Daydreams Of Angels

There was a parade in Pas-Grand-Chose for all the mad scientists when they got off the plane. They were a curious sight with their hair sticking straight up in the air, their bottle-cap glasses and their briefcases that had smoke coming out of them. They had cardboard boxes filled with beakers and Dungeons and Dragons sets. None of them had girlfriends.

Daydreams of Angels is like a book of fairytales for grownups – with magic and imponderables and talking with angels – and while many stories border on the absurd, each gem in this unusual collection lingers in the heart; these aren't moralistic or instructive tales, but rather, whimsical fantasies that get to the core of what it means to be human. As a huge fan of Heather O'Neill (and her novels Lullabies for Little Criminals and The Girl Who Was Saturday Night), it's a pleasure to see her freed from the long form and marvel at what she can condense into a few pages. 

As always, O'Neill's language and gift for metaphor is what makes her writing so interesting line by line. There are recurring images of trumpets and roses and wolves, and as in her novels, so many, many cats doing curious things:

•Only a black cat saw her but it was too busy saying witty things to alert anyone.

•The declawed kitten tiptoed on the table in just its stockings.

•There was an aging black cat that had dyed its fur with a cheap bottle of dye from the pharmacy, but it wasn't fooling anybody.

And the moon figures prominently, too:

•The surface of the moon on a clear night looked all dented, like it had been out drinking and driving and had now lost its licence after a crash.

•All that the Gypsy could see was the big fat moon, which looked like the bald head on a gentleman who sat in front of you at the movie theatre, blocking your view.

•The moon looked like the Day-Glo face of a wristwatch.

And more and more metaphors:

•His cigarette smoke wavered above his head like a French philosopher's thought bubbles.

•His sequins glimmered like a distant galaxy whose constellations were emitting their tragic messages in Morse Code.

•The dolls had red, glistening lips. They looked as if they were dying to say something but had been warned not to say another word by their teachers. Their eyes were so shiny that at times it seemed as if they were welling up with tears. Their cheeks were rosy, as if they had come in from skating moments before. And their hair was so curly that it always seemed to be shaking, as if they had just taken the pins out and now it was tumbling down and they were laughing.

The writing is, thusly, so inventive that it's a pleasure to read just for the word combinations themselves, but repeatedly in this collection, I was broadsided by the truths at the center of what seemed at first blush to be simple fantasies. Love, love, love me some Heather O'Neill (which is why I let her do all the talking in this review).

I'm pretty excited that this year I was able to find and read the entire Giller Prize longlist before the winner is announced (with weeks to spare). If I were in charge, I'd give the prize to Martin John, and here is my ranked order of the contenders:

The longlist for the 2015 Scotiabank Giller Prize in my order of ranking is:


Anakana Schofield - Martin John 
Marina Endicott - Close to Hugh
Patrick deWitt - Undermajordomo Minor
Heather O’Neill - Daydreams of Angels
Connie Gault - A Beauty 
André Alexis - Fifteen Dogs
Clifford Jackman - The Winter Family
Alix Hawley - All True Not a Lie in It
Rachel Cusk - Outline
Russell Smith - Confidence 
Samuel Archibald - Arvida 
Michael Christie - If I Fall, If I Die

*Won by Fifteen Dogs; not my favourite but fine.