The 2020 Dylan Thomas Prize Longlist

Recently the longlist for the 2020 International Dylan Thomas Prize was announced. The prize is celebrating it’s 15th anniversary this year. It’s open to any author aged 39 or under. Since it’s one of my goals this year to read more poetry and short stories, I’m keen to follow this prize as the 12 books on the longlist include 3 books of poetry and 2 short story collections – as well as 7 novels (many of which are ones I’ve been meaning to read anyway.) You can watch me discussing all these books here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P81rIwrpRIE

Coincidentally, I’ve already read two of the books of poetry including Jay Bernard’s “Surge” which is extraordinarily powerful and one of the best books I read last year. More recently, I enjoyed Mary Jean Chan’s “Fleche” which won the Poetry category at the Costa Book Awards. I found these poems so immersive and emotional. I’ve also been very keen to read Stephen Sexton’s collection “If All the World and Love were Young” as I heard him read some poems from it at the Forward Prizes last year.

I’ve really enjoyed reading Kirsty Logan’s short stories in the past so I’m particularly keen to read her most recent collection “Things we say in the Dark” and I’ve heard lots of good things from readers in America about Bryan Washington’s story collection “Lot”.

Interestingly, two debut novels on the list represent their authors first forays into long-form fiction. Helen Mort and Ocean Vuong are both established and well-regarded poets. I’m always curious to see how authors modify their writing style when changing form. The results can really vary. For instance, I thought Garth Greenwell’s poetic sensibility works very well in his narratives, but poet Katharine Kilalea’s first novel didn’t work quite as well.

Two novels on the list I began reading but set aside are “Exquisite Cadavers” and “Stubborn Archivist”. Although I loved Kandasamy’s novel “When I Hit You” I found the high concept of this new book made it difficult for me to engage with the story. It’s a dual narrative where the author is telling a fictional story alongside all the real-life influences which went into making it. While this is an interesting idea, I found it made for a frustrating reading experience. Equally, Fowler uses a very informal style in her novel for telling the story of a woman’s migration from Brazil to England. From what I read of the novel it lacked the kind of artfulness I look for in fiction so didn’t finish it.

Out of the remaining three books I’m most keen to read Tea Obreht’s historical novel “Inland” and Madhuri Vijay’s “The Far Field” which won the 2019 JCB Prize for Literature (a literary award for Indian authors.) But, if I have time I’d also be keen to read Yelena Moskovich’s novel which sounds so atmospheric.

The shortlist for this year’s prize will be announced on April 7th and the winner on May 14th. Hopefully, I’ll be able to read a number of these books before then. Let me know which you are keen to read or, if you’ve read any, let me know your thoughts about them.

Love and Other Thought Experiments by Sophie Ward

I’ve sometimes dipped into reading science and philosophy out of a curiosity to better understand the world and the nature of being, but I often find these texts too formal and dry to engage with for very long. So it’s enlivening to read Sophie Ward’s conceptual novel which is a series of interlinked stories each exploring a different thought experiment. These are imaginative devices to contemplate a different hypothesis or unsolvable riddle which provokes questions about the meaning of consciousness, the shape of reality and the limits of perception. Each section dramatizes a classic experiment devised by scientists and intellectuals such as Blaise Pascal, Hilary Putnam and Rene Descartes. The novel literally brings these questions to life while telling a moving tale about a family which spans many decades and imaginatively dips into a variety of perspectives. At the heart of the book is a couple named Rachel and Eliza whose desire to have a child results in a multitude of unforeseen consequences. This is certainly one of the most original pieces of fiction I’ve read in some time. It innovatively manages to be poignant as well as thought provoking.

I was worried at first that this novel might be too cerebral to be emotionally engaging, but I was surprised how engrossed and moved I felt by the stories it contains. Each section adds a piece to the puzzle to give a more complete picture while also expanding the boundaries of that puzzle. This book also does something radical in its portrayal of time as not a fixed thing but something which opens up to possibilities of alternate realities. I also found it refreshing to read fiction which seriously considers the unique challenges and dilemmas faced by a same-sex couple who want to have a child. This novel doesn’t present these issues in a politicised way like in “XX” by Angela Chadwick, but looks at them from different angles. While Rachel and Eliza must contend with personal difficulties they also must balance raising their child alongside the gay couple they’ve conceived with. Though sexuality is a factor, their struggles are more based in the challenges of dealing with death and grief.

As I continued reading this novel one of the great pleasures of the experience was discovering the daring and original places it was prepared to go. I really didn’t expect it’d explore such an audacious range of points of view or cross so many genres. Sections of the novel morph from surrealism to sci-fi in a way that is so compelling and raises many interesting ideas while also bringing the story together as a whole. It’s definitely left me with a lot to think about in a haunting way like a dream. This is a truly imaginative and impressive debut novel!

The 2019 Costa Book of the Year Winner

I’ve greatly enjoyed following the Costa Book Awards this year. The shortlist announcement at the end of November included recent favourite reads such as the poetry collection “Surge” and the novel “Starling Days”. It’s one of my resolutions this year to read more outside of my comfort zone of novels and with the multiple categories this prize includes it’s a great opportunity to explore other genres. So when the category winners were announced at the beginning of January I decided to read the poetry, biography and children’s books as well as the first novel award winner. I’m so glad I took the time to read them because I think “The Confessions of Frannie Langton” is such an inventive and mesmerising story. I also found the poetry “Flèche” collection to be so absorbing and moving. The only book I didn’t finish was the YA novel “Asha & the Spirit Bird” because I found the plot somewhat clunky (probably because I’m not the right audience for this form of book) though I enjoyed the characters and setting. However, I was completely gripped by the biography “The Volunteer” which recounts the story of a Polish resistance fighter who volunteered to be imprisoned in Auschwitz where he forged an underground army, sabotaged facilities, gathered evidence about Nazi war crimes and spread news of the Holocaust to the Allies.

I was lucky enough to have been invited to the Costa Book Awards ceremony last night. It was a glitzy affair with lots of lovely bookish people. And it was wonderful to see each of the category winners being awarded £5,000 on stage. Trying to judge books from these different categories against each other must be such a challenging task, but selecting an overall winner gives a good chance to celebrate literature across all genres. It was so difficult to guess but I had thought Sara Collins might win the award since a biography “The Cut Out Girl” won last year and several people I talked to felt the same way. However, “The Volunteer” was declared as the Book of the Year and author Jack Fairweather was awarded £30,000. I think this is a great decision. I know many people are hesitant to read more about WWII because it feels like it’s a portion of history which has been well covered. However, this powerful biography proves there are so many more unique and important stories to be told. Since I knew nothing of Witold Pilecki before reading this book it was also a very tense read because I had no idea what his fate would be so I was gripped till the end. It’s also poignant that this book won the prize this week because on Monday it was the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. I hope this award will encourage many other readers to pick up this tremendous biography.

The Volunteer by Jack Fairweather

Although it feels like events of the Holocaust and WWII have been comprehensively written about in numerous accounts, it’s astounding that new stories continue to emerge which present a different angle on this complex history. Virtually unknown accounts of heroism and tragic defeat continue to emerge and this new biographical account of Polish officer Witold Pilecki is one of the most shocking and heart breaking I’ve ever read. After Poland was occupied and Auschwitz (a former Polish army barracks) was turned into a German prisoner of war camp, Pilecki and other Polish nationalists devised campaigns to resist their invaders and take back their country. One of the things they needed most was information to convey to what would become the Allied countries to convince them to take action and strike against the Nazis. In order to gather proof about war crimes and form a resistance army from the inside, Pileck volunteered to be captured by the Nazis and taken into Auschwitz. Of course, this was long before anyone knew that it would turn into a death camp responsible for over 1.1 million deaths. 

Something Fairweather emphasizes frequently in his book is that Pileck was a fairly ordinary man who made such a daring sacrifice out of strong nationalist convictions rather any particular ideological or humanitarian feeling. Yet he boldly faced a magnitude of challenges and outrageous brutality. Witnessing this led him to put himself at dire personal risk time and time again in the hope of ending this horrendous suffering. Unbelievably, many of his reports which were miraculously smuggled out of the camps and made themselves into the hands of Western officials went unheeded. This was primarily because it was viewed as too strategically difficult to try to liberate the inhabitants of Auschwitz. Also some officials questioned the legitimacy of the reports. There was also a hesitancy about prioritizing such action because of anti-Semitic sentiments. Even when it became obvious to Pileck that no help was coming and that any insurrection from within the camps would most likely fail, he raly resistance amongst the downtrodden inmates of the camp and attempt to communicate the truth of what was happening to nations that could fight the Nazis. The author notes that “Witold’s story demonstrates the courage needed to distinguish new evils from old, to name injustice and to implicate ourselves in the plight of others”.

It's very effective how Fairweather balances accounts of Pilecki's personal journey alongside a comprehensive overview of the history of WWII and how Auschwitz evolved into a site of such barbaric horror. Part of what made this book so compelling was the tension of finding out what happened to Pilecki. That his valour has largely been unsung in the history books is part of the tragedy of his life story. I'm grateful that “The Volunteer” has given me a broader understanding of the complicated progression of the war as well as an incredible account of one man's astounding courage.

Flèche by Mary Jean Chan

“Flèche”, the title of Mary Jean Chan’s poetry collection, means an aggressive offensive fencing technique and the author refers to her experience participating in the sport throughout several pieces. This central metaphor describes her process of literally arming herself in combat, but also poignantly suggests how she must battle against her identity being suppressed especially in white and non-queer spaces. The preface of this book points out that “We are defined against something, by what we are not and will never be.” The way in which the author must assert herself in opposition to this persistent and pernicious act of being characterized as what she is not is dynamically explored throughout these poems. 

The collection seems to roughly follow a chronological progression from her childhood where she recounts tales and fables relayed about her ancestry to moving to the West and the awakening of same-sex desire to revisiting her family to introduce them to her partner. All the while, there’s an ongoing dialogue (both internal and verbal) with her mother where the past is ceaselessly pulled into the present. Some poems take on point of view of the mother, others recount scenes with her and one ‘Conversation with Fantasy Mother’ imagines a perfect coming out scenario where “You sieved my tears, added an egg, then baked a beautiful cake.” I found the progression of this complex relationship and the challenge of arriving at an amicable connection to be incredibly emotional. It’s beautiful how Chan pulls at different threads to convey the many ways she is indelibly tied to her mother.

The final point of the preface asserts that “This is a book of love poems.” The overwhelming feeling I was left with from reading this book is just that, a love for family and romantic partners which has been forged out of long-term strife and where all the need for defending oneself has finally been released.

The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins

I was first drawn to reading “The Confessions of Frannie Langton” after watching the author Sara Collins discuss it in such a compelling way on the first episode of The Big Scottish Book Club which aired on BBC Scotland last year. And I felt drawn to it again when it was recently listed for the Costa Book Awards (and won the First Novel category.) I'm so glad I finally got to it because it's an utterly captivating historical novel with a feisty and intelligent protagonist who has many secrets and an enthralling story to tell. 

The novel begins in the early 1800s where Frannie is on trial for the murder of Mr and Mrs Benham. As she waits in her prison cell she writes her account of what happened and describes her journey from being born a slave on a Jamaican plantation to working as a maid for the couple she's eventually accused of murdering. She describes horrifying scientific experiments that were performed on humans, the effects of laudanum addiction, the taboo of same-sex love and takes us into the seedy underworld of London's brothels. These elements result in a story that feels somewhere between the novels “Washington Black” and “Fingersmith” which, as far as I’m concerned, is very high praise! What draws all this together and makes this novel utterly unique is Frannie's distinct and convincing point of view. She makes shrewd observations about attitudes towards class and race as well as the nature of being, the meaning of literature and the complications of love.

Early in her life Frannie was taught to read and write for reasons that eventually become clear, but it wasn't for her own personal development. However, it awoke within her a love for literature and she craves the company of books whenever she has access to them. Naturally this makes her a sympathetic character and being well educated gives her the ability to record her own story where many people from her background could not. Yet, we also get the perspectives of numerous other characters through dialogue, the testimonies given in court and occasional accounts from various individuals which are inserted into the text. It's clever the way this shows how Frannie could sometimes use people's assumptions about her to her own advantage, but it's also heartrending in the way it reveals how many underestimated her or used her as a pawn in their own schemes.

Frannie tells a captivating and meaningful tale with a viewpoint that still has a lot of relevance today. I also can't think of another character I'd rather take for a drink and exchange books with so we can have long discussions about what we've read. This is such an impressive and memorable debut novel. I hope Sara Collins writes more in the future.

Pine by Francine Toon

I don’t know why reading something which is slightly spooky set in a cold location during the winter months is so satisfying, but it is. “Pine” takes place over the chilly months of Autumn and Winter in a remote town in the Highlands of Scotland where the community often helps each other through personal difficulties and hard times, but there are also long-held secrets, bullying villains and mysterious characters.

The story centres around the lives of an adolescent girl named Lauren and her hard-drinking father Niall. Lauren’s mother Christine disappeared while she was a baby, but there are moments where her ghostly spectre seems to haunt their lives. Christine practiced New Age techniques and magic which is a speciality her daughter Lauren also pursues. This a novel set in contemporary times but it harkens back to a gothic sensibility where the supernatural blurs into reality. It makes for an atmospheric and riveting reading experience. But there’s also a moving tenderness to the way the characters are portrayed with their long-held grief and solemn isolation.

This novel excels at building tension where it feels like a ghost might slide out from behind the trees at any moment. But the narrative maintains a psychological tension where the characters might be dreaming or experiencing these oddities in reality. This sense is enhanced by Niall’s frequent bouts of drinking and Lauren’s adolescent sensibility which strays into fantasy. Their relationship is touchingly portrayed as Niall struggles to be a good single father though he’s prone to occasional neglect as well as earnest bouts of caring. At the same time, Lauren is accustomed to his erratic behaviour brought on by alcoholism and heartbreakingly conceals much of the torment she receives at school.

I enjoyed how “Pine” transported me to this snow-swept rural landscape using concise descriptions which are so effective in conveying an atmosphere that’s at once beautiful and menacing.

Follow Me To Ground by Sue Rainsford

Ada and her father live a self-contained existence and run a highly unusual healing practice. While they may appear human they are not as Ada was born from the Ground and at night her father shifts into a wild carnivorous animal who hunts on all fours. Since she is not biologically a female when Ada takes a local man as a lover she literally must grow genitals in order to consummate their relationship. “Follow Me To Ground” could be described as a book of magical realism or a debut novel which creatively incorporates elements of folklore, but I get uncomfortable categorising new works of fiction in this way. It feels too easy to group together literature which bends reality and writes its own laws of nature. Rather than describe it as part of any particular tradition in writing, I’d rather call it a highly original novel written in a voice which is fiercely its own.

There’s a haunting and unsettling quality to it which lingers in my mind like a dream I can’t quite remember. While the text is no doubt layered with symbolism and contains references to different mythologies or religions, I enjoyed letting the story simply wash over me with all its weirdness and gradually unfolding internal logic. I feel both attracted to and repulsed by Ada who feels desire sharply and also possesses a disturbing lack of sentimentality about the people she treats by opening up their bodies to burrow inside. To heal them she sings in a way which causes their ailments to depart. She loves so fiercely she’s determined to entirely possess the man she wants no matter the cost to him or anyone else. Like all witches, the local villagers respect and fear her. She’s like a divinity not to be trusted, yet she’s also the one people turn to when they are in desperate need. It’s touching how Rainsford conveys a sense of loneliness about her while also showing how she feels no self-pity.

The story is also cleverly constructed. Ada’s narration is interspersed with testimonies from different locals who have either been treated by her or heard vicious rumours about her. Only near the end of the book is it revealed why these statements are being made. The way the domestic harmony of this strange setting unravels has a moving tragedy to it. It’s the kind of book which makes me eager to discuss it with someone else - not only to try to piece together what happened, but to share in the wickedly surprising experience of it. This is a novel I’m going to enjoy puzzling over for some time.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë

Anne Brontë was born 200 years ago today and to mark this occasion I’ve been reading “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall” over the past couple of weeks. This is the first time I’ve read this novel, but I’ve been keen to read more books by the Brontës given the bicentenary celebrations for the sisters which have been occurring recently. In the past few years I’ve read “Wuthering Heights” for the first time and Anne’s first novel “Agnes Grey” – as well as taken a trip to Haworth and the Brontë parsonage last year. While I enjoyed “Agnes Grey” (especially the comic depiction of several shallow adolescents the protagonist governs) I didn’t find it a hugely memorable novel. Many readers encouraged me to read “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall” as it’s popularly considered a more accomplished novel and I have to say I agree.

It’s a novel with a compelling mystery at its centre about Mrs Helen Graham, an enigmatic widow who has recently moved into a dilapidated country estate. Naturally many of the locals are intrigued by this newly arrived figure, gossip frequently about her and try to pry out the story of her origins. However, only the narrator Gilbert Markham discovers the truth when (after a rocky initial acquaintance) Mrs Graham finally takes him into her confidence by entrusting him with her diaries. These are reproduced in a lengthy second part of the novel wherein we learn about her turbulent marriage and the reason why she’s moved to this remote location with her son and why she so fiercely tries to preserve her anonymity.

The novel gives a striking depiction of alcoholism and a psychologically abusive marriage. It’s so interesting reading this classic text after reading the recently published memoir “In the Dream House” which also gives a frank portrayal of an abusive relationship from a very different angle. Common traits of manipulative behaviour can be traced through such relationships where the abusive spouse tries to control, dominate and make their partner depend on them. And a tragic aspect of such relationships is that the abused spouse romantically hopes that their partner will eventually reform even after they repeatedly fail to make promised changes. It’s heartrending and effective the way Anne Brontë traces how Helen enters into such a marriage and eventually realises that her husband Huntingdon is an irredeemably vicious scoundrel.

Although I found the central story really effective, I did feel this novel was overlong as some parts felt repetitive and unnecessarily drawn out. The structure is also somewhat unwieldy as the opening and closing chapters of the novel are written in the form of letters Gilbert is sending to his brother-in-law. It’s difficult to root for Gilbert as a romantic hero as he’s cantankerous and overbearing in the way he persistently sniffs around for Helen’s affection. After everything she went through I was hoping for a better partner for her. But it’s interesting having read novels by all the Brontës now how none of them offer a romantic male lead who isn’t deeply problematic in some way. Compared to Heathcliff and Mr Rochester, Gilbert is probably the most stable and even-tempered of the lot. Nevertheless, Helen probably deserved better.

Actress Nancy Coleman played Anne Bronte in the film ‘Devotion’

A character I greatly enjoyed is Eliza Millward, the daughter of the local vicar who Gilbert initially harbours romantic feelings for before the arrival of Mrs Graham. Having been tossed aside by Gilbert she makes it her business to taunt and tease him about his obvious pining for the mysterious lady. She frequently soaks up and circulates any gossip she can gather about Helen and then casually drops it into conversation around Gilbert to drive him into a fury. I found these scenes very funny and, as similarly demonstrated in “Agnes Grey”, I think this shows how Anne had a real talent for creating humorously superficial and conniving characters. Eliza pleasingly offsets the character of Helen who (although she is sympathetic) is also tediously pious and ardently sincere in her manner. Helen can also be frustratingly oblique in her dialogue resorting to soporific metaphors rather than being candid about her own feelings and desires.

Recently I watched the 1946 film ‘Devotion’ which is an enjoyably silly and fancifully romantic portrayal of the lives of the Brontës. However, it includes some curious opening text which explains how the Brontës included two geniuses (presumably they mean Charlotte and Emily since these are the figures the film mostly focuses on.) It’s another indication how Anne has frequently been considered a lesser writer compared to her sisters. This seems a shame since “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall” is still a good novel, especially in its frank portrayal of difficult subject matter. Since I don’t know a detailed history of the Brontës beyond the basics, it wasn’t until I read this recent article by Tracy Chevalier that I was aware of this novel’s difficult history and how a much edited version was the one which was frequently republished for many years. Now that I’ve read novels by all the sisters, I’m very keen to get knotted up in all the debates and mythology surrounding the Brontës and read some more biographical accounts to better understand them. Of course, many have been written so let me know if you have any suggestions about where to start.

The Old Man and His Sons by Heðin Brú (translated by John F. West)

Over the New Year period some friends and I went to the Faroe Islands for a short holiday. These are a remote group of islands to the north of Scotland (although it’s an autonomous territory within the Kingdom of Denmark.) We wanted to go somewhere unique and remote. Often when I travel to new places I like to find translated literature from that location to read while I'm there. So I was delighted to discover “The Old Man and His Sons” which is a Faroese novel first published in 1940. The author grew up in a small village in the Faroes at a time when there was a generational shift from traditional self-contained living where people primarily sustained themselves to a more outward-looking market economy. The story reflects this transition following a few months in the life of Ketil and his wife, an older couple who live in a simple old dwelling. Their children have all grown and started families of their own except for their youngest son Kalvur who is regarded as simple-minded. The older couple find themselves financially strained when Ketil impulsively purchases a large quantity of whale meat at an auction. As the date they have to pay the bill grows near, they desperately try to find ways to earn extra money and bicker with their children who still sponge off from them.

It was wonderful reading this while actually staying on the islands as it brought the atmospheric descriptions within the story to life. There are frequent references to the strong winds and unpredictable weather which is certainly still true as some nights we felt like the windows were going to break because the wind blows so strong there. Having visited a few villages I can also understand why the characters live such isolated lives as there are many clusters of houses tucked away within the fjords. Ketil’s wife (who is oddly never named) hasn’t left their village in many years and Ketil resists going to the capital of Torshavn because he resents that people there will expect him to use a fork. It was fascinating reading about the details of their lives which involve a lot of hard manual labour and, though there is a strong sense of community, many of the people seem to possess a toughened sense of independence and pride.

This is a beautiful short video my friend Eric McFarland made which captured our trip.

The crux of the story focuses on the generational conflicts and differing values between the older citizens who prefer traditional ways and the newer generation who actively seek out economic and technological advancements. This isn’t a new theme, but it’s well executed and given a special resonance because it feels like very little changed on these islands for many centuries until some modern leaps took place in the mid-20th century. Both Ketil and his wife may be stubborn characters, but they are very endearing and I found many of their scenes quite funny and touching. There’s also a tenderness conveyed in how both generations care and look after their family members which shows how (despite possessing different values) there is an enduring commitment to each other. This was the perfect novel to read while travelling around these isolated and beautiful group of islands.

In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado

Carmen Maria Machado's “In the Dream House” is a highly inventive memoir which primarily focuses on a past abusive relationship and the effects of it. Part of what drew me to reading this book was a curiosity to see how she'd meld her fantastical style of writing - which she displayed in her excellent short story collection “Her Body and Other Parties” - with her own autobiographical experience. In this book there are many straightforward recollections of her past particularly concerning an abusive relationship. But they're all framed within the idea of a dream house that was formed within this intense romance. Like a fairy tale castle this imagined space becomes the central setting of fantasy, pleasure and horror. And through this Machado considers different tropes found in folk literature and how they sync with the trajectory of her own turbulent love affair. 

What makes this so effective is it shows the author's own meaningful influences from literature to queer theory to the history of domestic violence and references to films such as Gaslight and Stranger by the Lake. Through her intelligent analysis and personal interpretation of these we feel how deeply traumatised she's been by this relationship. It's possible to get an idea of an abusive relationship from details such as threatening phone calls or bodily harm, but it's much harder to convey the intensely conflicted feelings of fear, shame, lust and love which accompany these events. Machado has found a method to do this which is unique to her sensibility and which fully shows the reader all the ambiguities of her experience. 

It's interesting how she chooses to primarily narrate this memoir through the second person. Fairly early on there is a switch from speaking about her past in the first person to describing it using the pronoun “you” which suggests a more analytical way or looking at her own experience as well as inviting the reader to imagine themselves in her shoes. I felt this was impactful in showing moments of realisation and perspective: “though it would not be until the next summer solstice that you’d be free from her, though you would spend the season’s precipitous drop into darkness alongside her, on this morning, light seeps into the sky and you are present with your body and mind and you do not forget.” In writing “you” the reader understands there is a mindfulness about how she realised this situation was not right, but she was nonetheless unable to free herself from it at the time.

In Meena Kandasamy's powerful novel “When I Hit You” about an abusive marriage, she observes how the shame is not always in the abuse itself but in having to stand to judgement after leaving that relationship. Machado is similarly aware how people will question what is considered abuse and she meaningfully explores how this is further complicated by it being a same-sex relationship. As she found when doing research, there are precious few accounts of domestic abuse in lesbian relationships or between other queer couples. This memoir is not only an important testimony to add to these seldom-recorded histories, but it's also an emotional and thoughtful examination of why so few exist.

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

I doubt there could have been any better gift to myself this past December than reading “Little Women” for the first time before going to see the new film version adapted and directed by Greta Gerwig. It’s a somewhat strange prospect for a man over forty years old to read this classic novel of sisterhood which most readers first discover in their adolescent or teen years. But I immediately fell in love with the March girls with their various different creative pursuits, tragi-comic adventures and moral dilemmas as they grow into adulthood. Although I knew one of the girls died I couldn’t remember which one it was and having not seen any of the previous film versions I knew little about the plot of this novel. So it was entirely fresh to me and I got caught up in the story with all the girls’ aspirations, good deeds and occasional squabbling.

One of the scenes which struck me the most was their mother Marmee’s confession to Jo that her temper can become as heated as her daughter’s. It’s an endearing moment that hints at a deeper complexity in a character who is otherwise entirely charitable and good natured. As expected, there were a lot of moral lessons in the novel but I think many of them still stand up and are inspiring for the way the various stories encourage us to be better people. I wanted to listen and learn from them because all the girls are very endearing. However, a section which comes across as a bit antiquated is when Marmee advises Meg on how to satisfy and appease her straying husband who spends time in the company of another woman because of the drudgeries of home life and young parenthood. While it’s an understandable situation the blame is uncomfortably placed entirely on Meg’s shoulders. So it’s good that in the new film this is switched around so Meg’s husband John Brooke must adapt to accommodate Meg’s desire for occasional respites (rather than the other way around.)

It’s interesting how many readers end up feeling attached and sympathetic with one sister in particular and claim they are most like either Meg, Jo, Beth or Amy. I could definitely see aspects of my personality in each of the girls so couldn’t totally define myself as being most like one or another. I’m probably mostly a mixture of Meg and Jo though I definitely have Beth and Amy moments. Because each of the girls are quite distinct in their nature they are so easy to identify with and I can definitely recognize qualities in each of them that I’ve noticed in other people throughout my life. I’m guessing while reading the novel most readers probably also feel like Laurie in wanting to join in the girls’ activities and become an honorary member of the March family – as I really wanted to!

There was only one section of the novel that I found somewhat tedious and cloying. It comes later in the book when the narrator self-consciously focuses on Meg’s twins and youngest daughter. The way the dialogue is written with babyish language used by the children came across as grating to me. But on the whole I felt fully engaged with the sisters’ stories and following what happened to each girl as she grew, became ill or encountered new professional or romantic opportunities.

Since this novel has been adapted for film a number of times already some critics have expressed confusion about why a new movie of it needed to be made. But one of the most interesting choices Gerwig made was in alternating scenes from the girls’ childhood with their later teenage lives. This flashing backward and forward builds to a more rounded perspective of their development since the novel is told in a linear way. It also tunes the viewer into how the conclusion of this new film is creatively ambiguous because of how the final scenes we watched are interspersed with each other. In one we see a storyline where Jo gets married (in a somewhat formulaic conclusion) and in another we see her discussion with a publisher where she retains the copyright of her first novel suggesting more independence just as Louisa May Alcott (who never married) maintained. It’s unclear whether the scene we’ve watched where Jo races to catch Friedrich at the train station actually happened or if it’s part of fictional novel Jo has written about the girls’ lives. This ambiguity is a creative way to satisfy both the audiences’ craving for Jo to be married and pays tribute to how Alcott’s original intention. She didn’t want her character Jo to get married but felt pressured to write this conclusion because many readers at the time wanted to see this occur. In any case, I found the new film a complete joy to watch and I’m so glad I read the novel beforehand to fully experience the original text of the March family’s wonderful story.  

My Top 10 Books of 2019

It’s been an eventful year for books. Some of the biggest literary releases of the year took the form of sequels such as “Find Me”, “Olive, Again” and “The Testaments”. Atwood’s novel was also controversially awarded this year’s Booker Prize alongside Bernardine Evaristo magnificent “Girl, Woman, Other”. Thankfully other book prizes stuck to awarding one winner. Lucy Ellmann’s “Ducks, Newburyport” didn’t make it past the shortlist of the Booker but it did win this year’s Goldsmith’s Prize. The Women’s Prize for Fiction was awarded to Tayari Jones’ “An American Marriage”. Jokha Alharthi, an author from Oman, won this year’s Booker International Prize for her brilliant novel “Celestial Bodies”. The Wellcome Book Prize was awarded to “Murmur” by Will Eaves. The Wainwright Book Prize for Nature Writing was awarded to Robert Macfarlane’s “Underland”. The Desmond Elliott Prize was awarded to Claire Adam’s “Golden Child”. Excellent writers Danielle McLaughlin and David Chariandy were amongst the recipients of this year’s Windham Campbell Prizes. It’s also been a significant year for poetry as Raymond Antrobus’ “The Perseverance” won both the Rathbones Folio Prize and the Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award. Winners of The BAMB Readers Awards included Madeline Miller’s “Circe” for Fiction, Michelle Obama’s “Becoming” for Non-Fiction and the late great Leonard Cohen’s “The Flame” for Poetry. We also lost a number of great authors this year with the deaths of Toni Morrison, Jade Sharma, Kevin Killian, Andrea Camilleri, Deborah Orr, Clive James, Andrea Levy and Rachel Ingalls.

Personally, I’ve read many great books this year. There have been a number of powerful memoirs including “Kill the Black One First” and “My Past is a Foreign Country” and some excellent new poetry including “Surge” and “Deaf Republic”. But here are ten highlights which I think are truly exceptional. If you’ve read any of these books I’d love to know your thoughts as well as some of the best books you’ve read this year. You can also watch a video of me discussing my ten favourites here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9SVanX5kO0

Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellmann

This novel may be more famous for its page count than the contents of its story, but I think it’s utterly immersive. The story is almost catered for me as it discusses a lot about baking and old movies (two passionate interests of mine) but it’s also a brilliant take on our current times, our current state of mind, our current uncertainties and fears, our current tendency to rely on rumour and assumptions over facts and all of this is filtered through the unrelenting perspective of one Ohio housewife. I found it hypnotic, hilarious and unlike anything I’ve ever read before while also having the feel of great classics like Mrs Dalloway and Ulysses. I think it’s ingenious and like I said in a video I made recently about my favourite books of the decade I think it will be a future classic.

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo

One of the difficulties about having political discussions concerning racial minorities and minority communities in Britain is it lumps huge groups of distinct individuals into one category (and that’s something which occurs in a lot of rhetoric from political pundits). So it’s really meaningful and effective how Evaristo creates stories of many different black women to present the complexities of many different points of view and ways of living. But this novel isn’t just about making this larger statement. More importantly, it’s great enthralling storytelling that had be gripped and flipping through the novel to fully understand all the connections and ways these women’s lives touch upon each other. It’s a very creative way of telling the story of a community of people who both support each other and sometimes tear each other down.

My Life as a Rat by Joyce Carol Oates

I think one of the most terrifyingly tragic things that anyone can face is to be rejected from their own family. In this story an adolescent girl witnesses her brothers committing a racist attack and testifies to that fact. This is seen as a betrayal and so she’s thrown out of the only life she knows. One of Oates’ greatest themes is the instinct for survival. And it’s heartrending how the girl at the centre of this story persists and continues while still hoping to be welcomed back into her home. But it’s really a novel about the tough choices all of us have to face when negotiating whether to remain loyal to those we depend upon or stay true to what we know is right. And the way Oates presents the psychological complexities of this is so impactful.

The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead

This novel looks at another side of racial injustice where a young man is falsely accused of a crime and taken to a juvenile reformatory in Florida. There he experiences the horrendous way young men (most of whom are black) are being abused and killed and where the larger community either ignores this is happening or takes a complicit role in their exploitation. It’s so impactful how Whitehead composes this story and presents the way whole histories and communities of people can be made to disappear. And I’m one of this novel’s many fans who feel like it’s an injustice this book hasn’t won any awards yet.

You Will Be Safe Here by Damian Barr

This is another novel which unearths hidden histories. Before reading this novel I didn’t realise that during the Second Boer Wars in the early 1900s, the British military set up and ran concentration camps in South Africa. These camps were purportedly for their inhabitants’ safety but really they were a slow form of torture and a political tactic to steer the war. The story follows a mother who is taken to such a camp, but it’s a dual narrative as the second half of the book goes over a century into the future where a teenage boy is taken to another kind of camp which is meant to make a “real man” out of him through torturous practices. So this novel is about how certain institutions can appear to be for people’s benefit, but really physically and psychologically destroy them. I know this all sounds very weighty and difficult, but you’re just made aware of these things in the background and it’s what I’ve thought about since finishing the book. But the immediate story is about the warmth and endearing characteristics of its central protagonists and that’s what makes this novel an enjoyable read as well as a moving one.

Constellations by Sinead Gleeson

This is a book of autobiographical essays which follow the trajectory of Sinead’s life through illness, marriage, motherhood and work as a journalist. And while she goes into some very personal subject matter it also gives a perspective on social and political transformations in Ireland over the course of a generation. I love this book because the writing is so beautiful and smart while not being self-important. And she does this by referencing many different artists and writers but only in instances where they have deep personal meaning for her and the subject matter of her life. It’s an evocation of an entire culture as well as a hard-fought life.

The Years by Annie Ernaux

This book does something quite similar to the above but concerns a very different place (as it’s set in France instead of Ireland.) This is my first time reading Ernaux’s writing and I was utterly blown away how she can write such specific details about a life that simultaneously evoke an entire culture and time period. She does this by using the collective “we” when describing events and transformations over a half-century of French life. But you’re also aware of events in the life of the individual protagonist that this narrative is filtered through who goes through significant events like having children and getting a divorce. Reading this was a revelation to me as it’s so unique and extraordinary.

This Brutal House by Niven Govinden

Another very unique way of telling a story and presenting a culture is what Govinden does in this novel. It shows drag culture in NYC by representing the voices of different queens who sometimes speak in a collective voice, the police force they sometimes clash against and the individual story of Teddy, a child of one of these houses. It’s a beautiful evocation of how drag is both funny and playful as well as being a political act and a way of creating non-traditional families. And he really meaningfully shows the complications and in-fighting within this community as well as its strong bonds.

Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl by Andrea Lawlor

This novel takes the concept of Virginia Woolf’s Orlando where a character changes back and forth between a man and a woman – but in the form of a 23 year old college student in 1993. However, in some crucial ways Paul really differs from Orlando and even self-consciously states at one point that’s not who he is. Even though he can physical change back and forth between being a man and woman, there’s a central core to his character which is constant. I found him to be really endearing and fun, but the story also shows how he’s a very flawed individual that makes assumptions about other people based on their appearance just as assumptions are made about him based on how he fashions his own physical appearance. It’s really brilliant and it’s such a sexy sexy novel.

Underland by Robert Macfarlane

This is a nonfiction personal account of Macfarlane’s journey through many different subterranean landscapes from natural caves to mining operations to underground scientific research centres to the bottoms of glaciers. It’s a way of looking at a different part of the planet which we’re usually unaware of but which shapes our environment and is a repository of both geological and human history. I found it a really liberating way of breaking out of my own circumscribed view of the world which normally consists of walking between work and home. And the writing is so beautifully poetic, touching upon many reference points and making a larger statement about where our humanity is headed.

Ironopolis by Glen James Brown

I've discussed before how much I enjoy it when novels take the form of interlinked short stories, but the structure of Glen James Brown's debut novel “Ironopolis” is wholly unique in how it not only tells the interweaving stories of several individuals centred around a council estate but does so using different formats from letters to interviews to personal accounts. I've been meaning to read this book since it was first published last year and most recently it's been shortlisted for The Portico Prize (a literary award which celebrates Northern lives and landscape across fiction and nonfiction.) Brown's novel is located in Middlesborough, a city that has gone through large transformations since the closure of its coal and steel industries. These changes are particularly felt by the residents of this estate which undergoes a protracted process of rejuvenation by the local housing association resulting in the displacement of many long-term inhabitants. 

Over several decades we follow the lives of many locals including a mother dying of cancer, her bibliophile son, a local artist whose paintings come into vogue, a young man who finds a newfound passion for acid house music while emerging into his sexuality, his sister who grapples with a gambling addiction and her failing hair salon business, an elderly mobile librarian who harbours dark secrets, a petty criminal whose ill-fated meeting with the law sends him into a spiral of paranoid loneliness and a mythical green-skinned woman who dwells in the river and the bottom of a well. These distinct lives are all given a chance to shine individually as their voices gradually emerge, but their experiences powerfully join together in a tapestry to form a richer understanding of this area and its people.

I became really drawn into this novel through its sympathetically-portrayed range of characters and then felt gripped by the many intriguing mysteries and hidden histories buried in their stories. By getting a range of points of view in different narrative forms details surrounding particular dramatic events gradually come to the forefront giving a much more rounded understanding of the characters' motivations and circumstances. Brown has an impressive ability for startling the reader with revelations that they didn't even realise they were expecting. What resonates most powerfully is the broad empathy extended to numerous working class individuals whose voices often go unheard or are actively ignored. “Ironopolis” is a moving tribute to them and stands as a dynamic account of a recent era whose story has been paved over in the name of progress.

This is Pleasure by Mary Gaitskill

Over the past few years it’s been inspiring seeing how the momentum of the Me Too movement has raised people’s awareness about sexual harassment and sexual assault as well as instigate a lot of discussion about what’s acceptable behaviour (especially in circumstances where power and influence are at play.) So it’s really interesting how Mary Gaitskill has written a novella about the blurry lines between friendship, flirtation and inappropriate conduct. “This is Pleasure” has a dual narrative that gives equal balance to the voices of long term friends Quin and Margot. Allegations of sexually harassment are made against Quin from former friends and colleagues at the publisher he works for and soon more and more women come forward to testify against him. Margot feels compelled to defend her friend, but finds herself questioning whether his habits and behaviour do indeed cross a line. It’s striking how Quin isn’t a stereotypical predator. He’s charming and sensitive, inspiring many women to befriend and confide in him. And sometimes there are cringe-worthy sexual overtones to his conversation which leads to fondling. He’s an entirely believable and recognizable character – as well as Margot who is quick to justify these types of actions with the explanation “It’s just the way he is.”  

It’s excellent how Gaitskill pries open the complexity of these relationships by alternating between their points of view. Reading this novella felt somewhat like watching a documentary as Quin and Margot are so firmly entrenched in their own perspectives they sometimes find it difficult to see the larger picture or consider the feelings of others. Even when describing the fact of Quin’s gross behaviour they find it easy to explain it away because they’re both so convinced about his essential innocence. Their adjacent points of view show the complexity of friendship and how supporting the people we love can sometimes lead us to become complicit in their inappropriate or harmful actions. As a publisher Quin also muses on the nature of storytelling and in this Gaitskill fascinatingly shows the levels on which personal stories can come to influence the conscience of society and, in turn, these social narratives can be integrated into our own personal narratives. This novella opens up such big issues in an impressively pared down style that its effect is all the more haunting than if it’d been a much longer novel. This is the first book I’ve read by Gaitskill but it’s made me eager to read more of her writing.