Off the Page

Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability, and Making Space (Coach House) is a brilliant and startling book of essays by Amanda Leduc exploring the intersections between fairy tales and disability. In what ways, she asks, do traditional fairy tales portray disabled folks, and how do these fairy tales continue to perpetuate certain myths and stereotypes about disabled people?

The Washington Post calls the book smart and tenacious. “Her daring approach is a hybrid of memoir, literary criticism and cultural commentary. She moves fluidly between grade-school memories and scholarly analysis. She quotes from medieval texts and TV shows. She’s equally familiar with the Brothers Grimm and the X-men.” 

Amanda Leduc’s essays and stories have appeared in publications across Canada, the US, and the UK. She is the author of the novels The Miracles of Ordinary Men and the forthcoming The Centaur’s Wife. She has cerebral palsy and lives in Hamilton, Ontario, where she works as the Communications Coordinator for the Festival of Literary Diversity (FOLD), Canada’s first festival for diverse authors and stories.

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On Rachel Matlow's memoir Dead Mom Walking, we have the following comment from Carolyn Taylor of the Baroness Von Sketch Show: "How am I laughing at someone's mother's cancer? How? We think we can't laugh about death, about cancer, about our mothers and their suffering . . . and we can't, but we can. And there's so much relief in that. I laughed, I cried, I laughed and laughed and laughed."

Books matter so much. Here, Rachel Matlow recommends five more to keep you going.

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Books have the power to calm and uplift us—exactly what we need right now in the midst of the anxiety attack that’s become life. So when you’re done watching Tiger King and taking a break from playing Animal Crossing, here are five queer memoirs to keep you going:

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High School, by Tegan Quin and Sara Quin

All-night raves, facial piercings, Smashing Pumpkins—I was transported back to the late ‘90s in this visceral memoir from Tegan and Sara. Written from the perspectives of both sisters, the story chronicles their unglamorous teenage years in Calgary and start in music. Th …

On Saturday March 28th millions of people around the globe will turn off their lights and spend an hour without the use of electricity to mark Earth Hour. The movement, in previous years, has helped spark initiatives like tree planting and the banning of single use plastics in different countries. It’s important to talk about Earth Hour so young people understand the reasons behind the initiative and encourage their families to participate. There are many areas of the curriculum that involve environmental issues and stewardship. The environment is a natural springboard to explore different models of learning such as inquiry, design thinking, and project based learning. Here are a few titles and activities for kids from grades K-8 that fit with a discussion of Earth Hour and what we can do to help protect our planet.

Inspired by true events, In the Treehouse by Andrew Larsen, illustrated by Dušan Petričić is the story of a boy who plans and builds a treehouse with his dad and older brother. After a while his big brother doesn’t want to play anymore, he’d rather hang out with his friends. Until one night when the power goes out. The boy sees his neighbours actually come out of their houses and socialize. His brother joins him in the treehouse and they read …

Rereading is comfort, and indulgence. It's a voyage back to the familiar, but one that's still rich with discovery, and this is the kind of experience I'm hungry for right now. I made this book list after cruising around my home library with a thought to which books I've long been meaning to read again and others that seem like perfect fare for our particular moment.

What are the books on your own shelves that you're looking forward to returning to? Share your favourites on Twitter or Facebook!

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Splitsville, by Howard Akler

About the book: A bookseller's love affair, start to finish, against the backdrop of a city in protest.

It's 1971. Hal Sachs runs a used bookstore. Business isn't so great, and the store is in a part of Toronto that's about to be paved over with a behemoth expressway. And then Hal meets Lily Klein, an activist schoolteacher who'll do just about anything to stop the highway. It's love at first sight. Until it isn't. And then Hal vanishes.

A half-century later, Hal's nephew, Aitch, waits for his baby to be born as he tries to piece together facts and fictions about Hal's disappearance.

Splitsville is a diamond-cut love letter to a city whose defining moment was to say 'no way' to a highway, and a look at the obsessions that carry down through a …

Last week, I finally finished reading a book.

And that this is even remarkable speaks volumes about the strange times we're all navigating right now. Because usually I finish books in the way that most people finish wearing pants at the end of the day, or in the way that one might finish eating their lunch. Usually it's easy, automatic, even reflexive. I read therefore I am, but last week I didn't, and I wasn't, scrolling social media feeds and news blogs instead: refresh, refresh. When will there be good news?

Last week, it seemed like words were failing on all fronts, in print, online, and especially in my head. As I was reading every bit of journalism I could get my hands on in search of answers, in search of certainty, for all the chaos to coalesce into something that made sense, but there was nothing, only noise, and fear, and questions. What is going to happen next?

And I couldn't read. Which didn't make sense when I had all the time in the world, and all the books at my fingertips, a to-be-read pile that was taller than my child, and access to e-books for days. I'd even had two new releases delivered from my local indie bookshop straight to my front door, which should have been the best thing that had ever happened to me, but the books sat unopened on a chair …