A year after watching Leo go through thin ice, twelve-year- old Ferd is obsessed with the idea that he can persuade his dead brother to come home through a campaign of letters. Plaintive notes appear around the house—folded squares of paper in the rain reservoir, kitchen sink, and washing machine. Ferd’s mother, Algoma, is also unravelling; attempting to hide her son’s letters, reconnect with her increasingly distant husband, and rebuild her life.
To read Dani Couture’s Algoma is to be reminded of the aching beauty of loss, the thin, pale terror of hope, and the strength and sacrifice required just for living, day by day. Haunting and fundamentally human, Algoma is a gift.