Stolen Words I Am Not A Number When We Were Alone I'm Finding My Talk by Rebecca Thomas

Former Halifax Poet Laureate and second-generation residential school survivor Rebecca Thomas writes honestly and powerfully in this companion piece to Rita Joe's I Lost My Talk. Includes vibrant illustrations from Mi?kmaw artist Pauline Young.

Straight from the heart, Rita Joe tells the story of her remarkable life: her tumultuous childhood in foster homes, education in an Indian residential school, turbulent marriage and daily struggles with prejudice, sexism and poverty. Over time, these battles led her to discover her poetic voice which helped her reclaim her Aboriginal heritage. In the fascinating final part of her story, Rita Joe writes movingly about old age, her lifelong spiritual quest and the promise of renewed hope and healing. Song of Rita Joe reveals to us an eloquent and courageous Mi'kmaq woman whose timely message of "gentle persuasion" has enriched the life of a nation.

A whimsical love letter, a shared promise, a thank you note, and a whispered secret to mothers and daughters everywhere. The perfect gift, B celebrates the bond that exists between a parent and a child. Short, touching, and lovingly illustrated, it is a family tradition waiting to begin.

With over 100 of her best poems plus George Elliott Clarke's essay on the achievement of Rita Joe, The Blind Man's Eyes confirms Joe's place in Canadian literature. From a homeless child who led a blind beggar door-to-door, Rita Joe emerged as spokesperson for her nation and for the individual's heart. Her much anthologized poems and rare autobiography have riveted her message to the Canadian conscience, revealing both the Mi'kmaq people and the universal artist's heart of this Elder.

The story of the beautiful relationship between a little girl and her grandfather. When she asks her grandfather how to say something in his language – Cree – he admits that his language was stolen from him when he was a boy. The little girl then sets out to help her grandfather find his language again. This sensitive and warmly illustrated picture book explores the intergenerational impact of the residential school system that separated young Indigenous children from their families. The story recognizes the pain of those whose culture and language were taken from them, how that pain is passed down, and how healing can also be shared.

In this delightfully witty, provocative book, literature professor and psychoanalyst Pierre Bayard argues that not having read a book need not be an impediment to having an interesting conversation about it. (In fact, he says, in certain situations reading the book is the worst thing you could do.) Using examples from such writers as Graham Greene, Oscar Wilde, Montaigne, and Umberto Eco, he describes the varieties of "non-reading"-from books that you've never heard of to books that you've read and forgotten-and offers advice on how to turn a sticky social situation into an occasion for creative brilliance. Practical, funny, and thought-provoking, How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read-which became a favorite of readers everywhere in the hardcover edition-is in the end a love letter to books, offering a whole new perspective on how we read and absorb them.

"I was born in Whycocomagh in 1932. When mother died in 1937 there were many foster homes until I was twelve years old. I put myself into the Indian Residential School in Shubenacadie, Nova Scotia. That school plays an important part in my life, along with native upbringing by many mothers. My education is by my people - I have a front seat to see and feel their needs, the major one being that we, too, live with ideal productiveness. The label is deeply rooted and the stroke of a native pen does wonders, especially for the coming generation. The importance of my country is why I try to portray the Indian as they are, so that others may see the part we play in our society. If I get too sentimental in my choice of words, excuse me. I have to call attention to the gentle peopleof Canada. My song is gentle, bear with me. I still want to offer my hand in friendship, the Indian of today." - Rita Joe

The instant New York Times bestseller and publishing phenomenon: Marina Keegan’s posthumous collection of award-winning essays and stories “sparkles with talent, humanity, and youth” (O, The Oprah Magazine). Marina Keegan’s star was on the rise when she graduated magna cum laude from Yale in May 2012. She had a play that was to be produced at the New York Fringe Festival and a job waiting for her at The New Yorker. Tragically, five days after graduation, Marina died in a car crash. Marina left behind a rich, deeply expansive trove of writing that, like her title essay, captures the hope, uncertainty, and possibility of her generation. Her short story “Cold Pastoral” was published on NewYorker.com. Her essay “Even Artichokes Have Doubts” was excerpted in the Financial Times, and her book was the focus of a Nicholas Kristof column in The New York Times. Millions of her contemporaries have responded to her work on social media. As Marina wrote: “We can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over…We’re so young. We can’t, we MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it’s all we have.” The Opposite of Loneliness is an unforgettable collection of Marina’s essays and stories that articulates the universal struggle all of us face as we figure out what we aspire to be and how we can harness our talents to impact the world. “How do you mourn the loss of a fiery talent that was barely a tendril before it was snuffed out? Answer: Read this book. A clear-eyed observer of human nature, Keegan could take a clever idea...and make it something beautiful” (People).

Born in 1932, in Whycocomagh, RITA JOE lived a hardscrabble existence, from foster home to foster home, experiences that helped her decide to admit herself to Shubenacadie Indian Residential School, a place most Mi'kmaq people had come to dread. It was a rare example of the child choosing Shubie, "to better myself," to get an education. That same determination compelled her to write about her personal combination of traditional Mi'kmaw spiritualism and Catholic faith, carrying forward her 'gentle war'. Her last poem, unfinished, was found in her typewriter when she died in March 2007.