Our Lady of Mile End reads like a long afternoon spent sipping coffee on a stoop, eavesdropping on a neighbourhood in flux, and realizing every whispered conflict feels like yours. Sarah Gilbert stitches together seventeen overlapping stories set in Montreal’s Mile End, conjuring a place where landlords, artists, professors, and kids brushing up against gentrification all orbit the same streets in different orbits. An artist cleaning fancy gallery homes to pay rent, a professor tangling with trigger warnings and privilege; Gilbert captures the quiet tensions and tenderness of a community negotiating itself through change. Her prose registers like the perfect mug of warmth: familiar, unshowy, and somehow full of unexpected weight.
What really sticks is how Gilbert refuses to turn this into a jeremiad against gentrification. Instead, she gently reminds us that amidst displacement and soaring rents, human connection can still bloom, if only someone truly notices. The stories pulse with that stubborn hope: kids growing up in adult shadows, new neighbours fumbling toward friendship, elders refusing to vanish. It’s intimate, compassionate, and quietly queer in its insistence that community isn’t just nostalgia, it’s made, piece by small piece, across generations and shifting streets. A beautifully observant love letter to a place both vanishing and surviving. Emotionally resonant, quietly fierce, and exactly the sort of novel you’ll want to reread on a walk through your own changing neighbourhood.