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Extraordinary
From a Governor General’s Award–winning author comes a heart-rending novel about family, children and the end of life. Over the course of one Saturday night, a man and his half-sister meet at her request to spend the evening preparing for her assisted death. They drink and reminisce fondly, sadly, amusingly about their lives and especially her children, both of whom have led dramatic and profoundly different lives. Extraordinary is a powerful consideration of assisted suicide, but it is also a story about family—about how brothers and sisters turn out so differently; about how little, in fact, turns out the way we expect. In the end, this is a novel about the extraordinary business of being alive, and it may well be David Gilmour’s very best work of fiction to date.
200 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2013
5 people are currently reading
292 people want to read
About the author
David Gilmour
68 books77 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
David Gilmour is a novelist who has earned critical praise from literary figures as diverse as William Burroughs and Northrop Frye, and from publications as different as the New York Times to People magazine. The author of six novels, he also hosted the award-winning Gilmour on the Arts. In 2005, his novel A Perfect Night to Go to China won the Governor General’s Award for Fiction. His next book, The Film Club, was a finalist for the 2008 Charles Taylor Prize. It became an international bestseller, and has sold over 200,000 copies in Germany and over 100,000 copies in Brazil. He lives in Toronto with his wife.
David Gilmour is a novelist who has earned critical praise from literary figures as diverse as William Burroughs and Northrop Frye, and from publications as different as the New York Times to People magazine. The author of six novels, he also hosted the award-winning Gilmour on the Arts. In 2005, his novel A Perfect Night to Go to China won the Governor General’s Award for Fiction. His next book, The Film Club, was a finalist for the 2008 Charles Taylor Prize. It became an international bestseller, and has sold over 200,000 copies in Germany and over 100,000 copies in Brazil. He lives in Toronto with his wife.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 72 reviews
September 27, 2013
Here's why:
http://www.randomhouse.ca/hazlitt/blo...
"I teach modern short fiction to third and first-year students. So I teach mostly Russian and American authors. Not much on the Canadian front. But I can only teach stuff I love. I can’t teach stuff that I don’t, and I haven’t encountered any Canadian writers yet that I love enough to teach.
I’m not interested in teaching books by women. Virginia Woolf is the only writer that interests me as a woman writer, so I do teach one of her short stories. But once again, when I was given this job I said I would only teach the people that I truly, truly love. Unfortunately, none of those happen to be Chinese, or women."
'Nuff said.
Addendum: feel free to flag me. I encourage it.
ETA: New follow-up review! Read an update at: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
November 23, 2013
David Gilmour's dismissive comments about writers that he made several months ago brought a whole lot of negative attention on his head - including a whole lot of negative reviews of his latest book, Extraordinary, written by people who have never read it and clearly never will. Contrary to them, I wanted to read Gilmour and see how he himself measures up as a novelist - and I chose his latest work as my introduction.
Extraordinary was longlisted for this year's Giller Prize, Canada's prestigious literary award - but didn't win (the award went to Lynn Coady and her collection Hellgoing: Stories). One might wonder what the jury (Margaret Atwood, Esi Edugyan and Jonathan Lethem) found in Gilmour's short novel, which measures exactly 200 pages in hardback. The answer seems to be obvious: the theme.
Extraordinary takes place over one Saturday evening, when the narrator of the book visits Sally, his half-sister, in her Toronto apartment to help her prepare to commit suicide. The novel consist entirely of the conversations that they have that evening, in the light of candles and taste of drambuies and margaritas, and of Sally's reminiscences of the life that she has led before a freak accident has deprived her of control over her body.
Sally has quite a few stories to tell - she is not only the narrator's half-sister, but also 15 years his senior. She tells him about her failed marriage and subsequent emigration to Mexico, in pursuit of happiness and a gentler, simpler life, and the relationship that she had with her two troubled children. Although ultimately he is expected to play the final role in Sally's suicide, the narrator is passive - he asks only a few questions on his own, understanding that these are the very last moments that they will both spent together in this world.
Gilmour is not a displeasure to read and has a narrative voice which is informal and unpretentious, relaxed while remaining intelligent. The novel is best read in one sitting - its length easily allows for that - late in the evening or during the night, when its quiet and dark, to match the time and mood of the book (you might want to remain careful with these margaritas, though). Still, for a book which features such a big, important and intimate subject - assisted suicide - the novel is a bit surprising. It's not a polemical text and offers no praise or condemnation of the act itself, which is bound to make at least some readers disappointed. Gilmour's description of Sally's state is also confusing - she broke her neck and stated that "everything has shut down", but from his description she's obviously not a quadriplegic, as she appears to have full use of her arms, and not a paraplegic either - as she is able to move around on her crutches with the narrator's help. Sally states that her body has become "less and less manageable", and the narrator doesn't question her choice - because, ultimately, whose life is it anyway?
This question is never answered - as the novel ends abruptly, with the eventual impact of the narrator's action on his own life being left to our imagination. This is why Gilmour's novel has not won the Giller - for aiming to be an exploration of such immensely complicated topic 200 pages of drinks and reminiscences are simply not enough; a whole life isn't.
Extraordinary was longlisted for this year's Giller Prize, Canada's prestigious literary award - but didn't win (the award went to Lynn Coady and her collection Hellgoing: Stories). One might wonder what the jury (Margaret Atwood, Esi Edugyan and Jonathan Lethem) found in Gilmour's short novel, which measures exactly 200 pages in hardback. The answer seems to be obvious: the theme.
Extraordinary takes place over one Saturday evening, when the narrator of the book visits Sally, his half-sister, in her Toronto apartment to help her prepare to commit suicide. The novel consist entirely of the conversations that they have that evening, in the light of candles and taste of drambuies and margaritas, and of Sally's reminiscences of the life that she has led before a freak accident has deprived her of control over her body.
Sally has quite a few stories to tell - she is not only the narrator's half-sister, but also 15 years his senior. She tells him about her failed marriage and subsequent emigration to Mexico, in pursuit of happiness and a gentler, simpler life, and the relationship that she had with her two troubled children. Although ultimately he is expected to play the final role in Sally's suicide, the narrator is passive - he asks only a few questions on his own, understanding that these are the very last moments that they will both spent together in this world.
Gilmour is not a displeasure to read and has a narrative voice which is informal and unpretentious, relaxed while remaining intelligent. The novel is best read in one sitting - its length easily allows for that - late in the evening or during the night, when its quiet and dark, to match the time and mood of the book (you might want to remain careful with these margaritas, though). Still, for a book which features such a big, important and intimate subject - assisted suicide - the novel is a bit surprising. It's not a polemical text and offers no praise or condemnation of the act itself, which is bound to make at least some readers disappointed. Gilmour's description of Sally's state is also confusing - she broke her neck and stated that "everything has shut down", but from his description she's obviously not a quadriplegic, as she appears to have full use of her arms, and not a paraplegic either - as she is able to move around on her crutches with the narrator's help. Sally states that her body has become "less and less manageable", and the narrator doesn't question her choice - because, ultimately, whose life is it anyway?
This question is never answered - as the novel ends abruptly, with the eventual impact of the narrator's action on his own life being left to our imagination. This is why Gilmour's novel has not won the Giller - for aiming to be an exploration of such immensely complicated topic 200 pages of drinks and reminiscences are simply not enough; a whole life isn't.
October 4, 2013
See Carol's review.
Also, have some Holger Syme:
....Most crucially, David Gilmour doesn’t seem to grasp why anyone should read literature at all. We can argue about whether Hamlet is right or not when he claims that art holds a mirror up to nature. But let’s just say he is. Here’s what Hamlet doesn’t say: that art is a mirror you choose to pick up to see yourself. Art shows you a mirror. That thing you see in there isn’t supposed to be your pre-conceived self-image. It’s something strange, and alien, and scary, or ridiculous, or dull. But it’s something that demands engagement. And sometimes, it becomes something that you realize is in fact you — but that’s not meant to be a happy realization. If the thing you see when you look into a book looks exactly like what you think you look like, you’re doing it wrong.
Also, have some Holger Syme:
....Most crucially, David Gilmour doesn’t seem to grasp why anyone should read literature at all. We can argue about whether Hamlet is right or not when he claims that art holds a mirror up to nature. But let’s just say he is. Here’s what Hamlet doesn’t say: that art is a mirror you choose to pick up to see yourself. Art shows you a mirror. That thing you see in there isn’t supposed to be your pre-conceived self-image. It’s something strange, and alien, and scary, or ridiculous, or dull. But it’s something that demands engagement. And sometimes, it becomes something that you realize is in fact you — but that’s not meant to be a happy realization. If the thing you see when you look into a book looks exactly like what you think you look like, you’re doing it wrong.
January 1, 2014
I bought this book before Gilmour made his racist/sexist comments against all women, Chinese, Canadian, and homosexual writers. I would not have bought it afterwards, and I'm pleased to see the boycott on Goodreads. However, I didn't think it fair to return it to the small independent bookstore, so I kept it, and since it's a book, I read it.
I determined to read it with an open mind, hoping it would at least be a good read.
Honestly, and I mean honestly, it is terrible. There is no character development, no movement toward any epiphany, no change in any way, and no theme that I can detect.
The entire (SHORT) book is a single conversation between a half-brother and his half-sister on the night he comes over to help her commit suicide. She had an accident years ago, and requires crutches to get around, and apparently, now that her daughter has left home, it's too much for her. That is as much explanation into her character or motive as we ever get. She claims not to be depressed. And by the way, the phone rings repeatedly, but the woman refuses to answer, and near the end of the story, the brother realizes it must be the daughter calling. So this woman who is mentally quite sharp and who gets around quite well on her crutches - can live on her own - and has a grown daughter who phones repeatedly, is so incapable of making any life for herself that she requests her half-brother to help her end her life. Boo-hoo.
The brother is equally insipid, and their conversation is dull and common as they discuss family. Her son, a crummy little thug and thief, is a disappointment to her because he is "a common, dull-witted television watcher."
Brilliant writing or unique and thought-provoking reflections might make all this palatable, but the best he can come up with is the brother wondering, "I thought to myself, Am I the last person who will ever touch you? Is mine the final human contact?" Pretty cliché stuff, Gilmour.
I determined to read it with an open mind, hoping it would at least be a good read.
Honestly, and I mean honestly, it is terrible. There is no character development, no movement toward any epiphany, no change in any way, and no theme that I can detect.
The entire (SHORT) book is a single conversation between a half-brother and his half-sister on the night he comes over to help her commit suicide. She had an accident years ago, and requires crutches to get around, and apparently, now that her daughter has left home, it's too much for her. That is as much explanation into her character or motive as we ever get. She claims not to be depressed. And by the way, the phone rings repeatedly, but the woman refuses to answer, and near the end of the story, the brother realizes it must be the daughter calling. So this woman who is mentally quite sharp and who gets around quite well on her crutches - can live on her own - and has a grown daughter who phones repeatedly, is so incapable of making any life for herself that she requests her half-brother to help her end her life. Boo-hoo.
The brother is equally insipid, and their conversation is dull and common as they discuss family. Her son, a crummy little thug and thief, is a disappointment to her because he is "a common, dull-witted television watcher."
Brilliant writing or unique and thought-provoking reflections might make all this palatable, but the best he can come up with is the brother wondering, "I thought to myself, Am I the last person who will ever touch you? Is mine the final human contact?" Pretty cliché stuff, Gilmour.
yeah-thats-gonna-be-a-no-from-me
August 31, 2014Sometimes you cannot separate an author from his works, especially if the author is as unapologetically sexist as Gilmour. I read the transcript of his interview that was "taken out of context"; he is straight up back-pedaling.
October 6, 2013
Setting aside his recent comments and viewing the art separately from the artist I found this to be a pretty good short novel. A man (the narrator) agrees to assist in the suicide of his older half-sister and spends her final night sitting with her, drinking and talking about their lives and the lives of her children. Gilmour is clearly a fine storyteller: the stories the pair tell had me hanging on every word and are thoughtful and often moving, even if they sometimes sound too rehearsed and crafted to be convincingly conversational. I was less sure about the framing 'present' of the suicide - there wasn't enough there for me to buy into it and be affected by it which meant the ending fell a little flat.
And as for those comments of his? I'm not sure how much insight into the author reading just one novel can give, where opinions may belong to the characters rather than their creator, but I'd say that although his comments were hugely ill-advised and even offensive - and I take exception to his idea that only the books he likes (those by and about people just like David Gilmour) are any good and worth teaching - on the evidence of this novel I'd speculate that he isn't the sexist homophobe that some have accused him of being. That phrase "man's man" does crop up in Extraordinary where he uses it to describe a character who objects to the way he believes many modern men have been emasculated by feminism. Of his opinions on Chinese people, the novel gives no clues.
And as for those comments of his? I'm not sure how much insight into the author reading just one novel can give, where opinions may belong to the characters rather than their creator, but I'd say that although his comments were hugely ill-advised and even offensive - and I take exception to his idea that only the books he likes (those by and about people just like David Gilmour) are any good and worth teaching - on the evidence of this novel I'd speculate that he isn't the sexist homophobe that some have accused him of being. That phrase "man's man" does crop up in Extraordinary where he uses it to describe a character who objects to the way he believes many modern men have been emasculated by feminism. Of his opinions on Chinese people, the novel gives no clues.
October 27, 2013
Aside from all the negative comments made by the author, I did enjoy this short story about a brother helping his older sister end her life. Assisted suicide is a controversial topic and this controversial author did a fine job of telling his story. I don't think this book will win the 2013 Giller prize but it was worth the read.
the-tally-will-come
September 27, 2013MY LOVE FOR MY ASS CONTINUES AND GOODREADS CAN'T DO SHIT ABOUT IT! BESIDES I WON'T BE FUCKING READING THIS BOOK. MY INNER-BITCH-SELF WANTS OUT.
February 2, 2017
https://ayearofbooksblog.com/2017/01/...
“I also knew that if things went as planned, these were the final chapters, the final paragraphs, the final sentences I would ever get from her”.
The book Extraordinary is truly extraordinary! It is unique, almost lyrical, difficult to put down and leaves the reader pondering the story once the book is placed back on the shelf. Thanks go to a colleague who recommended and lent me this book which is very timely since Canada has legalized medical assistance in dying.
The story takes place on a Saturday night in Sally’s apartment. The narrator, her brother, is spending the night as they reminisce and prepare for her suicide. Sally had been in a freak accident. She had tripped and fractured her neck. As things started to become more difficult she chose to end her life with the support of her brother who found her the pills and stayed with her as she died.
The siblings shared drinks and talked about their lives including their parents, their sibling and her two children. Sally spoke about her divorce, her move to Mexico and her relationship with her children. The boy and girl had been given the same care and opportunities yet each chose completely different paths.
Extraordinary was nominated for the 2013 Giller Prize long list and is his 9th novel. His previous novel, A Perfect Night to Go to China, won the 20105 Governor General’s Award. Gilmour was born in London, Ontario and resides in Toronto where he lectures at the University of Toronto. Extraordinary is his 9th book.
This book was an unexpected gem. It considers the serious topics of assisted suicide and complicated family dynamics. It left me wondering about the lasting impact on the narrator and the reaction of Sally’s daughter (perhaps a follow up book in the future?). It is a great read but make sure that you have the time to read it in one sitting as it will be difficult to put down.
“Her hand grew still colder, and as it grew colder I could feel a change come over, see a change rather, and I understood for the first time in my life that we are born with a soul and that it inhabits our body our whole lifetime and when we die, reluctantly, like children leaving a park, our soul very gently disengages and moves off, like a shadow, and takes with it all that makes us human, all that made us us. And behind, in its wake, is just a body, an uninhabited residence”.
“I also knew that if things went as planned, these were the final chapters, the final paragraphs, the final sentences I would ever get from her”.
The book Extraordinary is truly extraordinary! It is unique, almost lyrical, difficult to put down and leaves the reader pondering the story once the book is placed back on the shelf. Thanks go to a colleague who recommended and lent me this book which is very timely since Canada has legalized medical assistance in dying.
The story takes place on a Saturday night in Sally’s apartment. The narrator, her brother, is spending the night as they reminisce and prepare for her suicide. Sally had been in a freak accident. She had tripped and fractured her neck. As things started to become more difficult she chose to end her life with the support of her brother who found her the pills and stayed with her as she died.
The siblings shared drinks and talked about their lives including their parents, their sibling and her two children. Sally spoke about her divorce, her move to Mexico and her relationship with her children. The boy and girl had been given the same care and opportunities yet each chose completely different paths.
Extraordinary was nominated for the 2013 Giller Prize long list and is his 9th novel. His previous novel, A Perfect Night to Go to China, won the 20105 Governor General’s Award. Gilmour was born in London, Ontario and resides in Toronto where he lectures at the University of Toronto. Extraordinary is his 9th book.
This book was an unexpected gem. It considers the serious topics of assisted suicide and complicated family dynamics. It left me wondering about the lasting impact on the narrator and the reaction of Sally’s daughter (perhaps a follow up book in the future?). It is a great read but make sure that you have the time to read it in one sitting as it will be difficult to put down.
“Her hand grew still colder, and as it grew colder I could feel a change come over, see a change rather, and I understood for the first time in my life that we are born with a soul and that it inhabits our body our whole lifetime and when we die, reluctantly, like children leaving a park, our soul very gently disengages and moves off, like a shadow, and takes with it all that makes us human, all that made us us. And behind, in its wake, is just a body, an uninhabited residence”.
October 15, 2014
Before Suicide: Thoughts on David Gilmour's EXTRAORDINARY
David Gilmour has to be the clearest writer I've read in a long time. In fact, EXTRAORDINARY is so clear, it reads like a film script. And not just any film script.
It reads like the Canadian cousin of the films "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset" (since writing this, I've seen the third installment, "Before Midnight," and it's marvelous). A man and woman sit around and talk all night--about their lives, who they are, what is important to each, filling in the gaps. Of course, in the original, the couple falls in love over the course of a 24 hour period after meeting, by chance, on a train; they don't know each other at all.
In Gilmour's version, the couple is anything but strangers: a half-brother and half-sister, separated by a 15 year age gap.
It reads as though Gilmour leapfrogged to the third act of the trilogy, cutting out beginning and middle, opting solely for end.
And instead of being thrown together haphazardly on a train, they are drawn together on this single evening by the sister's need for help in committing suicide. She's a paraplegic who's had enough of living a diminished life, a life she finds harder and harder to manage.
I'm wondering about the title, if it's Sally, the sister, who is supposed to be extraordinary? M, the narrator, certainly seems to find her so, but I guess we all feel that way about those we love, about those whose half-stories we know. Or maybe the circumstances are extraordinary...yes, that seems more like it. It’s funny: the cover illustration is of a glowing firefly, but a moth drawn to a flame might have been just as apt.
I did not want to like this book. In fact, I didn't want to like any of this author's work. If you’ve been wondering why the name David Gilmour rings a bell, it could be because he was a long-time CBC film critic. Or because he already won the Governor General’s Literary Award for A Perfect Night to go to China.
Or you could be like me, mainly acquainted with David Gilmour because of that arguably disastrous Hazlitt interview he gave recently. I say arguably disastrous because perhaps, after all, there really is no such thing as bad publicity.
On principle, I wanted to dismiss this book. In fact, I wanted to ignore Gilmour’s work entirely. But, unlike Gilmour himself, I couldn't write him off without ever having read him. So I am working my way through his books. I won't buy them, though: he's not getting my measly toonies!
Did I enjoy Extraordinary? Yes. Not as much as the book I finished earlier in the day: Louise Erdrich’s The Roundhouse. I read that one for my book club; I’m also working on discovering more great women writers. For this, I may thank David Gilmour.
Was Extraordinary extraordinary? Well, it was good, not great. It filled an evening.
Will I remember it six months from now? Doubtful.
It was extremely clear, eminently readable. Is it such a great book that it deserved to be on the Giller long list? Well, not having read the others or the ones which were overlooked, I really can't say (very much want to read the Davidson and Coady ones).
I read it because my library made a copy available, because I was curious, and because I couldn't not like his writing because of some ideas he has with which I disagree.
I read it, in sum, to prove to myself that I am not as prejudiced as he is.
After months of fulmination and kerfuffle, David Gilmour is back teaching at the University of Toronto.
From my blog: http://beverlyakerman.blogspot.ca/201...
David Gilmour has to be the clearest writer I've read in a long time. In fact, EXTRAORDINARY is so clear, it reads like a film script. And not just any film script.
It reads like the Canadian cousin of the films "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset" (since writing this, I've seen the third installment, "Before Midnight," and it's marvelous). A man and woman sit around and talk all night--about their lives, who they are, what is important to each, filling in the gaps. Of course, in the original, the couple falls in love over the course of a 24 hour period after meeting, by chance, on a train; they don't know each other at all.
In Gilmour's version, the couple is anything but strangers: a half-brother and half-sister, separated by a 15 year age gap.
It reads as though Gilmour leapfrogged to the third act of the trilogy, cutting out beginning and middle, opting solely for end.
And instead of being thrown together haphazardly on a train, they are drawn together on this single evening by the sister's need for help in committing suicide. She's a paraplegic who's had enough of living a diminished life, a life she finds harder and harder to manage.
I'm wondering about the title, if it's Sally, the sister, who is supposed to be extraordinary? M, the narrator, certainly seems to find her so, but I guess we all feel that way about those we love, about those whose half-stories we know. Or maybe the circumstances are extraordinary...yes, that seems more like it. It’s funny: the cover illustration is of a glowing firefly, but a moth drawn to a flame might have been just as apt.
I did not want to like this book. In fact, I didn't want to like any of this author's work. If you’ve been wondering why the name David Gilmour rings a bell, it could be because he was a long-time CBC film critic. Or because he already won the Governor General’s Literary Award for A Perfect Night to go to China.
Or you could be like me, mainly acquainted with David Gilmour because of that arguably disastrous Hazlitt interview he gave recently. I say arguably disastrous because perhaps, after all, there really is no such thing as bad publicity.
On principle, I wanted to dismiss this book. In fact, I wanted to ignore Gilmour’s work entirely. But, unlike Gilmour himself, I couldn't write him off without ever having read him. So I am working my way through his books. I won't buy them, though: he's not getting my measly toonies!
Did I enjoy Extraordinary? Yes. Not as much as the book I finished earlier in the day: Louise Erdrich’s The Roundhouse. I read that one for my book club; I’m also working on discovering more great women writers. For this, I may thank David Gilmour.
Was Extraordinary extraordinary? Well, it was good, not great. It filled an evening.
Will I remember it six months from now? Doubtful.
It was extremely clear, eminently readable. Is it such a great book that it deserved to be on the Giller long list? Well, not having read the others or the ones which were overlooked, I really can't say (very much want to read the Davidson and Coady ones).
I read it because my library made a copy available, because I was curious, and because I couldn't not like his writing because of some ideas he has with which I disagree.
I read it, in sum, to prove to myself that I am not as prejudiced as he is.
After months of fulmination and kerfuffle, David Gilmour is back teaching at the University of Toronto.
From my blog: http://beverlyakerman.blogspot.ca/201...
noted
November 9, 2013I’m not interested in teaching books by men. I’ve never found — James Joyce is the only writer that interests me as a male writer, so I do teach one short story from James Joyce. But once again, when I was given this job I said I would teach only the people that I truly, truly love. And, unfortunately, none of those happen to be American, or men. Um. Except for James Joyce. And when I try James Joyce, I find he actually doesn’t work. He’s too sophisticated. He’s too sophisticated for even a third-year class. So you’re quite right, and usually at the beginning of the semester someone asks why there aren’t any male writers in the course. I say I don’t love male writers enough to teach them, if you want male writers go down the hall. What I’m good at is women.
Would you have a problem with that?
It shouldn't be wrong one way but not the other. (Incidentally I would not be likely to follow either version's reviews on Goodreads if they were a poster.)
Without the controversy I wouldn't have thought Gilmour's comments worthy of any particular thought or attention. Literature tutor/novelist only teaches authors they like, tends to like authors from similar background to their own. So fucking what?
I don't find his comments particularly relevant for anyone except his prospective students. If for some reason I were a lit student at the university of Toronto (though I would rather study another subject and leave literature as a hobby) I wonder whether I'd decide Gilmour was simply a bit lazy (if he can't make 21 year olds at a good university understand Woolf, he can't be much cop as a tutor), and should retitle his course* as I suspect, or whether to take it out of curiosity and for future conversational value.
* If certain sectors of academe are so keen on classifying people by their race and gender (an essentialist practice I generally dislike) then why not have courses on, say, American white male writers of the twentieth century just as you do on black female writers etc, making them an equally niche group of equal standing to show that the contemporary canon isn't the same as Bloom's canon and hasn't been for quite some time. (Fifteen years ago I did take a literature module as an extra course, and wasn't happy to be spending time on seventeenth century female poets who just weren't very good. I don't think it gives a good impression of women's writing to teach bad writers on a lower-level general/introductory course like that - they were obviously nowhere near as good as Donne, Marvell etc and belonged on a more specialist module with an emphasis on writing as social history etc. With a very very few exceptions (whom I can't actually name off the top of my head, I just consider the blanket statement would be too rude as well as potentially inaccurate) there don't seem to have been British female authors who were equally as good as their most esteemed male counterparts until the nineteenth century. Presumably because of changing social and economic conditions. And if those were necessary for more women to write well and publicly and for their works to survive, does it not prove a feminist point in any case?)
A while ago I stopped posting rants like this because they were going into friends' update emails despite my keeping them out of the feed. But I've grown more and more pissed off with Goodreads over the course of this year and I've got to the point of not caring if I indirectly piss off people I know only from this site. (Those who know me from elsewhere will be unsurprised by this sort of thing.)
Would you have a problem with that?
It shouldn't be wrong one way but not the other. (Incidentally I would not be likely to follow either version's reviews on Goodreads if they were a poster.)
Without the controversy I wouldn't have thought Gilmour's comments worthy of any particular thought or attention. Literature tutor/novelist only teaches authors they like, tends to like authors from similar background to their own. So fucking what?
I don't find his comments particularly relevant for anyone except his prospective students. If for some reason I were a lit student at the university of Toronto (though I would rather study another subject and leave literature as a hobby) I wonder whether I'd decide Gilmour was simply a bit lazy (if he can't make 21 year olds at a good university understand Woolf, he can't be much cop as a tutor), and should retitle his course* as I suspect, or whether to take it out of curiosity and for future conversational value.
* If certain sectors of academe are so keen on classifying people by their race and gender (an essentialist practice I generally dislike) then why not have courses on, say, American white male writers of the twentieth century just as you do on black female writers etc, making them an equally niche group of equal standing to show that the contemporary canon isn't the same as Bloom's canon and hasn't been for quite some time. (Fifteen years ago I did take a literature module as an extra course, and wasn't happy to be spending time on seventeenth century female poets who just weren't very good. I don't think it gives a good impression of women's writing to teach bad writers on a lower-level general/introductory course like that - they were obviously nowhere near as good as Donne, Marvell etc and belonged on a more specialist module with an emphasis on writing as social history etc. With a very very few exceptions (whom I can't actually name off the top of my head, I just consider the blanket statement would be too rude as well as potentially inaccurate) there don't seem to have been British female authors who were equally as good as their most esteemed male counterparts until the nineteenth century. Presumably because of changing social and economic conditions. And if those were necessary for more women to write well and publicly and for their works to survive, does it not prove a feminist point in any case?)
A while ago I stopped posting rants like this because they were going into friends' update emails despite my keeping them out of the feed. But I've grown more and more pissed off with Goodreads over the course of this year and I've got to the point of not caring if I indirectly piss off people I know only from this site. (Those who know me from elsewhere will be unsurprised by this sort of thing.)
October 8, 2013
This short book left me feeling extremely empty. Not as in emotionally drained - which would have been expected given that the story is essentially a pre-euthanasia trip down memory lane - but rather emotionally void.
I expected the conversation between a sister and brother to be a little more intimate and nostalgic. I mean, if you're close enough to ask someone to help you die, you would expect some sort of filial rapprochement, but these two barely seem to know each other. The discussion is so stilted that they often preface people by their relationship: my ex-husband, Bruce; your brother, Jake. Really? It was all just so fake and staged that I couldn't care about these people. To top it off, I never felt as though we knew why Sally wanted to end her life. It was a plot device without motivation, which only served to cheapen the concept.
I wasn't expecting anything extraordinary going into this book (semi-apology for the pun), but I was honestly shocked by how disappointed I was. Atwood, Edugyan and Lethem must have seen something worthy enough to merit being longlisted for the Giller Prize. I can't for the life of me figure out what it was, though. I guess I should just count my blessings that it didn't make the cut for the shortlist.
I expected the conversation between a sister and brother to be a little more intimate and nostalgic. I mean, if you're close enough to ask someone to help you die, you would expect some sort of filial rapprochement, but these two barely seem to know each other. The discussion is so stilted that they often preface people by their relationship: my ex-husband, Bruce; your brother, Jake. Really? It was all just so fake and staged that I couldn't care about these people. To top it off, I never felt as though we knew why Sally wanted to end her life. It was a plot device without motivation, which only served to cheapen the concept.
I wasn't expecting anything extraordinary going into this book (semi-apology for the pun), but I was honestly shocked by how disappointed I was. Atwood, Edugyan and Lethem must have seen something worthy enough to merit being longlisted for the Giller Prize. I can't for the life of me figure out what it was, though. I guess I should just count my blessings that it didn't make the cut for the shortlist.
stricken
July 17, 2014"Roth has the best understanding of middle-aged sexuality I���ve ever come across" in Hazlitt
February 5, 2014
The story of a middle-aged woman, crippled from a previous neck injury. She has made up her mind, she no longer wants to live with her situation which will not get any better, only worse. She engages her younger half-brother to assist her.
On the evening she has planned her death, he arrives at her apartment, with a good supply of sleeping pills he filched from an aunt's medicine chest. The unnamed drug, is known to be a killer if mixed with alcohol and taken in a large dose.
They spend the evening talking about her life, his life and those of her children.
One of the reviewers here said she went out on her balcony and had a good cry when she finished the book.
I came to the last page today, and though I enjoyed the story, the way it was told and the smoothness of the reading, I didn't feel like crying, but I was relieved it was over.
David Gilmour uses his words sparingly, wasting nothing and takes you there in a simple straightforward way.
I believe this story will stay in my mind for some time to come.
It's worth the read.
Our book discussion group at High Park Library in Toronto will be discussing this book on the second Wednesday of this month.
On the evening she has planned her death, he arrives at her apartment, with a good supply of sleeping pills he filched from an aunt's medicine chest. The unnamed drug, is known to be a killer if mixed with alcohol and taken in a large dose.
They spend the evening talking about her life, his life and those of her children.
One of the reviewers here said she went out on her balcony and had a good cry when she finished the book.
I came to the last page today, and though I enjoyed the story, the way it was told and the smoothness of the reading, I didn't feel like crying, but I was relieved it was over.
David Gilmour uses his words sparingly, wasting nothing and takes you there in a simple straightforward way.
I believe this story will stay in my mind for some time to come.
It's worth the read.
Our book discussion group at High Park Library in Toronto will be discussing this book on the second Wednesday of this month.
July 10, 2017
This story about a brother assisting in his sister's suicide just felt stagy to me. It's a short novel, consisting primarily of an extended conversation, in which the considerably older sister reflects on her life and children. The medical condition Sally, the sister, has long been plagued with was not credibly depicted--a broken neck, walking around on crutches, and living alone? I couldn't buy it or suspend my disbelief. I had a hard time believing two people could be this witty, erudite, and allusive on the eve of the suicide of one of them. A lot of yakking, no action--which isn't always a bad thing...but this didn't quite do it for me. A fast read and not the worst ever, but not as "extraordinary" as I expected. I'd give it 2.5 stars.
January 14, 2014
This book really is extraordinary.
Despite what I now think of him as a person -- see his comments regarding teaching the works of female writers -- he is a brilliant writer. And this book is evidence of that.
It is a beautiful, moving story about life and death, and what makes a good life, and a good death. A story of family, the things we have done, the things we might have done, the things we regret.
I don't know how much more I can say; it is hard to put into words. Perhaps I should just read it again.
Despite what I now think of him as a person -- see his comments regarding teaching the works of female writers -- he is a brilliant writer. And this book is evidence of that.
It is a beautiful, moving story about life and death, and what makes a good life, and a good death. A story of family, the things we have done, the things we might have done, the things we regret.
I don't know how much more I can say; it is hard to put into words. Perhaps I should just read it again.
November 8, 2013
I'm unsure of how to review this book. To say I "liked" it is not entirely accurate; I have not stopped thinking about it. This novella describes the evening that a brother helps his sister die. The prose is gorgeous; the conversations, enlightening and poignant. The hype surrounding the topic of this book certainly is controversial, but that doesn't diminish the powerful impact of the story and its characters.
December 8, 2013
I'll keep this brief in the spirit of the novel. This was an amazing book, but does it still count as a book if it only takes a few hours to read? Between the amount of pages and the size of the pages itself... it felt like a long short story. (An amazing one, but a short story nevertheless.) That being said, I enjoyed every page of it, and will make sure to read more of his works.
December 5, 2013
You have to separate the art from the artist. If you're letting his views on other writers stand in your way, you're missing a beautifully written book. This is a book you could read in a couple of sittings. Totally engrossing.
August 30, 2020
Un soir, un homme se rend chez sa demi-sœur, âgée de 15 ans de plus que lui, car elle souhaite mourrir et lui a demandé de l’assister. Alors que s’entame sa dernière, la sœur et son demi-frère s’assoient ensemble et elle lui raconte sa vie. Alors qu’ils n’avaient jamais été proches, cette dernière nuit de confidences scellera leur lien fraternel à jamais.
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Ce livre n’en est pas un qui m’aura marqué et m’aura donné envie de m’y replonger une deuxième fois. La prémisse de l’histoire s’annonçait intrigante et intéressante mais, en réalité, il n’en fut rien. Alors que je croyais que cette dernière serait significative pour les deux personnages puisque le synopsis suggère qu’elle les rapprochera mais elle a plutôt été lassante, toujours sur le même ton. Même lorsque des souvenirs joyeux étaient évoqués, il y a avait un manque d’émotions chez les personnages qui m’empêchait d’être investie dans leur histoire. En gros, ce fut un roman gris, où il se passe quelque chose mais pas vraiment en même temps.
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Ce livre n’en est pas un qui m’aura marqué et m’aura donné envie de m’y replonger une deuxième fois. La prémisse de l’histoire s’annonçait intrigante et intéressante mais, en réalité, il n’en fut rien. Alors que je croyais que cette dernière serait significative pour les deux personnages puisque le synopsis suggère qu’elle les rapprochera mais elle a plutôt été lassante, toujours sur le même ton. Même lorsque des souvenirs joyeux étaient évoqués, il y a avait un manque d’émotions chez les personnages qui m’empêchait d’être investie dans leur histoire. En gros, ce fut un roman gris, où il se passe quelque chose mais pas vraiment en même temps.
January 14, 2026
This was a snap pick-up at the library as a staff recommendation. The topic is essentially assisted death - a brother and sister over her final evening; family dynamics et al. The book was written in 2013, so before MAID became legal and therefore a tougher subject than it might be now.
As others have mentioned, the copy I read is 188 pages, but the margins are very wide, so it's maybe 100 to 120 pages of a normal book - a fairly quick read. The writing had good pace, though the author avoided "I said"; "she said", as it was just the two of them talking and there were some long monologues, so once in a while I had to go back to check who'd said what. Overall, despite the sadness of the subject matter, I enjoyed the book and found it thought-provoking.
As others have mentioned, the copy I read is 188 pages, but the margins are very wide, so it's maybe 100 to 120 pages of a normal book - a fairly quick read. The writing had good pace, though the author avoided "I said"; "she said", as it was just the two of them talking and there were some long monologues, so once in a while I had to go back to check who'd said what. Overall, despite the sadness of the subject matter, I enjoyed the book and found it thought-provoking.
March 29, 2018
This has a lot that I like about Gilmour. His economy for one. And the understated way he deals with heavy emotions. But I like him best when he's writing about love and relationships and the way we sabotage our lives.
March 15, 2018
Interesting premise
Well done ending.
Well done ending.
Read
August 7, 2019Rating after Atkinson Reads
May 16, 2021
should've been written by a woman
January 1, 2022
Tender and moving story of half siblings reminiscing about their lives over the course of an evening as the sister prepares to end hers.
October 12, 2022
i don't read books written by men but this is one of them, which is why i feel confident giving it this rating 💖
June 2, 2025
Difficile d'accrocher au début, mais par la suite incapable d'arrêter de lire.
March 9, 2017
I am not sure what to say about this book except that it was pretty good. Basically, it is a conversation between a woman and her half-brother on the night that he is assisting with her suicide (she is disabled as a result of an accident). The half-brother is almost interviewing the sister. Parts of the conversation were interesting as the woman spoke about her life growing up, her husband and lovers and then in turn, her son and daughter. By the time she got around to discussing her daughter, I was bored. This is not a novel that everyone would like, but Gilmour treats love, relationships and ultimately, death with sensitivity.
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October 13, 2013
Extraordinary would have made a brilliant short story. As a novella, it feels stuffed with extraneous detail, and sloppy writing, i.e.: the suicide pills being in the narrator's pocket on page 13 and then they're in his shoulder bag, sitting beside his chair on page 165. On the bright side, the book jacket is gorgeous, and the book design is beautiful, although the measure may be a tad narrow.
There are some beautiful sentences in Extraordinary: "The drum solo from ‘Take Five’ concluded, and like a slippered guest entering the room, the saxophone resumed." But the prose is far from flawless. Overall, the story feels rushed, uneven.
In the end, Extraordinary does not debate assisted suicide, Sally, the narrator's half-sister, is now about 73 and has chosen to end her life with dignity, and the narrator is complicit. She'd suffered a crippling fall shortly after leaving her husband. Paralyzed from the waste down, Sally coped, perhaps thrived. The accident may have been a catalyst for her children's chaotic lives, and the children's lives are thoroughly explored here.
I found myself not caring about any of the story's characters, or their tragedies and melodramas. All of the characters feel like the sort of constructs H.G. Wells and other 19th Century writers used to personify a certain point of view. They remain soulless; words on a page.
Aside from refilling Sally's glass (I'm still trying to figure out how scotch fits in a martini ...), and assisting her to the bathroom, there isn't much interaction between Sally and her half-brother. Extraordinary is a dialogue: not conversation; dialogue, as in Plato's The Republic, but without the metaphysics. Both speakers seem detached from their own histories, both shared and individual. Each has a part of the story the other seems to be missing. While no one has another's wholes story, here it feels contrived. Their exchange feels like the dialogue of religious morality tales or After School Specials: over the top and sensationalistic. At times it feels gossipy; attempting to shock for the sake of shock. Such writerly finagling fuels the feeling of contrivance (just like alliteration, but not as much fun).
I suppose the real question in Extraordinary is where do we go when we die? But in terms of the story, what the narrator suggests by using Marcel Proust's quote to lead off the story is the answer. As a novella, Extraordinary falls short because it seems hastily written and prematurely published. Instead of pondering the nature of death and where the soul goes, I wondered whether the writer was contractually obliged to put something out. When reading a story, the last thing I, as a reader, want to know is anything about the writer, or how the story was built. I want to be immersed in the story: That's why I picked it up in the first place.
There are some beautiful sentences in Extraordinary: "The drum solo from ‘Take Five’ concluded, and like a slippered guest entering the room, the saxophone resumed." But the prose is far from flawless. Overall, the story feels rushed, uneven.
In the end, Extraordinary does not debate assisted suicide, Sally, the narrator's half-sister, is now about 73 and has chosen to end her life with dignity, and the narrator is complicit. She'd suffered a crippling fall shortly after leaving her husband. Paralyzed from the waste down, Sally coped, perhaps thrived. The accident may have been a catalyst for her children's chaotic lives, and the children's lives are thoroughly explored here.
I found myself not caring about any of the story's characters, or their tragedies and melodramas. All of the characters feel like the sort of constructs H.G. Wells and other 19th Century writers used to personify a certain point of view. They remain soulless; words on a page.
Aside from refilling Sally's glass (I'm still trying to figure out how scotch fits in a martini ...), and assisting her to the bathroom, there isn't much interaction between Sally and her half-brother. Extraordinary is a dialogue: not conversation; dialogue, as in Plato's The Republic, but without the metaphysics. Both speakers seem detached from their own histories, both shared and individual. Each has a part of the story the other seems to be missing. While no one has another's wholes story, here it feels contrived. Their exchange feels like the dialogue of religious morality tales or After School Specials: over the top and sensationalistic. At times it feels gossipy; attempting to shock for the sake of shock. Such writerly finagling fuels the feeling of contrivance (just like alliteration, but not as much fun).
I suppose the real question in Extraordinary is where do we go when we die? But in terms of the story, what the narrator suggests by using Marcel Proust's quote to lead off the story is the answer. As a novella, Extraordinary falls short because it seems hastily written and prematurely published. Instead of pondering the nature of death and where the soul goes, I wondered whether the writer was contractually obliged to put something out. When reading a story, the last thing I, as a reader, want to know is anything about the writer, or how the story was built. I want to be immersed in the story: That's why I picked it up in the first place.
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