Got to page 68. But I don't know how. Sure, the writing style is impressive, and the setting, with all the historical details, is intriguing. But the yuck factor is above my comfort level, and trying to read it as Satire only makes me feel more disturbed. And then I learn from other reviews that we never do learn more about the title character? Um, no, totally not for me.

(And, no, I don't agree with the Wizard of Oz comparison, even if we improve the accuracy as: Chin is the Questing, Homesick Dorothy, Sarah the Scatter-brained Scarecrow, and BJ the Lovelorn Tin Woodsman.)

The vivid characters that drew me into the story lost their fascination and the story lost steam about half way through the potentially wonderful narrative.

[b:We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves|16176440|We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves|Karen Joy Fowler|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1364850195s/16176440.jpg|22026398] kept me fully engaged, but this title, not so much. ( )

Chin is a Chinese immigrant working as a railroad builder in Washington State. A strange white woman shows up at his camp, speaking urgently but incomprehensibly, and he feels obligated to escort her to safety. He also suspects that she might be a manifestation of a goddess who can bring him good fortune. This turns into an epic journey across Washington, involving a night in jail, a mental asylum, a charlatan, a murderous hotel brawl, a canoe chasing a steamboat, a women's suffragist, and all sorts of motley characters and adventures, all of which cause great consternation for Chin but don't seem to faze the mysterious woman.

This is an oddly compelling story, with some oddly compelling characters. The plot is strange, and the ending even stranger, but ultimately this is a book about many different types of marginalized people trying to get by in a frontier society where the rules are ever-shifting, and about using stories to make sense of the world. ( )

I loved the beginning. The precarious existence of a Chinese man in the western US in the 1870s. Chin is good company. Complaints: I am not knowledgeable about Emily Dickinson's poetry. I find it enigmatic and frustrating. So I felt that when reading the excerpt at the start of each chapter. Dr. Carr was developed and abandoned. Shift to San Francisco was severe. The fantastical angle was suggested but not developed. Not much of an ending. Endings are hard. ( )

I know this story. Only, instead of Chin Ah Kin, a Chinese immigrant who reluctantly sets off on an epic journey to protect the strange, otherworldly woman who crosses his path, it was a handsome prince. And instead of B.J., a gentle madman who accompanies him on his quest, it was a brave little jester. And instead of strange, otherworldly Sarah Canary (who may be, but almost certainly is not a demon, an enchantress, a mermaid, a wild woman raised by wolves, or a notorious murderess on the lam), it was the Pied Piper, who leads everyone who gets caught up in her wake to their doom – or, if they are truly worthy, a kind of transcendence.

Except for that, it was exactly the same story….

This is one darn peculiar book. And I mean that in a good, and thoroughly admiring way. If I was commanded to try to sum it up -- put up against a wall, say, and threatened with being mauled by a tiger (this actually happens …) if I didn’t -- I would say that it is the story of America, told from the perspective of those whose stories have usually been ignored and airbrushed away. But through the magic of Sarah Canary, for once we hear a version of those stories – from the reviled immigrant labourer, from the young man whose take on reality is skewed just a little off-center, from the voiceless women, from the Native Americans. Everyone who has had to hide behind an alien culture, struggle into alien clothes, and even adopt alien names, just to survive.

As usual, Fowler’s story (and its meanings) is multi-layered: a story about “otherness,” which recognizes that nothing is simple: the marginalized are quite capable of great cruelty and exploitation of those who are a little lower down the pecking order from them. A story about “civilization,” and how very uncivilized it can be. A story about story-telling, and its power to make sense of the most absurd situations.

And as usual, Fowler’s writing is a delight: dreamlike and funny. The “plot” may seem to take a while to get going but, if you’re like me, you will suddenly realize that it’s been there all along. That you, too, have been swept along in the churning wake of Sarah Canary, and nothing will seem quite the same again.
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