Category Archives: Yasuko Thanh

Zen of the street

Chase the Dragon 
By Chris Walter
GFY Press, 247 pp, $15.98

Reviewed by Yasuko Thanh

Vancouver punk-band biographer and novelist Chris Walter’s latest book Chase the Dragon centres around Dragon, the protagonist, who earned his nickname for once being “dragged-in” through a doorway. The expression functions as a street metaphor for smoking heroin, “chasing” the smoke as you heat the drug on tinfoil. Throughout the course of the book, a death metal musician and a hit-man with OCD chase Dragon, literally. But Dragon is also being chased by his addictions and a past that’s gaining on him.

Walter’s matter of fact, straight-up style conspires with a darkly comic tone to offer us characters from Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside (DTES) in a manner reminiscent of Margaret Laurence’s strongest characters–they often ought to be despairing, but aren’t. No Pity Parties here.

This tightly plotted page turner is liberally dosed with a kind of Zen of the Street enlightenment. Yet Walter avoids the misstep of romanticising the skids. His gift is the ability to avoid judgement of the marginalised, showing us how circumstances may force people to live in the now. People make do because they must. Like Dragon, Walter has been around. Like Dragon, Walter understands the upshot to having no life is a potentially greater capacity for selflessness.

Walter pokes holes in the sugar-coated and sentimental rescue by a guardian angel of It’s a Wonderful Life when Dragon risks his life to save a drowning boy. It’s not a wonderful life but real life, and any sudden reversals of fortune are sure to remain cosmetic as Dragon is a man who can’t escape what he’s got coming.

Walter presents his characters stripped bare, standing in the cold. He glosses over nothing, giving us the ugliness of people. Like Dickens, he’s a chronicler of place and time, and his hard-earned realism conveys the freedom of having nothing left to lose.

I asked Walter  if he thought his subject matter makes his work hard to read: “‘Gritty’ subject matter is what I do. I’m beginning to hate that adjective, but I rely on black humour to make hard subjects tolerable, enjoyable even. If readers are bombarded with too much ugliness they will lose interest and stop reading. I want them to laugh despite themselves, and they should then feel slightly guilty for having done so. I want to invite strangers into my head and show them all the rooms, even that creepy, unfinished attic. I don’t want to write about easy, feel-good subjects; I want the reader to think.”

To describe the residents of the DTES in a tragic, sentimental, or villifying light is, at the least, in bad artistic taste. At worst, it could be argued, such representations in popular culture are dangerous, perpetrating stereotypes that lead to dangerous stigmatisation and create the kind of climate from which nearly fifty women could be abducted from the DTES.

Walter’s trademark black humour is rapidly earning him cult hero status. A literary outlaw, he never preaches. “Outlaw literature goes against the grain of the established literary industry,” Walter says. “Outlaw literature does not rely on government funding or grants and springs from a desire to speak the truth without fear of offending anyone. Outlaw literature is not subtle. Outlaw literature exists separately from the mainstream. That being said, I never use that term to describe my work. I prefer to call my stuff street lit because it sounds less pretentious. I don’t swing a sword; I sit behind a desk.”

The writing occasionally stumbles, with lines such as, “Like the cop to the doughnut, junkies were drawn to addiction and madness.” But what he brings off makes pointing out such mistakes seem petty. Chase the Dragon is an accomplished feat of realism. Can Lit is lucky to have him.

Catch Chris Walter at one of his island book launches:

Nanaimo: The Cambie, July 5, 8 pm. Copies available for $10 (only at launch).

Esquimalt (Victoria): The Cambie, July 6, 9 pm, with music by The Capital City Stalkers and The Role Models, $10 at the door or $7 advance.

Yasuko Thanh’s short story collection, Floating Like the Dead, was recently nominated for a BC book prize.

Collection’s stories are sharp and true

The Green and Purple Skin of the World
By paulo da costa
Freehand Books, 208 pages, $21.95

Reviewed by Yasuko Thanh

Born in Angola, raised in Portugal, paulo da costa won the Commonwealth First Book Prize in 2003 for his collection The Scent of a Lie. In The Green and Purple Skin of the World, his first book of short fiction in 10 years, language and its power form a thread through many of the stories and words are highlighted in entertaining characters such as Dona Branca, who collects newspaper clippings of disasters and glues them in an old photo album.

In “Those Who Follow,” a tale of hunter and hunted, a cougar reminisces, “Perhaps my mother wrapped me in words of hope to help me tolerate the immense body of pain she understood was coming.”

Language acts as a kind of saviour. In the title story, da costa explores the world of love and loss through a tale told in letters. The epistolary device works because the letter writer never gets a reply and, as such, her longing is more keenly felt. The narrator, Shana, writes, “Home is any language I speak.” Yet as hope bleeds into disappointment, she also concedes, “There are sounds in my mother tongue your throat will never set free.”

The one-sided love affair is underscored by the recurring, transient image of a bubble blown from a bubble wand. The story unfolds through a thoughtful, poetic treatment (not surprisingly, since da costa is also a poet). Every sentence feels carefully controlled, aiming for its effect.

In “Not Written in Pencil,” my favourite story in the book, we learn about the dissolution of an auto mechanic’s 13-year marriage to a cheating wife. Her new-age justifications spur his anger. The narrator’s self-deprecating voice is tempered by a wry humour and a sarcasm he employs to shed light on his own tragic upbringing. The voice here is strong.  Authentic.  His heartbreak and raw shock is perfectly captured in blue-collar fashion as he tries to explain his current failure with his own dealings with his son. Voice carries this piece. This is the best story in the collection because it allows us to enter the narrator’s heart, in lieu of the omniscient perspective da costa favours in other stories.

In “Table,” a man does what needs to be done for his young family and is defined, as are other men in the collection, by those moments of quiet suffering. He chops off his own index finger to save himself from the draft. “He offered his finger to the officers, asking them if that ‘qualified as sufficient proof he could not pull the trigger or did they require his whole arm?’ ”

Da costa seems to imply that real heroes don’t die for others but live for others. My own heroes are those who sacrifice themselves quietly, without reward, day after day, heading to a crappy job, riding home on the bus, looking after loved ones. Da costa nicely blends both types of heroes in “Table.”

The stories are tightly written, sometimes with seeming thematic agendas. Imagine the beam of a flashlight shining onto a vast landscape. The focus is often so spot-on that many of the stories function almost as proverbs. The light might be perfect for some readers, though others may find the beam too singular. If you have a preference for stories that aim sharp and true, with few loose threads about them, then this collection might be for you.

Yasuko Thanh’s short story collection, Floating Like the Dead, was recently nominated for a BC book prize.

Old time music gets intimate kitchen treatment

Slim Sandy and the Hillbilly Bebop
Yes, Baby, Yes! (2013)
Produced by Jonathan Stuart

Reviewed by Yasuko Thanh

My favourite definition of the blues goes like this: blues are nothing but bad times that have a good man down. But he can still sing about them, even laugh, down at the bottom of the well.  My second favourite definition compares the blues with gospel: the blues is what you sing on Saturday night, gospel’s what you sing on Sunday morning.

Slim Sandy, a long time practioner of both, launched his latest album Yes, Baby, Yes! at the Martin Batchelor Gallery in Victoria on April 6. Like many Victoria musicians, Sandy has another life. His is as a cultural worker, artist and teacher. Another name, too. But that’s another story.

The intimate setting of the gallery, nestled between a tenement house and a hair salon on Cormorant Street, gave the event a down-to-earth aesthetic. There was space to dance in the centre of the gallery, and every seat was taken.

Slim Sandy plays as a solo artist or with a rotating cast of musicians. Local drummer Rad Juli, keeping rhythm on an old suitcase, accompanied him at the launch. So did his wife Willa Mae on washtub bass, wearing a Western shirt, hair dyed red to match. “There’s a global phenomenon of people interested in the old-time music and recreating the fashions and style,” Willa Mae says. “For me the music is the center of that and what drives the whole thing, and if a song has a good dance beat then I’m attracted to it.”

Five of the six songs on this album are public domain, which means, like sunshine or clouds, they belong to everyone. Slim Sandy’s philosophy of ever-changing band members also speaks to the inclusiveness of the music.  Sandy decided to record live in the studio. “The musicians from Marshal Scott Warner’s band are real pro and could just jump right in there. Recording live with no overdubs keeps the feel of a live show.”

What emerges is a sound that could be recreated in someone’s kitchen. It showcases the creative collaboration and connection between people.  Willa Mae’s sultry harmonies in “Up Above My Head,” a gospel song originally recorded in the 1940s by Sister Rosetta Sharpe, made me want to sing along.

“I think harmony singing is magical, a kind of sharing,” Willa Mae says.

Another of the album’s highlights is “Meet Me By The Moonlight,” otherwise known as “The Prisoner’s Song,” because it tells the sad story of a man going to prison, and pining for his lost love. This Carter Family signature was first recorded in 1928, and various incarnations of it go back as far as 1826.

“When I was young, I listened to my father’s 78 records,” Sandy says. “Artists like Louis Jordan, Fats Waller, and Slim & Slam left a deep impression on me. But I also love a lot of 50’s rock and roll, and started going back in time to listen to 30’s 40’s music, like Billie Holiday, and hillbilly singers like Gene O’Quinn and the Delmore Brothers.”

The album features great thwacky doghouse bass by Tony Laborie, of Seattle’s Western Bluebirds, and Nick Streeter on guitar, whose sound is reminiscent of Scotty Moore.  From the album’s fun, tongue-in-cheek title to the last song, prepare to hit the floor with your dancing shoes–preferably hardwood that bows when you two-step.

Yasuko Thanh has been short-listed for this year’s BC Book Prize in fiction.

First novel explores life’s mysteries

Belinda’s Rings
By Corinna Chong
NeWest Press, 264 pages, $19.95

Reviewed by Yasuko Thanh

Corinna Chong’s first novel, Belinda’s Rings, introduces us to a quirky, idiosyncratic family–but aren’t they all when you scratch below the surface?

Chong, who was born in Calgary but now lives in Kelowna, BC, has written a readable novel about what lies beneath, what the eye can’t see. Ostensibly, it’s about a mother, father, and three children. But the novel is also about the power of imagination, and the fictions we maintain about ourselves, in order to keep on being the people we are.

The novel’s point of view alternates between third- and first-person. Belinda, the mother, has been carrying all her family’s responsibilities. Her daughter Grace (who prefers to be called Gray) intuits that she’ll one day “get tired of being a mother to everyone.”

“You don’t need to go to a special place to prove you’re a good person,” Belinda claims. But she nevertheless abandons her three children and escapes to England, to study crop circles near the town where she was born.

Gray and Belinda, polarized as they might seem at first glance, are united by the desire to believe the impossible. They are dying to be amazed.

Deep sea life attracts Gray. Squid are fascinating as sunken treasures in the ocean’s depths. Belinda’s attraction is to crop circles. And UFOs. She finds a pseudo-peace looking for patterns precisely in those places the skeptics claim none exist. In fact, she clings to her illusions for survival. She’s been living a lie, convincing herself of her perfect marriage and a happy family.

Chong writes: “She had the ability to imagine feelings into being; if she wanted romance, she could convince herself that Burger King on a Saturday night was unconventional and sweetly modest.  In a way, it was empowering.” And it is empowering to tell yourself what you need to hear in order to get up in the morning.  Belinda tells herself her reasons for leaving her children (in the care of an unstable father) are “noble.”  She’s on “a scientific expedition . . . focused on issues far more consequential than the trifles of domestic life.”  In a van on her way to investigate a crop circle with fellow rag-tag “researchers,” she tells no one she has children back home. What if someone assumes her children are “her world”?

The image of a child’s grave lies at the heart of Chong’s novel. The image is delicate and transient–beautiful in the way all mortal things are.  Scholars puzzle over its purpose at the center of a crumbling wooden monument. Belinda’s lost connections give her more in common with her daughter than she might like.

Love is a feat of the imagination, Chong seems to say. And, as with all games of make believe, perhaps she’s also saying its strength lies in how hard you’re willing to fight for the belief. If you love reading about mothers and daughters, this is a book for you.

Yasuko Thanh has been short-listed for this year’s BC Book Prize in fiction.

 

 

Spaceport Union makes a solid landing

Spaceport Union
Flirting With the Queen (2012)
Produced by Michael Jack

Reviewed by Yasuko Thanh

Seventies art rock, 80s synthesisers, and a neo-psychedelic–sometimes even world-beat!–groove. Spaceport Union delivers variety in its most artful, hybridized form. Here’s something truly eclectic.

Caroline Spence, from Victoria, BC, sings music with an experimental and innovative edge. She has this angels-in-the-church-rafters voice, which goes a long way to explaining why she’s nominated for the Vancouver Island Music Award Vocalist of the Year.

The stacked harmonies of “Fueled by Consequence,” a VIMA nominated Song of the Year, are reminiscent Paul McCartney and Wings. Soulful. Spence’s ethereal delivery in “Minnow” haunts us with a fourteen-minute tale.

Hypnotic songs vie for space with effects-laden tracks. Jazzy beats with funk echoes (think 70s Parliament or Bootsy Collins) take me on a journey through time. Fans of extended rock solos so popular in the 70s will appreciate “Yer Battery’s Dyin.” Lovers of Neil Young or Pink Floyd might find themselves right at home with songs like “Block.”

Many of the numbers appear vastly divergent on the surface–but they aren’t if you listen harder to hear the common thread. An underlying sensibility holds them together.  Imagine a bicycle wheel: every spoke can be different, but a strong core holds them together at the centre.

An album such as this could have become disconnected by its scope. But not in the hands of these musicians. As I listened, I found myself drawn to the music’s leitmotif the way something small gets sucked into a whirlpool. I found myself circling inward.

Songs such as “You” employ the technique of repetition–in the way that streams are repetitive, their ripples. Or mantras. Sunsets. Raindrops. You get my drift.

Too much talent can be a curse. These musicians definitely have talent to burn. But you don’t catch them gratuitously flaunting their gifts.  This is honest creativity.

I get the sense they’re having fun–but never at our expense. They don’t tout their talent.

When I gave myself up to the album, it carried me away.

 Fueled by Consequence

 

Yasuko Thanh’s short story collection Floating Like the Dead (M&S) was a Quill & Quire Best Books of 2012 selection.

Writers on Music: This album is the Bad Boy

It Might Take Long
Mindil Beach Markets (2013)
Produced and engineered by Sean McLean Carrie

Reviewed by Yasuko Thanh

Five guys.  Energetic, solid, toe-tapping rhythms. This music swaggers.

If this CD were a person, he’d be the “bad boy.” Shock of hair covering one eye. Tough guy. But with something else about him, too. In the way he moves. Something that says, I drink alone. And when he does, he sometimes cries.

Fans who’ve come to appreciate this band’s diversity won’t be disappointed. Track 7 starts out like a lullaby.  Almost as sweet as chocolate kisses with those little foil wrappers.  But the band’s website accurately warns that “light-hearted danceable jams” are tempered by “dark rock” including “a song about the zombie apocalypse.”

I can imagine playing this CD while driving in my car with an elbow out the window. Hanging at the beach, sand in my toes. Or cleaning empties off the kitchen table while clouds roll by outside dirty panes of glass.

There’s some great guitar work here. An I-mean-business style of playing that forces the listener to sit up and pay attention. Do not be fooled by the feel-good innocence of some of these songs. Tracks like those of a roller coaster switch quickly and the next thing you know you’re being taken on a wild ride through other sounds. Good ol’ fashioned rock, sunshine-reggae, even glimmers of punk.The songs flow into each other.  And as they do so, they inform each other. They add to the story to create a new whole.

In the past, I’ve stumbled by accident on great bands. Wandered into a gig, wet from the rain, looking more for shelter than music. This CD reminded me of those times  when I’ve not anticipated much but discovered something unexpected.

 

Yasuko Thanh’s short story collection Floating Like the Dead (M&S) was a Quill & Quire Best Books of 2012 selection.