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2017 Giller Prize Shortlist

By kileyturner
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These are the five finalists for this year's prize. The gala where the winner is announced will air live on CBC on Monday, November 20 at 8 p.m. (12:30 AT/1:00 NT) and will be livestreamed at CBCBooks.ca.
I Am a Truck

I Am a Truck

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook

Shortlisted for the 2017 Scotiabank Giller Prize!

 

A tender but lively debut novel about a man, a woman, and their Chevrolet dealer.

Agathe and Réjean Lapointe are about to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary when Réjean's beloved Chevy Silverado is found abandoned at the side of the road--with no trace of Réjean. Agathe handles her grief by fondling the shirts in the Big and Tall department at Hickey's Family Apparel and carrying on a relationship with a cigarette survey. As her hope …

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Bellevue Square

Bellevue Square

edition:Hardcover

*Scotiabank Giller Prize Finalist*
A darkly comic literary thriller about a woman who fears for her sanity—and then her life—when she learns that her doppelganger has appeared in a local park.
Jean Mason has a doppelganger. She's never seen her, but others swear they have. Apparently, her identical twin hangs out in Kensington Market, where she sometimes buys churros and drags an empty shopping cart down the streets, like she's looking for something to put in it. Jean's a grown woman with a …

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Excerpt

My doppelganger problems began one afternoon in early April.
     I was alone in the store, shelving books and humming along to Radio 2. Mr. Ronan, one of my regulars, came in. I watched him from my perspective in Fiction as he chose an aisle and went down it.
     I have a bookshop called Bookshop. I do subtlety in other areas of my life. I’ve been here for two years now, but it’s sped by. I have about twenty regulars, and I’m on a first-name basis with them, but Mr. Ronan insists on calling me Mrs. Mason. His credit card discloses only his first initial, G. I have a running joke: every time I see the initial I take a stab at what it stands for. I run his card and take one guess. We both think it’s funny, but he’s also shy and I think it embarrasses him, which is one of the reasons I do it. I’m trying to bring him out of himself.
     He’s promised to tell me if I get it right one day. So far he hasn’t been Gordon or any of its short forms, soubriquets, or cog­nomens. Not Gary, Gabriel, Glenn, or Gene and neither Gerald nor Graham, my first two guesses, based on my feeling that he looked pretty Geraldish at times but also very Grahamish, too. He’s a late-middle-aged ex-academic or ex-accountant or some­one who spent his life at a desk, who once might have been a real fireplug, like Mickey Rooney, but who, at sixty-plus years, looks like a hound in a sweater. There is no woman in his life, to judge by the fine blond and red hairs that creep up the sides of his ears.
     I know he likes first editions and broadsides, as well as books about architecture and miniatures. I keep my eye out for him. And he’s a gazpacho enthusiast. You get all kinds. I always discover something new when Mr. Ronan comes in. For instance, you can make soup from watermelons. I did not know that.
     He came around a corner and stopped when he saw me. He was out of breath. “There you are,” he said. “When did you get here?”
     “To the Fiction section?”
     “You’re dressed differently now,” he said. “And your hair was shorter.”
     “My hair? What are you talking about?”
     “You were in the market. Fifteen minutes ago. I saw you.”
     “No. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t in any market.”
     “Huh,” he said. He had a disagreeable expression on his face, a look halfway between fear and anger. He smiled with his teeth. “You were wearing grey slacks and a black top with little gold lines on it. I said hello. You said hello. Your hair was up to here!” He chopped at the base of his skull. “So you have a twin, then.”
     “I have a sister, but she’s older than me and we look noth­ing alike.” I don’t mention that Paula is certain that G. Ronan’s name is Gavin. “And I’ve been here all morning.”
     “Nuh-uh,” he said. “No, I’m sure we . . .” He left the aisle. My back tingled and I had the instinct to move to a more open area of the store, where I could watch him. I went behind my cash desk and started to pencil prices into a stack of green-covered Penguin crime. I flipped up their covers and wrote 5.99 in each one, keeping my eye on my strangely nervous customer. Finally, he came out of the racks with The Conquest of Gaul and put it down on my desk.
     “Oh . . . Mr. Ronan? I wanted to tell you I found a pretty first edition of Miniature Rooms by Mrs. Thorne. Original blue boards, flat, clean inside. Do you want to see it?”
     “Yes,” he said, like it hurt to speak. I brought it out from the rare and first editions case. “It’s just uncanny, it really is,” he said.
     “This woman.”
     “Yes! She said hello back like she knew me. I swear to god she called me by name!”
     “But I don’t know your name. Right? Mr. G. Ronan? I think you dreamt this.”
     “But it just happened,” he said, like that explained some­thing to him. “And you knew my name.”
     “Mr. Ronan,” I said, “I am one hundred per cent—”
     I didn’t like the look in his eye. He began edging around the side of the desk, coming closer, and I backed away, but he lunged at me with a cry and grabbed me by the shoulders. Despite his size, I couldn’t hold him off and he backed me up, hard, against the first editions case. I heard the books behind me thud and tumble. “Take it off!” he shouted in my face. With one hand, he tried to yank my hair from my head. “Take off the wig!”
     “Get back!” I shrieked. I pushed against his forehead with my palm. “Get off me!”
     “Goddamn you, Mrs. Mason!” When a fistful of my hair wouldn’t tear off, he leapt up and stumbled backwards, his eyes locked on mine, but washed of rage. The blood had drained from his face. “Christ, that’s real!”
     “Yes! It’s real! See? Real hair attached to my own, personal head.”
     “Oh god.”
     “What is wrong with you?”
     He grovelled to the other side of the desk. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I must be having another attack.”
     “Another attack! Of what? Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
     “I’ll be okay. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me, Jean. Forgive me.”
     That was the first time he had ever used my name. “You scared me. And you hurt me, you know?” I began to feel the pain seep through the shock of being battered. “Are you sure I can’t call a friend or someone?”
     “No. I’ll go home and lie down. I’m just so sorry.” He took his wallet out and put his trembling credit card down on the cash desk.
     I tapped it for him. We stood together in a dreadful silence until I said, “Gilbert.”
     “No,” he replied.

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Son of a Trickster

Son of a Trickster

also available: Hardcover

With striking originality and precision, Eden Robinson, the Giller-shortlisted author of the classic Monkey Beach and winner of the Writers' Trust Engel/Findley Award, blends humor with heartbreak in this compelling coming-of-age novel. Everyday teen existence meets indigenous beliefs, crazy family dynamics, and cannibalistic river otter.... The exciting first novel in her Trickster trilogy.

Everyone knows a guy like Jared: the burnout kid in high school who sells weed cookies and has a scary mo …

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Minds of Winter

Minds of Winter

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook

Longlisted for the 2017 Scotiabank Giller Prize

Longlisted for the 2017 Walter Scott Prize for Historical Fiction

It begins with a chance encounter at the top of the world.

Fay Morgan and Nelson Nilsson have each arrived in Inuvik, Canada, about 120 miles north of the Arctic Circle. Both are in search of answers about a family member: Nelson for his estranged older brother, and Fay for her vanished grandfather. Driving Fay into town from the airport on a freezing January night, Nelson reveals a fol …

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Transit

Transit

A Novel
edition:Paperback
also available: Hardcover eBook Paperback
tagged : literary

“A work of stunning beauty, deep insight and great originality.” —The New York Times

Brave and uncompromising. . . . A work of cut-glass brilliance.” —Financial Times

“Cusk’s writing feels, exhilaratingly, unlike any other fiction being written.” —Toronto Star

Internationally acclaimed author and Scotiabank Giller Prize finalist Rachel Cusk returns with Transit, a powerful novel that captures a woman’s experience with the fear and hope that accompany unavoidable change.

Faye …

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