Books like Nights Below Station Street — picked by fans

I rooted for nearly every character in the book, despite their being ornery survivors who might be a little too fractious and independent-minded to enjoy as neighbors. The one exception was a devious and self-serving guy, proving that good stories need contrasts.

The book reads more like a set of linked stories than a straight novel. St. Pierre spins engaging tales that deliver a unique combination of earthy humor and a fine portrayal of the ranch country of the central interior of British Columbia.

I was very much taken with this novel’s blend of romance, mystery, and exploration of whether you can ever go home again. Raddall doesn’t get much mention and is largely remembered for his other novels when he does. That’s a shame.

This 1956 work stands up very well against more recent works. It features unadorned yet persuasive prose that many modern writers can only wish for. Raddall quite evidently intended it as a loving, almost lyrical, description of rural Nova Scotia. He succeeded.

A rich mix here: humor, mild suspense, serious themes encompassing Jewishness and the fallout of the Nazis’ mass murder of European Jews, and cautionary themes about obsessions and the dangers of hero worship. The background setting is a Montreal neighborhood Richler grew up in, knew well, and happily depicted.

Some of Richler’s other novels also describe Montreal and some of its people. You could argue that Barney’s Version and Solomon Gursky Was Here are better books overall. I particularly liked this one because it has a youthful verve and adventurous feel.

The descriptions of interpreting aerial reconnaissance photos during the Second World War were interesting. But the real hook for me was the compelling portrayal of small-town Saskatchewan life in the 1940s. The heroine—and the book does have a streak of chick lit about it—sounded like the real people I met while working as a reporter in Saskatchewan during the mid-1970s. Her hometown was recognizable, too. I keep hoping some of the spirit of these places and their people will survive well into the 2000s.

In both my novels I explore the cultural, almost exclusively oral history of Maine woodsmen and -women. An old man now, I knew people who worked as loggers, river drivers, and so on before the advent of power tools, electricity, or motorized hauling.

A non-writer friend told me about this book, which is concerned with the same culture across the New Brunswick border, mere miles from where my novels are set. His evocation of that arduous, raconteur-populated, dangerous world bolstered my own seat-of-the-pants knowledge and offered a wealth of specific physical detail and a sense of storytelling’s central importance in the old logging communities.

The book, then, served as a model for my own explorations of a culture whose likes we will never see again and whose preservation in words is among my own most passionate aims. 

I regard Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau as the embodiment of an empty progressive politics that is far more concerned with style over substance.

Martin Lukacs does a great job in The Trudeau Formula of outlining how Trudeau’s combination of soaring rhetoric and tepid reform on issues like economic inequality, Indigenous reconciliation, and the climate crisis works to stave off the more systemic changes needed to address these concerns in a substantive way.

Lukacs aptly demonstrates how Trudeau serves to uphold the status quo while presenting himself as an agent of transformative change. 

We love Euell Gibbons, the man and book that began it all a lifetime ago! Stalking the Wild Asparagus spurred the rise of foraging and ecological awareness in sixties America, and remains relevant today.

The book is folksy, personal, and inspirational but also remains scientifically accurate, and as a born teacher Euell is careful to define the limits of which foods you can gather and safely eat. It’s a miracle it was published, and we should be immensely grateful to David Mackay Co. of New York for going for it back in 1962–and giving themselves a bestseller.

George Manuel was once asked by a white coworker, “Does Indians have feelings?” Refusing dehumanization, Manuel reveals the ongoing colonial relations between First Nations and the Canadian settler state. He charts his political journey from Secwepemcúl̓ecw to the National Indian Brotherhood to the World Council of Indigenous Peoples.

Manuel argues that the victories of the anti-colonial independence movements of the twentieth century did not end colonial domination of Indigenous Peoples—what he calls the Fourth World. The Fourth World is not a destination but the right to travel on your own road in your own way.

With a new insightful introduction, foreword, and afterword, the book's latest edition shows how Manuel’s analysis of colonialism and vision for solidarity continue to be relevant to contemporary struggles for decolonization. 

From the very first page, Someone Like You had me hooked.

This is one of those books you pick up “just to start” and before you know it, hours have disappeared because you simply can’t put it down. It’s full of interesting characters and plot twists and left me feeling on edge, with my heart racing as I turned those pages faster and faster. 

I loved the setting with its super creepy vibes, which only increased exponentially when more and more scary things started happening. I really warmed to Carey and her son and was rooting for them throughout. The explanations at the end made complete sense and tied things up perfectly.

I thought this was an excellent debut novel and I look forward to reading more by Elena Frost. 

This book provides an answer to a question that historians of arms control have asked since WWII ended: Why had the use of chemical weapons on the battlefield not become widespread in WWII, in the same manner it had in WWI? Focusing on Britain, Canada, and the United States, Holding Their Breath explores Allied reluctance to use chemical weapons and their formulation of a joint policy on chemical warfare. M. Girard Dorsey shows that the potential for chemical warfare in WWII profoundly influenced the course of the war’s events.