I noticed this book a few weeks ago when I was at my local library. It was in a special section of the library, where certain titles are showcased, depending on the theme for the month or even week. The librarian does a great job choosing just the right titles to put on that table. And this book belongs in that genre of writing.
People cannot readily be categorized, nor can some books. This book is one such book. In her publishing debut, Catherine M.A. Wiebe is as refreshing as she is startling with this fictional memoir of birthing and memory, a chronicle of food prepared, break baked, and human skin bringing first experience of the world.
Who knew that a grandmother kneaded sorrow into each loaf of bread she baked, or that her memories were preserved along with the pickles she and her granddaughter made?
Wiebe writes prose as if it were poetry, sharp and clear, touching the mind and stirring the heart while awakening long-forgotten truths. This book is the afterlife of food, the memory of what once was, and its reality gone.
I loved this book. Yes, it has sad overtones. But it is a must-read novel. It is short and sweet, a story that must be read and re-read.