This is a delightful gem of a book. It starts with a simple premise - a 28-year-old slacker, lacking in funds and ideas, decides to give his 92-year-old grandmother the gift of time together, in the form of a 5-day road trip. Except the trip turns out to be from her house in Ottawa back to his small apartment in Kingston for a "staycation". It turns out to be a dreadful, rainy week, but his resilient grandma finds genuine delight in everything they do together, and starts to reminisce about various times in her own very fascinating life. Many of the ludicrous parts of this vacation had me chuckling to myself - something rare for me, as I find little humour in books that try too hard to be funny. The characters are so real and true, every page holds little surprises, and I could not put this book down. His grandma's philosophy of living in the present comes through, and her interest in everything around her, turning even seemingly dismal situations into delightful adventures. The grandson's appreciation of his grandma, and his own delight in learning about her life and how she thinks about things also comes through.

Highly recommended. ( )

When I started reading The Truth about Luck, I was taking the bus to meet a friend to go book-buying.

We had chosen the date and destination a month ago; the only thing left to decide the night before was the exact time that we would meet in the morning.

When I met Iain Reid on the page, he was confessing that although he and his grandmother were about to take a trip he promised her as a birthday present months ago, he hasn’t planned a single thing for it.

“When it’s laid out in front of you, three months is a rambling cornfield of time, rows and rows of tall, green stalks between you and the ninetieth day. For me, three months is a synonym for eternity. It’s so long, I’m still resisting the planning. I’m putting it off as you read this.”

I checked the back cover to see if there was any clue as to whether this trip actually unfurled; perhaps it was going to be a Cinderella-type-tale of transformation, in which happenstance on a roadtrip blooms into something unexpectedly wonderful.

But I was still anxious. And, as the situation sinks further (he drives to his parents’ house to raid their refrigerator) I was increasingly unsettled.

I was picturing his grandmother sitting on top of her suitcase at the end of her driveway, checking her watch, anticipating a lovely getaway, and was certain that it was bound to be disappointing.

(By this time I have checked the time too often myself, not wanting to keep my friend waiting even a minute or two; if Iain Reid is an under-worrier, I am an over-worrier.)

However, even if the reader were to cross the line into open irritation with the author, I’m certain that Iain Reid’s charm and authenticity would hold sway.

He knows that that rambling cornfield of time held many opportunities to plan for this trip, and he clearly wishes that he had done something different before that ninetieth day. He displays that for the reader, and creates a space in which one might make allowances.

Taking a trip or inviting someone into your home for a spell (this isn’t much of a spoiler, for it’s clear within a few pages that this is going to be a stay-cation) alters one’s perspective on the everyday. When Iain Reid begins to share time and space with his grandmother, he looks at his own life differently.

Even when he is driving from her house to his, details that he usually overlooks now, viewed through her eyes, make him feel not only foolish and unsophisticated, but sour with himself:

“As I straighten and fasten the dented licence plate, my delicately positive mood disintegrates. With Grandma watching, this act makes me feel much more foolish and unsophisticated than it usually does. And realizing this, that I usually don’t feel any remorse or embarrassment over continuously taping my front plate, fills me with a deep self-directed sourness.”

This kind of vulnerability pulls the reader closer to the author. No matter that I was initially shocked that he spent less time planning an actual vacation with his grandmother than I spent planning an errand with a friend; I would have gotten out of the car to help him tape the license plate in a second.

“Personally I’d always hated heat, sun, and beach vacations. With my fair skin and bony thighs that can’t fill in the tightest spandex, I’m as physically suited to these trips as I am to giving birth.”

And, perhaps, he is psychologically unsuited to planning vacations as well. But he is not the kind of person who thinks they are not worth planning; this story told by “that” kind of person would be quite a different story indeed.

“When pushed for which one in the group I was, he used the word ‘egghead’ and asked what the opposite of an adrenalin junkie was. I wonder if I can offer Grandma a sherry first thing tomorrow morning?”

The author places a value on this vacation and asks friends and family for suggestions. (And, it’s worth saying, he asks during the cornfield-days, not on the morning-of.) But there is no keystone of advice.And, anyway, there are further complications. It is going to rain.

“From so far away, this cloud looks to be around the size of Ireland.”

So, not only a stay-cation, but largely an indoor stay-cation.

“As much as I didn’t want to admit it, a ninety-two-year-old travelling companion was actually right in my wheelhouse. Lots of strolls, time for reading, cups of tea, ten hours of sleep per night, not too much direct sunlight, three square meals a day. It would be my kind of pace. It would be my kind of trip.”

Which only emphasizes the monotonous elements of the author’s everyday life.

“A greyness has settled onto everything. All is drab. My town has become an overused washcloth that hangs over a faucet – damp and dingy and tired. It’s not just the sky but the streets, the buildings, people’s faces. This feels like a new, undesired season, something in between winter and spring.”

One might say that the premise of this story is also between winter and spring; Iain Reid and his grandmother might not be travelling far in terms of geography, but in the literary landscape they are in familiar territory.

“Margaret Laurence used to say that her English readers thought The Stone Angel was about old age, the Americans thought it was about some old woman they knew, and the Canadians thought it was about their grandmothers.”*

The Truth about Luck might be about a meeting of the ages for some, for others it might be about the relationship between a grandchild and a grandparent, and it might be about our grandmothers.

One thing is certain; a reader can travel with Iain Reid and his grandmother on the page without any planning required.

* Margaret Atwood, “In Search of Alias Grace: On Writing Canadian Historical Fiction” The American Historical Review (Volume 103, Issue 5: 1503-1516) 198: 1504.

This piece originally appeared here, on BuriedInPrint.

Originally posted on my blog (with photos): Literal Life.

I have been eager to get a copy of Iain Reid's new book so when I received a review edition from House of Anansi - a surprise, and a great one at that - I was ecstatic and did not wait to jump into the story. Reid's previous book, One Bird's Choice was one of my favourite reads of 2010 and my expectations were sky-high for The Truth About Luck. It rocks! Hard!

From the book's description:

The Truth about Luck, Iain Reid, author of the highly popular coming-of-age memoir One Bird's Choice, accompanies his grandmother on a five-day vacation — which turns out to be a "staycation" at his basement apartment in Kingston. While the twenty-eight-year-old writer is at the beginning of his adult life, his ninety-two-year-old grandmother is nearing the end of hers. Between escorting his grandma to local attractions and restaurants, the two exchange memories and she begins to reveal details of her inspiring life story.

Told with subtlety, humour, and heart, this delightful comic memoir reflects on family connections; how we experience adversity, the passage of time, and aging; and most importantly what it truly means to feel lucky.
Sometimes you read a book and it is something you connect with so personally and deeply it can become nearly impossible to detach from it to assess or review in a constructive way. That happened with this amazing book. But, I have been thinking about it for a few days now and I feel - my personal attachment wrestled off to the side - the strength of Reid's writing - the flow of the story and his ability to make us curious and really care about what he and his grandma are up to - make this book totally worth its 5-star rating.

Along with some eerie similarities between Reid and I (hello worry, anxiety and writerly lifestyle you crazy trifecta, you), our grandmothers are very similar women. Both were born in the U.K. (his in Scotland, mine in England (in 1917) but with her family she moved to Scotland very early on in her life). Both women lived through two World Wars and the depression and both ladies worked hard for most of their lives. As well, they are very smart and funny people. So, in reading Reid's book, it was like having my grandma here with me again. (Sadly, grandma died in the summer of 2009, at the age of 92.) There were moments in the book that had me laughing so hard, tears streamed down my face and my stomach hurt. In one particularly hilarious scene, Reid's grandmother somehow becomes entangled in her seatbelt. This quickly brought to mind an outing my grandma and I had together many years ago. It was a very hot summer day and we were going out for lunch. My car at that time was nicknamed 'Oven Car' - it was a notoriously bad place to be on hot, unrelentingly sunny days. I helped grandma into the car and as I got settled into my own seat, she suddenly lurched forward, grabbing the dashboard while shouting "My Ass is on fire!" But the dashboard was really hot too. "My hands are on fire!", she then yelled. "How do you live like this?", she wondered out loud while simultaneously trying to get undone from the seatbelt in some failed attempt at escape and fumbling with the interior controls, searching for the non-existent air-conditioning. It was so hot. But it was so hilarious and quickly became a funny story we liked to re-tell.

There were other, quieter moments, in The Truth About Luck that were beautiful and heartfelt. I am glad Reid - encouraged by his brother Jimmy - went with the idea of giving his grandmother time together as a birthday gift. They spent five days at Reid's home in Kingston, Ontario talking, eating, seeing some local sites and learning things about one another they hadn't previously known.

I have, unintentionally, been on this trend lately of reading books with older people featuring as main characters - here, Reid's grandma is 92; last week I read Terry Fallis' newest novel, Up and Down. It features a 71-year-old protagonist. The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared by Jonas Jonasson, which I read a few months ago, was a completely endearing hoot. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce and Helen Simonson's Major Pettigrew's Last Stand also feature characters of retirement age. Given our demographic trend towards an aging population, perhaps this is the new thing in publishing? If it is -- I am a big fan. I can think of quite a few more books I have read and enjoyed in recent years that feature mature characters with interesting stories -- I bet you can come ups with some great books too, if you think about it for a moment. As individuals, we have a lot to learn. Within developed societies, we take a lot for granted. Hearing about the experiences, challenges and triumphs of older generations should smarten us up and help us realize that older does not mean already dead. Older does not mean no longer worth our time. On the contrary, our respect, gratitude and time should be used to honour and value those who have come before us.

I remember talking with my own grandma about the idea that when people get old they often get forgotten. She used to tell me how lucky she felt to have her family around her and I would feel really sad thinking about those who either had no one or had people who choose to stay away. My grandmother always had more energy and more of a social life than I ever seem(ed) to muster and I really hope to live as excellent a life as she did. So, I thank Reid for his wonderful book but also for the fact that through his book I was able to spend some precious, dedicated time remembering my own grandmother and the shenanigans we got up to together. That is a great gift to a reader indeed!

This is a much more personal review than I usually write. But I suspect this is happening to a lot of people reading The Truth About Luck. I feel that most people will find it a challenge to read this book in a detached manner. Reid's style invites you in to a comfortable, relatable story that opens you up for reminiscence. Oh, and in a totally weird yet even more personal aside: I really need to get in touch with Reid's mum to find out about her use of plain yogourt to help her diabetic cat. My wonderful dog recently developed insulin-dependent diabetes and he's had a very rough go these past few months. He's a bit more stable now, thanks goodness, and I am researching ways to help him further. Reading that yogourt could be some sort of miracle supplement to help my dog's coat and general health, well -- I need to know more!

Edited to add: Reid recently spoke with the 49th Shelf about The Truth About Luck. It's a great article! ( )