I was initially offended by the description of Sheilds as a "gentle feminist." This double-edged sword of a description seemed an attempt at making a dirty word like "feminist" more palatable to the general public. The feminist in me roared, "Why must a woman still be described as 'gentle'?!"

Upon reflection, though, I have realized that Sheilds truly is a gentle feminist, in the best way possible. While the ultimate quest in this story is the protagonist's daughter's quest for goodness, there is an underlying message that truly is that of the gentle feminist. Sheilds does not proclaim "I am woman: hear me roar" but rather "I am woman: HEAR ME."

Sheilds fights to be heard in the world of literature, which has traditionally excluded women's voices when they say things that men do not want to hear.

It's not so much the story but the way it unfolds inside the narrator's head - her thoughts about being a woman, a mother, a writer - and the mix of these, and the reactions of the world to women being any of these, that makes it particularly interesting. I like her writing too, the sharp perceptions in prose that is deceptively chatty and recognisable.

I've read The Stone Diaries , also by Carol Shields, 3 years ago. I don't remember that much of the characters or the plot, but I do know that it made an enormous impression on me and that I have hardly ever (or maybe never) been that enchanted by literature before in my life. To put it mildly, that novel set the bar quite high for this other Shields novel. I think it is almost impossible to beat that, and indeed, Unless was not at all like The Stone Diaries , but that is alright. It was sensitive, subtle, and full of beautiful imagery - these three points are for me the essence of Carol Shields' writing. I think the story and the plot development of The Stone Diaries appealed to me more, but this novel was clearly the style of the same brilliant writer. I also liked the themes of literature, translation, and women writing, which created a kind of consciousness about the book itself. All in all, far from dazzling, but quite nice anyway.

This is a story about trauma without all of the dishonest glamorization that trauma is often painted with. Subtle, truthful, and brilliant.

A disturbing and disjointed tale, held together by the narrator's introspection after her daughter takes to the streets looking for goodness. The reason for this escape is only revealed at the end of the book which serves to emphasize the disorientation of her family but this reader would certainly liked to have understood more about Norah. There is also the frustration that maybe more could have been done to assist her sooner, but perhaps that is the point and the reason why we suffer with the narrator. Some characters, such as the new editor who wants to change the whole focus of the narrator's novel, are an unnecessary distraction.

Beautiful. Bleak. A book to make you cry. Carol Shields at her best.

I tried to like this book. I really did. I know I'm supposed to, but it just didn't come together for me. I'm Canadian, I'm a feminist, I'm a mother, I'm in middle age, I like books about writers and writing, I even enjoy philosophical meanderings, but (there's a chapter heading that wasn't used) I just couldn't relate at all, and when a book is this internal, if you can't relate, well...

This book is worth reading. I found it to be "rather self-indulgent" as Simon Cowell would say to AI contestants. But it was still good. Especially if you are interested in gender issues and writing.

A woman, Carol Shields, writing a novel about a woman, Reta Winters, writing a novel about a woman, Alicia, who writes. This is the frame that she refers back to frequently. The novel is about a lot of things, but primarily it is a novel about being a woman who writes -- the process of writing and the process of being edited. At the center is the mystery of Norah, the daughter of the writer, who has abandoned her life as a student at McGill and sits on a street corner in Toronto begging for spare change and holding a sign that says "goodness." The question is what happened to Norah and why does she hold that sign. Various interpretations of her behavior are imposed upon her because Norah refuses to communicate with anyone, but the interpretation that Reta Winters keeps returning to is that Norah, as a woman, has come to realize somehow that women have been silenced by an overbearing male culture -- diminished and reduced -- and this is her silent act of protest or acquiescence it's unclear which . Reta Winters herself is part of a women's writing collective and writes frequent letters in her head protesting the failure of the male world of literary criticism to acknowledge the contributions of women writers. I wondered if the daughter was named Norah for Nora from The Doll's House, and I'm going to assume she was.

Loved this book and the writing. Sometimes I wasn't quite clear why we were going where we went, and the editor character was such a spaz - not quite believable. That's the only reason for my four stars, but probably both of those criticisms are unfair because most likely some stuff just went over my head. It's a book I thought about a lot. Plus the scenario is another parental nightmare - something new for me to worry about. It was at times painfully funny and other times just painful. Gorgeous writing, though. Another book that makes me feel like I'm still a pretend-author.