From Booklist
Theft runs on parallel tracks as 30-year-old unsuccessful writer Cameron "steals" the stories of people he encounters at his job in the "Sally Ann" (i.e., Salvation Army) Treatment Center. He "takes" the identity of cokehead Darrel, a patient at the Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Center, when the addict commits suicide. He also takes to visiting Darrel's retarded older sister, June Greene, who has mosaic Down syndrome with complications of Becker's muscular dystrophy and has been taken care of for more than 16 years by the Sisters Who Gave Good Hope. "Darrel" develops a relationship with June and strikes a deal with the administrator, who lets him examine June's medical records, which he mines for story material. Cameron's resulting "Three River Stories" and incidental e-mails are set in a different font from that of the main narrative, which enhances this ironic, acerbic, and poignant novel's sense of shifting planes of reality. In short, terse sentences and equally compact chapters, Greer tells a compelling tale of identity theft.
Whitney ScottCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
--This text refers to an alternate
Paperback
edition.
Review
A rich read. --
NOW Magazine - A Top Ten Pick of 2003Greer has masterfully created a character that is just sympathetic enough for the reader to care about him. Still Life with June is modern and urban without being too edgy for the masses. This book is highly recommended. --
The Edmonton JournalGreer's observations of addiction and corporate domination ... are indeed sharp, his narrative voice infectious. --
The Globe and MailGreer's pithy prose keeps things moving quickly, and culminates in a realization and event that can be seen coming, much like a train's lamp through a darkened tunnel. But when that realization hits, it smacks with the force of that train, one that's packing a lifetime of emotional freight ... the cruel baggage of events and tragedies long sublimated and hard reckonings not faced, until now. It's all about identity, and facing yourself down. --
The Hamilton Spectator