Insomniac Press

Fatherhood 4.0: iDad Applications Across Cultures

annette — Sun, 20 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

From the outset, I was behind author Dalton Higgins’ endeavor in Fatherhood 4.0: iDad Applications Across Cultures. As an African-Canadian of Jamaican decent, Higgins writes to and for dads like him—multicultural, technologically and culturally current thirty-somethings figuring out how to parent in their contemporary Canadian society. And wouldn’t you know it, apparently he has quite the audience to speak to. Citing numerous Statistics Canada numbers, Higgins makes a case for Canada’s new generation of dads—racially and ethnically diverse, many being partners in mixed marriage couplings, and hardly any (just seventeen percent in 2006) mirroring the nuclear family image. He also notes an upswing in fathers taking advantage of the nationally available five weeks paternity leave, as well as an increase in stay-at-home dads. Alongside these paternal shifts, Higgins is hyper-aware of and interested in the role Internet, smartphones, and pop culture saturation has on influencing twenty-first century fatherhood.

But, this is not a self-help or how-to book. It is much more about voice and self-representation. Largely a patchwork of Higgins’ own writings on parenting within the black community, from hip-hop to absent fathers, as well as an incorporation of his interviews with Canadian public figures on their being fathers, Fatherhood 4.0 attempts a lot. Towards the book’s end, there are also quite a few essays on fatherhood trends within Canada’s indigenous population; a transgender man’s experience getting pregnant, and more musings on seeking (positive) representations of fathers of color in the media. However, despite a lot of the book’s promise, I found much to be desired.

As a writer, I felt that Higgins was too casual in language and analysis of his subject matter. Yes, I understand that he is a blogger, a pop culture/hip hop expert, and supportive of using contemporary slang and lingo to reach the younger generation of fathers he is targeting… but still. You can talk about Snoop Dogg and tweeting and fatherhood, and still do so at an authoritative and exploratory level. The splices of Higgins’ segments throughout repeated much of the same kitschy popular references, statistics, and general themes without ever developing any of them—at least to my satisfaction. And although Higgins interviews showcase stories from a diverse range of “media-savvy, multi-culti dads,” they all read rather stale. To be fair, I know very little about contemporary Canadian culture, and had to Google all of his interviewees, save for Broken Social Scene’s Charles Spearin. This, I am sure, considerably affected my lack of engagement with each man’s narrative. But, I also think that as an interviewer and framer, Higgins could have delved deeper. Although there were narrative similarities, I struggled to latch onto the unique aspects of each father’s circumstances in light of being a person of color, technologically inclined, or both.

My two favorite contributions were sandwiched at the book’s end—a segment written by Dr. Jessica Ball, entitled “Fathering in the Shadows: Indigenous Fathers and Canada’s Colonial Legacies” and excerpts from trans father Syrus Marcus Ware’s “Boldly Going Where Few Men Have Gone Before.” Although brief segments, I found myself most engaged here, as both not only presented fatherhood narratives foreign to me, but also followed through in their presentation as informative sources.

Overall, the book’s organization was off-putting, as I could never really understand Higgins’ intention. At one moment seemingly focused on various contemporary efforts to promote fatherhood within the black community, and another addressing technology and culture, this book lacks focus—and unfortunately, the multi-faceted narratives, and all that could be discussed, suffer from it.

Written by: Alison Veith, February 20th 2011

Adult Child of Hippies

andrea — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Willow Yamauchi

Insomniac Press

The cover of Adult Child of Hippies is priceless. For anyone who started out life in the 1960s or 1970s, a version of this photograph of a mostly-naked, preadolescent girl sporting a flower in her mouth probably exists in the family album.

Willow Yamauchi is banking on the fact that the rest of the book will resonate with readers just as strongly. A funny, inspired work in the vein of Jeff Foxworthy’s You Might be a Redneck…, Yamauchi’s humor will help you come to terms with whether or not you were raised by wolves... er, hippies. Each page contains a simple phrase such as “You breast-fed until grade school.” The facing page has a vintage photograph of a real-life flower-child to bring back memories.

There are 144 statements for the reader to identify with, become horrified by, or both. There is extra credit available. For example, you get one point for noting that you practiced yoga daily as a child, but you get a bonus point if your family did it while naked. At the end of the book is a breakdown of scores and the author’s tongue-in-cheek assessment of just how far you’ve distanced yourself from your hippie roots.

I found myself laughing out loud many times as I made my way through the book and it will definitely occupy a place on my bookshelf that is easy to find so that when I have other “flower children” over for dinner we can thumb through it and relive our childhoods. Even if you don’t think you were a child of hippies, Willow Yamauchi’s book might give you a reason to treat the rest of us with a little more compassion in light of what we had to endure growing up during the Woodstock Era.

Written by: Kari O’Driscoll, February 13th 2011

I'm a Registered Nurse, Not a Whore

tina — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Anne Purdue

Insomniac Press

My grandmother was a nurse. She's retired now, but I remember how she used to chastise her grandchildren, scolding us about washing our hands, eating certain foods, and getting exercise. Above all, she was straightforward about our bodies. When we were too shy to put on our swimsuits in the changing room at the pool, she used to say, "We all got the same thing you got.” Another time she scolded me for cringing at a violent scene in a crime show, "Well, we all have to go sometime, sweetheart."

Because of her, I have always associated nurses with a sort of grandmotherly sass and frankness about the human body. This immediately came to mind when I picked up Anne Perdue's I'm a Registered Nurse, Not a Whore and I can honestly say I was not disappointed by the book. With episodes ranging from dental self-surgery to an accident involving a vat of wax, Perdue's plots often revolve around physical crisis. Her stories are not for the squeamish. Perdue uses unhesitating honesty for her descriptions of people and their bodies, offering up characters that are flawed and deeply compelling. The result is a collection that shows us the painful—and often darkly funny—conflicts of friendship, marriage, and parenthood.

Perdue's stories typically begin by introducing us to a common scenario: a couple on vacation or a family at dinner, but then she shows us how the character’s smoldering inner desires and regrets build up into a violent climax. In "Inheritance," a Botox-injected car salesman fantasizes about his youthful dreams of becoming a musician while building a deck for his house. As he’s working his children torment and disobey him, but we are privy to his inner thoughts. The story culminates in a relative's fall, a lost tooth, and a backyard grill tragedy. "Inheritance" introduces two of Purdue's common themes; one is regret. Characters in I'm a Registered Nurse, Not a Whore lament a youth subculture ("Theories of Relativity"), bad marriages ("CA-NA-DA," "Inheritance"), and failed careers in musical theater ("The Dry Well"). The other common theme is parenthood. There are some sympathetic parent-child relationships in these stories, but parenthood in I'm a Registered Nurse is often more painful than it is fulfilling: Children are distant and unappreciative, defying their parents' efforts at reconciliation.

Perdue's prose is crisp and direct, presenting fresh ways to describe our physical selves ("Bodies aren't a whole lot different from houses. They're made of matter and they crack and tear and sometimes things grow in them that shouldn't") and reinventing old clichés ("If we are what we eat, Leona was oxidized, fused to the vegetable crisper, ripe for fruit flies"). She writes engaging dialogue, transferring from one character's head to another with a sometimes absorbing and sometimes vertigo-inducing speed. Perdue is at her best when she stays with one or two characters throughout a story, as in my favorite piece from this collection, "Pooey." "Pooey" follows the relationship between Jackie, a single woman pursuing artificial insemination, and her sick and aging mother, Leona. "Pooey" masterfully blends pathos and dark humor—you cringe as Leona takes a drunken fall on her seventieth birthday, as Jackie falls over the punch bowl at a bridal shower—but you root for these women all the way. In "The Dry Well," the marriage between new homeowners Heather and Keith slowly unravels as the house around them floods and falls apart. The story transitions between Heather’s and Keith's thoughts, using crawling mice, leaking roofs, and sinister repairmen as the backdrop for the story.

At times I wanted to know more about the victims of the violent outbursts in these stories, about the world after the catastrophe. Perdue's structure can feel a bit redundant—near the end of I'm a Registered Nurse, Not a Whore I found myself patiently waiting for the fire, the fistfight, or the flood that would come and sweep the story away. But these stories also give us splendid moments of release, moments where the passion of inner life mirrors the explosive and painful physical action of the stories. Perdue's stories are edgy and fresh, providing just the right dose of sympathy and satire.

Written by: Barbara Barrow, January 30th 2011

Stain of the Berry

admin — Sat, 03 Mar 2007 13:39:00 +0000

By Anthony Bidulka

Insomniac Press

Stain of the Berry sounds fleshy and sweet; this title sums up the beauty of Anthony Bidulka's most recent mystery involving detective Russell Quant. Occurring during summer, the main character travels through the gorgeous Canadian countryside while investigating his newest case. Delightful and a bit awkward, the quirky private detective is hired to find out if a young woman committed suicide or if she was killed. Clues lead the reader to believe perhaps a “bogeyman” is running loose through the lower Canadian landscape.

Bidulka allows to the reader to feel like he or she is joining in on the pursuit. Interspersing points of contemporary culture into the storyline brings a smile as pages turn with gorgeous images and smells of summer in Canada emanating. With well-written flair, Bidulka puts the reader in the curious mind of Quant. As he meets suspects, Quant sizes up the characters with good sense, both professionally and personally. Parallel to the mystery, the detective struggles with turning 35 and the loss of a dear friend. While seeking information to solve his case, he discovers answers to his personal questions as well. Driven and intelligent, Quant solves his case being in the right place at the right time. By the end of the novel, Bidulka ties all the running stories together with both a funny and matter of fact method. I imagine Quant to be similar to Magnum P.I. in the '80s – attractive, charismatic, fun and always guessing as this mystery keeps the reader doing until the absolute end.

Written by: Carolyn Espe, March 3rd 2007