Some poems can live without souls / but mine remain ghastly fools flicking / uncomfortable narratives like / cigarette butts during class change. One out of every twenty students in the adult education classes Evan J teaches in Sioux Lookout, Ontario, dies every year; the surviving students are often afflicted by severe racism, poverty, addictions, and violence. Ripping down half the trees engages with these struggles, offering a catalogue of experiences specific to the remote regions of Canada. Tearing down the façade of Canadian justice and equality to expose the racism, colonialism, sexism, prejudicial capitalism, and ableism at the nation's core, these are poems about cruelty, both the obvious and the ambient. They are unflinching in their sociopolitical criticism, upset by unchanging systemic oppressions, unable to overlook the threat of the author's white skin, unwilling to forget Justin Trudeau in blackface. And while they acknowledge the limits of the author's privileged perspective, they are never willing to let the perpetrating structures of this cruelty go unchecked. But these poems also let stand the shelterwood, the upstanding actions of individuals, the totems of hope. They work as coping strategies, as therapy, as empathy, offering a glimpse of optimism and a space for discourse. These are poems that listen.

Some poems can live without souls / but mine remain ghastly fools flicking / uncomfortable narratives like / cigarette butts during class change. One out of every twenty students in the adult education classes Evan J teaches in Sioux Lookout, Ontario, dies every year; the surviving students are often afflicted by severe racism, poverty, addictions, and violence. Ripping down half the trees engages with these struggles, offering a catalogue of experiences specific to the remote regions of Canada. Tearing down the façade of Canadian justice and equality to expose the racism, colonialism, sexism, prejudicial capitalism, and ableism at the nation's core, these are poems about cruelty, both the obvious and the ambient. They are unflinching in their sociopolitical criticism, upset by unchanging systemic oppressions, unable to overlook the threat of the author's white skin, unwilling to forget Justin Trudeau in blackface. And while they acknowledge the limits of the author's privileged perspective, they are never willing to let the perpetrating structures of this cruelty go unchecked. But these poems also let stand the shelterwood, the upstanding actions of individuals, the totems of hope. They work as coping strategies, as therapy, as empathy, offering a glimpse of optimism and a space for discourse. These are poems that listen.

No detailed description available for "Franklin's Passage".

James Henslin has always been able to share the excitement of sociology, with his acclaimed "down-to-earth" approach and personal writing style that highlight the sociology of everyday life and its relevance to students' lives. Adapted for students studying within Australia, this text, now in a second edition, has been made even more relevant and engaging to students. With wit, personal reflection, and illuminating examples, the local author team share their passion for sociology, promote sociology to students and entice them to delve deeper into this exciting science. Six central themes run throughout this text: down-to-earth sociology, globalisation, cultural diversity, critical thinking, the new technology, and the growing influence of the mass media on our lives. These themes are especially useful for introducing the controversial topics that make studying sociology such a lively, exciting activity.

In Dear Life, palliative care specialist Dr. Rachel Clarke recounts her professional and personal journey to understand not the end of life, but life at its end. Death was conspicuously absent during Rachel's medical training. Instead, her education focused entirely on learning to save lives, and was left wanting when it came to helping patients and their families face death. She came to specialize in palliative medicine because it is the one specialty in which the quality, not quantity of life truly matters. In the same year she started to work in a hospice, Rachel was forced to face tragedy in her own life when her father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He'd inspired her to become a doctor, and the stories he had told her as a child proved formative when it came to deciding what sort of medicine she would practice. But for all her professional exposure to dying, she remained a grieving daughter. Dear Life follows how Rachel came to understand—as a child, as a doctor, as a human being—how best to help patients in the final stages of life, and what that might mean in practice.

Solo Practice is an unsettling book, distinguished but disturbing, a dark novel of possession, obsession and the corruption of love. It considers the limits of friendship and the definitions of family, exploring the porous boundaries that separate parent from child, brother from sister, friend from lover. A finely crafted, compelling study of the nature of twinship, it celebrates the commonality of soul, while also mining the depths of the unspeakable heart. That is to say, this novel examines the nature of love. In luminous prose these stories follow the lives of four young people, flawed and damaged from the start, chronicling their efforts to help themselves and each other achieve the passage to adulthood. Not all survive the journey, and those who do arrive at places their dreams never imagined. Ultimately, Solo Practice is a book about the nature of hope and healing, and the limits of both. Like Raymond Carver, Philip Russell makes us reconsider the meanings of redemption and salvation.