Etta and Otto and Russell and James is a heartwarming adventure story — read an excerpt now
Michelle Morgan will champion Emma Hooper's novel on Canada Reads 2025
In Etta and Otto and Russell and James, 82-year-old Etta decides to walk 3,232 kilometres to Halifax from her farm in Saskatchewan to fullfill her dream of seeing the ocean. With little more than a rusty rifle and a talking coyote named James for company, she begins her adventure, and in the process, her early life with her husband Otto and their friend Russell is revealed in flashbacks. While Russell wants to bring her home safe, she's committed to making her way to the sea before returning to her husband, who will always wait patiently for her to come back.
Etta and Otto and Russell and James will be championed by Heartland actor Michelle Morgan on Canada Reads 2025.
The great Canadian book debate will take place on March 17-20. This year, we are looking for one book to change the narrative.
The debates will be hosted by Ali Hassan and will be broadcast on CBC Radio One, CBC TV, CBC Gem, CBC Listen and on CBC Books.
You can read an excerpt from Etta and Otto and Russell and James below.
Six-year-old Otto was checking the chicken wire for fox-sized holes. A fox could fit through anything bigger than his balled fist, even underground, even up quite high. He would find an opening and press his hand gently against it, pretending to be a fox. The chickens would run away. Unless Wiley, whose job it was to throw grain at the birds, was with him. But this time Wiley wasn't there, and, so, the chickens were afraid of Otto's fist. I am a fox. Otto wrapped his thumb around the front of his balled fingers and moved it like a mouth. I am a fox, let me in, pressing gently, but as hard as a fox, as a fox's mouth. I am hungry, I will eat you. Otto was hungry. He almost always was. Sometimes he ate little bits of the chicken grain. Good to chew on. If Wiley wasn't there.
He had checked three and a half sides of the wiring when three-and-a-half-year-old Winnie walked up in overalls with no shirt. Otto had put a shirt on her that morning, but it was hot, so she had taken it off. Dinner, she said. Close enough that he could hear, but not too close; chickens scared her. Otto, she said. Dinnertime. Then she left to find Gus and tell him the same. This was her job.
As well as a name, each child in Otto's family had a number, so they were easier to keep track of. Marie-1, Clara-2, Amos-3, Harriet-4, Walter-5, Wiley-6, Otto-7, and so on. Marie-1 was the eldest. The numeration was her idea.
1?
Yes.
2?
Yes.
3?
Hello.
4?
Yes, hello.
5?
Yes, yes, hello, hello.
6?
Present.
7?
Yes, please.
8?
Present.
9?
Hello!
Everyone was always present. Nobody ever missed dinner, or supper.
Everyone was always present. Nobody ever missed dinner, or supper.
So, said Otto's mother, everyone is here. Everyone is clean?
Otto nodded vehemently. He was clean. He was starving. Everyone else nodded too.
Winnie's hands were filthy and everyone knew it, but everyone nodded, including Winnie.
Okay then, said their mother, ladle propped against her round belly, soup!
Everyone rushed to the table, each to their own chair. Except today there was no chair for Otto. Or, rather, there was, but there was someone else in it. A boy. Not a brother. Otto looked at him, then reached across, in front, and took the spoon from him.
That's mine, he said.
Okay, said the boy.
Otto grabbed the knife. That's mine too, he said. And this, he said, grabbing the still-empty bowl.
Okay, said the boy.
The boy said nothing else and Otto didn't know what else to say, or do. He stood behind his chair, trying not to drop all his things, trying not to cry. He knew the rules. You didn't bother parents with child-problems unless there was blood or it involved an animal. Otto's mother was coming around, child by child, with the pot and ladle, so Otto, standing with his things, crying quietly, would have to wait for her to get to them. The other boy just looked straight ahead.
Otto's mother was spooning exactly one ladle of soup into each child's bowl. One for each, exactly, until, a pause, and,
I don't think you're Otto.
No, neither do I.
I'm Otto, right here.
Then who is this?
I don't know.
I'm from next door. I'm starving. I'm Russell.
But the Palmers don't have any children.
They have a nephew. One nephew. Me.
Otto's mother paused. Clara-2, she said, get another bowl from the cupboard, please.
Until recently, Russell's parents had lived in the city, in Saskatoon, and, until recently, Russell had lived there too, with them. But five weeks ago the banks announced that everything was absolutely broken, right there in the paper, for anyone who hadn't noticed yet for themselves, and three weeks ago, Russell's father, who owned a shop right in the middle of downtown, an everything shop with wrenches and lemon candy and bolts of printed cotton in rows, had turned a bit white, then a bit dizzy, then had to sit down, then had to lie down, and then, after sweating and sweating and Russell getting so much cold water from the kitchen, carried in the biggest bronze pitcher, hefting it up the stairs, hugging it to himself, so cold with the water inside, and bringing it to the bedroom where his father was lying, at first alone, and then, soon, with the doctor standing by, and then, not too long after, with the doctor and the priest standing by, while Russell's mother cooked for everyone and dealt with all this goddamn paperwork until, two weeks ago, while Russell was carrying a twelfth bronze pitcher from the kitchen, so cold against his stomach and chest, almost burning cold, Russell's father gave up and died. His mother sighed and put on her black dress, the one with the stiff lace collar, before closing up the shop for good, and going to work as a typist in Regina.
You'll like the farm, she said. Farms are better.
Russell rode part of the way with her on the train. He'd never been on a train before. The skinny-skinny cows zipped past so quickly. Russell wanted to lean out the window and open his eyes as wide as he could so that all the air hit them and dried them out, forever. But the windows didn't open. So, instead, Russell traced his finger up and down his mother's collar, following the twisting path of the lace, and let his eyes be wet. Almost exactly halfway between Saskatoon and Regina, the train stopped and Russell got off and his mother did not. You'll like the farm, she said. Farms are better.
Okay, said Russell.
They're better, she said.
Okay, said Russell.
And I'll see you soon, you know, she said.
Yes, said Russell. Okay.
Russell's aunt and uncle were waiting on the platform. They had made a small sign from the side of a milk crate. WELLCOME HOME RUSSEL! it said. Despite trying, they had had no children of their own.
Excerpted from Etta and Otto and Russell and James by Emma Hooper
Copyright © 2015 by Emma Hooper. Excerpted by permission of Penguin Canada. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
