by Regina writer, artist, game designer, and teacher, Allan Dotson, and it follows on the horns and tails of Critters: Underdark, a graphic novel shortlisted for a Saskatchewan Book Award.

The new 205-page epic “was born out of [Dotson’s] desire to become a better comics storyteller,” he explains. The story explores “three kinds of evil,” including “systemic evil,” described as an evil that encompasses “monsters raised for war, trained to see others as enemies, rewarded for cruelty, and taught to value gold and power above all else.” Dotson writes, “We don’t have to imagine that world. We live in it.” (One need only watch the news to confirm this.) But the book is also about friends who become family, adventure, and “choosing empathy over fear,” and there’s a good dose of humour across the busy pages, as well. 

There are no less than “13 locations, 21 characters and 5 shape change disguises,” in Dotson’s fantastical world, the first part of which is set in the subterranean landscape of black and white caves and cliffs, the second part on the green, brown, red and orange-hued “Surface,” where humans share the Dinosaur Valley, forests and mountains with elephants, monkeys, winged horses and a spiky-tailed, bat-winged lion-type-of-thing that preys on those very horses.

At the outset, a group of five distinctive and youthful monsters are in a cave when they’re suddenly attacked by “cat bats” that have “escaped from the medusa’s train and are on the run from the dwarves.” Of these five characters, the snake-haired female in a caped jumpsuit, Lena, and her insulting (“stupid hair”) semi-adversary—the snaggled-toothed, pointy-eared hag, Sally, aka Saliel—are almost human-looking. We learn that Lena’s mother is Dread Lady Linorm, a sword-and-arrow-carrying medusa who “sells little monsters at the wizards’ market.”

Child-like Eddy is white-furred with spidery legs and Cycloptic-ish eyes. He’s an “Ettercap,” and part of the book’s humour derives from his innocence and basic diction, ie: “Der is a balla fyre? Shood we be wurreed ‘bout dat?” At one point Eddy warns Lena not to “tok” to a spell-casting creature, not because he can “take over [their] minds or something,” but because he’s “jus’ super boring.” No one’s certain why shapeshifter Uriel is being punished, but it could be for “Coming home late,” “Talking out of turn,” or “Laughing at a funeral.” In another funny frame, Lena tells Saliel that she doesn’t “know any fighting spells,” but she does “know a spell to mend [her] cloths, and a spell to clean [her] clothes, and a spell to make [her] clothes smell nice.” Sarcastic Saliel responds: “No fighting spells? That’s stupid.”

Reading this tale is like wandering through a dreamscape. There are always new characters, and they might be shapeshifters, delvers, warriors, elves, medusa wizards, mages, or minotaurs (to name a few). I laughed when Saliel, in a metafiction moment, said “I can barely keep track of what I’m supposed to look like.” For more Dotson: maycontainmonkeys.com.

THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM WWW.SKBOOKS.COM