Naomi reviews Bellevue Square

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What I love so much about readng the Giller books is that there are always surprises. I’m often reading books I hadn’t heard of before, books from authors I’ve never read before, and books I know very little about. Add the fact that the books have been carefully chosen by a handful of smart and interesting judges, and you can be in for some unexpected treats.

Bellevue Square was one of the books I knew very little about when I went into it. What I found was a clever, complex story that took me on endless twists and turns.

Bellevue Square tells the story of a woman (Jean) who hears from two different people that she has a doppelganager out there. She becomes obsessed with finding this woman who supposedly looks just like her, and starts hanging out at the park near Kensington Market. Here she meets several colourful characters, and starts canvassing them for their help in spotting her double.

You can look at yourself in pictures or even on video, but you still don’t have the experience others do of you in the world.

I really can’t say much more about the plot without giving things away, other than to say the story includes disappearing people, mental illness, parenting, a bookstore, and a literary festival in the woods.

I thought the writing was whip-smart, including the banter and dialogue between Jean and her children, giving us moments of normality amidst all the confusion. One small bone to pick would be that I wanted more from the husband; for someone so close to the protagonist, I found that he seemed too distant. But this could also be a symptom of how distracted Jean had become by her obsession with the doppelganger.

I remember standing in the mirror as a child, staring into my own eyeball. I lined one eye up against its reflection and shut the other. I saw a slippery black void but that’s where I was: in that void. My face was wrapped around muscle and bone. Before Ingrid, it was my face alone. Now I exist as myself only inside my own dark eye.

Torontonians should enjoy the setting of the story. Even I could picture myself sitting in the park watching the foot traffic go by in Kensington Market. I feel as though if I went there now, I might bump into Jimmy or Miriam handing out the milk.

Kensington Market’s energy was hustle too, plus bustle, a lot of movement right in front of your eyes, and a shudder or rattle behind it. Countercultural, but bloody and raw. The organic butcher beside a row of dry-goods shops offered, in one window, white-and-red animal skulls with bulbous dead eyes, and in the other, closely trimmed racks of lamb and venison filets, displayed overlapping each other like roofing tiles. Then some stranger rustles past with blood on his cheeks.

Torontonians wanted to get on with it, but they were generally courteous. if someone let you into a car lane, for instance, you were expected to wave with casual gratitude, like you expected it, but thank you anyway. Toronto’s panhandlers thank you when you give money, and also when you say “Sorry.” In fact, “Sorry, thank you,” may be the most common exchange between citizens. Toronto’s reputation when I lived outside it was that it was a steely, arrogant place without a heart, but now I see it likes outsiders and it draws on a deep spring of weirdness.

I found Bellevue Square to be a page-turner; interesting, complicated, stimulating, creepy, and unique. At times I was confused, at other times I thought I knew exactly what was going on… only to find out I was wrong… probably. But really it’s hard to know for sure because this book is only the first of a trilogy.

There are certain problems that cannot be solved and one of these is the liar. Whether for strategic or emotional reasons, the liar who is convinced of the necessity of his lie will adapt the defence that he never lies. And a person who is trying to convice you that they are not lying could be lying about never lying…

This review was originally posted on my blog, Consumed by Ink. Please visit for further reading suggestions.

 

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