Much to my surprise and delight, I opened the Books section of today's Globe & Mail to find the first official print review of The Geography of Hope. The surprise was mainly because the book won't be on the shelves until the 20th of October, so it's a little early for a review; the delight was mainly because it's pretty much a rave, written by Evan Osenton, the book editor of Alberta Views magazine.
You can read it online for as long as this link remains active, but the Globe's notoriously stingy about burying its content behind subscriber walls, so act fast. Or else read on for the blurb-ready bit:
Chris Turner does his daughter proud. The Geography of Hope makes
an overwhelming case for an abundant, even limitless amount of hope for
humanity. The book is a captivating travelogue, the writing marked by
piquant observations and raw, emotional engagement with farmers,
radicals, business people, activists and indigenous people the world
over.
And Turner should find a broad audience; his stories are full of
references to his love of driving, cold beer, the Big Lebowski and The Simpsons. The Geography of Hope
might stimulate an interest in sustainability among readers who
otherwise fear "environmental books." At any rate, Turner has helped
push us ever closer to Malcolm Gladwell's tipping point, after which
sustainable living should, once again, become second nature to our
species.
[. . .] The Geography of Hope merely aspires to be Turner's "scrapbook
from a year spent living optimistically." Doom and gloom's insights,
eloquence and terrible truths aside, I know from which set of stories
I'd rather my children assembled a vision of their future.The cause of the early notice, by the look of it, was the paper's desire to pair the review with a longer review of William Marsden's Stupid to the Last Drop (about the enormous ecological cost of Alberta's oil boom). So I'm doubly thankful for my review's opening line: "Bad news might sell books and turn science authors into global
celebrities, but it isn't particularly good at changing minds,
motivating people or inspiring hope." Well put, Mr. Osenton. And thanks for the rave.
This was doubly a relief, actually, because the first review I ever read of Planet Simpson remains the most viscious and spiteful thing I've ever read about myself and my work - and in the prestigious pages of London's stately Times, no less. (The British edition of Planet Simpson was the first published by about a month.)
I was in London at the time, set to appear on national TV, and I'd just returned from lunch with my editor to my publisher's office for a meeting with my overseas sales rep. I was feeling, in short, like I'd Made It: British publisher, posh London lunch, and ah yes, old bean, let's talk about how to get 'em buying the thing in the Asian colonies, wot?
I had fifteen minutes to kill, so I asked to borrow an office computer to check my email. And some sadistic soul had sent me a link to the Times review online. (I can't remember who I have to thank for this. It may have been my British publicist, who perhaps didn't read the link but merely thought, "Oh, a notice in the Times. That Canadian fellow will be thrilled!") I clicked through. Sat and read it, and then again. Sat, in the white-noise drum of some London office, and realized I'd been completely savaged in the first book review I'd ever had.
The review itself kind of defies description. Suffice it to say that there's a unique quality to sitting a stone's throw from
famed Charing Cross Road and reading in one of London's most prominent dailies that you are guilty, among other things, of "occasional lapses into plain old illiteracy.
(The morbidly curious can still read it online.) I got enough good reviews in the following months to come to think of this bile-laced rant as a kind of right of passage, and my skin's thick enough now to take both praise and pans with a grain of salt or two.
Still, "Chris Turner does his daughter proud"? In probably Canada's most important Books section? That feels pretty good.