People will ask where all these great Canadian books I’m recommending suddenly come from. But it’s really simple. There’s a literary award in Canada called “the Scotiabank Giller Prize.” The banking industry in Canada is heavily monopolistic, so it’s always a “bank something” for every event.
The prize is good, though. Yes, it’s awarded to a fair amount of diverse crap. All of those novels about “the plight of the Armenian-Laotian-Quechua immigrant community in Canada.” These novels are all identical and deeply embarrassing, and I say it as a member of an immigrant community in Canada. Immigrants are typecast as having to write about being immigrants, and their novels always feature a pair of hard-working, earnest parents who want to preserve their cultural heritage, a rebellious teenager who just wants to fit in, an aunt with a spicy personal life that scandalizes the earnest parents but intrigues the rebellious teenager, and the wise old grandma who is traumatized by a long ago famine / civil war / genocide or some other atrocity.
I dislike these books not only because they are monotonous but because they make it sound like all immigrants do is sit there, thinking about how they are immigrants. And it’s stupid. One does a million things that have nothing to do with how one emigrated 20 years ago.
But once you weed out the books representing increasingly outlandish (pun intended) immigrant communities, the Giller Prize has some excellent authors. I’m discovering that Canadian literature is very different from US literature. This doesn’t mean it’s better or worse. It’s simply different. And I like it.
So prepare. I’ll probably be at it for a while.
Clarissa's Blog 
On the subject of books, I read “Gods in Alabama” by Joshilyn Jackson was good. Haven’t read it myself yet, but the first 3 chapters seem nice.
Started reading since the opening lines drew me in: “There are gods in Alabama: Jack Daniel’s, high school quarterbacks, trucks, big tits, and also Jesus.”
// For 10 years Arlene has kept her promises, and God has kept His end of the bargain. Until now. When an old schoolmate from Possett turns up at Arlene’s door in Chicago asking questions about Jim Beverly, former quarterback and god of Possett High, Arlene’s break with her former hometown is forced to an end. At the same time, Burr, her long-time boyfriend, has raised an ultimatum: introduce him to her family or consider him gone. Arlene loves him dearly but knows her lily white (not to mention deeply racist) Southern Baptist family will not understand her relationship with an African American boyfriend. Reluctantly, Arlene bows to the pressure, and she and Burr embark on the long-avoided road trip back home. As Arlene digs through guilt and deception, her patched-together alibi begins to unravel, and she discovers how far she will go for love and a chance at redemption.
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I now stop reading the moment I see the word “white” used as a slur. Started reading “Late Nights on Air”, a massively lauded Canadian novel, yesterday and quit on page 6 when it says “The place was full of opportunities, she said, especially if you were white and even if you were a woman.” It might be a nice novel but it feels too much lije being at a faculty meeting.
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