Cathy Ostlere
Cathy Ostlere’s second book, KARMA, a novel-in-verse, grew from her travels through India in 1984, the year Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards. KARMA's story of two teenagers who fall in love while fighting to stay alive is a moving and turbulent narrative based on real historical events. Cathy's first book, LOST: A MEMOIR, began as a series of poems and essays. In 2010, Cathy co-wrote with Dennis Garnhum, a 90 minute one-woman play based on LOST and performed in the U.S. and Canada. Cathy's work has received many accolades including shortlists for National Magazine, Western Magazine, and CBC Literary awards.
Awards for KARMA:
-Alberta Literary Awards Winner – R. Ross Annett Children’s Award, 2012
-South Asia Book Award (SABA), Highly Commended Book, 2012
-Canadian Library Association Young Adult Book Award, Honour Book, 2012
-W.O. Mitchell Award City of Calgary, shortlist, 2012
-Ontario Library Association Best Bets List,Honourable Mention, 2012
-YALSA, Best Fiction for Young Adults, 2012
-Booklist, Editor’s Choice, Best Books for Young Adults, 2012
Awards for LOST: A MEMOIR (the book):
-2009 Edna Staebler Creative Non-fiction Award - shortlist
Awards for LOST: A MEMOIR, (the play):
-Nominated for Outstanding New Play, 2011 Betty Mitchell Awards, Calgary
-Top Ten Theatre Shows for 2011 — Indianapolis Star, Indianapolis
-Best 11 plays of 2011 — The Chronicle Herald, Halifax
“Women can go mad with insomnia.The sleep-deprived roam houses that have lost their familiarity. With tea mugs in hand, we wander rooms, looking on shelves for something we will recognize: a book title, a photograph, the teak-carved bird -- a souvenir from what place? A memory almost rises when our eyes rest on a painting's grey sweep of cloud, or the curve of a wooden leg in a corner. Fingertips faintly recall the raised pattern on a chair cushion, but we wonder how these things have come to be here, in this stranger's home.Lost women drift in places where time has collapsed. We look into our thoughts and hearts for what has been forgotten, for what has gone missing. What did we once care about? Whom did we love? We are emptied. We are remote. Like night lilies, we open in the dark, breathe in the shadowy world. Our soliloquies are heard by no one.”
“Listen, Miss, boats are supposed to float. Even if they break up, they usually still float and show up on a shore somewhere. There have been no reports of wreckage or abandoned boats. At this point, no news is still good news. Don't worry. It's too early to worry.”
“I listen to the sound of India's voices for the last time . Laughter ripples like water . A prayer is a single note held long . There is so much life here . And too much death.I feel a soft brezze caress my face and I look up. An orange ribbon is floating through the air . In India , it's easy to see the wind .”
“Dear Maya,Life is an illusion.And as it turns out, so is death.What is real?What remains when we all fade away?Two things: Love. Forgiveness.Don't forget”
“When we tell our stories, the gods hear our sorrows.”
“I stand up. Stretch my arms out wide to theempty horizon. Do not be afraid of limitlesspossibilities. The desert is infinite to the eyeas love is to the heart.”