Late Nights on Air, by Elizabeth Hay

This year’s Giller winner Late Nights on Air tells the story of a group of radio personalities in the seventies in the Northwest Territories. It is a character driven story, and the characters are indeed endearing and very real. The plot is perhaps the shakiest part – the first half of the novel sometimes lacked cause and effect, for which Hay tried to overcompensate  by rather heavy-handed foreshadowing. However, when four co-workers recreate the canoe trip re-create the canoe trip of the ill-fated John Hornby, I thought the novel became fascinating – but that could just be the part of me that loved Little House on the Prarie books as a child.

But the greatest strength of the book is Hay’s quiet voice – like a mother whispering bedtime stories in the evening – but you must listen carefully. Reading Late Nights requires a certain inner stillness and quiet – easily likened to that of the Great White North – to fully appreciate the beauty of Hay’s language. A brief sample:

“Here on the Barrens there wasn’t music, but a hum, a vibration, the sound of the earth, he thought, and she agreed. In moments of silence, she’d heard it too. It reminded her of Buddhist singing bowls vibrating at their lowest octave.
She noticed crawling specks of light in Ralph’s hair, even the mosquitoes were beautiful. She noticed how smooth his mouth was without whiskers, his lovely mouth, and how their bed was mostly white labrador tea.”

Was it Giller worthy? I’m not sure. But nevertheless it’s certainly worth turning in and having a listen.