Landfalls by Naomi Williams

It’s difficult not to romanticize the period of history in the 18th century when countries sent ships out in an attempt to fully explore (and colonize) every mass of land around the globe. Conceptually, first world nations believe this was all about investigating new frontiers as if the world was covered in virgin soil to claim and conquer. These missions created many significant moments of connection between disparate civilizations which had long-lasting impact as we shifted towards a sense of globalization with all its positive and negative consequences. There was so much peril to these journeys and a sense of the unknown tied into them. Debut novelist Naomi Williams has an interesting tactic for approaching a specific expedition from history. Rather than focusing on the many months spent at sea, she concentrates only on the occasions when an expedition reached land and the interactions between sailors and the native inhabitants. Focusing on a broad spectrum of characters and using a variety of narrative techniques, Williams creates a riveting story that embraces the drama of global exploration while sympathetically highlighting the cultural clashes which occurred.

Jean-François de Galaup, comte de Lapérouse

In 1785 two French ships set sail for a world-wide voyage to follow in the path of the famous captain James Cook. They aimed to further map little-explored areas of the globe, make scientific collections, establish trade routes and create political allies. Jean François Lapérouse led this mission which touched down in such far-reaching areas as South America, Alaska, California, Macau, Manila, Russia, Samoa and Australia before coming upon the Solomon Islands where both ships disappeared. The novel “Landfalls” brings this four year journey to life as the sailors touch these specific landing sites of the expedition. Sometimes the chapters focus on the perspective of engineers, naturalists or priests from the ship. Other times the reader sees events through the perspective of the inhabitants who meet them such as members of a Spanish colony or the native people of South Sea Islands. This gives the reader a multi-layers perspective where both the explorers and the explored appear at times as foreign entities that conflict with or adapt to each other’s different customs.

There are several particularly dramatic events which are brought fully to life such as a celebratory display for the Spanish in Chile, a tragedy that occurs in heavy currents on the coast of Alaska and the religious subjugation of the “neophytes” by Catholics in the Americas where severe punishment was inflicted upon the impious. Interestingly, the incident in Alaska is shown through both the perspective of a girl on shore who witnesses it and the crew suffering from the consequences afterwards. This gives a rounded perspective where you can see the naivety and misunderstanding on both sides. Another dynamically rounded point of view occurs when a series of letters by different people describe the plight of the kept wife of a particularly tyrannical and nasty official. The author gives careful focus at several points to the limitations imposed upon women at the time: “Names belong to men, while women belong to names.” However, she also takes time with the special bonds that can be formed between men on extended journeys. One of the most sustained and gripping accounts is concerning Barthelemy de Lesseps, a French translator who accompanied the sea voyage for two years before disembarking in Kamchatka. In order to return dispatches from the ships, he had to make a long and dangerous journey across northern Asia to get to St. Petersburg. This account is filled with sled dogs, perilous arctic conditions and a unique kinship Lesseps forms making it a particularly vivid chapter.

Watch Naomi Williams talk about her inspiration for Landfalls.

Many of the central characters involved have amusing quirks and the author has a talent for playfully poking at their sometimes inflated sense of self importance or pretentions. These particularly come out when the hierarchical relationships between characters become clear. Some people must be tolerated over long periods of time within the confined space of the sailing vessels. At one point it’s amusingly remarked that “Who among us does not have the odd friend whose virtues we admire, but whom we do not wish to impose on others?” There is antagonism between some and tenderness between others. Some display a grudging tolerance and other crew members come into violent conflict with each other. It can be moving to see how relationships change over the course of many years and the impact caused when some explorers are lost. However, because the novel spans a long period of time and involves such an extensive cast, I did find it confusing at some points trying to keep track of everyone involved. Although there is a map of the expedition at the beginning of the novel it would have helped to also have a list of the characters with brief descriptions of each to refer back to. As a helpful note, many of the central cast in this novel are based on historically significant people who you can easily look up on Wikipedia for a quick reference to remind you who is who. Nevertheless, many personalities brought to life by the author stick out in my mind for their distinct character. It’s particularly moving how Williams ends the book and approaches the mystery of what happened to these two fated ships from history.

“Landfalls” is an original and engaging read that has a dynamic approach to history while stirring a sense of adventure.

Film Review: Chevalier

This year’s London Film Festival finished yesterday. I usually try to see several films in the festival and this year I saw eight. Almost every film was really good. Some highlights were ‘Tangerine’ which is a hilariously wild journey across Los Angeles driven by a jealous transsexual prostitute and her aspiring singer friend, ‘Son of Saul’ which is a dramatic and devastating account of a Hungarian-Jewish Sonderkommando prisoner in Auschwitz who is charged with burning the dead, and ‘Office’ which is a 3D Hong Kong musical about office politics and corporate overspending that includes the most stunningly beautiful film set. I also saw director Todd Haynes, screenwriter Phyllis Nagy and actresses Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett interviewed at BAFTA for the film ‘Carol.’ Everyone should go see this adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s novel “The Price of Salt” because it is one of the most beautiful and romantic films I’ve ever seen. The only disappointing film I saw was Terence Davies’ ‘Sunset Song’ which felt so artificial and tedious. However, one of my top highlights was a Greek film called ‘Chevalier.’

This film was directed and written by female filmmaker Athina Rachel Tsangari, but is all about six men who spend approximately a week having a holiday on a yacht in the Aegean Sea. After the screening Tsangari told the audience she was initially inspired to make a film that involved men peeling each other’s skin off, but because this was too expensive she filmed the men as divers who at the beginning of the film emerge out of the water and peel each other’s wetsuits off. This brilliantly sets the tone of the movie as it is about the intense intimacy and competition between these male friends. Out of boredom and a friendly sense of rivalry, the men form a game to determine which of them is judged the best. The prize for the man who wins is to wear a victory Chevalier ring. However, their competitions are far from your standard games. Each man is judged on things such as how he sleeps, his heath based on blood tests, how fast he cleans, the size of his erection, how quickly he can build a flat-packed shelving unit or how well he lip syncs to a pop song. In the midst of these activities every man carries a notebook where he assiduously records the points being assigned to each man after performing some ridiculous activity.

Photo by Despina Spyrou

The series of competitions these men engage with hilariously send up masculinity and the male ego. There is a warm-hearted camaraderie where the men will occasionally console each other when they fail at activities while simultaneously judging them. At the same time it tells a compelling story where the relationships between the men are gradually revealed over the course of the film. Meanwhile, there are periodic announcements made in the yacht informing the men of the day’s weather or what they will be having for desert that evening. This creates the effect where the boat itself seems to be regulating and judging them in addition to the crew who make bets about which man will win. This film is such a compelling way of gently making fun of the construct of masculinity that reminds me of Andrew McMillan’s recent poetry collection “Physical” and Joyce Carol Oates’ novel “What I Lived For.” ‘Chevalier’ is also a highly enjoyable and thoughtful film to watch. It was awarded the Best Film Award at this year's BFI London Film Festival.

Deep Lane by Mark Doty

When reading the poems in “Deep Lane” I like to imagine that I’m lying on a patch of grass listening to the poet speaking about his life, relationships and thoughts about existence. Because that’s what the experience of reading this collection feels like. It’s intimate, immediate and suffused with a sense of being immersed in the natural world. But this isn’t a cosy idyllic space; there are worms and thorns and inclement weather warnings. It’s also not so serious. He comically stumbles into a grave. He locks himself out of his house – twice! These experiences are drawn in to suggest meaning, but are acknowledged at the same time to be meaningless. The title poem spreads itself throughout the book taking several different forms as Doty describes the process of gardening and the environment surrounding his home. It has the effect of creating a personal landscape which the reader can recline in to hear Doty’s beautifully articulated meditations and penetrating observations about the way our lives are guided by unruly desires.

The poet conjures a number of disarmingly haunting images throughout the book. For instance, in one poem it’s described how a boy runs in a figure eight pattern between gravestones. More than a comment upon the connection between new life and death, it felt to me that this was a strong symbolic representation of the way in which our consciousness can remain in a childish or naïve state throughout our lives. Although we can’t help being highly aware of our own mortality as we continue to age and experience loss, a sense of active innocence persists weaving us around death as a way of carrying on despite the inevitable. In another poem he describes a church as a “breathing cloud of stone” which creates an image that perfectly fits with the emotion of a specific significant moment when he commits to his relationship with another man. It’s similar to prayers which feel so substantial that it’s like they are physically real but are only, after all, just words.

“the skull-buzz drone singing cranial nerves”

For Doty nourishment in life is inextricably mixed with the toxic. In one poem he envisions himself as an extinct beast with “Mother’s milk in my belly and a little of her shit, too.” There is a sense of being stunted by what is meant to make us grow, but this fouled sustenance is a part of the ecstasy of living. As he remarks in the poem ‘Apparition’ “with intoxication, I am unregenerate.” And these notions are given a more emotionally weighty form in the poem ‘Crystal’ about intravenous drug use which describes altered consciousness and groping for an articulation of meaning beyond language. Here the injection of impurities is a necessarily dangerous path to a more profound sense of knowing and developing.

Doty is playfully conversant with both language and his influences. He remarks in an aside when describing a suicidal boy’s legs “(I want to spell long with two n’s, as Milton spelled dim with a double m to intensify the gloom of hell).” Elsewhere he likens an emotional connection with another to “The way that nothing in Vermeer has an edge.” Another poem is a more direct dialogue with Jackson Pollock’s artistic method and pondering its meaning in relation to the active change of the city around him. These references effortlessly draw in the ideas of predecessors while arguing, building upon and expanding them.

Rather than letting ideas float out too far into detached realms Doty draws them back into solid experience and the world around him. He shows an endearing pleasure in nature and animals noticing “goat yoga” or faded hydrangeas that are like “the very silks of Versailles.” Moving through this landscape he articulates how we are beings driven by desire, but that we are “taught by craving.” Although we are hampered by nostalgia for what is past, experience can never be fully recreated and so we “want all the harder.” But, in one of the most profound poems in this collection ‘Hungry Ghost,’ Doty poses a fascinating counter argument to the Buddhist notion of extinguishing desire to extinguish suffering. If desire persists beyond the mortal then there is a kind immortality but also a form of existential horror “to be ravenous, and lack a mouth.”

“Deep Lane” is an extremely thoughtful collection by a poet who can burrow into the personal and particular to discover revelations that feel universal.

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

There’s a well-known aphorism that you should “Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” This statement has been phrased a number of different ways, but essentially the meaning is that we all have problems and internal pain which isn’t necessarily evident at a glance. It’s helpful to be reminded of this when dealing with strangers, but reading “A Little Life” has made me more aware of the fact of how much this applies to our relationships with loved ones as well. As I get older I become increasingly conscious that friendships I’ve valued for years include gaps of silence. It’s one of the sombre facts of life that our family, friends and partners possess pain and have problems which sometimes aren’t disclosed no matter how close to them we feel. When I talk to these people I’m sometimes aware there are parts of their lives which are being withheld, that our conversations can skirt around certain subjects and that there are things I hold back as well. Large and small life issues, emotions and memories can be carefully avoided as if there were an unspoken agreement not to discuss them. The longer we know people, the harder it is to talk about these things. This doesn’t happen due to a lack of care or love; it’s a simple hard fact about how we all relate to one another. When the dam of fear finally bursts and there is disclosure, our relationships are often made all the stronger. Jude, the central character of “A Little Life,” is someone who lives with truly horrific mental and physical damage which most of the people he knows aren’t aware of. But really, Jude is me; Jude is everyone. He’s just a highly-dramatized extreme example. This long, emotionally-brutal, magnificent novel is a touchstone to those parts of ourselves that we hide from others – especially the ones we love.

Yanagihara’s intelligent, yet free-form style of writing possesses that rare, indefinable quality which draws you into the emotional reality of her characters and keeps you engaged with them for many hundreds of pages. It’s the same feeling I have reading Joyce Carol Oates or Donna Tartt. It’s what makes readers feel so strongly connected to the story and lives of the characters as if they are people we know ourselves. A large portion of the beginning of this novel is devoted to describing the friendship between Jude and three other men which began when they met in their first year at college and continues throughout their lives. It’s so rare for a novel to properly give scope to the scale which friendship can take over a lifetime and pay tribute to the importance it has on how we define ourselves. The book I was most reminded of when reading this was my favourite novel, Virginia Woolf’s “The Waves,” whose poetic style differs so radically from Yanagihara’s more straight-forward approach, but describes the way friends can create their own reality by forming an enclosed circle of companionship. The space which friends Jude, Willem, JB and Malcolm inhabit in this novel is in a sense timeless and outside of history. Although they primarily live in New York City, we’re given no clear markers of events that cement them within any particular space or timeframe. The novel is locked into the internal reality of the protagonists. So it is as if the narrative is driven by the centrifugal force of personality where the outside world does not exist unless it is being observed through the consciousness of its central characters. In other words, if societal events occur which don’t pertain to the characters’ experience or affect their relationship to each other then they don’t exist.

This frees the reader to only focus on the personal importance (rather than the social importance) of the many issues raised in this novel. Early on it’s casually remarked in conversation between the four friends that some are black and some are white. This is quickly corrected by another friend who asserts that they each possess different gradations of skin colour and they can’t be so easily categorized. As soon as the issue of race is raised, it is dismissed because how the characters are racially defined by society does not matter to their social circle. (As the writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie says “Race is not biology, race is sociology”) At the same time, there are two peripheral friends who are both called Henry Young, but are different races. To distinguish them, the circle of friends jocularly refers to them as Black Henry Young and Asian Henry Young. Where this identification of race to define who the character is would come across as offensive in some novels, it is merely playful in “A Little Life” because it doesn’t affect how these friends view or relate to one another.

Similarly, sexuality is addressed in the novel only when it refers to the individual characters’ behaviour rather than how they are socially defined. Some of the characters remain ambiguous about what their sexuality is throughout their lives. When it comes up for one character it’s remarked that “he had had sex with men before, everyone he knew had.” So, no big deal. The only time it becomes an issue is when one character who has become a very successful actor stops hiding his relationship with another man. He refuses to officially “come out” or define himself as gay because such a definition is irrelevant to how he and his friends view him. The more interesting and emotionally-compelling thing about sex which Yanagihara wisely focuses on is how victims of sex abuse deal with intimacy later in life. For Jude, intimacy is agonisingly difficult. In some tragic way, it’s easier with an abusive partner than with a loving one. Again, although his life experience is extreme, I felt the way in which intimacy is discussed in the narrative when Jude enters a long-term relationship is relatable because we all to varying degrees have our own sexual insecurities and hang-ups. Sex becomes a kind of performance for Jude and many people feel they must perform a certain way during sex in accordance with their partner’s expectations and ideas of how sex should be. It’s stated that “within every relationship was something unfulfilled and disappointing, something that had to be sought elsewhere.” Love is making compromises and adjusting expectations to meet a partner’s needs, but it is also letting go of ideas of perfection or that sex should take only certain forms. I think there is something beautifully liberating about the way Yanagihara writes about sex and sexuality.

Reading this book was a rare challenge because it came to me personally with so much chatter surrounding it. I can’t think of another book where so many people I know have remarked that reading it was a life-changing experience. Similarly, opinions of “A Little Life” have been so diverse where some people love it and it’s driven others to feel angry and betrayed by certain elements of the storyline. I’ve been eager to read it but haven’t been able to until now because I’ve been so busy reading the many submissions for the Green Carnation Prize, but I plunged into it ready to experience it fully for myself. It’s a mesmerizing experience. I felt devastated by certain sections, but I was also staggered by the depths of suffering to which Yanagihara takes her characters. Whereas many novels wouldn’t get away with such extremes, I felt this novel does because of the sheer length of the book. The amount of time the reader is forced to spend with these characters makes her/him experience the terrible revelations about Jude’s abusive past as if he were a personal friend. This is why “A Little Life” feels so real and why it leaves many readers emotionally transformed. It’s certainly made me think about my past and my relationships with other people differently.

Stammered Songbook by Erwin Mortier (translated by Paul Vincent)

Last year I read Emma Healey's moving novel “Elizabeth is Missing” which is daringly written from the perspective of a woman with dementia. She captured the inner life of someone lost to herself. It's a tremendous challenge to write meaningfully about the indignities that dementia entails and make sense of the senseless. When a rational, lively person loses the facility to interact with the world accompanied by all their memories and sense of self in tow they are left only with the functions of the body and fleeting reactions to stimuli. Erwin Mortier's memoir “Stammered Songbook” is a highly personal account of the loss of his mother to dementia, but more than that it's a poetic examination of family, what loving relationships mean and the human condition. In a series of highly compressed short sections, Mortier conveys the daily experience of caring for his mother and sifting through memories of his past.

Mortier describes working with his father and other family members to care for his mother as her symptoms get progressively worse. Much of the time there is a sense of being suspended in an amorphous state: “We live in and outside of time.” Mortier’s mother is there in body, but the essence of what made her a mother, wife and friend has left with all her memories and sense of self. There are the daily tasks of care for her wellbeing which require more and more from the family. Eventually they become incapable of the fulfilling the necessary actions required to properly feed her and prevent her from hurting herself. When it becomes necessary to restrain her, the author hauntingly questions “When does care become another word for torture?” There is a solemn sense of inevitability and acknowledgement that her condition can only get worse. Yet, Mortier travels through this territory with courage savouring the remaining time he has with his mother and reflecting tenderly on family life. He powerfully describes the way that those who have left us still remain in our thoughts: “The dead have a busy time no longer being there.” There are many moments of sorrow in this account of his mother’s disease, but also some blissful light-hearted moments of relief. Passages effortlessly move from blunt facts about the reality of living with someone with dementia to memories to ruminations about life – all infused with a poetic sense that allows the specifics of his experiences to extend into a more universal, beautifully-unifying meaning.

One of the passages I found most powerful in the book was this long meditation on the meaning of love and the way in which we connect to one another: “love is attention. That they are two words for the same thing. That it isn't necessary to try to clear up every typo and obscure passage that we come across when we read the other person attentively – that a human being is difficult poetry, which you must be able to listen to without always demanding clarification, and that the best thing that can happen to us is the absolution that a loved one grants us for the unjustifiable fact that we exist and drag along with us a self that has been marked and shaped by so many others.” This so elegantly summarizes the way in which love is a form of caring without judgement. I find it a very inspirational perspective to have when considering what it really means to love someone throughout the long hard line of a lifetime no matter how much they change or become lost to us.

“Stammered Songbook” is a profound, utterly-unique book.

The Green Carnation Prize 2015 Longlist

For the past few months I’ve been reading at a greater pace than usual because I’m one of the judges for this year’s Green Carnation Prize. Last weekend the judges and I met to discuss the HUGE amount of submissions we’ve read, debate amongst each other and decide on a glorious long list of a dozen exciting books. There were a lot of great entries in the mix. Some choices were easy. Others required more discussion. But, I can honestly say that the books listed below are all excellent. They range from poetry to fiction to memoir to nonfiction. From the contemporary to the historical. From the fantastic to stark depictions of reality.

Being a judge on this prize has been a great challenge. I’ve enjoyed reading so many books and authors which I wouldn’t have found otherwise. We’re now in the process of rereading and then I’ll meet with my wonderful group of fellow judges again to decide our short list. In the mean time, have a look through this diverse list. Several books I’ve reviewed and you can read my thoughts about them by clicking on the titles below.

Click here to read more about the judges
Click here to read about the prize & buy the books on Foyles' site

Blood Relatives by Steven Alcock (4th Estate)
Deep Lane by Mark Doty (Jonathan Cape)
Sophie & The Sibyl by Patricia Duncker (Bloomsbury)
Artwash by Mel Evans (Pluto Books)
A Place Called Winter by Patrick Gale (Hodder Books)
Chasing the Scream by Johann Hari (Bloomsbury)
A Brief History of Seven Killings by Marlon James (One World)
The Gracekeepers by Kirsty Logan (Harvill Secker)
Mrs Engels by Gavin McCrea (Scribe)
Stammered Songbook by Erwin Mortier (Pushkin Press)
Don’t Let Him Know by Sandip Roy (Bloomsbury)
The Curator by Jacques Strauss (Jonathan Cape)

Have you read any of the books from this list? Are there any you are now interested in reading? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

No Place to Hide by Glenn Greenwald

Like many people I was shocked by the revelations about the activities and documents of the US National Security Agency that Edward Snowden leaked in 2013. The scale of online and computer surveillance being conducted by this government-approved/funded agency in cooperation with telecommunication companies and other countries’ governments is staggering. The journalist that Snowden worked with to break this story, Glenn Greenwald, has written his account of the dramatic release of this information. “No Place to Hide” recounts their meeting, the intense period of launching this momentous news story from a hotel in Hong Kong and some of the key events which occurred after the story broke. Greenwald goes on to reproduce and explain some of the key documents which helpfully outlines why these top secret communications, memos and manuals revealed are so significant. He convincingly explains why online privacy is so important in our society and the important role that journalism should play in keeping governments in check. These points should be obvious, but as Greenwald astutely observes their meaning has been obfuscated by the ways in which governments and the mainstream media work jointly to push their own agenda.

Although I’m obviously freaked out by the idea of my personal communications being observed or collected by a government agency, I have to admit part of me has always felt about this story ‘Well, I don’t have anything to hide… or, at least, nothing that would be of interest to the secret service or the general public.” Greenwald does a fantastic job of addressing this exact reaction. He intelligently breaks down exactly why “Everyone, even those who do not engage in dissenting advocacy or political activism, suffers when that freedom is stifled by the fear of being watched.” It’s also easy to make the argument that if it’s for the greater good and if it helps to isolate participants in illegal or terrorist activities shouldn’t we accept general surveillance of the internet? Firstly, the trouble is that much of the surveillance activities aren’t actually about combating terrorists. They are more often about gaining economic and political advantages for the government using them. Secondly, it’s a grave folly to leave ourselves so exposed because you never know how the information may be used against you. Greenwald also observes that “Forgoing privacy in a quest for absolute safety is as harmful to a healthy psyche and life of an individual as it is to a healthy political culture.”

Glenn Greenwald's TED talk

I was shocked and horrified by many of the facts which Greenwald recounts in “No Place to Hide.” It’s given me a much more clear-sighted understanding and guarded attitude towards the media I consume as well as both the Obama administration and the British government I currently live under. The revelations contained in this book aren’t limited to the US, but show the horrendous way the British secret service ransacked and destroyed information given to the Guardian by Snowden and the intimidating tactics used to hold Greenwald’s partner in custody without cause during his layover in London.

The internet has become such an integral part of our lives; the revelations contained in Snowden’s files have made a significant impact in making everyone think harder about how we want this virtual landscape to be governed or policed. As well as being a highly informative account of what is probably the most significant leak of top secret US agency files in history, this book is a powerful reminder that we must always be vigilant of the government we live under no matter how easy it is to be complacent.

The Gap of Time by Jeanette Winterson

The Hogarth Shakespeare series is a really exciting new project you need to know about! Many of the stories of Shakespeare’s great plays originated elsewhere. He retold, reformed, remade them in brilliant, poetic, dramatic works. Now, some of our most skilled contemporary authors are doing “cover versions” by writing their own take on these stories inspired by Shakespeare’s plays. The series kicks off with Jeanette Winterson’s “The Gap of Time” – a novel inspired by The Winter’s Tale. Let me assure you that this new novel isn’t a mere creative exercise, but a vibrant and lively work of art in its own right. Honestly, I was slightly sceptical about the enterprise. Rewriting Shakespeare? It could all go wrong, right? What Winterson does is give a very personal take on Shakespeare’s play by capturing the essence of his drama and adding her own heartfelt perspective on life.

If you’re not familiar with Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale have no fear. The book opens with a summary of the play. In Winterson’s novel, the central characters are recast as contemporary figures recognizable in today’s society. Leo is a high-powered and tyrannical banker involved in the financial crisis of 2008. His wife Mimi is a well-known singer who is pregnant. Xeno is Leo’s lifelong homosexual friend who is a game coder. There is a misunderstanding fuelled by jealousy and a tragic mishap occurs: “The important things happen by chance. Only the rest gets planned.” Mimi’s child is mistakenly given away and left in a BabyHatch (a compartment at a hospital where babies can be left anonymously). Many years later the child has grown up into a sensitive singer named Perdita who was raised by a good man named Shep. The drama continues from here where Perdita eventually discovers and returns to the place where she originated. Not only is it a perfect anaphora that Winterson would cover The Winter’s Tale, but the story comes very close to home for the author who herself was a child that was given away. When the drama of this novel ends, the author steps in to confide in the reader what a personal story this is and give her enlightening thoughts about the power of Shakespeare’s writing.

A BabyHatch

As befits the title, one of Winterson’s primary concerns in this story is time. Time is its own dimension. On the subatomic level it doesn’t function the same way that it does in our understanding of reality. Nor does own personal sense of time plod along in such a linear fashion. The author understands this. Winterson writes “time that runs so steady and sure runs wild outside of the clocks. It takes so little time to change a lifetime and it takes a lifetime to understand the change.” In this novel people’s actions disrupt their sense of time. People become caught in the past and the future. They lose their sense of the present. The characters seek to radically rewrite time just like in the movies referenced such as Back to the Future and Superman where the world is spun backwards to change the course of events. Only by breaking down the boundaries between each other can they form a new understanding of time. This sounds very abstract, but it takes on an incredibly poignant meaning within the story and I found myself welling up in scenes like when Perdita must rush Shep to the hospital. A personal crisis like this can collapse anyone’s sense of time.

This Shakespeare project does in creative form what all of us do in our imaginations when reading: re-imagine the stories we’re told from our own personal perspectives. This does not disrespect the original work, but enhances it and pays tribute to it by honing in on the most essential themes and ideas to recognize their universal relevance. In the instance of The Winter’s Tale there are strong issues of friendship, jealousy, abandonment, regret, tragedy, revenge and (possibly) forgiveness. In “The Gap of Time” Winterson encapsulates the essence of Shakespeare’s drama by creating a novel which is itself poetic, bawdy, inventive and highly entertaining. I loved this tremendous novel. I’m looking forward to reading more of the forthcoming novels in the Hogarth Shakespeare series from tremendous authors such as Anne Tyler, Howard Jacobson, Gillian Flynn, Margaret Atwood and Edward St Aubyn.

Watch Jeanette Winterson talk about what attracted her to the Hogarth Shakespeare project.

I’ve teamed up with Vintage to offer you the chance at winning a signed copy of “The Gap of Time” right now. All you have to do is leave a comment on this post to enter to win. If you fancy, tell me what Shakespeare play you’d most like to see in novel form – but it’s not necessary. Just let me know your contact details (email or twitter handle) so I can contact you if you win. Good luck!

Death is a Welcome Guest by Louise Welsh

When I’m aware that a book was written as part of a series I usually only like to read them in the order that they were published. This is the case whether or not the series of books have clear character/situation cross-overs or only have thematic links. I worry about missing hidden meanings or references which link them up – plus the geeky side of me thinks things should only be read in order. There have been recent publications by Kate Atkinson and Jane Smiley which I’ve really wanted to read, but avoided because they are part of a series and I want to read the first books before reading these new ones. Unfortunately, the amount of reading time required to consume these series in total means I keep delaying starting any of them. This is also why I didn’t read Marilynn Robinson’s “Lila” when it first came out – since it’s the third book in a series in which I’ve only read “Gilead.” I still think “Lila” is one of the best books I’ve read this year which makes me glad I didn’t keep putting it off. So I’ve also taken a punt with reading “Death is a Welcome Guest” which is the second book in the Plague Times trilogy by Louise Welsh. The first book in the series “A Lovely Way to Burn” came out last year, but I never got around to reading it. I may have missed some things by reading this book first. But, from what I can tell, this dystopian novel about a plague which hits modern-day UK stands well on its own.

The novel follows Magnus, an up-and-coming comedian who has just received a big break opening for a more famous performer at the O2 arena. After his opening night he tentatively engages in a night of drunken debauchery despite having witnessed a tragic and worrying death earlier that day. Through a terrible misunderstanding, Magnus winds up in prison. While he’s incarcerated all hell breaks loose outside. When he finally emerges back into the world with the help of his mysterious cellmate Jeb, they find a plague evocatively known as "the sweats" has swept the nation sending society into chaos. Much like some other plague-centred dystopian novels and films I’ve read/seen the first half of the story is primarily made up of a series of desperate chases as the characters try to adjust to and find a place within this radically transformed landscape. The second half follows the burgeoning formations of a new community in an isolated location and presents a series of moral conundrums as the survivors grapple to form a cohesive plan for the future. This seems to be a natural format, but it’s one where I often find the thrill of the first half to be the best part. I found this to be true with the movie 20 Days Later and I feel it’s true for “Death is a Welcome Guest” as well. Magnus and Jeb’s flight through a ravaged city filled with decaying corpses that takes them through London Underground tunnels and high-class hotels is well executed and effectively tense. But the second half becomes overtly ponderous. It’s not that I don’t find the sociological dilemmas which arise in a highly pressurized situation interesting. There’s just something about it which feels too contrived. In the case of this novel, Welsh explores issues of capital punishment, religion and suicide wrapped in a murder-mystery set on a grand country estate.

The most effective and haunting story-line of this book is Magnus’ painful memories of his cousin Hugh’s suicide. The lingering feelings of despair and resentment he holds over this loss casts an interesting colour on the events which come after the onset of the plague. Unfortunately, the social issues begin to dominate the story and take precedence over the characters’ development. Interestingly, this review by Jane Jakeman in The Independent came to the opposite conclusion. Overall, I felt it’s well written and I was sufficiently intrigued to follow the story all the way to the end. However, it doesn’t have the innovative power or focus of another recent plague novel “Station Eleven.” I wonder if the other two books in the Plague Times trilogy reflect back on the themes of “Death is a Welcome Guest” or form any satisfying narrative links between them. I’m intrigued, but I’m not sure I’m sufficiently motivated to read them to find out.

Blood Relatives by Stevan Alcock

Casting a bleak shadow over Stevan Alcock’s coming of age tale set in the late 1970s about a teenage boy named Rick, are listings of The Yorkshire Ripper’s victims. Peter Sutcliffe murdered thirteen women and attempted to murder several others. Each chapter in “Blood Relatives” is titled with the name of one of Sutcliffe’s victims. This causes the reader to feel the fear which filled the public consciousness over the five years during which these attacks and murders took place in the Yorkshire area. Adding to this understanding of Rick’s milieu is the language of his voice which recreates the regional dialect of Leeds. This makes for a fantastically evocative narrative about Rick’s development as a man who engages with the punk and gay movements of the time.

Rick works with his friend Eric on a truck that delivers soft drinks to eccentric locals. He spends time talking with these colourful characters receiving bits of local gossip and even psychic predictions about who the Ripper will strike next. He has a special affinity to the prostitutes they visit and humorously remarks at one point “I asked Eric why all our breaks were wi’ prozzies. He said prozzies make better tea.” Rick feels an affinity to the prostitutes because they are outsiders from mainstream society which is how he feels in part because of his homosexuality. He senses that they are equally vulnerable remarking “The distance between t’ prozzies and us gays didn’t seem to be much greater than between two gateposts; if it worn’t prozzies that some maniac wor killing it could just as easily be gay men, and the public reaction would be t’ same – they got what wor coming to them.”

In the “Studio 54 of t’ North” Rick and Tad dance to Thelma Houston’s ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’

It’s unusual and refreshing to read about a gay character that is so forthright and unequivocal about his sexuality. Even if Rick can’t bring himself to come out to his mother, he boldly tries to find a place for himself within the gay community. Later on Rick reflects that “For me… I thought, ‘Brilliant, I’m different. Special.’ I thought, ‘Yeah – this is all right, really.’” There are endearing and relatable scenes where Rick seeks out gay pubs/meetings and takes on lovers. He quickly finds how fickle men can be once their lust is satiated; his unrequited romantic yearnings harden him and contribute to him creating a punk persona. He frequents clubs and a squat that includes many more vibrant and outrageous characters. Through these encounters he even uncovers a deeper understanding about the past and hidden facts about his own identity.

Inextricably intertwined with the manner of speech used in this novel are notions of the battling ideologies and commonplace racism/misogyny/homophobia of the time. Here’s an example of the language in this narrative: “She wor wearing a trowel-load of slap over t’thin vaneer of abuse doled out by hubby Don, and a pong so raking I thought I’d gag if I so much as flared a nostril.” In addition to the horrendous acts of violence perpetrated by Sutcliffe, Alcock suggests there are untold amounts of violence against women happening behind closed doors. There are also references in the story about discrimination against people of colour in the community. Asian men are seen as segregated even within the queer social groups. A gay man from Iran is shunned by his family and the English with ultimately tragic consequences. It’s remarked that “Black guys wor always getting stopped even though t’Ripper wor plainly a white man.” Rick himself experiences instances of homophobia and near violence because of his sexuality. Yet, he is also (in smaller ways) a perpetrator who attacks a man he hooks up with and when speaking with “respectable” women about prostitutes he feels “It didn’t seem like owt that a woman should know.” This all adds up to a sober understanding that Sutcliffe’s actions weren’t an anomaly, but an extreme consequence of the pervading attitudes of this time and place.

“Blood Relatives” is an extremely endearing and sensitively written story of a young man’s development. More than that it’s an intelligent dramatization that exposes the narrow-minded attitudes of a particular time and place. By evoking such a distinctive voice the reader is drawn into what it really felt like to be in Leeds during the late 70s and experience this period of rapid social change in Britain.

LonesomeReader is Two Years Old Today!

Two years ago I started this blog without any expectations about what it would turn into. I didn’t even have confidence in my ability to continue updating it. I’m grateful that people have read it and appreciated what I have to say about books. Conversing about books and reading what other people say about their own reading has only fuelled my obsession for reading more. And it is an obsession. Although I read more than most people, I sometimes feel quite down about all the books I don’t have time to read. Recently someone very wise said to me that I feel this way because I want to be on the inside when there is no inside. It seems to be an inevitable state of being for me and many other readers who tend to be more introverted to perpetually feel on the outside of things.

In writing this blog, I’m continuously trying to investigate the state of loneliness. It’s a kind of loneliness that can’t be assuaged by engaging with other people. Feelings of being an outsider, disconnected from the rest of the world, lost in one’s own thoughts. They are a state of mind which can only be settled by connecting with humanity through good literature. I really appreciate the distinction Joyce Carol Oates makes in her recent excellent memoir “The Lost Landscape” that “Loneliness weakens. Aloneness empowers. Aloneness makes of us something so much more than we are in the midst of others whose claim is that they know us.” It’s a sentiment echoed in quotes by May Sarton and Marianne Moore that I’ve put in the sidebar of this blog. Because only in this state of solitude can we live unencumbered by the judgements and projections of other people. That’s not to say I want to live like a hermit on a mountain (as appealing as this sounds from time to time). But I want to find strength in my self when I am alone and faced with a book that allows an entire world to unfurl inside my head.

So my fanaticism for reading more and more hasn’t waned. It’s been fascinating reading books for the Green Carnation Prize recently as it’s made me pick up types of books and genres I wouldn’t normally gravitate towards. This encourages me to not be so methodical in my reading in the future, to let my hand grab books out of sheer curiosity as I used to when I was a teenager wandering through used bookstores. There is a perpetual sense of excitement about where a book might take me when I have no preconceived notions about the author or the subject matter or what anyone thinks of it. But I still love hearing recommendations. Some of the best books I’ve read in the past two years have come from being nudged to read something by readers of this blog or by bookish people on social media.

So what are you reading and what do you think I should read next?

The Lost and the Found by Cat Clarke

Faith is an average teenage girl struggling with typical teenage problems about self image, concerns about her popularity and the emotional complexity of having just lost her virginity. But these issues are overshadowed because her family has been caught in an extraordinary situation all of their lives. When Faith was four years old, her slightly older sister Laurel was kidnapped. Since then her family has been embroiled in a campaign to find her and bring her back. Because Laurel was pretty, blonde, white and from a middle class family her case received a lot of media attention which has had good and bad repercussions for Faith’s family. Now, at this crucial point in Faith’s teenage development, her sister Laurel suddenly returns. “The Lost and the Found” is the story this dramatic reconfiguration of a family told from Faith’s point of view.

Faith regularly makes macaroons with her father's partner Michel to sell at a weekend farmer's market

Clarke is excellent at capturing the small intimacies of family life. The reader feels alternating sensations of comfort and claustrophobia that naturally occur in a household – especially during times of turmoil and strife. For instance, when Faith wants to be alone in her bed at one point she’s aware her mother is outside because she can hear her stepping over a stair that creaks. Faith is extremely conscious of the politics you need to play to maintain harmony within the family. After years of dealing with the press she also possesses a savvy knowingness about the difference between perception and reality. It’s endearing how Faith is still subject to her own contradictory feelings and emotions which she doesn’t understand. Quite often there is a disconnect between what she thinks and what she says. I also appreciated how Faith’s family is unique in that after her parents’ divorce her father struck up a long term relationship with another man. Rather than thinking of this as unusual, Faith finds this arrangement perfectly natural and makes efforts to ensure her father’s partner Michel is included in all aspects of family life.

The reintroduction of a family member after such a harrowing long period of absence is complicated. It makes for a highly captivating story with some twists which lead to a tense conclusion. This novel reminds me of Joyce Carol Oates’ novel “My Sister, My Love” for the way it captures the sibling’s point of view for a sister who has been abducted. But it also puts me in mind of Emma Donoghue’s novel “Room” for the way it poignantly captures the confusion and fallout from a child being held in captivity. “The Lost and the Found” works both as a thriller and an emotionally-engaging young adult novel about a dramatic situation. Faith’s narrative voice is engaging, amusingly ironic and extremely relatable. This is a thoroughly enjoyable novel.

The Alphabet of Birds by SJ Naude

If you don’t feel like you belong in the place of your birth, can you ever really feel at home elsewhere? This seems to be one of the questions at the heart of SJ Naude’s book. The six long stories which make up “The Alphabet of Birds” range in characters and locations, but all describe individuals groping for a connection and an affirmation of identity somewhere “other.” Many of the protagonists are South Africans struggling with an internal battle between asserting that their country of origin is the place where they belong and trying to emphatically dig their roots in elsewhere. Some prominent characters are gay men who meet other men in distant locations as if they are both survivors. There is a consolation in coming together, but there is no suggestion that there will be a lasting fraternity or that the artistic friends’ houses, German castles or drug-fuelled night clubs they find themselves in can ever closely resemble somewhere that can be called home.

A character purchases a Noh mask in Japan which changes emotion depending on how it is tilted

Most notably the female character Ondien who appears in two stories founds a musical group that fuses together world sounds with African instruments. The group dissolves, yet she still seeks to write a music which creates unity. She embarks on a quest to visit her siblings who have settled in America, Dubai and London only to discover they are all in desperate circumstances. Their new homes have transformed into uniquely suffocating traps. She returns to South Africa to live an increasingly impoverished existence. Wherever these characters go they are accompanied by a profound sense of isolation and are plagued by loss. She discovers that “You steal from someone weaker, the stronger ones steal from you. You return to your weaker victim. Things circulate. A life cycle, an ecosystem.” The society portrayed is one founded on transactions of taking rather than exchange. Even when a woman named Sandrien in the story ‘Van’ dedicates herself to a life of philanthropy giving medical care to rural villages, her efforts are drowned in tidal waves of red tape, corruption and indifference.

It all sounds quite bleak and much of the striking drama in this book is undeniably solemn. Yet, Naude has a beautiful way with his prose that makes these stories feel consoling rather than harrowing. It faces up to reality rather than avoiding uncomfortable dilemmas or feelings. Sometimes the thoughtfulness of Naude’s writing grows too abstracted from the action of the story so it’s difficult to decipher what is actually happening in certain parts. Yet, through a persistent accumulation of images, scenes and feelings the reader is left with impressions of experience. This isn’t a light read, but it’s in many ways a hypnotic one. I did come across a rare passage which made me chuckle. One younger character admonishes an older one that “You should leave behind all the gym nonsense; the weight of weights settles into your muscles after a while.” What a fantastic justification to give up the gym! This appears in the final story ‘Loose’ which has a special radiance with its descriptions of dance as a way of strategically carving a way through the space of the world and expressing emotion. The title itself, one letter away from the word “lose,” suggests perhaps that a loss of self can be prevented by remaining in perpetual motion.

Don’t Let Him Know by Sandip Roy

Sometimes characters in novels begin to feel so real it hurts to let them go. This is especially true in Sandip Roy’s novel “Don’t Let Him Know” which is a story that hopscotches back and forth in time through generations of a family. By the end of the book, this multi-layered view of the lives of Avinash, his wife Romola and their son Amit became so fully realized and familiar I was disappointed the novel wasn’t longer. Each chapter focuses on a particular character at a crucial point in their lives. The story isn’t told chronologically, but I didn’t ever feel confused about where I was or who I was reading about. Rather, I felt this gave a deeper understanding of these characters while they made critical decisions about their future. It allowed both the future and the past to inform me about their present. This is a technique similar to a great novel I read some time ago named “Send Me” by Patrick Ryan. The story of “Don’t Let Him Know” also traverses nations moving back and forth between India and America as this family grows and changes through time.

Amit's great-grandmother Boroma secretly makes mango chutney to hide under her bed.

At the centre of this novel is a crucial secret which Romola discovers in a letter soon after she marries Avinash and they move to America so he can complete his studies and research. Their marriage was arranged soon after Avinash’s father death. Both feel compelled to settle for a life which is expected of them despite Romola’s dream of living in England after reading classic English literature like “Alice in Wonderland” or Avinash’s desire to pursue his prior romantic entanglement. Avinash eventually moves with his wife back to India so he can work and take care of his family (including his ingenious and endearing 94 year old grandmother). They give birth to a son named Amit who also eventually moves to America to go to university, but he decides to remain there where he meets his wife and has a son of his own. At the beginning of the novel we meet Romola in her old age when she has moved back to America to join Amit. Here Romola finds a sense of liberation when she finally feels she doesn’t have to follow the script which was written for her life. Instead “Romola felt as if she was acting in her own play.” The transgressive act of setting out to finally eat the McDonald’s hamburger she always dreamed of proceeds an even more assertive act at the novel’s end which allows her to reclaim her past and break through the boundaries of convention.

“Don’t Let Him Know” is a sensitively-told story that confidently leads you through multiple generations. It explores the ways families can both support and oppress one another. There is a fascinating way that perspective shifts between the chapters from the internal to the external. So while I felt incredibly sympathetic with Romola in a chapter about her romance with a future Bollywood star, my feelings changed to extreme anger at how she severely deals with her servant’s daughter who is accused of stealing in another chapter. In this way, the reader is given a more dynamic nuanced understanding of character than in novels which focus only on one character’s point of view. This novel also gives a unique view of the repercussions of a life lived as a closeted gay man in India. But more than anything it tells deeply immersive, funny, moving and relatable stories about characters that I grew to love and care about.

Polari First Book Prize 2015 Shortlist

Last night at the Southbank Centre in London there were a series of readings for the Polari Literary Salon which primarily featured musical ladies and sensitive men. Alex Klineberg read hilarious passages from his short book “Dear Sebastian” about his friendship with the notorious ‘Kind of Soho’ Sebastian Horsley, a truly flamboyant and uncompromising artist/raconteur. Next Andrew McMillan gave an arresting reading from his debut poetry book “Physical.” He’s a particularly effective reader with the hushed intensity of his voice. So his opening poem ‘Choke’ instantly seized the audience’s attention with the emotional power of the words and his confidential tone. Performer Celine Hispiche closed the first half of the evening with a rousing series of impersonations/tributes/songs to lost personalities and performers of London. Her instant embodiment of each past soul was far more convincing than anything Derek Acorah could pull off. Another impersonation/performance was given by female duo ‘All the Nice Girls’ who invoked the theatrical and musical escapades of Gwen Farrar and Norah Blaney in 1920s London. James Dawson finished the evening reading from his new young adult novel “All of the Above.” He spoke meaningfully about the complexity of teenage desire and confusion of sexuality. He also vigorously defended the need for sexual education in schools and scorned the snobbery surrounding novels about teenage experiences.

Writer and editor Alex Hopkins read the books shortlisted for the Polari First Book Prize. I was thrilled to hear Kirsty Logan’s fantastic book of short stories “The Rental Heart” made the list. I read it at the end of last year when it was shortlisted for the Green Carnation Prize. What I appreciate so much about the Polari First Book Prize are the LGBT books it introduces me to which I wouldn’t have heard of otherwise. Bindel’s hilariously titled and rousing polemic about changes in the lesbian and gay movement sounds really powerful. I’m eager to read Al Brookes’ topical novel about assisted suicide after reading this article about it in the Guardian. I’m intrigued by the sound of La JohnJoseph’s experimental fiction. David Tait’s poems mix autobiography and love story. Below is the complete shortlist. I’ll be excited to hear who is announced as the winner next month.

Straight Expectations – Julie Bindel

The Rental Heart – Kirsty Logan

Self-portrait with The Happiness – David Tait

Everything Must Go – LaJohn Joseph

The Gift of Looking Closely – Al Brookes

The Informant – Susan Wilkins