libeery

THE BOOK

I borrowed this novella from one-third of my currently defunct writing group, and it sat next to my bed for far too long. Now, after reading it, I think Dirty Bird might be responsible for any bad dream, bad luck, or bad feeling I had these past few months. It’s like a little talisman of darkness. 

So many terrible things happen in just the span of the first few pages. A fire kills a neighbour as we watch, helpless, a cousin comes back from the dead, and a little boy who giggles at all the wrong moments, whose hands go where they shouldn’t, and who believes crows can see into his brain, is our narrator.

The book’s disturbing subject matter is heightened by its delivery, through the eyes of young Travis. He appears both highly capable and deeply disturbed, both intuitive and distant. He is always lurking, observing, but his action is sporadic and unpredictable: he stomps on the head of a bird; he masturbates; he leaves the scene of your death; he is both aloof and acutely aware. He overhears but doesn’t always understand, creating a visceral tension for the reader.

The varied narrative style is well chosen, because we aren’t forced to remain inside Travis’s brain the entire time. I’m not sure I could’ve handled that—though he is one of the most interesting characters I’ve ever met. Through third-person omniscient narration, we’re also intimately connected to Travis’s mother, Trina, her boyfriend, Jody, and even Travis’s cousin Miles, who appears as a ghost with dirty boots on the first page. They are all transparent (not just the ghost--actually he least of all) in that they wear their flaws on their sleeves, but they do not covet them; these characters appear so reluctantly condemned to be themselves. Knowing all of their intimate thoughts and feelings also brings a central question to light, namely: who is the real villain here? I was both afraid of and afraid for Travis, and that’s a conundrum I’m not sure I’ve encountered much in fiction before.

With a blurb on the front from Liz Worth that reads, “A neo-Canadian Gothic tale of dysfunction, hallucination, and denial,” I didn’t step into this book lightly. It also is weighed down by a shiny silver 2013 Margaret and John Savage First Book Award which, to those of us who care about such things (i.e. those who aim to publish the books that win these awards), is a big deal. I can’t explain how important it is that we recognize those writers in our midst who are telling Atlantic Canadian stories that aren’t expected; the stories that haunt you with their stark realism and dirty secrets; who keep you up at night wondering why their characters do what they do. We need more writers like Keir Lowther; someone needs to tell this region’s dark stories to the world.

THE BEER

Full disclosure: the first time I tried this beer was on the Island and I may have had several. And I may have enjoyed it enough to purchase a T-shirt. For this Libeery pairing I drank from a bottle and didn’t enjoy it quite as much, but after letting it warm the flavours really started to come out. 

Aroma is sour-earthy, herbally, and takes me right back to the patch of rhubarb that used to grow in my back yard that I would snack on. I was the kid who nibbled on wild rhubarb, so excuse me if I’m a little underwhelmed by the sourness quotient here.

In typical witbier fashion, it has a hazy straw colour--it’s made a bit darker by the rhubarb and strawberry but not much. It has a bit of an unflattering swampy colour. With a name like Ruby Social, I expected a more vibrant red; and with rhubarb I expected a bit more tartness—a lip-puckering, canker sore–inspiring sourness—but what I got instead was a subtle, lightly fruity, berry aftertaste and a bit of a biscuit-y flavour, typical of the style. 

To me, it’s sweeter than sour. I’d like to see the rhubarb sourness punched up a notch. Right now, it’s a hint in the aftertaste. I’d also like to see higher carbonation to really help pack a punch. It’s lacking that telltale crispness or citric acidity, coriander and orange peel flavour, and high carbonation that you come to expect of witbier.

This is definitely quaffable, and I enjoy witbier but maybe this one is a bit too subtle for me. I’d like to see a better balance here between sweet, summery, and sessionable, and crisp, tart, and refreshing. Still one I’d enjoy having again, and one that I think will get better over time, and as it warms up.

PAIRED

THE BOOK

Kris Bertin is a bartender at a local bar I quite enjoy. I can’t imagine how many other twisted stories he has in his back pocket. It’s genius. Some people may wonder why his Author Bio says nothing more than “tends bar” but I say, why give up the goldmine? He’s got nothing to prove, anyway. These stories are not precious, they are dank, they are grotesque, they are gorgeously obscene, and at the same time darkly realistic. The title story isn’t even the strongest, in my opinion, but it opens the collection affectively by showing us we probably won’t like any of its characters, won’t approve of their lives, will both feel sad for and be disgusted by them, but we’ll keep reading anyway, because we can’t look away. Between these pages are schemers, lowlifes, unfortunates, and they’re realer than you and I ever will be. Bertin’s language is poignant without being dramatic, and he has an eye for detail I’d kill for; this is the kind of writing that comes across as effortless but which you know has been polished like a newly washed beer stein with a bar rag. With opening sentences like, “There are two kinds of emptiness. The one I had and the one I needed,” how dare you not read on? Though each of these ten stories is prime re-reading material, my favourite, by far, is “The Narrow Passage”: what I’d call Atlantic Canadian domestic horror; noir of the mundane. I can’t prepare you, but I ask that you read it.

THE BEER

I’m a sucker for a stubbie bottle, and for mythical creatures, so you can probably guess that I enjoyed this one. Superficial reasons aside, this is a pretty tasty “festive ale” from Edmunston’s Belgian-style craft brewery, Les Brasseurs du Petit-Sault. It’s distinctly spicy cinnamon and candied ginger on the nose—to be nostalgically specific, this beer smells exactly like the candy store I used to frequent as a child: aged licorice and grimy penny candy (in the best possible way). While the head is pretty light and disappears quickly for a strong ale, carbonation is high up front. But it’s a tease—just as quickly as the prickle of carbonation and the malt and spices hit your tongue, they’re gone. Much like the fabled Buckdjeuve, the flavours of this ale play play hide and seek. Those “mythic spices” referred to on the label are likely traditional holiday spices—cinnamon, clove, ginger. I could’ve used more. This ale is on the brink of something I’d love, but where it’s smooth, I wish it were creamier, and where it’s carbonated, I wish it were even more so. But overall an enjoyable, tasty, sneak-up-on-you 7% ale.

PAIRED

THE BOOK

Be still my frigging heart. My feelings for this book go way past love for a local girl writing a story set so deeply in this place it has formed a god damned crater which can only be filled up with our experiences of reading it. When the Saints is everything I hoped it would be, after reading the ridiculously positive review in The Star that began, “If you read one new Canadian author in 2015, make it Sarah Mian.” Once I found out Mian was a Nova Scotian, and that her novel was set here—and that she’s part of a writing group I’m familiar with—I not only wanted to read the book, I wanted to be her friend. The book follows Tabby Saint, who returns home to rural NS to try and piece back together her notoriously damaged family. It is snort-laugh-out-loud hilarious and heartwarming in a totally unironic and never-cliché way, which is astounding: the coming-home-to-rural-Nova-Scotia novel is not new. When the Saints crackles with burnt-black wit and hit me with a stomach-aching nostalgia for a past that wasn’t even mine. Read this for the delightful swears, the unfor-fucking-gettable characters, and the regionalisms that make you proud to be from a place where someone painted a Rubik’s cube on a rock and left it unsolved.

THE BEER

A tasty, subtly tart riff on one of my favourites from this brewery, Nit Wit, blended with cranberry, hibiscus, and elderflower. A nice twist on what is always a winning style, Pucker Up is bright and perfectly carbonated. Instead of the banana flavours of Nit Wit, this little beauty is the kid sister of a slightly funky sour, but without the aftertaste. It’s what I imagine a Lambic would taste like if it came from an English brewpub. Definitely quaffable for summer, and just flavourful enough to be interesting yet sessionable. And it smells like candy made of dried roses.

PAIRED

THE BOOK

Disclaimer: Rebecca Solnit is my favourite author. She is an essayist at the top of her form--I know reviewers use that term all the time but it's true--and has tackled the topic that seems to be everywhere in her most recent collection. Credited with coining the term "mansplaining"--although Solnit suggests, humbly, that this hot-button term grew merely from the etymology of her ideas; those featured in the titular essay--this powerful little book runs the gamut from a socio-historical analysis of marriage equality, to the phenomena of women's disappearances from history and from college campuses, to an exploration of Virginia Woolf's proclivity for wandering. Discussing the broader issues of both self-inflicted and socially imposed female silence and its connection to rape and other forms of gendered violence, Solnit hits her mark with a vengeance. So this isn't really a review so much as a call to arms: words can be weapons; use them wisely, but fucking use them. This book should be required reading for every human.

THE BEER

Boxing Rock surprised us all and released this one-off summer seasonal: Sessionista, a refreshingly sessionable (obviously) ale with a surprising bite.

Expect roasty-toasty malts on a platter for your palate, topped off with an unexpected hoppy finish that keeps things interesting (bold indeed).

This ale is a well-balanced, thirst-quenching, American-style answer to the session ale; a true sign of the times: beer drinkers aren't willing to compromise quality and flavour for sessionability. Even on the dog days of summer (and so far 2014 has indeed featured a humidex of absurdly canine proportions).

This limited-run humidity-inspired Bold Session Ale from Shelburne's engineering dynamic duo  isn't the most exciting ale in this mighty brewery's arsenal, but it'll more than see you through a day-long patio session. Also, one of their two brewers is a lady, so I think it goes without saying, she's had things unnecessarily "mansplained" to her once or twice.

TOGETHER

THE BOOK

This is THE book. Joanna Rakoff's My Salinger Year tells the kind of story I didn't think existed anymore. For anyone who romanticizes publishing from within the industry, dreaming of dingy old New York City offices where archaic machines still whirr and well-manicured hands pluck manuscripts from piles; for anyone who wonders about that world: this is the book for you. Rakoff is not a name-dropper. She willingly admits to not having read Salinger until after she was already working as his agent's assistant. There is no false modesty here, no pretention, simply a fantastic, true story, told by a mesmerizing, witty, intelligent voice. I can't wait to read it all over again.

THE BEER

It's no secret that Québec is home to the most flavourful, experimental—not to mention strongest—beers in North America. And Montréal's Dieu du Ciel! Brasserie is consistently outstanding. It's been a favourite of mine ever since I first went there years ago and picked out the scariest sounding beer on the tap list:  Rigor Mortis, a delicious Trappist-style ale. I've fallen in love with many of their ales since, but I always come back to Rosée d'Hibiscus, especially in the dog days of summer. This crisp wheat beer is exceptionally unique and holds its own  at 5.9%. Wondering why it's pink? It's brewed with hibiscus flowers. With a fantastic nose and a slight acidity that keeps things refreshing, clean, and sessionable, this beer, while tasty, is not overwhelming, which makes it perfect for plopping down on a sunny patio with your favourite book.

TOGETHER