Archive for month: December, 2024

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In lieu of an intro: in which we pick our favourite books of the year!

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Vanessa’s Picks

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time may end up being the title of my publishing memoir—this would be an entry in the Act of Ignorant Enthusiasm subgenre that arises from the publication of Dan’s publishing memoir of that name, should we ever find the time to write books—and it’s what I thought when Ashley reminded us we’d agreed we’d all write about our favourite books of the year. How to choose, let alone remember what we’ve spent the last year doing, when my tasks today include the layout for a book that’s coming out in June and compiling a list of the titles we’ll be publishing between September 2025 and March 2026. The truth is that I can’t pick: they’re all good books, and I learned something from each of them, and so in lieu of the usual year-end list, I humbly present: my 2024 Weird Production Superlatives List.

The Book with the Best First Round Cover Comps: The Hollow Beast by Christophe Bernard, translated from the French by Lazer Lederhendler

The Hollow Beast was the first book we did with Jason Arias, who received as a main objective: “Darkly comic adventure: screwball comedy with menace, a la Don Quioxte meets Who Framed Roger Rabbit? Or Thomas Pynchon done by Looney Tunes.” Jason clearly got the assignment, and it was one of those too-hard-to-choose just one, but eventually we made up our minds. (And Jason would go on to repeat this feat several more times for 2024 titles.)

The Book That Wore It Best, Typeface Edition: Barfly and Other Poems by Michael Lista

I had a tremendously good time in getting to both edit and design (aka: pulling a Steeves) Michael Lista’s long-awaited third collection. It’s typeset in Dante, an old-style serif named for its first use in an edition of Boccaccio’s Life of Dante. Featuring a weary 21st-century traveller beset by torments (buzzing flies, cultural apparatchiks, “belated Anglo-Saxon set on farms,” Anne Carson everywhere!), it’s a ruthless collection, no less so by virtue of the savage wit executed in Lista’s version of terza rima, which is not terza rima at all, but an irregular couplet that wanders and snaps shut like a trap.

The Book with the Best Second Round Cover Comps: May Our Joy Endure by Kevin Lambert, translated from the French by Donald Winkler

I didn’t have to think . . . well, at all about who to send this one to: the amazing Zoe Norvell had already knocked it out of the park with Lambert’s first two books. May Our Joy Endure is a radical departure for Lambert, featuring violence of an entirely different order: the insidious, often beautiful brutality of privilege and extreme wealth. We were slightly stumped on the first round, though Zoe landed on the typeface, Carol Gothic, which she said was inspired by Saltburn. The key: the baroque cover of Lambert-influence Michel Houellebecq’s Serotonin, which reminded us of historical markers of wealth, which Zoe made fresh with what is now a signature Lambert neon yellow.

The Book I Barely Touched But Can’t Stop Talking About: The Pages of the Sea by Anne Hawk

We shared the text files with Weatherglass, the UK publisher, and our new friend Kate Sinclair gave us that gorgeous cover in a quick second round revision, and I didn’t have to do much other than send it to print. Which has left me free to pitch this book to everyone who will listen: if you like Marilynne Robinson or Zora Neale Hurston, coming-of-age stories or novels of manners, historical fiction about untold lives, Caribbean literature, debut work, or books by brilliant Black voices, this one is for you.

The Book I Think About Every Day, and Not Because I’m Flashing Back to Typesetting 400pp In a Single Day: Question Authority: A Polemic about Trust in Five Meditations by Mark Kingwell

You know those books that split your life into Before and After? This is one of mine. How lucky am I, this and every year, that it’s my job to help make books like these and help to put them in your hands.

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Ashley’s Picks

Love Novel by Ivana Sajko, translated by Mima Simić

Our first title of 2024 was this delightfully acerbic book—short and far from sweet, like a literary sour candy. I read it in an hour on the train while, rather amusingly, sitting across from someone reading a romance. Talk about two very different kinds of love novels! I was drawn in by the tension surrounding this unnamed couple, lovers turned new parents, caught in the deeply unfortunate circumstances of having failing careers in an increasingly unlivable society: rent is past due, they’re scrabbling for odd jobs in theaters and papers, and neither can manage to connect with the other the right way. The emotion of this story was surprisingly relatable in parts, and I’ve found myself going back to it several times this year. This Love Novel may not have a happily-ever-after, but it’s the kind of punch-in-the-jaw book that will linger with you.

Crosses in the Sky: Jean de Brébeuf and the Destruction of Huronia by Mark Bourrie

As a big history reader, Crosses in the Sky was on my TBR list from the beginning—I then had the pleasure of acting as publicist, so I shall try to keep this piece relatively impartial! What a history this is. Told in a narrative style and utilizing contemporary writings, interspersed with maps and artwork from across the centuries, Crosses in the Sky is the story of how and why the Jesuits came to “New France,” what happened when they arrived, and how these encounters have shaped settler relationships with Indigenous people to this day. I was only vaguely familiar with the story of Jean de Brébeuf, at least the bare bones of his unfortunate end, so I really enjoyed being able to dive into the full story and especially the historical context of Brébeuf’s mission and the Indigenous people who very often get overlooked when this “legend” is told.

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Emily’s Picks

A Way to Be Happy by Caroline Adderson

Loving short stories is almost a guaranteed way to get your heart broken when you work in sales. I’ve been a lifetime lover of this genre that suits my busy brain perfectly. What’s better than a skillfully constructed piece of art you can devour before your head hits the pillow or the ice melts in your glass? So it was especially delightful to start at a press this year where the short story is celebrated and sought after. Caroline Adderson’s A Way to Be Happy was the first story collection I got to read as part of Biblioasis, and it is special. I had never read Adderson before, and was immediately embarrassed I hadn’t read her sooner. She is so obviously a master of her craft. Each story, though varied in time, place, and theme, has a core of empathetic observation. Whether she is writing about people you might avoid eye contact with on the subway, or the inmates of a 19th century asylum, she sketches her characters with a generosity of spirit and humor that shades her darker stories with hints of light. It was a pleasure to “discover” an author I should have known long ago.

A Case of Matricide by Graeme Macrae Burnet

I’m not a mystery reader, per se, but I love a good puzzle, a police procedural, and a tormented main character. While I had read Graeme Macrae Burnet’s books before, I had never read any of his books starring Inspector Gorski until I picked up A Case of Matricide. Gorski seems like a fairly average bumbling small town police inspector at first glance. He’s tired of the social constraints that have kept him where he is, and is in firm denial about his worsening alcoholism. He is also tormented by guilt over a trivial childhood transgression involving his mother’s mustard spoon, and its absence from her table condiment set presses heavily on his conscience to an alarming degree. The cycle of investigations, mustard spoon obsession, too many aperitifs and Friday night dinners crescendo to a reveal so shocking I yelped “what?,” and immediately had to reread a few pages. Throughout the whole story, Burnet expertly weaves in the meta threads he has made his signature. What if this whole story is the found manuscript of an author in the story who is a stand-in for the actual author of the story? And what if it’s a translation? How can we possibly trust the unreliable narrator who is writing and the character who is conveying his thoughts to us, the reader? The answer is never completely clear, but it’s a lot of fun to puzzle out.

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Ahmed’s Pick

Your Absence Is Darkness by Jón Kalman Stefánsson, translated from the Icelandic by Philip Roughton

The first Stefánsson I’ve read and one that I’ll prattle on about to anyone who’ll listen. It felt like a dream. A man wakes up in a church with no memory of who he is let alone how he got there with a mysterious man who could be Death or the Devil. I was absorbed from the start. Trying to understand himself, the narrator winds up with a large cast of characters who love deeply in a cold, small part of Iceland where everyone is connected and haunted by their pasts. Stefánsson is able to make you care for every one of them. We move through lives across generations and everyone’s story is so beautifully realized. Reading it felt like I was discovering this strange and wonderful thing and I wanted to stay for as long as I could. But what really gets me about this book is the music throughout it, which unites them and shapes the story. Stefánsson has written a ballad as a novel.

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Dominique’s Picks

Sorry About the Fire: Poems by Colleen Coco Collins

This is a startlingly good collection, head-and-shoulders above most recent poetry because it does more than simply put words to use, but actually revels in the strangeness of language. Words from the book will suddenly appear to me while I’m doing mundane tasks like washing the dishes—words like haustoria, dehiscence, weft . . . And I love that these poems encourage a thousand slow re-readings to disinter their thousand possible musics. I read almost one hundred poetry collections this year, and nobody writes like Collins.

Comrade Papa by GauZ’, translated from the French by Frank Wynne

Somehow, I hadn’t heard of GauZ’ before starting work at Biblioasis, but the first few chapters of Comrade Papa immediately felt like a revelation to me. As soon as I finished it, I picked up Standing Heavy. And I intend to read these in their original French because, as someone who’s tried her hand at French to English translation a number of times, Frank Wynne’s talent for transcribing style seems inexplicable—I’m so curious to know what Anouman’s malapropisms (“the lumpenproletariat,” “the retching of the earth,” etc.) are like in their original French. Anyone who isn’t reading GauZ’ (and Frank Wynne) are seriously missing out.

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Dan’s Picks

A decade or so ago, Mark Medley expressed exasperation in the Globe and Mail over my general enthusiasm for our list, writing that “in almost a decade writing about the Canadian industry, [he’d] never met a publisher so convinced of the greatness of their every book; [he’d] grown exasperated with [me] more than once when [I] told [him] that the slate of books the company was about to publish was the “best” [we’d] ever produced.” It seems, Medley claimed, I say the same thing every year.

Perhaps this is true, and perhaps this is true because our list has gotten better every year. Though I fear every year might be the high-water mark, and that there may be no way to continue to sustain what we’ve cobbled together, somehow, with the help of Vanessa and John and everyone else who makes Biblioasis what it is, we pull it off. One of the lessons of this year is that publishing is hard; and, harder to accept than that, that it will always be so; but another is that there’s reason to be constantly hopeful. Despite appearances, we’re nothing if we’re not eternal optimists.

The problem with putting together a year-end list of my favourite books is that, as Mark suggests, most of our books are, in fact, favourites. And never has there been a year where this is more the case. I loved Ivana Sajko’s Love Novel (translated by Mima Simić) for the way that it burned, furious, at the injustices of the world, the only things keeping me from suffocating its life-giving humour and compassion; I loved Alex Pugsley’s The Education of Aubrey McKee for its playfulness and the way that he blended forms in this funny, moving, brilliantly-timed coming-of-age novel; discovering the work of Jón Kalman Stefánsson in Philip Roughton’s masterful translations has been a revelation that has subtly shifted my relationship to word and world, with the exceptional Your Absence Is Darkness only the first of many books by this Icelandic author you’re going to be seeing on our list over the coming years: in a world that continues to shift darker, his words bring much-needed light. I took great pleasure in Richard Kelly Kemick’s inventive horseplay in Hello, Horse; immense joy from Donald Winkler’s fine translation of Kev Lambert’s brilliant third novel, May Our Joy Endure; and was made very happy indeed to finally be able to work with Caroline Adderson on a very fine new collection of stories, A Way to Be Happy. And then, to round out the year, there was Graeme Macrae Burnet’s subtly sideways A Case of Matricide, which has left me feeling shadowed by my own Gorski-like doppelganger all year. And that’s just (most of!) our fiction list!

Our list is not just getting better; it’s also getting broader. One of the things I am most proud of as a publisher is the breadth of our list, that the best fiction and nonfiction rub shoulders almost every month. The past year showed this as well as any year in our history, with Mark Bourrie’s National Bestseller Crosses in the Sky continuing its stylish reconsideration of the history of first contact in Canada; Roly Allen’s The Notebook forcing us to come to terms with the way the smallest, most unsuspecting of inventions has radically helped to reshape the world and how we relate to it; Mark Kingwell’s Question Authority, his most ambitious work of philosophical analysis, by my reckoning, in decades, offering possible remedies for our current addiction to conviction, and a reminder that it’s often in our shared vulnerabilities that we find most strength; and Bruce Whiteman’s Work to Be Done shows him to be one of our most perceptive and elegant critics.

And I haven’t even talked about our poetry list, the Best Canadian series, or the Christmas Ghost Stories (which are celebrating their tenth anniversary this year!). Though, backlist being a fiction, there’s time (despite the end of my allotted word count) yet: if I’m going to make an early New Year’s resolution, as a reader and publisher, it’s to be less prone to the pressures of what’s new and hyped: expect a lot more, in future Bibliophiles, dwelling on the riches of the past, which are as new to you, if you’ve not had the pleasure of reading them yet, as anything else will be.

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In good publicity news:

• Three Biblioasis books made the CBC Best Canadian Fiction of 2024 list: The Pages of the Sea by Anne Hawk, A Way to Be Happy by Caroline Adderson, and May Our Joy Endure by Kev Lambert (trans. Donald Winkler).
• On Browsing by Jason Guriel was mentioned in the New Yorker.
• The Notebook by Roland Allen appeared in the Globe and Mail’s 2024 Gift Guide: “Enjoy this dive into the act of jotting things down.”
• Seth’s Christmas Ghost Stories 2024 were reviewed in the Literary Review of Canada’s Bookworm newsletter: “Each story can add a delightful tinge of darkness to any booklover’s stocking.”

Want to get new excerpts, musings, and more from The Bibliophile right away? Sign up for our weekly online newsletter here!

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10 Years of Seth’s Christmas Ghost Stories

Ten years ago, Biblioasis partnered with world-renowned cartoonist Seth to resurrect the Victorian tradition of telling ghostly tales during those dark winter nights around Christmas time. Beginning in 2015 with The Signalman, by (who else?) Charles Dickens, and expanding through the years with stories from writers such as Shirley Jackson, M. R. James, and Arthur Conan Doyle, Seth has brought to life a series of beautifully selected and illustrated, pocket-sized volumes that’s grown into a beloved staple of many readers’ holidays. One of the perks of acting as publicist for this series every year is seeing the excited responses from readers and reviewers alike when they learn the newest trio has arrived.

The development of each of these little books spans several months: they’re chosen by Seth early on in the year, and then the text is dug up from online archives or, in some cases, transcribed from the pages of decades-old collections, by myself. Two of this year’s stories, Podolo and Captain Dalgety Returns, required permission from the authors’ estates, both of which were glad to see their loved ones’ works continue to find new homes. It’s a joy to get the chance to read these old stories, and working on the series has given me a renewed appreciation for the many different variations of horror, and also introduced me to works I likely never would have heard of otherwise. Gradually, the evocative illustrations are completed and the books expertly typeset by our managing editor, Vanessa, so that by the time late summer comes to an end, three new stories have joined the Haunted Bookshelf.

In celebration of the Christmas Ghost Stories anniversary, I had the opportunity to interview Seth, whose love of Victorian ghost stories and thoughts about the series after ten years we’d like to share here today. So pour yourself a cup of hot chocolate, settle in, and enjoy a little spookiness with your holiday cheer.

Ashley Van Elswyk,
Editorial Assistant

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A Biblioasis Interview with Seth

Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol often comes up in relation to your Christmas Ghost Stories series, and I think that’s what most people go to first when they think of a Christmas ghost story. But where did your own interest in Victorian ghost stories come from? Have you always been drawn to them, or did you learn about the surrounding traditions and develop a fascination from there?

Y’know, it took me a while to even make that Christmas Carol connection myself. That story is so familiar now that it takes a moment to step back and see it, in a fresh light, as a ghost story rather than simply a redemption story. But, let’s put that aside because, clearly, the Christmas Carol has very little to do with my interest in the Victorian ghost story. Looking back, I really owe this interest to Edward Gorey. When I was a young cartoonist, just finding my way in the early 1980s, I had discovered several great cartoonists who were super famous but brand new to me at the age of twenty-one (or so). One of these was Edward Gorey and I adored his work (still do). So naturally I was purchasing anything of his I could find (or afford). One thing that crossed my path was a collection of Victorian ghost stories he’d edited and illustrated called The Haunted Looking Glass. The copy I found was remaindered in Edwards Bookstore (a long defunct but wonderful Toronto bookstore) for about a dollar. I bought it for the drawings and didn’t read it for a couple of years, but when I did read it I was quite frightened by the stories. I’m not kidding here. I read them at bedtime and I found a couple of them downright scary. Like, don’t go to the bathroom alone scary! This seems funny to me now because I don’t find too many of these old ghost stories all that frightening any longer. My appreciation of them is more complex than that nowadays. That said, a good creepy image is always essential to a good ghost story.

But anyway, after reading that book (with such limited knowledge of the history of the genre) I just kind of figured . . . “well, that’s all the Victorian Ghost Stories there are.” I moved on. A few years later I found another anthology, and then another, and in no time I realized I was looking actively for classic ghost stories, and that is when I started to dig around and learn the history and get a real scope of how many of these stories were written, and why they were written—to be read at Christmas! Today I understand that the genre is huge. We will never run out of wonderful old ghost stories.

So you’ve read a great number of classic ghost stories now, from England to Canada and beyond. What elements make a story stand out enough for you to select it for your series in particular?

Well, the most boring prerequisite for the series is length. It can’t be too long and it can’t be too short. Surprisingly, this removes a great number of excellent ghost stories. I often read a story and while reading it, pray earnestly that it is not going to turn out to be too long or too short. But setting aside that prosaic element, I will say that the number one thing I am looking for is atmosphere. I like a ghost story to be both eerie and cozy. This may sound like an odd combination but I think it is the essential quality of a classic ghost story. Modern horror tends to be more visceral. Often trying to be uncomfortable—or even aiming for the repugnant. It goes for the guts. I’m more tender-hearted, even a bit squeamish. I like the kind of story that merely sends a chill up the neck or even just elicits a feeling of immortal melancholy. The classic ghost story is related, somewhat, to the classic era of detective stories (think Agatha Christie). Those stories are not hard crime cases. They are not hard-hitting police procedurals. They are cozy crimes set in comfortable upper middle class dining rooms. There is some cross over with the old classic ghost stories. They are meant to unsettle . . . but not so much as to make you feel ill. I am generalizing here, I can immediately think of exceptions, E. F. Benson’s grosser tales for example, but for the most part what you are reading in a classic ghost story is an extension of the gothic tales of a century earlier. Stories about dark corridors and empty moors. Stories about dusty secret histories found in dusty libraries. Even in the more modern of these kinds of tales you will find that the locations may have changed (a country estate house might become a Canadian farm house) but the dark hallways and the fleeting figure are still there. At least in the stories I like and choose for the series.

Is there a story, or even a particular writer, you’ve really wanted to select for the series but haven’t been able to or had a chance yet? Perhaps one a little too recent, or too long, as you’ve mentioned?

There are dozens of stories I have x-ed off the list for those reasons (and others). Sometimes it’s a heartbreak. There was such a one by H. Russell Wakefield called “Blind Man’s Buff” that I found really chilling and perfect for the series . . . but far too short. Just a few pages. Recently there was a story by Edith Nesbit (if memory serves) that I liked quite a bit—very weird and moody—but it had some rather dated race-related writing in it, and while I am not about censoring the past, I decided to pass on it. This brings up a point. Should the past be cleaned up or suppressed when its values do not meet our current values? And the answer is obviously no. So, how do I square passing up this story? The answer is surprisingly easy. If I were doing a multi story volume I would have included it without much worry. However, when you select a story to stand alone in a single volume, you are placing a stronger focus on that story, and while not exactly giving these dated qualities a stamp-of-approval you are putting them out there with very little context and giving it centre stage . . . and that that gives me a little pause. To be honest, I wouldn’t have lost much sleep selecting this story—it was a minor quibble over a single reference to a dated bias—just enough to make you cringe—but not enough to make you put the book down as irredeemable. Still, for this format—why not simply pick a work that causes no such distress? I may still use one of her stories. “Man Sized in Marble” is an excellent ghost story.

Another reason for not picking something is availability. I really wanted a story by Robert Aickmann but I don’t think (again, if memory serves) a deal could be worked out with the estate. Bummer. Another criteria, they must be supernatural! Often, when reading a story I will be thinking, “here is a winner,” and then at the very end it turns out to be a Scooby-Doo (not a real ghost). What a let down. Story cancelled.

Finally, not just supernatural—but a ghost (or ghost-ish). So, no vampires, no werewolves, no mummies etc. !!!

Were the books always intended to be partially illustrated the way they are, or, given your extensive work in comics and graphic novels, did you ever consider fully illustrating the short stories at any point?

I never considered fully illustrating these books like a graphic novel. Not because it wouldn’t work (it certainly could) but mostly because of two simple reasons. One—I don’t want that much of myself front and centre in these books. I want the stories to live inside their own reality. In other words, my own style would get in the way for the reader who is imagining things themselves when they read it. The way it was meant to be. This is essentially why I try never to draw any of the characters from the stories and, if possible, I only hint at the ghost itself. I think these elements should be supplied by the reader’s imagination. As the series has gone along I have tried, more and more, to simply supply decorative drawings of the locations of the events in the story. And little else. The second reason, two—drawing a comic version of anything is very laborious and takes a lot of time and effort. Instead of three little ghost books each year you’d end up with one every four years (if you are drawing comics at my pace!). It just isn’t realistic for me. Ultimately, even setting aside the time concerns I think these little books work best when they are minimally decorated. I don’t want the drawings to intrude—I try to not even draw events from the story—I only wish to stimulate the imagination—not supersede it.

Could you talk a little more about your illustrative process? For example, what goes into deciding which scenes to illustrate, or how you choose which elements or settings are the best fit for one of the iconic covers?

It’s pretty straight-forward at this point. In the earliest volumes of the series I struggled a little more with what to draw. Mostly because I was trying, for a few books, to illustrate the story. I don’t do that any longer. As I mentioned before—I’m only setting the stage for the ghost tale now. So, when I read the story I list the places the story occurs. If there is more than one location, I try to draw them all. Ideally, you have four spreads, each with a different place that shows up in the story. Sometimes that’s not possible because the setting is more limited so I’ll have to improvise a bit. Maybe an exterior shot and an interior shot and then a couple of evocative images—say an important detail—like a window the character peers out of. Something. Anything but simply illustrating an event in the story. The key thing is, while reading the story, I try to pick up on a few evocative images but nothing that is crucial. Mostly landscapes. Occasionally objects. Never the main characters. Almost never the ghost (though sometimes you can’t avoid drawing the ghost!). With the landscapes I try to keep them mundane . . . but also to infuse them with a little bit of creepiness. Mostly this is done by giving a cloudy sky or by the mere emptiness of the scene.

For the covers I have a slightly different approach. Here I am less worried about being literal. The covers are often very literal. The Amethyst Cross has an amethyst cross on it. The House By the Poppy Field has a house by a poppy field. The Sundial shows a sundial. Now, obviously, they don’t all work out so nicely and simply. Sometimes you have to search for an image—for example Podolo has a kind of cat demon icon for the cover. It is entirely unliteral (no such image occurs in the story) but I am trying merely to capture a flavour or tone of the book and sometimes you have to root around to find something that grabs. This “grabbing,” of course, is the main graphic element of these little covers. They have to be iconic (because they are tiny books) and they have to be punchy so as to grab the eye and make you look at them. I try to keep them as brightly coloured and dead simple in design as possible. Like a matchbook cover. Bold, uncluttered, and clean. Also, and this is my own concern, I don’t want them to look like the covers of almost all ghost books from the past. In other words, I don’t want fussy drawings that suggest old steel engravings. Most ghost story illustration goes that route. So, for me, I lean into my own style but also make it as perfectly clean and crisp as I can. Doing, in my opinion, the opposite of what is expected of a ghost story image.

What’s surprised you the most about the series, as you celebrate its tenth anniversary? It’s been featured in publications from the Globe and Mail to the Washington Post, and every year we hear from people who have now taken to reading them at Christmas with their loved ones. Did you ever imagine it would grow to be as beloved a tradition (again!) as it is today?

As always, sitting here in my basement studio, I feel rather detached from whatever I do once it goes out into the world. Even reading reviews or reader’s opinions doesn’t connect somehow. I suspect this is because I am aware that the life of a book (or a series) is usually something the creator or editor (or whatever) never gets to know. What I mean by this is that most of the readers will have a private experience with the work and never put out a “report” that you can read. I know, for myself, that the books and films and comics and paintings I love most in the world are a private experience. I haven’t spent any time reviewing them on Goodreads or writing blogs about them. The authors (should they be living) would never know how much pleasure they have given me. So, I take it upon routine that I will never know who really felt what about anything I am working on. Not in the true sense. But, to try and answer your question—the thing that has surprised me the most is simply that ten years have gone by (in a flash) and that there are more than twenty of these little books now. That makes me happy. I like to see them piling up.

And finally, do you have a favorite ghost story out of all the ones you’ve selected for the series so far?

That’s a tricky question. I like different stories for different reasons.

I’m fond of The Toll House because I find it quite scary. I like The Apple Tree because it is uncomfortable. I like Morgan Trust because it is so charming. As you can see I could probably give a little reason for every selection of why they might be a favourite. I guess, if I had to pick I would select The Story of a Disappearance and an Appearance by M.R. James. Selecting James is a no-brainer since he is generally considered the ne plus ultra of ghost story writers . . . but I like this one so much because it is very odd and has, at its centre, an ugly dream that is very effective. One of those perfect stories that works best in the mind of the reader and would probably fail as a movie because you’d ruin it by nailing the imagery down too clearly. It’s creepy.

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Subscriptions update!

A late arrival to the subscription box offerings is here: the inaugural Choose-Your-Own Club! For the reader who’s firmly decisive, can’t be constrained to one genre, and doesn’t need any more surprises. Pick any five Biblioasis titles you want from our 2025 list—for yourself, or as a gift for a loved one.

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20 Stores for 20 Years: Mac’s Backs-Books on Coventry

A book lover’s dream, Mac’s Backs-Books on Coventry is located in Cleveland where they boast three floors of new and used books. They are truly a community book store, and offer a free meeting space to local organizations. Learn more about what our publisher Dan appreciates about Mac’s Backs-Books and bookseller extraordinaire Grace Harper, and why Grace chose A Ghost in the Throat as her top Biblioasis pick.

Dan on Mac’s Backs-Books on Coventry: “Though Cleveland is only a few hours from Windsor, I’ve only been a couple of times, and on neither occasion had the chance to hit a bookstore, Mac’s Backs or otherwise. But if I am to judge a bookstore by the quality of its booksellers—as we should: bookstores are only as good as the booksellers who work in them—then Mac’s Backs-Books on Coventry must be in the top ranks. Our main contact there has always been Grace Harper, who is a super-reader, ranging widely across almost every conceivable genre, and writes with the insight of the most generous readers and critics. Last year, she made the trip to Windsor to see our own store; we’ll soon have to return the favour!”

Why Grace Harper thinks A Ghost in the Throat deserves a spot on your TBR list: “This is a female text.” This declaration is stated and restated throughout Doirann Ní Ghríofa’s fierce treatise. The focus is a poem by eighteenth-century Irish noblewoman Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill, who, on discovering that her husband had been murdered, drank handfuls of his blood, then wrote an epic lament about him. Part memoir, part historical fiction, part literary criticism, the book relates Ní Ghríofa’s obsessive quest to find out about this remarkable woman. Between changing diapers, nursing, cooking, and laundry, she researches, translates, and writes. Little is known of Ní Chonaill’s life, so Ní Ghríofa is left to imagine, to dream, to speculate, and to invent her character. In the process, she finds a kindred spirit, one whose pain flows like her own mother’s milk. The poem, a banshee’s wail of anger and deep sorrow, is printed in its entirety. This achingly personal book will stay with the reader long after the last page is turned.”

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In good publicity news:

• The Notebook by Roland Allen makes the New Yorker’s list of the Best Books of 2024!
• Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong was featured in the Irish Independent: “A dazzling snapshot of Dublin in the early 21st century, full of wry social observation . . . it will appeal to anyone who likes clever, modern, writing about womanhood.”
• Seth’s Christmas Ghost Stories 2024 were reviewed in Cemetery Dance: “Tales of dread that will raise goosebumps on your arms faster than the coldest winter wind.”
• Crosses in the Sky by Mark Bourrie was featured in the Toronto Star: “Canada’s greatest historian has done it for a third time . . . A triumph.”
• Sorry About the Fire by Colleen Coco Collins was included in the California Review of Books’ “31 Outstanding Poetry Books from 2024”: “[A] manically creative world.”