Gripped

A couple of years ago, while browsing the shelves in Pages, one of my favourite used-book shops in Calgary, I found a copy of Anakana Schofield’s Martin John. I’d been hunting for it for months, ever since I first read about it in The Worst Truth, John Metcalf’s castigating essay on Canadian fiction. In that slim volume, Metcalf commended the Giller-nominated title while savaging several other books I’d enjoyed. If Schofield’s second novel could earn the literary critic’s rare approval — he acquired the book for his imprint at Biblioasis — there had to be something to it. “Game on, Metcalf,” I thought.

But the 2015 publication sat untouched on my crowded bookshelf for over two years. Like many bibliophiles, I compulsively bring home more than I can possibly read, even when every available surface is stacked with uncracked spines. Sometimes I purge the clutter, hauling heavy bags to Little Free Libraries, but the piles inevitably regrow. I can’t...