Women's Prize Shortlist 2025

Here are the 6 novels shortlisted for the 2025 Women's Prize for Fiction! It's a surprising group, but I'm sure these books will inspire a lot of discussion and a range of opinions. There are an impressive four debut novels here (“The Safekeep”, “Fundamentally”, “The Persians” and “Good Girl”). There are also established authors such as Elizabeth Strout and multi-faceted artist Miranda July (whose novel “All Fours” has been nominated for many different book awards.) Yael Van Der Wouden was also shortlisted for the 2024 Booker Prize. Many of the novels utilize humour and satire to explore serious ideas and stories. Issues to do with belonging seem to be a strong theme throughout these titles – whether it's belonging in a nation, a culture, a home or a family. I've currently read five from this list and feel it's a good group overall. I'm most disappointed not to see the novel “Nesting” by Roisin O'Donnell here as that's been my favourite from the longlist so far. So it's really difficult to know which way the judges might go when picking a winner on June 12. I'm also keen on reading more books from the shortlist for the Women's Prize for Non-Fiction.

What do you think of the shortlist? Are there any novels you're keen on reading or that you're disappointed weren't listed? Let me know all your thoughts.

The Persians by Sanam Mahloudji

This entertaining and exhilarating debut novel is like a literary equivalent of the show 'Absolutely Fabulous'. At the beginning of the story outspoken, materialistic and status-obsessed Shirin is accused of attempted prostitution by an undercover policeman. With her lofty manner she utterly dismisses the accusation, but her conscientious niece Bita obtains legal representation and helps build a case for Shirin who is at risk of losing her American event planning business, serving jail time and having her US visa revoked so that she'd need to return to her native Iran. The dynamic between Shirin and Bita is irresistibly funny as the former acts hideously while the later strives to do what's morally responsible.

Shirin's case is at the centre of this novel, but the story builds out to represent the lives of multiple generations of Iranian women who come from a once illustrious family. Shirin's mother Elizabeth and daughter Niaz who continue to live in Iran also contend with their own struggles. As events unfold and secrets are uncovered the truth brushes uncomfortably against how these women have defined themselves. As Elizabeth remarks at one point, “We are so far from what we think we are in our minds, you and me.” It's interesting how the story portrays how expectations and cultural understanding shift with each succeeding generation. It delves into the tumultuous recent history of Iran and explores shifting hierarchies within current Persian culture. Each woman is strong-willed in her own way as this family navigates the world and contends with an inherited sense of entitlement. This was a very enjoyable novel though it sometimes focuses more on comic hijinks than the heart of the story.

Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I've been a longtime fan of Adichie's books. She's an intelligent and empathetic individual who writes meaningfully on a wide range of subjects including class, grief, feminism, family, love, race religion and nationality. These are all issues which are dramatised in this latest novel. But after reading the book and carefully considering statements she's made in interviews over the past several years, I feel extremely frustrated. It doesn't please me to write this but I feel that Adichie has been negligent in certain discussions that she herself has started and I think this should be taken very seriously especially with what's happening in the world today. I'm not writing this to be sensational or censorious. I don't think Adichie should be “cancelled”. I hope she continues to write and speak and engage in debates while considering a range of opinions. I'm glad she expresses her beliefs and has conviction in her opinions. I'm also not trying to convince anyone not to read her. However, I think a lot of readers are concerned about the controversy surrounding Adichie so I want to explain my understanding of it and give my own thoughts, but I'm not trying to be prescriptive. I just want to describe my own journey reading Adichie and personal thoughts about debates concerning whether to read her work or not.

I know some people will be annoyed that I'm writing about Adichie's beliefs and issues surrounding them rather than just focusing on the new novel. Believe me, in many ways, I wish I could just do that. There's a lot to appreciate and enjoy in this novel and I will comment on that as well. And I also know some people will be annoyed that I read this novel at all. Some like to separate the art from the artist and, of course, writers are complicated individuals with a range of beliefs. If we take issue with every problematic statement expressed by a current or historical author we'd be left with nothing to read. And this is why I did read Adichie's new novel even though I've been very concerned about the debate surrounding her. However, we don't read books in a bubble and I can't ignore how statements Adichie is making could easily contribute to social division and reinforce stigmas surrounding marginalized groups rather than fostering pragmatic debate. So I personally can't in good conscience discuss this author or book without taking this into account.

This is Adichie's first novel in over a decade and in the intervening time between novels she's become a controversial figure because she has repeatedly stated “When people talk about, ‘Are trans women women?’ my feeling is trans women are trans women.” She's elaborated on this by explaining “I think the whole problem of gender in the world is about our experiences... it's about the way the world treats us, and I think if you've lived in the world as a man with the privileges that the world accords to men and then sort of change gender, it's difficult for me to accept that then we can equate your experience with the experience of a woman who has lived from the beginning as a woman and who has not been accorded those privileges that men are.” There's a certain truth in this statement and I can see how it's a reasonable point to make. The trouble is that this suggests that trans women are inherently privileged because of their upbringing and possess advantages. It doesn't account for the sense of social stigma, discrimination or gender dysmorphia that's common to trans experience. Furthermore, this logic easily feeds into conservative rhetoric which further stigmatizes and legislates against the rights of trans people. I don't think Adichie intends this to be the case but it's nonetheless a serious consequence.

This is the real issue I've come to find with Adichie. It's not so much about what she's said, but what she's not said and how she's not engaged in a more nuanced debate on this subject despite having ample opportunity to do so in print and in interviews. This leaves the intention and meaning behind her statements uncertain. I don't think Adichie is transphobic (and it's simplistic to dismiss her as such) but I also don't think she's acknowledged reasonable concerns about her position regarding this issue. In this interview, when asked to elaborate more she mentions certain closed loop debates regarding who can use what toilets and whether trans women should participate in women's sports. I'm not saying these debates are inconsequential, but they are the ones which have come to dominate the media and distract from the material ways in which trans people are oppressed. It's dangerous to ignore this because now there's an American president openly making transphobic statements and just recently has presented to the state of Maine (where I was born and raised) an ultimatum to keep transgender athletes out of girls' and womens' sports or the state will lose its federal funding. I don't believe Adichie's values are aligned with this president or the political right as she's stated “There's a refusal in some parts of the right to acknowledge basic things about humanity.” But she also doesn't acknowledge how the statements she's made can so easily be weaponised and lead to oppression. So when Adichie defines the identity of a marginalized group to which she does not belong she ought to be very clear about her intentions and meaning. I don't think she's done this and this is negligent.

I am not trans, but I am an ally and I believe when it comes to issues concerning trans lives the people who we should be listening to are trans voices. I'd really recommend reading Shon Faye's book “The Trans Issue” if you're looking for more context about this in general. There's also a lot more to say on the debate about statements Adichie has made and if you want to consider this further there's a very good discussion on the podcast For Harriet which thoughtfully responds to Adichie's views.

But, before I move on to talking about this novel, I want to briefly approach this from a personal perspective. I feel the way in which Adichie speaks about labels can be applied to any form of identity because she considers that it's not useful to group everyone under one overall category. By this logic if someone were asked if gay men are men, the reply 'gay men are gay men' would be just as reasonable. However, as a gay man I'd find this offensive because my behaviour frequently doesn't always conform to stereotypical masculine standards. Because of this from a young age I was sometimes made to feel like I wasn't a “real man” and I've had to wrestle with feelings of shame and insecurity as a consequence. This logic also adds to social stigma and legislation against the rights of gay people in countries like Nigeria. This leads to persecution and a situation dramatised in this novel where the gay friend of one of the narrators is blackmailed because of his homosexuality. I appreciate how Adichie highlights that such persecution takes place. But this discrimination partly originates in a dangerous form of logic that categorizes and divides rather than acknowledging the humanity and respect which should be accorded to all human beings. Again, I'm not saying this is the intention behind what Adichie has said but in many interviews when she's been asked to expand on what she means and consider reasonable criticism she often refuses to speak more about it. I can understand she doesn't want to stoke more backlash and it's wrong that so much hate has been directed towards her, but when a public figure makes certain statements they need to be accountable for them. And it's especially important for a writer to carefully consider the potential consequences of the language that she uses.

Adichie doesn't directly address trans issues in “Dream Count” and I certainly didn't read the book searching for opinions about this or to find things to object to because of statements she's made outside of the novel. However, the story does spend a lot of time expressing frustration with a section of liberal academic society who dismisses nearly everyone and everything they encounter as “problematic”. One of the narrators of the book is Chiamaka who is a travel writer that comes from an extremely wealthy family and has a tempestuous romance with art historian Darnell. Darnell and his social circle find fault with well-meaning Chiamaka by diminishing her and sneering at her. Although Darnell purports to be a progressive he dismisses much of what Chiamaka says as “hormonal”. I'm glad Adichie highlights how some liberals are intolerant of people expressing their views or even allowing certain questions to be asked especially by those who aren't university educated. From some people I know who work in academia there's a real difficulty with fostering meaningful debates in classrooms because some students simply label everything as “problematic” and then refuse to discuss it. So this is a real problem worth highlighting. But just because such sneering attitudes exists in some sections of liberal society doesn't mean there aren't also real issues worth raising which lay behind such vociferous criticism. So I felt an undue amount of space is taken up in this novel skewering certain kinds of liberals in this way.

There's also a small line which feels like a veiled reference to the comment which landed Adichie in such hot water. Chiamaka is having a conversation with a lover about travel writing when it's remarked “He said he thought much of poetry was really travel writing and I said much of poetry was poetry and he laughed.” I can only assume Adichie was thinking about her controversial statement when writing this and perhaps it's just her way of trying to be lighthearted about something which has caused a considerable backlash against her. But it also feels somewhat mocking as if to say “Are you going to cancel me for saying poetry is poetry as well?” The couple in this scene met in an online Jan Morris fan club and Morris was an influential travel writer who was also a transgender woman. Adichie has remarked in interviews that she knows trans women exist because she's read Jan Morris for years. But merely acknowledging that certain people exist is not the same as speaking about them in a way which grants them the respect and rights that they deserve as a marginalised group who is frequently persecuted.

Even though I find Adichie's remarks on trans women objectionable and potentially harmful, of course I don't think it invalidates what she has to say on a whole range of other subjects which are dramatised in this novel. The story revolves between the points of view of four distinct women who wrestle with issues to do with work, love, faith, motherhood (or potential motherhood) and finding purpose in life. This also primarily takes place through the recent pandemic and it poignantly captures the strangeness and uncertainty of that time. It's moving the way it shows how our views on the people we were once romantically in love with can change so radically once a certain amount of time has gone by. That sense of thinking back and wondering 'why was I so in love with this awful person?' There's a line I found really striking where she remarks that “Love can be self damage if in fact it is love”. I found a certain scene absolutely heartbreaking where one character was expecting to be presented with an engagement ring. These women's feelings towards their romantic partners are also complicated by social and familial pressure to find the right man to settle down with and their awareness that they ought to decide if they want to have children soon as they are getting older.

This novel has important things to say about beauty standards in the world today, especially for girls and young women. At one point it's remarked that “If our daughters do not know how beautiful they are just as they are then surely we have failed.” Misogyny impacts these all these women's lives though it does so differently because they are from different economic and social groups. The story shows how today women who succeed in business are frequently vilified and women who speak up about rape are frequently vilified. One of the most impactful sections of the novel was based off from a real rape case which never went to trial – not because of a lack of evidence for the crime but because the female victim was demonised. Racism and issues to do with immigration factor into this case as well. So I found this section of the novel to be really meaningful but it did feel like it was somewhat crowbarred into the larger story involving a woman, her friend and her cousin.

There's a really touching and beautiful moment in the book when a character experiences a small act of kindness from a stranger. It's remarked how some kindness we don't forget but keep inside us and savour. The story also approaches issues to do with religion and faith from an interesting angle where at one point it posits that “maybe logic isn’t the point of faith, maybe succour is the point.” A lot of the story concerns the complicated relationships between mothers and daughters and how the form and nature of these relationships change over time. It's really interesting how the corruption of banking and business are exposed in this story. It also deals with the characters' very complicated feelings about American society. There are a lot of strident opinions expressed by different characters in a way which is often humorous. The character Omelogor runs a newsletter called ‘Dear Men’ and several of these cutting and funny newsletters are reproduced in the text. So this novel deals seriously with a wide range of issues, but takes a very humane approach to them so I frequently felt emotionally and intellectually involved with its story.

It's really unfortunate then that my engagement with this novel is overshadowed by Adichie's statements about trans women. I'm sure some people will feel that this is my fault as a reader and I should set my reservations aside to appreciate the novel separately. But personally I feel this issue is too important to simply ignore and it's not the fact that Adichie is expressing her beliefs which has frustrated me, but that she's not been clear about her intentions in making them or fully engaged with reasonable discussions about them. I'm really confused about why she hasn't done this because Adichie is such a thoughtful and powerful writer. But also when she knows how much her statements have effected her reputation as a public figure and the trust between her and her readership why wouldn't she discuss this further? Her refusal to do so has made me lose faith in her as an author and impacted my experience reading this novel. So I really hope Adichie continues to discuss her thoughts and particulate in meaningful conversations in the future.

The Artist by Lucy Steeds

Last year I went on holiday to Provence in France at the height of lavender season. The heat, rich earthy smells and country sounds were so intense and this heady atmosphere is lavishly replicated in the prose of Steeds' debut novel. It's set in a remote house in this region inhabited by famous artist Edouard Tartuffe and his quiet, devoted niece Ettie. It's 1920 and ambitious journalist Joseph comes to interview the notoriously reclusive “Master of Light”, but he's quickly turned into a model for the painter's next great work of art. In their ensuing time together tensions rise as Tartuffe has an explosively tempestuous nature and disdain for anything outside his discipline of his painting. This is unnerving to Joseph but Ettie takes it in her stride while discretely attending to Tartuffe's every need. However, these characters also possess secrets which are gradually uncovered over the course of the story. The reveals are compelling but it's also meaningful how this tale delves into the trappings of hero-worship, the misogyny within the world of high art and the traumatic effects of WWI. Moreover, it's an engrossing portrait of a highly creative personality who has lived a strictly sheltered life and the challenges of emerging into the wider world.

Provence, July 2024

It's vivid the way in which Tartuffe's arrogance and controlling nature is depicted. I felt a jolt of shock with every outburst and tantrum from “Tata”. Though he's such a revered figure he's shown to be pitifully childish scooping handfuls of honey to suck and lashing out as a way of covering how much he fears being left alone. Though Ettie is only in the background at the start of this story she gradually emerges as a complex figure. The romantic element of the novel wasn't as compelling to me as the way in which her quiet personality gradually unfurls to show how she possesses great resilience and resourcefulness. I enjoyed how just as the dynamic between this trio began to grow stale there's a visit to the house from a colourfully outrageous and pretentious group of “artistes” who proclaim that they are “hunters of pleasure, gatherers of inspiration”. It's wonderful how the famous collector Peggy Guggenheim is amongst this group and the way she becomes a character in the novel. Overall, this is a thoroughly immersive tale which cleverly skewers the way egotistical men are praised in our culture while talented women are often overlooked or shunned.

Nesting by Roisín O'Donnell

After having first read O'Donnell's short fiction year's ago in the excellent anthology “The Long Gaze Back” it's exciting to see that this talented Irish author has published her debut novel. The story takes place in 2018 and follows Ciara Fay who lives with her husband Ryan and two young children in Dublin. Before her marriage she was a teacher and spent time living in South America. But since starting a family Ryan has demanded she give up working and cut her off from any friends so that Ciara has become increasingly isolated and dependant upon him. Though he is charming, handsome and successful on the surface Ryan is actually controlling, coercive and manipulative in private. Ciara has made failed attempts to leave him in the past and she's been considering doing so again for some time especially now that she's pregnant again. But one day on the spur of the moment she decides to finally do it and she leaves taking their children with her. The novel follows Ciara's extremely difficult experiences over the course of a year as she seeks to completely extricate herself from this toxic relationship, achieve a sense of independence, create a truly safe space for her children and not return to this odious man.

It's powerful and heartbreaking how this narrative fully drew me into the difficulty of Ciara's immediate circumstances. From the moment she walks away there's the pressing need for money and housing. Even though she has family behind her and there's a small amount of social care, the stress over where they'll sleep and get their next meal from is a constant pressing need. There are many challenges to getting support as a domestic abuse survivor. This is further complicated since Ciara states she's not been physically or sexually abused by her husband. However, his intimidating nature made life with him excruciatingly stressful and the dark truth of their existence together is subtly layered into the narrative. Finding work is extremely difficult for Ciara especially since she is expecting another child. Added to the difficulty of Ciara's immediate circumstances are the demands of her children whose petty complaints are ever present. I grew so frustrated with their eternal griping but, of course, it's only natural that they wouldn't understand the psychological, social, financial strain their mother is under because they are only young children. Their presence also means that Ciara must maintain frequent contact with Ryan as he threatens her with legal measures if he's not allowed to see them. Of course, this also provides him with an opportunity to attempt to turn them against Ciara and force more frequent contact with her. I truly felt like the weight of the world was upon Ciara's shoulders. It's impactful how O'Donnell captures the visceral experience of her many dilemmas and this emotional journey.

Women's Prize Longlist 2025

Here are the 16 novels longlisted for the 2025 Womens Prize for Fiction! A new video is up on my YouTube channel discussing all these titles: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNcZNaEWJjE I'm glad to see some books I've read and enjoyed, some I've been wanting to read and others I've not heard of before.

It's an interesting group of authors who are not only novelists but include poets, short story writers, playwrights, academics and script editor on a soap opera. A few of them have been previously nominated for or won this prize before including Elizabeth Strout, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and Laila Lalami. However, a wide range of new talent is being highlighted as there are 9 debut novelists on the list including Yael Van Der Wouden, Rosanna Pike, Kaliane Bradley, Lucy Steeds, Roisin O'Donnell, Saraid de Silva, Nussaibah Younis, Sanam Mahloudji and Aria Aber. In my predictions video with Anna I correctly guessed 3 of these books and Anna guessed 4.

Some of these books have been nominated for other book prizes such as “The Safekeep” (Booker Prize 2024), “All Fours” (National Book Award for Fiction 2024), “The Ministry of Time” (Waterstones 2024 Debut Fiction) as well as “Crooked Seeds” and “Somewhere Else” which are currently on the Republic of Consciousness Prize shortlist. There are some authors who have previously won or been listed for this prize who I was surprised not to see listed such as Ali Smith, Eimear McBride and Elif Shafak's “There Are Rivers in the Sky” who some (including myself) not only predicted would be listed but probably would win this year's prize.

Of course, there's also the Women's Prize for Non-Fiction longlist which I've already enjoyed reading a couple titles from. But I'm excited to start reading more books on the fiction list and continuing to discuss the ones I have already read. “Tell Me Everything” is an absolute delight as it not only presents an emotional mystery concerning a reclusive man charged with murdering his mother, but it continues to explore the evolving relationships and lives of characters from Strout's previous novels. I'm most surprised and delighted to see “A Little Trickerie” which is such an immerse story about a young woman in medieval England who struggles to survive so devises a scheme to con people out of money by pretending to be an angel. “The Safekeep” is such a tense, twisty story which also gives a complex view of post-WWII Europe. “The Ministry of Time” is an inventive and entertaining mixture of sci-fi, romance and social commentary. And “All Fours” manages to treat its autobiographically inspired sexually-intrepid protagonist with absolute serious while also gently poking fun at her. I'm sure there will be many others from this list I'll enjoy reading.

What do think of the longlist? Are there books you've read from the list that you'd recommend or others which you're eager to read?

The Empusium by Olga Tokarczuk (translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones)

I've had mixed experiences reading Tokarczuk's work in the past. I didn't get on with “Flights” but loved “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead”. So I was curious to see what I'd make of “The Empusium”, especially just after reading “The Magic Mountain” as the bones of this story heavily inspired Tokarczuk's novel. This follows 24 year-old Mieczysław Wojnicz who is suffering from TB and another initially mysterious condition as he journeys to a “health resort” in the Silesian mountain range. There he encounters a number of highly opinionated men who take him on rambles through the countryside, drink a hallucinogenic alcohol named Schwärmerei and engage in conversations on a range of topics from politics to religion to the nature of reality, but most of these discussions devolve into horrifically misogynistic statements. The narrative follows Wojnicz's increasingly unsettling experiences as rumours of ritual killings in the forest and witches abound alongside persistent unsettling noises around the property. However, we also get frequent memories from Wojnicz's past as he lived under his imposing father (who is also a massive misogynist.) The story leads to a scene of intense crisis and an opportunity for new possibilities for Wojnicz.

The title of the book comes from Empusa or Empousa (who was a shape-shifting female from Greek mythology who seduced and fed on young men) but the name is combined with the word symposium. I enjoyed the chilling atmosphere of this novel where we're almost immediately presented with a body on a dining table! Threats abound from devils, the town's working class, women and even the landscape (according to his friend Thilo.) There's the question of who Wojnicz should really trust – the doctors, the gentlemen residents, terminally-ill Thilo with his cryptic warnings, the local women or the strange noises/voices that surround him. There's some gore especially surrounding food (there's a duck soup scene which is utterly stomach-churning) and the novel considers the cruelty towards/consumption of animals which is strongly reminiscent of Tokarczuk's “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead”. One of the most unsettling images are some creepy dolls (tuntschi) which are made from natural material by locals and used for sex before being left in the forest. Though the novel is subtitled as a “horror story” it's not so much about nail-biting terror, but it's fairly effective at creating a persistent eerie sensation.

It gradually becomes clear that the true horror comes from prevailing attitudes and systems of thought concerning a hatred towards women. Not only that but Wojnicz is frequently under pressure to conform to stereotypical notions of masculinity. I grew up in rural Maine where I was forced to spend time amongst groups of men on camping and hunting trips. Though they weren't outwardly misogynistic there was pressure to fit into this high-testosterone atmosphere, rise to physical challenges and submit to men's need to be “right” in whatever argument they were making (whether I agreed with them or not.) So I definitely felt for the pressures Wojnicz experienced among such men.

Interestingly, the narrative switches between a past-tense 3rd person following Wojnicz and a collective first person account in the present from some undefined entities (labelled in the opening cast list of the novel as “Nameless inhabitants of the walls, floors and ceilings”.) I liked how this later narrative voice added to the creepiness of the story as it felt like I was travelling amongst ghosts, spirits, nature or some other unknown entity. It adds to the sense that although misogynistic men control the social order of this location there's a perspective outside of this judging, undermining and wryly commenting on the proceedings. But it was also such a curious way of shifting focus from the larger action to the micro: the chinks between the slate roof tiles, droplets of water, clumps of grass, etc. To me this felt very cinematic like in David Lynch's Blue Velvet where the view of a seemingly idyllic neighbourhood narrows down to creepy undergrowth.

The novel’s story has a superficial relationship to Thomas Mann's “The Magic Mountain” with its hero newly arrived at a sanatorium, plot structure centred around conversations between gentlemen and setting prior to WWI. Tokarczuk has commented that she rereads Mann's novel every few years so it's in some ways a homage and in some ways a corrective or, as she describes, a way of “sparring” with that classic. Having just read Mann's novel, I was immensely relieved that the diatribes from different gentlemen were greatly condensed since there were so many long essayistic chapters in “The Magic Mountain”. Nevertheless, there was a meandering sense which remained in Tokarczuk's story which meant the plot felt a little lethargic in places: another day, another stroll that descends into misogynistic nonsense. However, I enjoyed how Tokarczuk explored issues surrounding Polish nationality/independence and a new take on time/space by considering both a 2 and 4 dimensional reality. I also liked that Tokarczuk reproduced the odd homoerotic imagery of pencils being stroked in adolescence which was also in Mann's novel. There are several other parallels in imagery/ideas between the two books. I certainly don't feel it was necessary to have read “The Magic Mountain” as Tokarczuk's text doesn't play off from that original in the same way that the recent novel “James” worked in parallel to “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”, but I'm still glad I read Mann's book because it is its own strange beast.

There's a surprising twist in the story and the final sections of the novel are quite thrilling. These reinforce Tokarczuk's message that reality doesn't exist in simple absolutes but in different perceptions and in-between spaces. Overall I think this was a fascinating and through-provoking read. Though I definitely wouldn't want to harken back to this time of more rudimentary medicine/treatment I did like the idea of champagne being prescribed as a cure. There are certain odd images which will stick with me such as a toad sitting on a pile of potatoes. Though the finale is gripping I felt it played out a little too quickly with the narrative summing up afterwards for all the characters. In this case I kind of preferred how Mann concluded his novel in a way which was haunting and ominous regarding the advent of WWI. The really bracing thing to me was the author's afterward where she states how the misogynistic views expressed by her characters were paraphrased from texts by some of the foremost Western thinkers/writers from the past including Charles Darwin, Sigmund Freud, Shakespeare, Yeats, etc. It shines a light on how the core of our culture is threaded through with misogynistic ideas and thus calls into question our very foundations.

The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann (translated by John E Woods)

I was encouraged to finally read this great big German classic after stopping in Davos during a holiday. We tried to visit the hotel and former sanatorium which apparently inspired Mann's novel. However, we nearly died as Google maps mistakenly directed us to drive on what turned to be a mountain footpath which became increasingly narrow as it perilously curved around the cliffside and over a fragile wooden bridge. Since we barely survived and never made it to the location of the Waldsanatorium where Mann's wife once stayed while recovering from a respiratory disease, I've decided it's best to only fictionally visit this location through Mann's sprawling tale. The story centres around Hans Castorp a young man who is about to embark on an engineering career. However, he first visits his cousin Joachim who is attempting to cure his tuberculosis by staying at this sanatorium high up in the Swiss Alps. Hans only plans to stay there a few short weeks but his stay is continuously extended and lasts for several years. During this time he becomes entrenched in the routines and insular nature of this specialised hospital while engaging in many discussions with its European residents. This all takes place in the decade leading up to WWI and the looming spectre of this upcoming conflict casts a shadow over the entire narrative.

I found this novel both challenging and fascinating as it includes humorous encounters, beautiful descriptions, an artful structure and deep philosophical diatribes about life, illness, sexuality, society, time and war. It's a kind of stalled coming of age tale as Hans Castorp is about to launch into his adulthood when he's diverted to this location. He does grow as he falls in love with the elusive Madame Chauchat, learns about a range of subjects such as science and music and considers intellectual ideas from men who seek to mentor him. However, after consulting the sanatorium's doctors he also becomes overly preoccupied with his health, obsessively takes his temperature and becomes ensconced in the sedentary life in this place far removed from everyday reality. Though he has a somewhat priggish and conservative nature, I felt endeared and protective of Hans as he was orphaned during his adolescence and he's an impressionable youth who falls under the sway of this persuasive society in miniature. Yet there's something ominous about its lure where the theoretical is valued over the practical and all tangible progress is halted. Patients who die are furtively taken away while the remaining residents engage in a ceaseless cycle of rest cures and lavish meals. Only occasionally does an objective point of view outside the sanatorium's boundaries shine through. One example is when Hans' uncle visits to enquire when Hans will complete what he perceives to be a holiday in this place and the uncle nearly gets sucked into the same extended stay which Hans is trapped within.

Amongst the sanatorium's residents, Hans primarily falls under the tutelage of the humanist Lodovico Settembrini and the Jewish Jesuit Leo Naphta. The narrative relates their extended speeches about a wide range of subjects including social ideals, totalitarianism, the nature of war, morality, romance/sexuality and the triumph of mind/reason over the body. These essayistic passages certainly tried my patience as they often felt removed from the flow of the story. They also often represent outmoded concepts which can be easily dismissed such as attitudes towards women. At one point it's questioned why women would present themselves in a desirable way when they can no longer bear children and in another section it's stated “A woman primarily regards herself as an object.” There's little about these sections which feels edifying, but instead they give an insight into prevailing European attitudes of the time. Seeing these theories being bandied about gives insight into the many pressures which led up to the widespread conflict of WWI. Within the story it also leads to a shocking physical altercation between Settembrini and Naphta. Though Hans tries to reason that the gentlemen's disagreement is merely intellectual abstraction rather than a personal attack, the older men resort to their base natures where points of contention can only be settled through violence. I think that's what gives the inclusion of these speeches a continuing relevance as they represent how spirited conceptual positions can bleed into reality and lead to civilisation's conflagration rather than its advancement.

Outside of these lengthy speeches I enjoyed many scenes and characters such as Hans' first x-ray by the doctors where an examination of the inner workings of the body raises questions about the relationship between emotions and the physical being. Hans also carries with him an x-ray of Madame Chauchat's chest in a way which he intends to be romantic but it's actually creepy. At one point Chauchat leaves the sanatorium for a time but returns with Mynheer Peeperkorn, a new lover who is one of the novel's most lively and entertaining characters. Peeperkorn entices many of the residents to engage in extended bouts of drinking and gambling. His presence also creates a curious love triangle with Hans and Chauchat. I also heartily enjoyed the imposing character of a nurse who sells Hans a thermometer and dismisses any pursuits outside the realm of convalesce as mere twiddle twaddle. A mysterious Danish teenager named Elly Brand is introduced late in the novel who possesses mystical abilities and conducts a number of seances with the residents. This leads to a curious supernatural interlude during which someone who has died reappears and foreshadows the death of soldiers in the upcoming war. It's an eerie and utterly compelling chapter.

My favourite section of the book is merely titled 'Snow'. Here Hans goes skiing by himself in what turns out to be a disorientating snow storm. It's contemplative and sublimely beautiful how the author describes Hans' solitary journey. He adopts a position of individual defiance amidst the elements of nature and the social trappings of the sanatorium. On the snowy mountainside he experiences “one solitude opening onto the next” but also becomes completely lost and lapses into an unconscious state filled with terrifying nightmares. It shows how Hans experiences a respite out of space and time lost in the flurry of a blank canvas, but the course of humanity and inevitable progression towards death still resides within him. This is a portion of the novel I know I'll want to return to and re-read on its own because its so exquisite, thoughtful and hypnotically surreal.

I was thoroughly engaged by the way Mann considers the nature of time within passages of dialogue and in the book's very structure. Since the sanatorium is physically removed from larger civilisation time seems to function in a different way here. Its high elevation also means that the seasons of the year aren't experienced in a typical way as the weather changes rapidly and doesn't adhere to the temperatures of Winter or Summer. Months and years can pass by in what feels like a relatively short amount of time. The narrative considers the way in which time is subjective in this way because routines make it pass quickly. It's clever how the first year of Hans' stay is described in lengthy detail because this simulates how his new experiences in this place makes time initially pass more slowly for him. However, as he becomes caught up in the habits of daily life years skip by at a more rapid pace. An authorial voice occasionally interjects as well so one section presents a fascinating consideration of the representation of time in novels.

The ending of the novel is extremely poignant. Though Hans naturally comes to feel abstracted from larger society and the progression of time, he is still trapped within it as the reality of war imposes itself throughout Europe. I finished the book feeling melancholy about leaving this boy who didn't get to live life to its fullest even though he got to enjoy a rarified existence outside of the normal obligations of work and integrating into larger society. It left me wondering about what equates to a fulfilling life: one which is spent in contemplative abstraction amidst monotonous stability or one which is experienced through the challenges of a constantly shifting social landscape. Though this book utilizes the formalistic elements of realism, I was delightfully surprised at how strangely surreal and fantastical it becomes in certain sections. It's one I'll continue to contemplate and feels like a literary hurdle that I'm glad to have experienced.

Sweet Vidalia by Lisa Sandlin

It's terrifying to consider how a person can lose everything in an instant. Not only that but the people closest to us might be hiding terrible secrets. No one should live in paranoia, but it's sobering to contemplate how resilient you might be if the worst were to happen. “Sweet Vidalia” begins with an arresting moment of crisis for Eliza, a middle-aged woman in 1960s Texas. She's been married for three decades and has two adult children. Her world isn't only turned upside down but inside out as she suddenly finds herself on the brink of destitution and must start over again at this unusual stage of life. Eliza seeks to get a business education and job while moving into a motel called Sweet Vidalia with her old dog. There she encounters a number of curious individuals and forms new connections. The grinding indignity and humility of her situation is tempered by a tonally-light and humour-leaning narrative. However, this book doesn't shy away from the emotional shock or physical challenges of Eliza's situation. There's a serious impediment preventing her from accessing the few assets she still possesses, she suffers from arthritis in her hands and her children don't have enough resources to support her. Nevertheless, she discovers opportunities in the most unexpected places.

The wide range of characters that Eliza meets are interesting, but the novel comes to feel a little too cluttered with all their stories. Many of them have their own idiosyncrasies which are touched upon such as a man who feels closer to dogs than people, a strong-willed artistically-gifted classmate and a gay man who struggles to find employment in clerical roles usually taken by women. However, many of their lives never come to feel entirely filled out. But Eliza herself is a sensitive and empathetic character whose complexity beautifully deepens over the course of the story as she discovers an inner strength and talents that she never previously knew she possessed. At one point she reflects “Nobody now on earth, including my children, knows who I am. Not a wife, a mother whose kids are grown, with no neighborhood friend, no job to tell me what I am. Just a kind of in-between person who lives in a temporary place with people who live near her temporarily.” This sudden sense of anonymity may crush some people. But it's heartening how in this desperate situation Eliza learns to envision a new sense of self that's free from the expectations of those she's lived amongst for her entire life and establish her autonomy. I also found it touching how she recalls her own parents' economic struggles when she was young and feels a new connection with them because of her own plight. These factors mean that the novel comes to feel hopeful even amidst such a dire situation caused by a terrible betrayal.

Lisa Sandlin's writing has understandably been compared to that of Anne Tyler and Elizabeth Strout. Like these wonderful authors, her fiction is a pleasure to read with its naturally flowing prose which are layered with great depths of emotion.

The Edges by Angelo Tijssens (translated by Michele Hutchison)

A physically and emotionally scarred man returns to his hometown after many years of having lived away in the city. His mother has died and he's there to clean out her home. He also reunites with his first lover, a man who has stagnated rather than thrived in this town. There is so much tender feeling packed into this slim melancholy novella which describes the actions of his days. The tenderness is primarily sore, but it's also warm and sensual. How is it possible to describe the rollicking mixture of emotions for someone who escaped a violent childhood and has now returned to this location packed with personal significance? How can someone feel nostalgic and long to return to somewhere that was the wellspring of fathomless hurt? The narrative moves between his second and first person account as memories invade his present day experiences. There's a moving familiarity he shares with his old lover but also the strangeness of time that has passed while separated and the acknowledgement that their sexual reunion won't lead to a renewed relationship. Tijssens admirably lets the reality of the situation speak for itself and the bittersweet truth of life gradually emerges. The author is also a filmmaker and I great admired the movie 'Close' which he co-wrote. His narratives resist the impulse for confession and instead subtly present ambiguous relationships and conflicted human experiences.

Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima (translated by Meredith Weatherby)

This month marks the centenary of Mishima's birth so it felt like a good time to read his gay coming-of-age modern classic first published in 1949. Reading anything by this controversial author feels tricky when knowing about his extreme political views and dramatic death committing ritual suicide after engaging in a failed coup. That certainly cast a shadow over my experience of this book as the draw towards death is often openly discussed “I somehow looked forward to death impatiently, with sweet expectation.” Yet, I also tried to read this autobiographical novel on its own terms as the author wrote it while he was still in his early twenties. In some ways its shockingly confessional in its male protagonist's raw desire for other men and in other ways he comes across as oddly lacking in self-awareness.

The book presents the tortured musings and philosophical reflections of a young man named Kochan. He feels increasingly alienated and isolated from the society around him to the point where his entire life becomes a performance. Throughout his youth he both desires muscular men and wishes to become them. However, as a boy frequently beset by illness who lives in a society where homosexuality isn't publicly acceptable his desire morphs into violent fantasies and repression. So he learns to present an artificial front to other people: “what people regarded as a pose on my part was actually an expression of my need to assert my true nature, and that it was precisely what people regarded as my true self which was a masquerade.” It's moving how the author describes the process of suppressing same-sex desire and a naturally flamboyant personality which is something many gay people feel pressured to do from an early age. Instead of embracing his nature Kochan becomes fixated on trying to desire and love women. The later part of the novel concerns his relationship with a friend's sister named Sonoko. Unsurprisingly, this doesn't result in a fulfilling romance.

Perhaps if I read this novel when I was younger I would have been more drawn to its often circular thought patterns, convoluted logic and relentless self-absorption. It's only natural that this young man should be so focused on his own preoccupations and desperate desire to understand himself. But a lot of his thought process came to feel repetitive and tiring. Since he's coming of age in Japan during WWII this naturally looms large yet it's something that's infrequently commented upon. Perhaps because he was living through it he wasn't compelled to describe it and life just carried on as normal until points of crisis. Nevertheless, his almost complete lack of interest for these larger events or the welfare of his schoolmates and family comes across as irritatingly callous. At one point it's mentions that his sister dies but this only prompts him to melodramatically reflect “I derived a superficial peace-of-mind from the discovery that even I could shed tears.” I longed to get more insight into his family and the precarious position of Sonoko after she goes on to get married. But, since the narrative doesn't extend any empathy outside the concerns of its protagonist, it was difficult for me to get past the growing frustration I felt towards this inward-gazing conflicted young man.

The Lion's Den by Iris Mwanza

This is a gripping legal drama set in the early 1990s as a young lawyer named Grace takes on a pro-bono case for her law firm in Zambia concerning a young individual named Bessy who is persecuted for his homosexuality and wearing women's clothing. Bessy is beaten by the police, his family visits the station every day but aren't allowed to see him and the police don't follow the proper procedures for processing Bessy's case making it impossible for Grace to help him. Nevertheless, she's determinedly seeks justice. Bessy himself appears only briefly in the story. However, through Grace's investigation and interviews with people who know him, there's a strong sense of his life as a sensitive and romantic individual who longs for love and wishes to move somewhere he can live openly.

Grace also emerges as a spirited and determined individual born into very humble circumstances and whose mother who tried to sell her into marriage. Instead of capitulating she flees her village in order to earn a law degree and live independently. Though she's ambitious she has a strong sense of justice – especially for those who are marginalised because she's very close to her late father's gay best friend. I appreciated how the story contrasts the sharp division between the rich and poor. Grace encounters some privileged individuals at her university and through her law firm who are accustomed to plentiful amounts of fine food. But Grace grew up literally starving at some points so has a persistent appetite and grateful appreciation for any food available. Equally she must become accustomed to the dress and manners of a society far from the village she grew up in. I also found it moving how Grace retains a strong connection to the spirits of her ancestors and how her religious identity works alongside widespread Christian practices.

At this time in the 90s and still today in Zambia, same-sex sexual activity is illegal for men and women. More than the laws there's a terrible social stigma for anyone who is LGBT. These notions are partly the result of legal and religious systems of belief which arrived with colonization. Of course, this means that many gay or trans individuals feel compelled to conceal their identity and risk being blackmailed. Anyone who bravely lives openly faces alienation, threats, longterm imprisonment or death. I'm glad this story encouraged me to read more about the historic and current state of queer life in Zambia to make me more aware of this ongoing struggle. Though it wasn't easy growing up gay in a relatively rural area of America in the 1990s, it would have been much more challenging to have grown up in Zambia at this time.

The novel had a powerful impact for this reason but it was also gripping to follow the developments of this case and Grace's journey. This story is a testament to the bravery of people who stand up for what's right against nearly insurmountable odds. But it also shows the complexity of trying to enact substantial change and achieve justice for marginalised individuals when causes gets swept up into party politics.

My Top Books of 2024

Here are my 10 favourite books I read in 2024! I've had a great reading year – although I've somehow fallen out of the habit of blogging so much here in the past several months. Between regularly discussing what I'm reading with my online bookclub and making videos on my BookTube channel, I've had less time for writing longer reviews. I continue to enjoy following a number of book prizes including the Booker, the Women's Prize, the National Book Award, the Nobel Prize and others. I've written multiple articles for the Booker website this year including 'novels perfect for book clubs', 'heartbreaking books' and 'the best page-turners'. It's been a special pleasure reading the entire longlist of the 2024 Wilbur Smith Adventure Writing Prize for the first time as its winner is a new favourite. As always, it's been wonderful discussing great books with so many readers online.

The best books I've read this year include a classic told from a revelatory new angle, a protagonist who leaves her everyday life to radically reconsider how to exist purposefully, a Caribbean novel about the desires and schemes of four women connected to a notorious gangster, the discovery of an artistic and quiet recluse with a mysterious past, the story of an actor whose been both an insider and outsider in English society, a sailor and pirate who reinvents herself many times, a man who walks across London reflecting on a life in exile from his homeland, the intertwined stories of Irish immigrants who witness a city changing around them over decades, an epic which spans many lives and periods of time focused through the perspective of a drop of water and a fascinating man who journeys between twin versions of our planet searching for a safe home.

I've read many more fantastic books this year but these ten novels are all ones which I keep recommending to people and wanting to discuss with other readers. What have been some of your best reading experiences and favourite books from the past year? I'd love to hear about them and if you've also read or are interested in reading any of my picks listed here.

Animal Life by Audur Ava Olafsdottir (translated by Brian Fitzgibbon)

I really enjoyed this thoughtful story which follows an Icelandic narrator who works as a midwife, sorting through her grandaunt's manuscripts, renovating the cluttered apartment she's inherited – all in the lead up to Christmas. It's a great thing to read at this time of year and it's got me into the festive mood – not because it directly portrays much celebration-wise (she's originally supposed to work in the maternity ward over Christmas but instead fills in a Northern Lights tour-guide shift for her friend.) But I think this is a very reflective time of the year and it especially gets me thinking about family who I don't see much outside of the holiday season. So I found it very poignant as she relates stories about her lovably eccentric grandaunt's life and considers the scattered musings she left behind. There are some older women in my family who died long ago but who were very dear to me so this book stirred memories of them.

The novel is written in a very conversational mode as it follows the narrator's observations and memories. It all seemed a bit random in the beginning but I felt it came together to say something much bigger about the cycle of life and our place within the lineage of human history. The first half is more concerned with relating the emotional impact of both her family's professions: the toll upon midwives when there are complications and how her mother who works in the funeral business sometimes locked herself away after a difficult event. It must be taxing working in either job as it puts you in such close proximity to significant life events. There's also a lot of interesting information about the mechanics of these jobs – especially midwifery – and how it's changed over time. I liked how she observes that women giving birth find it soothing to listen to David Attenborough programmes (I frequently listen to his shows when I wake up in the night and want to be lulled back to sleep.) It's a melancholy thing to consider but I've never thought before about how there must be certain rules surrounding births when there are complications and tragedies. For instance, it was sobering reading the detail about the difference between a miscarriage and still birth (length of gestation and weight.) Although people can try to prepare there are no certainties when it comes to either birth or death. So it was moving following how different people dealt with this reality when it actually occurs.

The second half of the novel is more concerned with the physical items her grandaunt left behind when she died four years ago, but also her memories and the grandaunt's systems of thought which have impacted the narrator's life. Other than the clutter of furniture, there are three manuscripts which the narrator has spent a lot of time reading and attempting to put in chronological order while trying to make sense of them. I found it quite funny when she thinks “One possibility was to send all of them in and allow the editor to pick out the best nuggets.” What poor editor would want that enormous job?!? But I understood the emotional impact of her mission reading them as it's a connection to the things which preoccupied this beloved lost family member. It was also so interesting how she tried to piece together the real meaning of these manuscripts by also considering the letters between her grandaunt and her Welsh penpal. Perhaps a cohesive message can't be taken from all these musings about human behaviour, light and coincidence. However, it does create a sense of what it's like to be a small part of the story of humankind. Any individual will only be remembered by a handful of people and one day probably won't be remembered at all. Nevertheless, each person is a part of life's continuity. So the grandaunt lives on in the narrator through the knowledge, professional expertise and objects she's left behind. Not to mention all those births she helped usher into the world accompanied by her verbal messages she gives to the babies and knitted garments. Maybe these things are soon forgotten or lost, but they added to the beginning of each new person's existence.

We're not given too many personal details about the narrator herself other than her dedication to her job. However, there are mentions of big life events such as the narrator losing a child at birth. Surely there's a bigger story here but we understand that there is a deep pain within her because this occurred. We also get small details such as the oddness of her seeing a former boyfriend arrive at the hospital with his wife in labour. The novel touches upon the lives of a number of characters who are experiencing emotional difficulties such as the depression of the electrician's wife and Margret (a woman in labour she meets while finishing her shift) losing her baby. I felt these tragedies were all the more potent and felt more true to life as they are mentioned only fleetingly.

There's a steady accumulation of detail about the atmosphere of living in Iceland. Most prominently there's the fact that the sun only appears for a few hours a day at this time of year. I enjoyed how there are frequent passages about the brief appearance of the Winter sun and her observations about the sky in the lead up to a big storm. There's also a mention of traditional foodstuff when she recalls going on a visit with her grandaunt: “blood pudding with sugar and mashed potatoes”. Sounds stomach-turning to me! But this all adds to the sense of life in Iceland and made me feel a little bit like the tourist renting the apartment above her and who she develops a bit of a connection with. I've only visited Iceland once when I toured around the country for a week. It's such a beautiful and strange landscape with all its volcanic rock and waterfalls. Sadly, I didn't get to see the Northern lights.

So overall I really enjoyed this novel – it's like a small slice of life story which meditates on the cycle of living and dying.

Our Evenings by Alan Hollinghurst

Hollinghurst's great big epic spans decades touching upon key moments in the life of English actor Dave Win who narrates this novel. He's an English bi-racial gay man who recalls his early life attending a boarding school from the age of 13. His single mother is a working class seamstress and he's never met his Burmese father. In some ways he's a familiar Hollinghurst character in that he's both an insider and outsider as he receives a scholarship which grants him access to an elite education and the social sphere of the middle/upper class. A crucial early scene recounts a visit with the Hadlows, a wealthy liberal family who have sponsored him. But they also have a bullying and detestably snobbish son named Giles who is Dave's contemporary. We follow Dave's progression through school up until his major exams as he gets involved in acting, experiences desire for other boys and navigates various social spheres between family, schoolmates and older men.

This is not a novel which is heavily driven by plot but is more about leisurely following Dave's observations and the social dynamics of the situations he encounters. I think we're encouraged to read between the lines as the characters interact but also as Dave detects the emotional mood/social dynamics of every room he enters. Hollinghurst elegantly describes not only the setting but the complexity of this atmosphere steeped in class sensibility and certain conventions. I heard the author describe in an interview at the Southbank how he intentionally made the first half of this novel slow to mimic the feeling of actually being at school where any developments seem to occur over a long period of time. It is effective in conveying that feeling but it also means there isn't much immediate suspense. It's more about the subtle tensions of Dave's yearning to understand/fulfil his sexual desires (especially amidst this time when homosexuality was being decriminalised in England), engage with culture at the school between music and the theatre and adapt to his mother's changing domestic situation.

Given that Dave is mixed race one of the immediate challenges he continually faces in 1960s Britain is dealing with various levels of racism from passive to aggressively overt. It's shown how exhausting it is that Dave must frequently declare his origins and heritage when he meets someone new. Of course merely replying he's from a particular English county isn't enough because the English people he encounters demand to know where he's “really” from. It's like he must perform being Burmese though he knows little about the country. There's a bitter and humiliating early memory of being told to wear a gaung baung in front of his class. I was also struck by a scene where Dave reads up on Burma from a Western perspective/looking at a map to understand the land where he's partly descended from. One way he deals with pressure concerning his race is to utilize his talent for doing impressions by pretending to be Jeeves, a quintessentially English P.G. Woodhouse character. Making people laugh is an effective strategy used to deflate the tension regarding his racial difference.

Dave's mother Avril is also a fascinating figure and she has an increasingly close relationship to Esme, her benefactor, business partner and lover. The moments of real 'couple' behaviour he oversees/overhears has a sweetly tender quality to it, but there's also a sense of melancholy dismay that they are hesitant to be openly loving in front of Dave. Conversely, Dave does declare his own sexuality though he and his mother share such a loving and mutually-supportive relationship. It's moving following how the women take it in stages towards more openly living as a couple – though some extended family reject them. There's an especially enjoyable section where the trio go to the seaside and Dave becomes attentive to the hidden gay world: the graffiti in the toilet and a local experience at his home where he overhears men arranging a rendezvous from a party line phone call. The connection between mother and son is one of the most compelling aspects of the first half of this novel and I really appreciated the way in which Hollinghurst portrayed Avril's quiet conflicts with great subtlety.

Though it's interesting following the development of Dave's acting career and a number of romantic relationships he becomes involved in over the years, what I found most poignant about the second part of the novel is when he revisits locations from the first part. Hollinghurst captures so well the strange sense of returning to a place that was significant in one's youth. Dave almost seems like a ghost returning to his old neighbourhood, school and home as they retain an emotional charge, but he's become something of an outsider. Taking a boyfriend to his mothers' home and the area he grew up is a bittersweet experience because he's aware that any strangers who view them must assume that Dave is the newcomer to this area and not his white partner. As the years roll by when he returns again to some of these locations the environment itself has changed with many newly opened shops or trees which have grown taller. In addition to piecing together what's occurred in Dave's life as time leaps forward there are also small glimpses into changes in the lives of peripheral characters. The fates and tragedies of these barely glimpsed figures is all the more poignant because of the precision of Hollinghurst's dialogue and how these characters' awkwardly acknowledge loss.

This isn't a criticism of the novel, but it's a bit of a shame that as Dave becomes an adult and moves away to make his own life it means Avril and Esme naturally become less present in the narrative. I wanted to know more about their lives and stories but we're mostly cut off from seeing further developments in their relationship until much later. Instead we only get updates when there are major changes which are nonetheless still poignant to read about. While it makes sense that we continue to follow Dave's narrative I would have liked an additional section giving Avril's perspective to recount the events from her point of view (though this would have made it a very different novel.) Nevertheless, there are several scenes with Avril and separate interactions with characters close to her which provide glimpses into the complexities of her life and position.

Throughout the decades there are also fleeting but persistent encounters with Giles. He seems to represent a kind of foil to Dave's life. Temperamentally Dave would have been more naturally suited to being Mark and Cara's child, but instead they bred conservative twit Giles. I like how the novel quietly interrogates where family is really found – is it with those we're genetically connected to or the family we create? There's a touching moment where Dave finds a photo of his father from 1945 and learns a bit more about his parentage. Though he's been entirely shaped by being raised in England he's indelibly tied to this heritage because it impacts how he's socially accepted in this country and dictates the roles he can play in his profession.

The story also meditates on what drives a politician with grand political ambitions. There's no easy answer for why Giles would be so reactionary (becoming a leading voice in the campaign for the UK to leave the European Union) except that he has an inborn sense of entitlement and selfishness. Though some were motivated to vote Leave for economic reasons, Giles and some of his supporters were driven by a desire to 'take back the UK' and keep immigrants out. We see some characters who feel emboldened by his example to voice their beliefs more vociferously. This, in turn, leads to a rise in racism and xenophobia. Although Giles' presence felt a little confusing in the first part of the novel it makes more sense considering the full arc of the book. It's interesting to consider people we've known for the majority of our lives but who we don't necessarily like – yet there is this connection to them and even if we encounter them only sporadically they have this longstanding presence.

I greatly admired the way this novel represents the complexities, contradictions and questions which can be contained in one person's life. It also presents a complex view of transformations in English life over a long stretch of time. I especially liked how the overarching narrative traces connections between different generations and Dave's gradual movement from receptive youth to experienced elder. I'd be eager to reread this novel at some point to tease out answers to certain questions the narrative presents, but I'm sure it will also feel poignant re-experiencing Dave's early years while knowing how the lives of all the major and minor characters play out.