When I previously reviewed another book (Women Talking) by this Canadian ex Mennonite, I stated that I would not be reading more of her books. Unfortunately a Goodreads review made me change my mind.
This book is said to be nonfiction and is in part autobiography. It attempts to answer the questions about why she writes at all and what writing, and silence means. She travels the world and receives therapy from a Russian Jungian while dealing with the suicides of both her father and her sister. The time shifts range from the 1970s to 2023. In places, she seems to be psychotic herself with dreams of establishing a museum of the wind and is overpowered by panic attacks. The whole book is laced with foul language and strange sexual encounters.
The answer to the question about why she writes at all is not forthcoming except in a banal and incomplete way, and constitutes a small part of the story. Repeated references to the visits of a demented skunk, and the underground river beneath their Toronto house serve no useful purpose that I could discern.
In short, I did not enjoy this book.
2.5/5
The Passionate Reader 