Beast by Paul Kingsnorth

There can be no greater confrontation with yourself than to abandon all your attachments (job, house, belongings, friends/family) and walk into the wilderness to live as a hermit. That’s what the protagonist Edward Buckmaster does in Paul Kingsnorth’s new novel “Beast”. This short novel begins with him squatting in a broken-down shack in the West-country moors with its makeshift roof on the brink of collapsing under torrential rain storms. He’s already lived here by himself for shortly over a year and does not plan to turn back. Just why he’s made this radical life decision is the mystery which propels the novel as well as an enigmatic dark beast he sometimes glimpses darting through the heather-filled landscape. But this is a story more about the process of his inner spiritual/psychological quest than finding any true answers. Kingsnorth conveys this in innovative and subtle ways through his use of language and narrative format. Reading this novel feels like you’re travelling on a fascinating, absorbing and sometimes terrifying journey as Edward teeters on the brink of madness and/or enlightenment.

I don’t want to give anything away, but Kingsnorth gives a clue as to just how much was at stake when Edward decided to abandon everything for a solitary life. Early on in the novel, he suggests a conversation Edward had with a woman who chastises him for leaving because it means his baby girl will never know him. This immediately colours how the reader feels about Edward’s self-subsistence and inward revelations. He’s not a man who had nothing to lose; he’s abandoned his child. Is this a brave act of rebellion against a dysfunctional civilization or a cowardly decision by a man who can’t face responsibility? Will his quest lead him to a profound understanding about the world or will he tumble into ever-more complex self justifications for why he shouldn’t be a part of it? These are questions only the reader can decide as she/he picks through the tangled weeks that pass as Edward traipses over the desolate landscape. Whatever his reasons are, he’s resolute that this life of solitude and sacrificing all possessions/comforts is the only way toward achieving a true understanding of existence. He states “you can think for three decades and your thoughts will be worse than useless because you have not touched this thing not really. you have to live in this dimension your hands must be calloused your heart scarred or what are you.”

Edward’s act of fanaticism is akin to some saints and mystics who equally abandon everything for a life of solitude. He references some early on and knows well how they tread the fine line between great seers and madmen. Usually when people seek deeper spiritual understanding they turn to religion which is something that Edward emphatically rejects. He states “We built a world of alters because we could never put the mystery into words.” But he believes these temples and churches have only served as approximations for finding the meaning of existence. What’s needed is to face the stripped down and barren fact of life in the hermetic way he’s chosen: “Nothingness extends itself emptiness moves and when you stare into it things happen to you.” The things that happen to Edward are predictable in some respects. He goes through bouts of intense desire for what he’s abandoned: food, cleanliness, sex, companionship. His mood careens from serenity to outright violence. Mixed with these desperate moments of longing are glimpses of seeming revelation for seeing the world as a primitive landscape based on survival: “For a moment the world cracked open and I saw myself as the wild creature I was as one caged a wild creature among billions as atoms as meat as animal as prey.” The beast he encounters could be a manifestation of this inner creature or it might be a more insidious force that’s stalking him.

Those who read Paul Kingsnorth’s much lauded novel “The Wake” might have been intimidated by the book’s use of the author’s version of Old English. I had a go at it, but quickly felt puzzled so put it aside vowing to go back to it again (unsurprisingly, I haven’t yet). There is no such trouble with understanding the language in “Beast” – but getting at just what Kingsnorth means by this convoluted soul-searching quest will be confusing. And rightly so! He’s asking questions rather than posing answers with this fascinating story. However, the author also uses subtle variations in his style and his composition of language over the course of the novel. Gradually grammar breaks down. Tense bends as time is warped. The first person narrator eventually changes his tone from a proud capital I to a lower case i. At a few points, the narrative breaks off completely mid-sentence only to pick up again after a couple blank pages to find him in another place. Language itself becomes an inadequate vehicle for what he’s trying to convey: “It is so hard to put into words into these clumsy words that say nothing.” The scenes become increasingly hallucinatory as the story progresses so in one paragraph he’ll be hiking over the moors and in another he’ll be wandering through “slums” with “barefoot black children” who encourage him to jump naked into a freezing lake or he’ll appear on the wing of a plane that’s plummeting the ground. Whether these are fantasies, delusions or visions of another time and place are debatable. Whatever their meaning, I found his journey fascinating just to see what bizarre things Edward would encounter next and where his logic would take him.

It’s interesting thinking about this book in relation to other novels such as Evie Wyld’s “All the Birds, Singing” which similarly features a recluse – in this case, a sheep farmer who lives on her own on an island. Similarly, there is a mysterious and threatening something prowling about her land (and killing some of her sheep). It’s not surprising that someone living on their own would be prone to fear of attack as they are relatively defenceless without the support of a larger civilization. Confronting this fear or demon might mean only overcoming psychological obstacles which cause that fear in the first place. Equally, it’s interesting to consider “Beast” in relations to Kazuo Ishiguro’s most recent novel “The Buried Giant”. Instead of a lone journey, his novel features an older couple on a quest through a seemingly medieval landscape to find their son. The threat comes in this case from what has been buried and forgotten: a giant. Similarly, Edward encounters mythical beings which function both as real physical threats and manifestations of his subconscious. He proclaims “Yes there were giants in the Earth it was all real all of it.” It’s as if there is an inversion of reality as we know it so fairy tales are true and our tangible existence is false. In doing so, Kingsnorth and these other authors force us to question everything that we take for granted.

The compelling question at the heart of this novel is whether Edward’s solitary practice actually leads him to greater knowledge or total despair. He is absolutely convinced that “There has to be a secret.” But I wonder if there really is a secret? Maybe there is no mystery to the deep questions Edward prods through his rigorous rejection of everyone and everything. Maybe he’s living the most honest existence possible. Or maybe he’s a coward. This is a dilemma that Kingsnorth artfully poses in this accomplished and compelling novel.

The Tidal Zone by Sarah Moss

When you experience a personal tragedy it fills your whole world. You’re aware and empathize with the suffering other individuals have experienced in the past and continue to experience all over the world. But this knowledge is more likely to colour your daily existence rather than saturate it. How do you contextualize your personal loss without turning it into just another story like the many stories of heartache we read about every day in the news? Sarah Moss’ new novel “The Tidal Zone” has an astounding way of looking at a potential personal tragedy within one household and simultaneously shows how it is situated in the expansive tapestry of human experience. She does this writing in a way which is poetic, profound and filled with wry humour, but it’s also a story firmly grounded in the small details of real life.

The narrator Adam Goldschmidt is a stay-at-home Dad whose domestic routine is abruptly interrupted when he receives a call that his eldest daughter Miriam has stopped breathing. She’s been resuscitated, but the doctors don’t fully understand what went wrong with her body. The novel follows the tense aftermath of this incident when Adam has become hyperaware of the fragility of life, yet the ongoing ordinariness of daily existence continues on regardless. There is dinner to make, clothes to iron, his younger daughter Rose to pick up from school and cleaning to do. All this must continue even while his teenage daughter Miriam impatiently waits in the hospital for weeks while being monitored.

Sarah Moss writes powerfully about how the physical space of a hospital is flooded with emotion: “Hospitals have their own gravitational field, their own atmosphere; you can feel it from the car parks.” Anyone who has spent any length of time in a hospital knows this sensation of all thought and feeling being intensely focused on the immediacy of what’s happening and that life is at stake. There are glancing encounters with the trauma other people experience and there are periods of excruciating boredom while waiting for tests and procedures to be conducted. This reminded me of the wonderfully rendered account of a couple’s vigilance over their sick child in the hospital in Lucy Caldwell’s recent short story ‘Multitudes’.

Meanwhile, Adam’s thoughts also frequently roam to an account of the WWII bombing and subsequent reconstruction of the Coventry Cathedral which he is researching and writing about for a walking tour. He considers how when the city was being bombed people had to carry on with their daily lives and that “Domestic routine takes priority over political violence until the very last minute.” His intense engagement with the stories of people’s fate in wartime shows on a macro level the feelings of uncertainty and heartache he’s experiencing on his own micro level. So when he ruminates upon the strategies and plans the designers of the reconstructed Cathedral take it’s almost as if he’s planning how he can also rebuild a stable household for his family following their intense brush with tragedy.

Adam wants his home to be capable of containing the messiness of ordinary life while also not living in a state of constant emergency where he must be constantly vigilant about his children’s health. He wants them to live in that state of blissful ignorance about the daily dangers and fragility of life while also being aware of the gift of a relatively happy and healthy existence: “may we heal enough to take for granted sky and water and light”. He’s aware of how these points of view are all filtered through the stories we narrate to ourselves and each other about the past and our present lives. He remarks how “You think you want a story, you think you want an ending, but you don’t. You want life. You want disorder and ignorance and uncertainty.” He’s aware of the ability stories have to drain the lifeblood out of existence and not faithfully represent the feeling of experience. At the same time he knows that “Stories have endings; that’s why we tell them, for reassurance that there is meaning in our lives.” How to live fruitfully without the need for constant reassurance?

Most people look to religion, but Adam resolutely states: "I'm not a believer. I trust that's already clear." Inspiration comes from Adam’s father who never allowed himself to be confined within the story that was written for him. He spent years travelling the world and living in intentional communities. Living with groups of other people, they tried to rewrite the rules by which our personal lives are played out under the regulations of larger society. Many of these communities weren’t able to sustain themselves in the long term and Adam’s father is very attentive to their shortcomings: “My generation screwed up all right, just like the one before, but we had ideas. Yes, also like the one before.” He doesn’t have a rose-tinted view of where they went wrong, but at least they tried to conscientiously create a better way of life rather than conforming to the standards laid out for them by their parents. Adam gleans from this a strategy for his family to live in a way which doesn’t confine them to a humdrum existence. Incidentally, I really appreciated getting this balanced perspective about a post-war generation’s experiments with intentional communities after reading the rather one-sided view in Kate Atkinson’s otherwise magnificent novel “A God in Ruins.”

Coventry Cathedral tapestry: "His tapestry Christ in Glory, stood the full height of the building, its solid colours and softness a counterpoint to the brilliance of stained glass, gazing down the length of the nave at the ruins behind."

There are many more admirable details contained in this beautiful novel than I can possibly recount in a brief review. It meaningfully points out shortcomings in our current society such as lack of employment opportunities, the shortcomings of academic institutions and the NHS and our own inertia watching cooking shows: “we’re all obsessed with obesity and weight loss and also fucking baking.” But it never comes across like the author is whinging; it’s more like she’s articulating and relating to the frustrations many of us feel living within a problematic society. She’s also highly attentive to the positive things about it in the people and systems which do respond to the needs and welfare of individuals. As well as considering these larger social issues, this is a poignant novel about a marriage with a hardworking wife in full time employment, the gender stereotypes Adam challenges as a househusband and the changing dynamics of the relationship between siblings.

“The Tidal Zone” magnificently captures the real grit and poignancy of daily life while framing it within a bigger picture. It’s an emotionally affecting read with realistic and relatable characters that will keep you gripped worrying what will happen to them. This is the first novel by Sarah Moss that I’ve read, but I’m now eager to read more of her books.

Have you read anything else by this author? If so, let me know which book by her I should pick up next.

Best Books of 2016 so far & Book Giveaway

This year is racing by! There has been a lot of depressing news lately so it feels all the more necessary to take the time to celebrate great books that have been published this year and recall that 2016 isn’t all doom and gloom. Since we’re at the midpoint here are ten of my favourite books so far. It’s been very difficult to whittle down this list as I’ve read 57 books so far this year and many have been excellent. (I should note Garth Greenwell's "What Belongs to You" would be on this list but I actually first read it last year) Click on the titles at the bottom to read my full thoughts about each of these outstanding books. You can also watch a video of me briefly discussing each of these books here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QAqoKxj-QBc

Last year I ran a competition and it worked so well I want to do it again.
Here’s how to enter:
-    Leave a comment letting me know the best book you’ve read so far this year (it doesn’t have to be a new book).
-    Leave some kind of contact info (email or Twitter/GoodReads handle).
-    At the end of July I’ll pick one of your suggestions and send that person one of my favourite books from the below list below.
-    Open to anywhere in the world.

I’ll also read your suggestion by the end of the year. Last year, Poppy recommended to me the fantastic novel “Mayumi and the Sea of Happiness”.

Even if you don’t want to enter, please let me know what great books you’ve been reading this year or if you’ve read any of my choices.

Dinosaurs on Other Planets by Danielle McLaughlin
The Gustav Sonata by Rose Tremain
Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta
The Glorious Heresies by Lisa McInerney
The Lonely City by Olivia Laing
What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours by Helen Oyeyemi
Hot Milk by Deborah Levy
The Man Without a Shadow by Joyce Carol Oates
The Queen of the Night by Alexander Chee
A Quiet Life by Natasha Walter

June Reading Wrap Up Video

I've been reading and posting way too much for anyone to keep up so I want to start making monthly wrap up videos where I talk about what I've been reading. This way you can sit back and listen or watch me ramble on about new books I've been reading. It's way too long at half an hour! So I need to work on being more concise (or reading less). Most of these books were also published in June. I found a fun thing you can do is put on the closed captions and see how the Youtube system hilariously misunderstands me at some points (but it is mostly creepily acurate)! Ha! This is a new thing for me so let me know what you think and if you want to see more. Here's the link to the video for what I read in June: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pE1PigJbqpY

Have you read any of these or have I perked your interest in trying any of these books out? Also, what have YOU been reading in June? 

Imagine Me Gone by Adam Haslett

Adam Haslett is a writer who powerfully conveys the full complexity and heartrending challenges of family relations. I read the story 'Notes to My Biographer' in his debut book “You Are Not a Stranger Here” years ago, but the strained and affecting father-son relationship it portrayed still haunts me. His first novel “Union Atlantic” powerfully explores recent issues of social and economic strife at both larger and more intimate levels. The power of his writing lies more often in what isn't said than what is overtly stated. That's certainly true in this his second novel “Imagine Me Gone” about the infinite difficulties and enduring love found in family life. Dealing with issues such as depression, prescription drug abuse and sexuality in a disarmingly refreshing way, Haslett shows the tender way people care and love one another under difficult circumstances.

An Englishman John meets American Margaret at a party and the romance that ensues is troubled by typical problems such as establishing secure work and the question of where to settle down. However, it becomes alarmingly clear that John is troubled by mental health issues. Nevertheless they marry and have three children. Over a number of years the “beast” which psychologically hounds John makes its presence felt. As the eldest son Michael grows he too struggles with psychological issues that an American doctor treats with doses of medication which steadily increase in quantity. Meanwhile the family comes under increasing financial pressure as medical bills mount up. Over a number of years the family split apart and come back together in an effort to support one another.

At times Haslett's writing almost has the feel of a documentary filmmaker (like Frederick Wiseman) for how he conveys the way people can verbally spill out their lives. There is a certain frantic energy some have for talking endlessly in a self-justified way trying to convince whoever is listening of their point of view. In one scene Michael is speaking to his sister Celia on the phone about a relationship crisis which both Celia (and the reader) realizes is hopeless. He doesn't want advice. It's as if by narrating every detail of the situation over and over Michael can control it, but what he's not talking about are underlying issues that motivate his clinging desire. I've had many conversations like this with people and it's like witnessing a barrage of words that cover hidden pain. It's commendable how realistically Haslett recreates this in his novel.

One of the most moving and beautiful passages of the book comes early on when John is reading to his youngest son Alec. Haslett writes that “Alec will be quieted to the point of trance, by the story, but also because his father’s attention is pouring over him, and only him, like the air of heaven.” I love how this conveys that its not necessarily the words that matter but the intimate act of storytelling creates an intimate bond which is very special. It almost brought me to tears as it made me recall moments in my childhood when my father read to me at bedtime.

Alec grows to be a gay man who ultimately struggles with intimacy as many young men do when ensconced in a gay culture focused so much on superficial appearances and the perfect erotic highs promised in porn. It's striking how Alec's issue is not with finding acceptance within his family, but with confronting his own difficulty in forming substantial emotional relations with men he's sexually involved with. He cruises men not so much for sexual release but “To matter, and know that you mattered.” It's a bracing and refreshing way of showing the issues that gay men face. Haslett also shows the same sensitivity when showing Margaret's struggle with her changing looks and being single as she grows older where she states: “It took me a while to understand the subtlety of it, the way invisibility works at my age.” There is an awareness of how women can be made to feel they are worth less as beauty fades and how this makes people readjust how they deal with others socially.

At one point Michael get's the song 'Temptation' by New Order endlessly stuck in his head.

Haslett's innovative narrative techniques prevent the tone of his story from ever becoming maudlin. Each member of the family is given sections which are narrated in the first person, but where John speaks directly and powerfully about his internal struggle with depression “The monster you lie with is your own. The struggle is endlessly private” his son Michael conveys the pain of his issues in an entirely different way. For instance, he describes a family therapy session as if he were delivering a military report or when answering questions on a forebearance form to a loan company he'll quote Proust and lecture about the legacy of slavery. In an incredibly striking section of the novel Michael writes letters to his aunt describing the family's boat journey from the US to Europe where the trip surreally devolves into a dystopian cruise ride to hell with Donna Summer performing her hits during passengers' enforced exercise. What's extraordinary is that these passages manage to be both comical as well as tremendously touching for the way they effectively convey Michael's frustration and disillusionment with the society around him as his wellbeing spirals downward.

A trip to Maine where brothers Michael and Alec stay at the house their family vacationed at in their youth provides a frame for the novel. At the start something goes horribly wrong there and its only after learning about the complex inner life of this family that the reader fully understands the problems that contribute to the brothers' dilemma. This also creates an element of suspense as its only revealed at the end what brings their stay to a crisis point. Haslett is a writer that possesses a powerful narrative style and a complex understanding of the subtleties of human relationships. “Imagine Me Gone” is a stunningly heartfelt account of family life.

The Abundance by Annie Dillard

It's been an emotional week. On Friday when the result of the UK referendum about whether to remain in the EU came out as leave I felt an enormous sense of grief and worry. Like many people who wanted us to remain, I could do little but spend the day watching the depressing news unfold in the press and scrolling through the outcry on twitter. The consequences of this are so uncertain with theories and predictions running wild it gets to a point where it feels too maddening to continue following. So I decided to turn off the news and pick up a book I've been meaning to get to since it came out in April. Annie Dillard is a writer I've always adored, admired and read for inspiration. “The Abundance” is exactly what I needed. Reading this book now isn't hiding from reality; it's a way of facing the complexity and mystery of it more fully.

It turns out Annie Dillard has something very sensible to say about calamitous events. She writes: “It’s been a stunning time for us adults. It always is. Nothing is new, but it’s fresh for every new crop of people. What is eternally fresh is our grief. What is eternally fresh is out astonishment. What is eternally fresh is our question: What the Sam Hill is going on here?” Her cool gaze at the perpetually surprising turn of disastrous events in the world is tempered by an acknowledgement of our very human response to cry, shake our heads in wonder and react. What's important to remember is that there are lives of individuals like you and me at stake no matter how far removed we might feel from tragic events reported in the news.

Dillard's subjects are wide-ranging and idiosyncratic. She writes about an occasion when Allen Ginsberg and journalist/political dissident Liu Binyan took a stroll in Disneyland, a restrained deer in the Ecuadorian jungle and the life of the French palaeontologist Teilhard de Chardin. Several of her essays explore poignant autobiographical moments from her childhood and adolescence. There are endearing recollections such as her parents' fondness for jokes and more touching moments such as her break with the church, a romantic obsession or dancing to loud music with her father and sisters after reading “On the Road”. Her sense of growing rebellion is described as “I was a dog barking between my own ears, a barking dog who wouldn’t hush.” And also “I was an intercontinental ballistic missile with an atomic warhead. They don’t cry.” These descriptions of the heightened emotion of adolescence are as strong as any metaphors you find in fiction. Although the story of her upbringing is particular it is easy to identify with her universal stages of development. She has a special way of articulating a burgeoning awareness and engagement “as though my focus were a brush painting the world.”

There are moments when Dillard begins to sound like the best kind of preacher. She's someone who describes the world and makes it feel utterly fresh so that you see more clearly how you fit into and interact with it: “You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment.” It's easy in life to become complacent but Dillard urges “You must go at your life with a broadaxe” and to be present and committed: “you have to fling yourself at what you’re doing, you have to point yourself, forget yourself, aim, dive.” Imagery such as diving is repeated over a number of essays: “The diver wraps herself in her reflection wholly, sealing it at the toes, and wears it as she climbs rising from the pool, and ever after.” This is a beautiful way of describing how we can wed the reality of our lives and the way we imagine it. Other moments describe a terrifying confrontation with the abrupt end of life such as an instance where she comes upon the deflated skin of a frog or the screams people emit when the landscape is consumed by darkness during a total eclipse.

"I would like to live as I should, as the weasel lives as he should: open to time and death painlessly, noticing everything, remembering nothing, choosing the given with the fierce and pointed will."

The final essay is one of the most sustained and ambitious pieces in the whole collection. Here she alternates between passages about expeditions to the poles of the earth and attending services at a church. She describes arduous journeys of the 19th century when ships became trapped in ice, but the expedition continued on sled or on foot: “They man-hauled their sweet human absurdity to the Poles.” At one point in the essay the line between religious experience and the hunt for the ends of the earth blurs. The churchgoers become the explores trudging through snow. She explains how “Wherever we go, there seems to be only one business at hand – that of finding a workable compromise between the sublimity of our ideas and the absurdity of the fact of us.”

I've read many of the essays included in this book before. It was somewhat of a surprise to discover that there isn't any newly written material in “The Abundance.” This is work that has been taken from past books and rearranged. It hardly matters because it's Annie Dillard. If you haven't read her before this is a wonderful introduction to how her endlessly-insightful mind works and even if you've previously read everything she's written her writing bears endless revisiting. Certainly any writer should read and pay close attention to her classic essay ‘A Writer in the World’ where she describes the importance of reading as much as writing: “Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened, and its deepest mystery probed?” There is a satisfying arc to how these essays flow from the first to the last. An excellent forward by Geoff Dyer proceeds them where he describes what she does in her writing better than I ever could. Dillard's gaze focuses both on the minute and the infinite. Unanswerable questions are posed and she suggestions ways of looking. She gets at the way we as conscious bodies blunder through life eager to know, experience and understand.

The Muse by Jessie Burton

I feel like I’m one of the only people in the world who hasn’t read Jessie Burton’s debut novel “The Miniaturist” which became a huge bestseller two years ago. It’s one of those books that I kept meaning to read, but didn’t get around to because my towering TBR pile is constantly collapsing on top of me. However, I heard Burton read from her new novel “The Muse” at a Picador event. I was immediately charmed by the humour and sly intelligence of her writing. Reading the novel confirmed for me what a great talent she has for creating a story as gripping as any Sarah Waters novel. This is an immersive story about a compelling young writer, a country on the brink of civil war and a mysterious painting.

It begins in the summer of 1967 with a woman named Odelle Bastien who is finally given an opportunity to leave her dead-end job working in a London shoe shop for a secretarial role at an institute of art. There she’s mentored by the intriguing Marjorie Quick whose “clothes were an armour made of silk.” At the same time she meets a sensitive man named Lawrie at a party. A tentative romance forms. Lawrie has recently inherited a painting and, since he’s short of cash, brings it to Odelle’s workplace to have it valued. It causes quite a stir, but there is a mystery surrounding this unusual work which Odelle is determined to solve.

The novel jumps back to 1936 where an affluent family have settled in the Andalusia region of Spain. Harold is a successful art dealer and his heiress wife Sarah is frequently in a fug due to mental health issues. Their daughter Olive is just becoming an adult, but finds herself hampered by her imposing parents. She forms a special bond with their sensitive new Spanish housekeeper Teresa and her politically-radical brother Isaac. Olive hatches a secret plan to utilize her creative talent while drawing inspiration from the man she’s fallen in love with.

Famous art collector/socialite Peggy Guggenheim plays a fun role in the novel acquiring paintings from an artist Harold discovers.

This is a novel full of twists – some of which Burton lets you anticipate and others which are totally surprising – making it an immensely pleasurable page-turner. I read it over the course of a few nights staying up late to find out what happened in the next section. The novel moves back and forth between the thirty year period shedding light on the fate of different characters and keying the reader into the real story behind the creation of the rediscovered artwork.

Alongside a gripping plot, Burton gives a sensitive depiction of the increasingly terrifying political climate of Southern Europe in the mid 1930s and the perspective of a woman of colour in late 60s London. She also meaningfully explores the challenges that women face across time in both the workplace and in a male dominated art world. This reminded me strongly of Siri Hustvedt’s novel “The Blazing World” for its critique of how difficult it is for female artists to be taken serious and the way she depicts female characters cleverly outwitting the art scene. The creative challenges a writer faces are equally shown in Odelle’s burgeoning development as a poet and author of short stories. She remarks how “if you really want to see your work to completion, you have to desire it more than you’d believe. You have to fight it, fight yourself. It’s not easy.” This is an excellent description of the painful process needed to fully realize any creative endeavour.

“The Muse” is a strongly written, compelling and tremendously enjoyable read.

The Dream Life of Astronauts by Patrick Ryan

There’s a special pleasure for a reader who falls in love with characters from a novel and a decade later unexpectedly meets some of those characters again in a new book. It’s like knowing someone for a brief intense period of time and then running into them in the supermarket one day or receiving a surprise friend request from them on Facebook. Oh hello! It’s you. Authors such as Marilynne Robinson, Rachel Joyce and Kate Atkinson have carried characters throughout different novels showing them from other perspectives or periods in their lives. But they are part of distinct series designed and marketed as such. It’s different when you’re reading a new book and suddenly realize why these characters feel familiar.

Ten years ago I read Patrick Ryan’s extraordinary debut novel “Send Me” which focuses on different members of the Kerrigan family and their individual stories over a number of years. It builds a rounded understanding of how families divide, re-bond, change and grow over time. In his new book of short stories “The Dream Life of Astronauts” two stories include Frankie, a vibrantly original personality and one of the sons from the Kerrigan family. Other members of the family appear as well, but in more periphery roles. The title story shows Frankie in his teenage years when he becomes fixated on a former astronaut (who never actually made it into space) named Clark. A crucial misunderstanding occurs when Frankie is drawn into Clark’s life in a way which is both comical and moving.

What’s so compelling about Frankie is that he has a tremendous amount of conviction about who he is and what he wants despite being an oddball. He doesn’t allow himself to be swayed or feel judged by society’s rules because his eyes are focused on the stars. This becomes even more apparent when he appears in the story ‘Earth, Mostly’ at a later point in his life when he’s living back at home with his mother. We see him from the perspective of a feisty young girl who appreciates his radical other-worldly outlook. Because I was already familiar with Frankie, it was fascinating and exciting to get these different slants on his life. However, already knowing Frankie and his mother Mrs Kerrigan is simply an added bonus. It’s certainly not essential to have read Ryan’s first novel to get a lot out of this richly rewarding and highly enjoyable book of short stories.

Ryan has a perceptive way of writing about the nuances of sexuality and sexual impulses which can often lead to confusion as much as revelation. In these two stories and many of the others we follow the characters in their ill-advised flirtations, motel rendezvous, infidelities and the painful aftermath of breakups. These often misguided adventures are riveting to read about as well providing a sympathetic look at how romance is just as confusing for a pregnant teenager who dreams of becoming model/pageant girl as it is for a cuckolded husband or a frisky grandmother. They also show how sexual adventures can be a way of testing the boundaries of identity, but as one character states: “The problem with becoming someone else is that you’re still stuck with you.” Oftentimes the stories defy the reader’s expectations where a rascal turns out to be a surprising gentleman, a vulnerable teenager proves how he’s fully confident about his homosexuality or a depressed mother becomes a strong source of support. It’s particularly impactful how Ryan portrays the painful influence jealousy between spouses and acrimonious divorces can have on children over time.

The Space Shuttle Challenger explosion.

These stories are set in Florida and often have links to Cape Canaveral/the Kennedy Space Center. These connections can be loose as in the story ‘Summer of ‘69’ set on an orange grove/farm where a tough, diligent girl finds a hardened sense of independence while a rocket is launched into space in the background. Whereas ‘Go Fever’ portrays characters directly involved in working on launching the Space Shuttle Challenger before its explosion in 1986 but focuses on a man’s conviction that his wife is trying to poison him. The concept in the title of this story works as a powerful metaphor for how even if we’re not prepared for certain things in life we often optimistically go forward with them despite the strong possibility of failure. The atmosphere of these settings give a sense that while our civilization has grand aspirations for progress, ordinary people are still working out the complexities of amicably getting along together. Like many people of my generation, the Challenger explosion is a particularly poignant moment in the history of the US. The perspectives these stories give on the alternate successes and failures of the space program build to make a larger statement about our transforming American ideals.

It’s wonderful to discover in Patrick Ryan’s latest book that he still has a keen sense for the oftentimes absurd/comic situations people stumble into in life while earnestly pursuing their goals. The writing is laden with powerful detail such as when a girl enters a sleazy agent’s home and notices “The shag carpet is the color of avocado meat.” This makes a strong visual image in the reader's mind as well as painting a fittingly sinister atmosphere. His characters are imbued with a wonderful sense of humanity while also being fantastically entertaining to read about. They are the type who will still linger somewhere in the back of your imagination long after reading about them. Clearly they still occupy this writer’s mind as he continues to compellingly expand and fill out the fictional worlds they inhabit.

Multitudes by Lucy Caldwell

One of the things I love about the anthology “The Long Gaze Back” (which I read at the end of last year) is how it has tipped me off to so many great writers! I first read Lisa McInerney’s writing here before she won the Baileys Prize this year and I also read Lucy Caldwell’s short story ‘Multitudes’ in this anthology. I was immediately struck by the intense energy and emotion of this tale about the perilous days immediately following a birth when a newborn’s life is in danger because of an unexpected illness. This story has an amazing way of viewing this difficult time period in a broader context through titled segments while also conveying the heartrending fear the new parents felt moment by moment. It suggests the thin, perilous lines between one kind of fate and another in life. ‘Multitudes’ has now become the title story in Lucy Caldwell’s most recent book of short stories. I was delighted to find that the author’s other new fiction in this book expresses an equally exciting rigour and creativity.

Many of these stories focus on periods of adolescence or teenage years in their characters’ lives. These are periods of extreme physical, sexual and emotional change. Everything can feel full of possibility or like it is all coming to an end. As the narrator of the story ‘Poison’ states “there's a certain intensity that only a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old girl can possess.” Here a woman recalls her time in school when she became infatuated with a teacher who had married a former pupil after she graduated. The narrator worms her way into his life with disastrous consequences. What this tense story expresses so acutely is the new kind of power teenagers are imbued with in their final years before fully entering adulthood.

This power is something that can be used against other people or against themselves as in the story 'Killing Time'. Here the thirteen year old narrator spontaneously decides to try killing herself, but only takes a minor dosage of paracetamol. However, in her naivety she believes she’s truly in mortal danger. This sparks a fear in her for her life and is a process by which she tests her own limitations. She only learns the true finality of death when the family loses their beloved pet.

Loss on a greater scale is explored powerfully in other stories such as 'Inextinguishable' where a mother recalls a classical song her daughter urged her to listen to shortly before the girl’s unexpected death. It’s about the way grief sinks in and remains a part of us as well as the regret over missed opportunities for moments of connections with someone who is now lost forever. The spectre of a dead daughter also hangs over the story 'Cyprus Avenue' where a man flies from his new home in England back to Belfast to make the routine Christmas visit. During the journey he encounters an old neighbour named Nirupam which gives him a new awareness for the racial bigotry this man experienced as a boy. Nirupam also rekindles a sense for the life of the narrator’s deceased sister who Nirupam knew as a child and his memories restore a comfort to this family still silently and secretly grieving.

The tension between remaining and leaving Northern Ireland is played out in other stories as well. In 'Chasing' a young woman returns to Belfast after going to art school in London and feels caught between two states of mind. She questions the limits of what she wants. Another story 'Escape Routes' explores leaving in a broader way where a child discovers that there are different options in life outside the norm from a babysitter. The child is coached by this older boy in how to find secret routes in a video game. This symbolically shows that there are codes and signs we’re periodically given in life and that these are “the secret messages that people are trying to tell you, that are there to be read, if only you know how.” Where some people are intent on smothering your sense of self so that you feel like you can’t be anything other than who, what and where you’re born into, other generous people we meet can suggest ways in which you can be yourself more freely elsewhere.

"The Belle dress is a bright shimmery yellow and in the soft light it looks like gold... It would be impossible to be sad in that dress."

This is a message which is expressed emphatically in the story 'Through the Wardrobe'. This story is narrated in the second person where "you" is a boy who once wanted so badly to wear a Disney Princess Belle dress as a six year old. It’s the point where he detected a difference inside himself and found “it's not outside you're scared of. It's something inside, and you can't explain it, but you know, just know, that in the dress you'd be safe from it.” This story urges the boy and all of us to hold onto our inner conviction. It shows that presenting ourselves as truly and authentically as possible is what’s right – even if our families, friends and communities tell us it’s wrong. It’s the knowledge that we are being true to ourselves which will see us through any adversity or attempts by others to diminish who we are.

Testing the fluidity of gender identity and sexuality is explored in other stories as well. In 'Here We Are’ a woman recalls her teenage passion for another girl named Angela in her school. Their romantic relationship builds to a point that feels exactly right for their development, but is abruptly cut off because of the small-minded religiousness of Angela’s father and the girl’s inability to turn her back upon him. It doesn’t alter the narrator’s conviction of what she wants as what was true in the moment of their togetherness won’t ever change. Another perspective is shown in the story 'Thirteen' where the narrator is trapped feeling she doesn’t know what she wants when her closest friend unexpectedly moves away. She falters through a number of drunken and misguided possibilities which only teach her to distance herself from her feelings in order to dampen their intensity.

The stories in this collection are beautifully framed by the first story 'The Ally Ally O' in which the eldest daughter of a family and her siblings are being driven around by their mother in a game called “Getting Lost.” This story expresses the fragility of life because calamitous changes can happen at any moment, yet there is also a strong sense of hope and opportunity to be found no matter what way you turn. These stories have a unique power to draw you into their reality and make you feel a part of it. “Multitudes” is a moving and sophisticated collection of stories that sing with deeper meaning.

The Museum of You by Carys Bray

It’s easy to be drawn into the lives of the characters in Carys Bray’s novel “The Museum of You”. Twelve-year-old Clover is filled with joy as it’s the beginning of the summer holidays so she has time to work in an allotment garden. She lives in North West England with her single father Darren who is a bus driver and next door to Mrs Mackerel, a comical older woman who is a bit deaf: “She has two settings: loud, for normal words, and extra loud, for the words she wants to be certain have been heard.” They have endearing routines where time in front of the television watching a baking show or a movie (rather than isolating them as individuals) creates opportunities when these characters can connect in genuine and realistic ways. Clover herself has a unique perspective of the world as well as a nerdish interest in museums. But there is a striking absence in Clover’s house where her mother Becky’s former room is filled with objects from her life which are understood to be off limits. This is a woman Clover has never known so in secret she goes about collecting and curating an exhibit about her mother’s life as a form of dedication and an act of discovery to understand what happened to her. It’s difficult to find a strategy to write about absence and grief in a way which isn’t maudlin. Yet Bray has created a story which fills your imagination with simple objects that become laden with an enormous amount of emotional meaning. It leads the reader on a path of discovery as Darren must confront painful memories and adjust how he relates to his growing daughter.

It’s quite original to read a story whose story revolves so strongly around a father and daughter. Their relationship is really sensitively drawn. It is obviously very loving, but there are certain kinds of silence which have grown around the missing mother and it is understood between them that it’s a subject not to be broached: “When you grow up in the saddest chapter of someone else’s story, you’re forever skating on the thin ice of their memories.” This is a beautiful way of describing how children are affected by painful emotional issues in their parents’ lives. Because Clover is developing into a woman Becky’s absence is felt all the more crucially as Darren fumbles around trying to buy books about womanhood to fill the educational gap a mother could provide.

Clover and Darren particularly like watching The Great British Bakeoff: "This week, it's a 3D biscuit scene. He is gobsmacked by their creations: a train, a sea monster, even a bloody carousel!"

There are also a group of other fascinating peripheral characters – some of whom played a part in the absent mother’s life and deal with their own forms of trauma. Becky’s brother Jim suffers from mental health problems and when he’s having a bad episode the characters tactfully say that he is “not himself.” Darren’s father is also dealing with the loss of his wife, but he has different strategies for coping with her absence. A Czech immigrant girl Dagmar who goes to Clover’s school is bullied because of her foreignness and she forms a bond with Clover partially as a way of escaping an abusive household. Darren’s closest friend Colin has been separated from his partner Mark because he works abroad making Colin fill his time working hard as a highly skilled self employed handyman. The story delicately weaves together different ways that these diverse individuals deal with feelings surrounding beloved people who have been lost through circumstances beyond their control.

By the end of this novel I felt really emotionally involved with the characters and strongly compelled to understand what happened to Becky. For this reason, this novel reminded me of James Hannah’s “The A to Z of You and Me” in the way it slowly builds a picture of tragic events that led to a central character’s absence. I was also reminded of Stella Duffy’s novel “The Room of Lost Things” for the way in which the novel fills your imagination with lists of objects which carry crucial personal significance to their former owners, but might be seen as worthless to others. “The Museum of You” makes you re-evaluate the sentimental value of the things which fill your home and contemplate how our relationships with others can only really grow and thrive when there is emotional honesty. This is a tenderly written novel filled with lots of comic and meaningful moments.

The Man Booker Prize 2016 Longlist Predictions

On the 27th of July the longlist for this year’s Man Booker Prize will be announced! It’s been an exciting year for the prize so far with their new Man Booker International Prize being awarded to the fantastic novel "The Vegetarian" by the South Korean writer Han Kang and translated by Deborah Smith. It’s so wonderful the prize has given this platform for exciting translated fiction! Also, with last year’s choice of the brilliant sprawling epic “A Brief History of Seven Killings” by Marlon James, I’m really curious to know who might win the prize this year.

For the main prize it’s an extremely difficult guessing game predicting the longlist as the prize is open to any novel originally written in English and published in the UK between 1st October 2015 and 30th September 2016. Not only does that mean there are an enormous amount of American authors eligible, but also there are many novels still to be published which most people won’t have seen yet. However, as I like speculating and part of the pleasure of prizes is debating what books should be listed, I’m throwing out my guesses for which 12 or 13 books will appear on the longlist next month.

Here are my choices. Click on the titles to see my full thoughts about those I have read. I’ve not yet read the novels by Barker, Haslett, Proulx or Ryan – however, I hear great things about them! I really hope the others I’ve read will be recognized – especially authors like Paraic O’Donnell, Chinelo Okparanta and Garth Greenwell as their novels really deserve more attention. And, of course, I’m always rooting for Joyce Carol Oates! (Since writing this I learned that Lisa McInerney's The Glorious Heresies - which won both the Baileys Prize and the Desmond Elliot Prize this year - isn't actually eligible for this year's Booker prize because it was first published earlier in 2015 so I've replaced it in my list.)

LaRose by Louise Erdrich
The Gustav Sonata by Rose Tremain
Hot Milk by Deborah Levy
The Tidal Zone by Sarah Moss
The Maker of Swans by Paraic O’Donnell
Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta
The Noise of Time by Julian Barnes
The Man Without a Shadow by Joyce Carol Oates
What Belongs to You by Garth Greenwell
The Cauliflower by Nicola Barker
Imagine Me Gone by Adam Haslett
Barkskins by Annie Proulx
All We Shall Know by Donal Ryan

What do you think? What novels would you like to see on the longlist?

A Quiet Life by Natasha Walter

I was surprised and intrigued to see that the feminist and humanitarian Natasha Walter who previously only wrote nonfiction has published her first novel. The blurb for “A Quiet Life” explains how it's about a female spy during WWII and I wasn’t sure how a thrilling plot like this would work alongside the author’s compelling ideas about feminism. As it turns out, the main character Laura is not a feminist or especially an intellectual. She doesn’t become a political subversive and spy delivering crucial government secrets to an underground communist network for the Soviet Union because she has particularly high ideals. Rather, she takes on this highly dangerous and controversial work because she’s influenced by a passionate female friend and a man she falls in love with. However, the way in which Walter captures the subtlety of Laura’s psychology, the prevailing ideologies/social attitudes of the era and the crisis of an individual’s political consciousness during times of international conflict is absolutely compelling. It makes Laura a more dynamic subject and her story more engagingly complex than if Walter had chosen to write a whole novel about Florence, Laura’s ardent communist friend. Reading “A Quiet Life” felt to me like reading a novel by Doris Lessing for the way it wholly commits to faithfully representing Laura’s experience in times of political turbulence.

Laura moves to England at the start of 1939 to visit relatives, but really she is trying to escape the confines of her suffocating and damaging family life in the States. On the boat across the Atlantic she meets two people who will affect the rest of her life in crucial ways. She finds it challenging to learn how to live amongst the privilege, manners and social preoccupations of her affluent English relatives. But this well ordered world is in the midst of being thrown into chaos as time progresses and German bombs fall over London. Despite the danger, Laura refuses to return to America and embarks on a course of love and political intrigue which radically destabilizes her future. There are certainly gripping moments as questions arise about who Laura can really trust and if her surreptitious activities will be caught out, but this is more a novel about the tension between her complicity with the social/political structures around her and her rebellion against them.

There is a clear awareness of the limitations imposed upon women in this time period. Laura is highly conscious of how she presents herself physically and acts socially as she “had been brought up into the certain knowledge that a woman’s body and voice were always potential sources of shame, that only by intense scrutiny and control could one become acceptable.” There is an attention to detail for how Laura uses her sexuality to both meld into her social milieu and manipulate people when needed. At other times there is a frustration for how little women are allowed to participate in social engagements and are seen as only decorative: “The women provided the colour between the black and white of the men’s tuxedos, but that was all they seemed to be there for; these flashes – green, scarlet, blush and blue – between the black coats.” Laura lived through a difficult abusive childhood and is aware of how little she is intellectually valued amongst men. These conflicts play into the complex reasons why she engages in acts of espionage.

Melinda Maclean who acted as a spy for the Soviet Union as did her husband Donald Maclean, a British diplomat. 

It really surprised me how much I personally connected with Laura. She feels distanced from her American upbringing, but she's never able to fully integrate into exclusive social groups in England. Having moved from America to the UK many years ago I found this to be very relatable and wholly believable. There are subtleties in our national differences which can only be felt from prolonged exposure to both cultures and Walter captures these very well. There are also striking moments where Laura overhears what people say about her which collapse the English social niceties and reveal how people really feel about her.

The dilemma for Laura between living a comfortable (quiet) life and making a real difference is palpable throughout. Just what a quiet life means is shown in its full complexity over the course of the novel. There is a life of privilege sheltered from the protests and struggles of people outside that circumscribed world, there is the potential quiet life a couple can find after years of difficult work, alcoholism and conflicts in the relationship have worn them down and there is a quiet life which is disengaged from the politics of the time – a life of simply getting by. Walter creatively and engagingly explores these dilemmas within the story giving a heartfelt account of Laura's struggle to determine what sort of life she really wants. There are also hints of a wholly other life Laura could have had where she might have developed and expressed herself artistically if only she'd come of age in a quiet peaceful time outside of war.

This is an utterly fascinating novel which gives an entirely new perspective of the WWII time period. It's a wholly immersive and wonderful read about a compelling character inspired by the real life of a woman named Melinda Maclean who was suspected (but never proven) to be a Soviet spy. 

Here's a brief interview with Natasha Walter about her inspiration for writing the novel: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/jun/12/natasha-walter-a-quiet-life-cambridge-spies-fiction

A Beginner’s Guide to Reading Joyce Carol Oates

It’s Joyce Carol Oates’ birthday today! If you read my blog or watch my booktube channel regularly you’ll know what a fan I am of Oates’ writing. Something I get frequently asked by people who haven’t read her before is where to start. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed with choice as she’s currently published sixty six novels and novellas as well as thirty nine books of short stories. To fully answer this question, I’ve made a video with some information about Oates’ writing and life as well as suggestions for which of her books would make good starting points.

If you want short answers here are my suggestions. A great novel to start with is “The Gravedigger’s Daughter” as it really encapsulates some of her most persistent themes and it is written in a form of psychological realism which is her most frequent narrative form. If you want to begin with some short stories I’d suggest reading the 2006 anthology “High Lonesome: New & Selected Stories” which contains wonderful selections of her writing from across her entire career including her famous short story ‘Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?’ For a good genre novel try reading the majestic family saga “Bellefleur” which is the first in her series of five post modern novels which employ certain writing styles to give a unique perspective on American life.

If you are a writer or interested in writing yourself her book of essays “The Faith of a Writer: Life, Craft, Art” is an extremely useful guide. Later this year, she’s due to publish another book about writing called “Soul at the White Heat.” For more information about Oates herself read her biography “Invisible Writer” by Greg Johnson which is carefully researched, comprehensive and absolutely compelling. Also “The Journal of Joyce Carol Oates: 1973-1982” is a fascinating insight into Oates’ daily life, her thoughts on writing, encounters with other famous authors and contains meditative thoughts about the meaning of life – this is absolutely one of my favourite and most treasured books!

Painting by Renee Heinecke

I didn’t mention them in my video, but for a period Oates really embraced writing young adult novels. She’s frequently interested in writing about adolescence so this really melds well with this format and gave her a chance to explore certain social issues in a compelling way. For instance, her novel “Sexy” gives interesting insights into the psychology of a teenage boy disconcerted by his developing body and the growing sexual interest directed at him. She writes a gripping tale about his moral dilemmas. Oates is also a great lover of cats and has given tribute to some cats she’s owned by writing children’s books about them one of which is “Come Meet Muffin!” – a beautifully illustrated and gentle story.

I hope this gives a good answer for people wondering where to start with reading Joyce Carol Oates. If you want more detailed information the website Celestial Timepiece is an incredibly comprehensive site dedicated to Oates’ life and writing. But feel free to contact me or respond with any questions as I’m always happy to talk about Oates’ work. If you have read her books which is your favourite? Are there any other books by her you’re interested in reading?

Vinegar Girl by Anne Tyler

After reading Jeanette Winterson’s novel “The Gap of Time”, I was thrilled to see that the Hogarth Shakespeare series also includes a new novel from Anne Tyler - one of my favourite authors. Winterson brilliantly combined her writing style and individual sensibility to open a dialogue with Shakespeare’s ideas/themes from The Winter’s Tale. I was a big advocate and fan of Tyler’s previous novel “A Spool of Blue Thread” last year which divided a lot of people, but I found it to be an inventive and meaningful story about generations of family life. Now Anne Tyler has given her “spin” on The Taming of the Shrew with this new novel “Vinegar Girl”. Firstly, I must admit that Shrew is the play by Shakespeare that I like the least. I find its ambiguous take on gender politics grating and more than anything I find the story to be rather dull. I even dislike Cole Porter’s musical ‘Kiss Me, Kate’ despite being a big fan of Porter’s music otherwise. So it’s an interesting experiment to pair Tyler with this problematic work by the Bard.

Tyler transposes the story of The Taming of the Shrew to the modern day and her familiar territory of Baltimore. Kate Battista is a young teacher’s assistant who is “big boned and gawky.” She takes care of both her father Louis, a distracted scientist working relentlessly on researching an autoimmune disease, and her popular teenage sister Bunny (Bernice) who outshines her with golden girls and a newfound interest in animal rights’ activism. Meanwhile, Kate makes horrifying sounding dinners with a dish she calls “meat mash” and comes perilously close to losing her job from expressing her opinions too bluntly to her young pupils and their parents. Louis’ lab assistant Pyotr lives in America on a work visa which will soon expire. To continue his important research Louis plots to marry Kate off to him to keep him in the country. Both Pyotr and Kate have somewhat abrasive personalities and awkward social skills. A comic story ensues.

The most successful parts of this novel were Kate’s interactions at the “Little People’s School” between the children and teachers. She generally doesn’t like most of the children and often treats them with a level of contempt where it’s remarked “It wasn’t true that she hated children. At least, a few she liked okay. It was just that she didn’t like all children, as if they were uniform members of some microphylum or something.” It is quite funny how straightforward she is with these children who are only four years old and how her manner totally goes against current prevailing attitudes of coddling young people to ensure each feels special. There are a number of enjoyably tense scenes with the principal Mrs Darling where you can feel her polite sunny veneer flaking away and her frustration over Kate’s unapologetic blunt manner growing.

Elizabeth Taylor as Katharina in Zeffirelli's 'Taming of the Shrew'

Tyler is also excellent at portraying minute actions in the way family members react to and relate to one another to show imbalances. Kate has been pushed into a mothering role since the family lost their mother which is something she readily accepted at first but now she finds herself turned into an unpleasant person. Louis increasingly takes her for granted requiring her to bring him his lunch and do his taxes. Bunny’s transformation into a hungry-for-romance teen means that Kate feels her sister has “changed into this whole other person, this social person, I don’t know; this social, outgoing person. And somehow she turned me into this viperish, disapproving old maid when I’m barely twenty-nine. I don’t know how that happened!” It’s moving the way that Tyler shows how people morph into certain roles within family life which they feel helpless to extract themselves from. Rather than taking an independent stand, Kate takes the rather non-feminist decision of using marriage as a way of getting out of her constrictive family circumstances.

This is where the novel somewhat troubles me. Both Louis and Pyotr treat Kate abysmally at some points and act in a horrendously selfish manner. Rather than expressing her intolerance for this behaviour or leaving them, Kate expresses an understanding for their foibles because that’s the way men are and she softens her acid tone. She delivers a speech at the end stating this in a way which is carefully modified from Katherine’s famous open-to-interpretation monologue at the end of The Taming of the Shrew. I didn’t find the development of the difficult relationship between Kate and Pyotr convincing. Rather than elucidate the building relationship of these problematic characters, Tyler gets bogged down in tedious details like methods of loading the dishwasher or the laborious process of cooking an egg. It felt overall like Tyler got too bogged down with trying to rejuvenate the mechanics of the Bard’s story rather than making the tale wholly her own as Winterson ingeniously did. Although “Vinegar Girl” is an enjoyable read I don’t think it’s Tyler’s best.

Moonstone by Sjón

When contemplating our ancestral and national history we naturally look for people we can personally connect to. It can be difficult to divine the inner lives and feelings of people from a hundred years ago before social media, blogs and selfies made all that was personal very public. Of course, there are other kinds of records in the forms of letters, news articles, a scattering of photos, early films and artwork. However, it’s more likely that century old documents only offer a glimpse into the complex personalities of people from long ago or that certain outsiders left no record at all. Some special entry point of feeling is needed to connect to history so that you may fully understand and inhabit it. You want a body that you could have been born into. In fiction you can either assume the personality of a historical figure by clinging onto a glimmer of their state of mind or wholly create someone you could imagine being.

Author Sjón has found an extraordinarily creative way of entering into a crucial period of Iceland’s history in his novel “Moonstone” by inventing a boy. The majority of the novel takes place in the later part of 1918. At this time the country gained its independence as a sovereign state while also experiencing devastating losses in its population because of the spread of the Spanish flu. The boy Máni Steinn sells his body to older men and lives with an old lady. He goes to the cinema as much as possible. Here he becomes entranced by a French silent serial film Les Vampires. An outsider's perspective and the surreal crimes of this thriller combine in the boy’s imagination. A woman he idolizes merges with the French actress Musidora. The fluttering of a red scarf mirrors the image of the volcano Katla’s eruption. Through this point of view we feel a fresh version of the country’s transformation. We see it through queer eyes. Within the historic changes of a nation are inserted the creative possibilities of lives and ideas which surviving documents haven’t recorded.

Part 2 of Louis Feuillade's 10-part crime serial involving a secret underground gang known as The Vampires, of which one member is Irma Vep, portrayed by Musidora.

There are haunting scenes where Máni walks through Reykjavik while the influenza is spreading sickness and panic. He remarks how this has caused personal stories of tragedy to turn inward and become hidden: “these days the real stories are being acted out behind closed doors.” This is in sharp contrast to the very public celebrations and ceremonies of Iceland gaining independence from Denmark. Amidst the pomp of a nation being born a welcome level of perversity is introduced where Máni makes eyes with a sexy Danish soldier and the pair slip away to a secluded spot to get off with each other. When they are discovered it’s a scandal the nation wants to suppress. This isn’t the image they want to have. It’s not the history they want to record. Máni finds that he can only continue to grow and develop elsewhere, but a crucial energy and flutter of his heart is left behind.

“Moonstone” is wholly inventive, wildly beautiful and infectiously invigorating. The novel I can most closely compare it to would be Neil Bartlett's "The Disappearance Boy" in how the story radically re-views a nation's historical moments through a queer boy's perspective. It’s filled with startling imagery and fascinating ideas. This is a short, impactful novel like a dream you have around sunrise. It’s a tightly compressed tale whose meaning extends out far beyond its few pages.