I think I have a crush on Emily, he tells Kathryn in the shower. This is where they confide crushes.On the surface, Next Year, for Sure is a breezy, quirky read – when Kathryn's boyfriend of nine years tells her that he can't stop thinking about an acquaintance from the Laundromat, she encourages him to ask the woman out, beginning an exploration of polyamory which looks like a “Whatever happens between consenting adults is their business”-type story – but this is actually quite a sad and introspective book. By making the main characters so hip and unconventional, author Zoey Leigh Peterson pulls off the literary bait-and-switch of making the reader believe what they are telling the world: We're fine with this and don't care what you think. Meanwhile, by slowly doling out information from Kathryn and Chris' childhoods, we are quietly led to realise that they may be a bit broken, acting on motivations that even they are not aware of. On the surface, this might look like a strange novel to have been longlisted for the Giller Prize, but there is something special happening here; I'm pleased to have been led to read it.
A heart crush or a boner crush? Kathryn says.
He doesn’t know how to choose. It’s not particularly sexual, his crush. He hasn’t thought about Emily that way. And Chris would never say boner. But it’s not just his heart, either. It’s his molecules.
Next Year for Sure is separated into chapters that follow twelve months, from September to September, and switches back and forth between Kathryn's and Chris' perspectives, using some offbeat literary devices along the way: there's nothing straightforward about the storytelling. After that opening conversation in the shower, the pair goes on their annual camping trip, and this is where the title comes from: Their best friend couple, Kyle and Sharon – who usually accompany them on this trip – find themselves too busy this year, but “next year, for sure”. And this is really significant: The two couples used to live across the alley from each other, did everything together, were as close as any foursome could be. But then Kyle and Sharon moved away, bought a condo, decided to get married – all that adult stuff – while Chris and Kathryn still rent a one bedroom, have an old futon in the living room, work at jobs instead of careers. When Sharon recoils at the idea of Kathryn encouraging Chris in his relationship with Emily, Kathryn has a mental rebuttal:
She and Chris are smart, caring people who love each other. They can try things out, and if those things don't work, they can try something else, or go back to how they were before. Kathryn could call Chris right now and tell him to come home, and he would, if he had a cell phone. Kathryn could say, I need you not to see Emily ever again, and Chris would do it. He would erase Emily from his very thoughts. But Kathryn's not going to ask that, because that's not what love is, Sharon. Love isn’t I love you so much that I need to possess you and control you and be the source of all your happiness. Love is I love you so much that I want you to have everything you need, even when it’s hard for me.There are enough of these justifications that the reader could easily be led to believe that that's how Kathryn actually feels. But when you learn about her weird childhood and the abusive relationship that Chris had rescued her from, you might conclude differently. And when you learn about Chris' childhood and the string of romances he drifted in and out of before he met Kathryn, you might understand why even his mother doesn't approve of this new arrangement:
Emily is part of my life, he says on the way to the airport. His mother acts confused, as if she doesn't know who he's talking about, but Chris presses on. If you want to miss an important part of my life, he says, that's your choice, but.The writing in this book feels light and breezy and conversational, and it kind of looks like it's saying that monogamy is so old fashioned, but at its heart, Next Year for Sure is actually a tragedy about two broken people who can't grow up. An easy but surprisingly deep read.
His sentence simply runs out. He thought he had a but.
His mother studies her lap. She picks a fibre off her dress and lets it drop to the floor of the cab. Then you should break up with Kathryn, she says.
I told you, Kathryn is fine.
That's baloney, Chris. Can't you see how sad she is?
She's always sad, Mom. We're both always sad.
Chris wonders how long this has been true. How long they've been trapped in this sadness together.
You're not sad, his mother says. It's called being an adult.
The 2017 Scotiabank Giller Prize Longlist:
David Chariandy: Brother
Rachel Cusk: Transit
David Demchuk: The Bone Mother
Joel Thomas Hynes: We'll All Be Burned in Our Beds Some Night
Andrée A. Michaud: Boundary
Josip Novakovich: Tumbleweed
Ed O'Loughlin: Minds of Winter
Zoey Leigh Peterson: Next Year, for Sure
Michael Redhill: Bellevue Square
Eden Robinson: Son of a Trickster
Deborah Willis: The Dark and other Love Stories
Michelle Winters: I Am a Truck
After finishing reading the longlist, I'll rank the shortlist (according to my own enjoyment only):
I Am a Truck
Minds of Winter
Son of a Trickster
Bellevue Square
Transit
