Sweet nothings and a new attitude

Camping is a Terrible Idea
by Kirsten Pendreigh (illustrated by Tiffany Everett)

Ann Arbor: Sleeping Bear Press, 2026
$27.99 / 9781534113442

I Sure Do
by Charles Demers (illustrated by Dorothy Leung)

Vancouver: Tradewind Books, 2026
$24.95 / 9781990598449

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The family of my childhood did not hike. We weren’t outdoorsy in that way—we’d have scoffed at those wholesome-seeming von Trapp kids.

Vacations took us to ski hills and southern California, and summer trips in BC and Washington State were always punctuated by overnight stays at roadside motels. My father liked cars and highways; as a capable if lead-footed driver, he lived for the passing lanes. 

We owned no tent, though, no hiking boots. I can’t recall an outing in ‘the wild’, not one. “We don’t swing that way,” my father would have said. 

I was okay with that, happy even. My earliest tenting experience, in Grade 2 or 3 when my family lived on Hatzic Island, ended at daybreak in a nearby apple orchard. I awoke in a cold sweat, realized I’d wet the bed (my pyjamas and sleeping bag, actually), and crept home, incriminating evidence in hand, and stuffed the damp items into the washing machine.

I’ve tried since then, of course. But camping has never stuck. Even when planning a driving trip from Salt Spring to Cape Breton this year, I was surprised when someone at work offered me a tent. Sleep outside? Honestly, the thought had not crossed my mind. Besides, I’d already booked a room at the White Fang Motel in Wawa.

All of this memory lane business serves to introduce Cammie, a curly-haired girl with glasses in a big city who likes the glow of street lamps, an orderly kitchen, and “the whoosh-screech of the eight-fifteen bus.” She’s not particularly receptive to new ideas. 

When her dad comes home to the family’s brick-clad apartment block and announces that she and her sister are going camping with him, Cammie exclaims “Camping is a terrible idea!” 

Soon enough she’s in mud and slipping on rocks; the campfire blows smoke in her face. Her sister Zoë gets lost for (for ninety seconds). And: mosquitoes. Gross! She’s put off by the lack of city noise, then put off by the silence, then put off by all the weird noises—owls, crickets, and who knows what else. 

And soon enough, as well, Cammie spies stars though the flaps of the tent: “And as she listened . . . / the jumble of night noises / gently settled into a lullaby.” Cammy notices the patterns of the city that she finds  so consoling to her orderly mind are transferable to the the great outdoors. “That evening, the tide came in again, / the sun set on time,” she notes, with satisfaction.  

She doesn’t have an experience that William Wordsworth or Mary Oliver might have jotted down; Cammie is more, well, Newtonian in spirit. 

With that said, that’s true until the book’s closing few pages, when Cammie’s general contentment with the patterns and predictability of the natural world is interrupted by a sudden shooting star. Instead of being thrown off by the occurrence, she feels wonderment. She puts away her notebook, clicks off her flashlight, and gazes up at the twinkling sky. It’s a lovely, touching moment, in an affecting picture book with a feisty protagonist and a relatable (and believable) depiction of both a change of heart and an encounter with a foreign, possible discomfiting phenomenon that turns out to be a source of pleasure. And all of it, with its rich colours and cinematic breadth, is a treat for the eyes.

(The final two pages, where author Kirsten Pendreigh [What Fish Are Saying] slips in some information about trying something new and natural calendars, are useful too and welcome inclusion to an altogether appealing book.)

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“I sure do love you / Yes, I adore you”: with those words and the image—in warm-blanket autumnal colours—of a parent holding an infant child in his gaze, Charles Demers (The Eh Team) opens I Sure Do.

It’s a sing-song prayer of affection,  with some welcome Seussian punning nonsense at the tip of its tongue (“And I a window / And I a floor you,” the next segment begins). 

With its echo of a poem published over 170 years ago—yes, that one, the one with the renowned couplet, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. / I love thee to the depth and breadth and height”—I Sure Do relates a depth of feeling—adoration—that seems infinite and yet continues to grow.

Words cannot express…, the phrase goes, but this little book with few words and a palette of warm, spicy colours, finds a way the convey the ineffable.    

Maybe 200 words in total, the book offers expressions of love over and again, and whether the family of the book—dad, mom, child, dog—cavorts on a hiking trail or in the nursery, the words are exultant: love, loVE, LOVE. 

Despite the brevity and the singular focus on a complex, universal feeling, I Sure Do speaks volumes. 

To me, the book is for the speaking parent more than the listening child. The infant who hears “And on each clock / My favourite minute / Is every one / That has you in it” will of course not know what “clock,” “minute,” or “favourite” means, though the soothing voice and its emotional timbre might convey a positive something the toddler might finding comforting, soothing, or reassuring. (I don’t know. When I cradle my ailing 20-year-old cat and say nonsense sweeting nothings to him, he’s quite comforted by my words, I believe.) 

For a parent for whom poetic words of unbridled affection might not flow so easily, though, Demers provides a handy cheat sheet.

Saying Demers’ words aloud to the new member of their family—“I ABC / 1-2-3 for you”—most every parent will satisfy any urge break into song about their parental joy while also carrying those love-soaked syllables to the ear canals of the intended audience, where they’ll be absorbed and translated by a developing brain into something simple but nourishing and necessary. Like “I am loved.” Or “Somebody cares for me.” Or “Life is good.”

Brett Josef Grubisic assigns, edits, and posts fiction, poetry, and children’s lit reviews for BCR; occasionally, he contributes reviews as well. Less occasionally, he doodles on Cull, his work-in-progress sixth novel. [He’s written about recent books by Joseph Dandurand, Cathalynn Cindy Labonté-Smith, Susannah M. Smith, Théodora Armstrong, Faith Erin Hicks, Hetxw’ms Gyetxw, Nathan Fairbairn, Otoniya Bitek, Martin Butler, Hannah Beach and Maggie Hutchings, Zsuzsi Gartner (ed.), Jennifer Cooper, Caroline Adderson, Sunny Dhillon, Wanda John-Kehewin, Ryan O’Dowd, Michael V. Smith, David Bouchard, Alice Turski, Louise Sidley, K.J. Denny (ed.), Sonali Zohra, Carrie Anne Vanderhoop, Kirsten Pendreigh, Sam Wiebe, Maureen Young, Daniel Anctil, and Adam Welch for BCR.]

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The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (nonfiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an online book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster