Earthlings by Sayaka Murata (translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori)

When “Convenience Store Woman”, Sayaka Murata's first novel to be translated into English was published a couple of years ago it became a cult hit with many enthusiastic fans (including me!) She was already a well-established writer in Japan having published ten books and won multiple prominent literary awards. Now more of her books are being translated into English including “Earthlings” which explores a lot of this author’s familiar themes such as alienation and societal pressures but the story dramatizes them from a surprising new angle and contains more shocking twists. The novel centres around Natsuki, an adolescent girl who develops a strong bond with her cousin Yuu as the pair believe they are aliens who've come from a planet called Popinpobopia. Many years later Natsuki forms an unconventional marriage with a socially awkward man named Tomoya. They refer to society as The Factory wherein they are expected to function as mechanical parts by creating babies and serving specific functions: “Everyone believed in the Factory. Everyone was brainwashed by the Factory and did as they were told.” To escape this fate, the pair travel to Natsuki’s remote family home Akishina where they create a new connection with Yuu and try to establish a way of being outside of social expectations.

Murata’s writing is so compelling in the way she gives voice to outsiders - people who don’t quite fit into mainstream society and feel they must grudgingly obey unwritten social rules in order to survive. It makes it very easy to relate to the author’s central characters who take a weary view of people who do excel at being model citizens. For instance Natsuki observes of her friend Shizuka that “She had always been exemplary in learning to be a woman, truly a straight-A student. It looked excruciatingly tiring.” There’s an implicit humour in this wry view of others, but there’s a distinction between being socially-awkward and a sociopath. Murata’s characters tread that line and this makes her plots so compelling because it feels like at any moment the story might stray into violence, tragedy and madness.

This novel also exposes the hypocrisy of living in a patriarchal society where the authority of a good-looking man is valued over the testimony of an adolescent girl. During Natsuki’s childhood, her handsome teacher Mr Igasaki takes a predatory interest in her. However, nobody believes Natsuki’s account especially not the other women in her life – not even female friends she confides to in her early adulthood. It compounds her feelings of being an outsider and makes her even more mistrustful of following the expectations which are placed upon her.

Many will be shocked by the extremes this novel goes to. The ending of “Earthlings” is really wild and it’s likely to divide the opinions of different readers. Like with the novel “A Little Life”, I think many readers who initially feel sympathetic to the characters and story might become repelled by how far the author goes. In some ways, I found it frustrating as it does feel like Murata sacrifices a consistency with her characters for the sake of shock value. The attitude of Natsuki’s cousin Yuu changes very quickly and her husband Tomoya’s fear of physical contact is abruptly abandoned. But I don’t think this is simply a case of the author prioritizing a rhapsodic plot over the integrity of her characters.

There are a number of different interpretations you could make about the ending. It could be viewed in the realms of pure fantasy where the characters are what they believe they are. It could be seen as a form of joint hysteria. Or you could interpret it as a very intense example of how people will sometimes do terrible things to alienate themselves from society in order to violently free themselves from its rules. When his family try to take charge of him Tomoya desperately seeks a way to do something so shocking he’ll be permanently outcast. Similarly, at the end the trio go so outside the realms of convention they are absconding from any hope of being integrated into normal society again. It could be viewed as a radical form of liberation.

In some ways “Convenience Store Woman” felt like a more restrained and accomplished novel with hints of potential horror – whereas “Earthlings” tips into full-blown terror as its protagonists become lost in fantasy and violence. But it’s fascinating how this novel gives an interesting perspective on feelings of alienation. It’s common to imagine oneself as having been born in the wrong time or place when feeling crushed by expectations which go against one’s instincts. Here the characters really believe themselves to be aliens, but because we’re so entrenched in their perspective it’s so-called conventional people who come to seem like aliens with their banal rituals and rigid expectations. Murata inventively traces the way different outsiders cope by submitting to, rebelling against or escaping from the dominant ideologies of a society they are forced to live in. It makes for a vivid, thrilling and thought-provoking reading experience.

Shuggie Bain by Douglas Stuart

This must be one of the most powerful accounts of alcoholism that I've ever read. “Shuggie Bain” follows the early life of its eponymous hero, but really this novel and Shuggie himself are dedicated to his mother Agnes. In the early 1980s she's raising her children in a Scottish mining town whose workforce has been stripped of its livelihood because of Thatcher's policies. With clear-eyed detail the story shows the reality of her increasing dependency on drinking: the self-deception and the faltering attempts to deceive those around her, the schemes to obtain a dozen cans of Special Brew, the blackouts and humiliation, the men who prey upon her or enable her, the women who gossip about her and join her in drinking sessions, the way drinking makes her unemployable and even more dependant on benefits, how alcohol takes priority over food when shopping at the grocery store and how her children are left with nothing to eat. All the while adolescent Shuggie maintains a steadfast belief that his mother will get better even after the rest of her family abandons her. He's a sensitive, effeminate boy labelled as “no right” by many of the locals and it's heartbreaking how Agnes' alcoholism eventually comes between them as well. But this novel also captures the warmth, humour and humanity in its characters' lives. This is an intimate, gracefully-told story about a very ugly situation which expands to say much larger things about the way social and economic issues affect the lives of working class families. 

The novel also poignantly shows how Shuggie is held to stereotypical standards of masculinity. The way he talks and walks is criticised and mocked by other children and adult men in the community. Part of what makes the men so insecure and defensive about their manhood is that their livelihood has been threatened. One character observes how in Glasgow “Men were losing their very masculinity.” So I appreciate the way the story demonstrates how this intolerance isn't just a product of traditional notions about gender being rigidly perpetuated. There's also a budding awareness of Shuggie's sexuality which is delicately portrayed in the opening section which is set in the 90s. He's aware of a man gazing upon his body with desire and it's an awareness of this desire (more than an impulse for anything physical to happen) that produces an awareness that he's gay. I found it very moving how Shuggie makes some rare connections with a precious few people who also don't fit the mould and who he's also able to connect with by being the child of an alcoholic. I also appreciated how in the background of the story it’s revealed the city of Glasgow has divisions along the sectarian lines of Catholic and Protestant. I've not seen this portrayed in other novels except “The Walk Home” by Rachel Seiffert. But overall the story shows how poverty amplifies and re-enforces this division and others in the community. “Shuggie Bain” is a very special, personal story and it also gives a dignified voice to a community and people who aren't often portrayed in literature.

Happening by Annie Ernaux (translated by Tanya Leslie)

I've been wanting to explore more of Ernaux's writing since reading her extraordinary book “The Years” last year which so creatively blended autobiographical narrative with social commentary. Her slender book “Happening” is in a similar vein but about a specific period of her history. In 1963 Ernaux was twenty three years old, single and pregnant. She desperately wanted to terminate the pregnancy because of the social shame it'd bring to her family and the limitations it'd impose on her early life. Since abortion was illegal at that time she had to resort to other means. She describes the mindset of the time: “As was often the case, you couldn't tell whether abortion was banned because it was wrong or wrong because it was banned. People judged according to the law, they didn't judge the law.” For many years she didn't discuss this period from her past, but in this book she describes her extremely difficult experiences while also meditating on the process of grappling with her memories. In this she makes a short, impactful statement about changing times and the challenges young women face in particular.

It's one thing to read about a period of history in a specific location where abortion was illegal but it's quite different to read about an individual's own experiences. Part of the reason it took her so long to write about this was that it was a subject not often discussed in society, but Ernaux maintains her conviction that “any experience, whatever its nature, has the inalienable right to be chronicled. There is no such thing as a lesser truth.” Something which makes Ernaux's story so impactful are her feelings of ambiguity about her experiences – not that she didn't make the right choice but that she's still feeling through what this incident meant in her life and she's still trying to unravel why the process of getting an abortion was so difficult. For instance, she was treated very brusquely in the hospital and she eventually understands that this is because they believed she was working class rather than a university student. As with many social taboos, the process of overcoming obstacles and avoiding the attendant feelings of shame are made more difficult for poorer and more marginalized members of society.

She marks her experiences as a definitive point of transition in her life and what I found most moving were the melancholy images which have been pressed into her memories. The daily sense of fear and gloom she felt at the time resurfaces so sharply when recalling a small exchange or a physical object from the past. She describes how “Above all I wish to capture the impression of a steady flow of unhappiness, conveyed by a pharmacist's inquisitive attitude or the sight of a hairbrush by a steaming basin of water.” This narrative seems to be a way of disentangling the continuing effects of trauma. There's a straightforward honesty to Ernaux's writing I find so refreshing because she so openly discusses her process of composing her history and subject matter while she writes it. With some other writers this might seem too self-conscious but with Ernaux it takes on a meaningful clarity. She states how “Maybe the true purpose of my life is for my body, my sensations and my thoughts to become writing, in other words, something intelligible and universal, causing my existence to merge into the lives and heads of other people.” As with any great writer, she manages to do just this turning the extremely personal into something which has universal meaning.

Summer by Ali Smith

What a strange, tumultuous journey it's been over the past four years, but I'm so grateful that I've had Ali Smith's Seasonal novels by my side! Who could have predicted the many unsettling transformations that would take place in our social and political landscape when she began this ambitious writing project back in 2016? The highly contentious Brexit vote described in “Autumn” resulted in the UK officially leaving the EU this year. The conservative ex-mayor of London who was mocked in “Winter” has now become the Prime Minister. Some of the immigrants being detained under the watchful gaze of a correction officer in “Spring” have now been released because of the Covid-19 pandemic. It's so unique how the stories in these novels have been shaped by our immediate times and thus captured the sensibility, fears and divergent opinions of the country in its state of constant flux. As Iris remarks in this novel: “We're all walking the line now, the line between one era and another.” This makes these novels invaluable documents as they reflect this turbulent era. But they also join together to form a tapestry of relationships between specific characters introduced over the course of the previous novels, many of whom reappear in this final book in the series “Summer”.

This novel primarily focuses on the stories of Grace Greenlaw, a single mother and former actress who lives next door to her ex-husband Jeff, as well as their two children Sacha and Robert. As with the other novels, there are multiple conversations and oodles of pleasurable witty dialogue between the characters which results in a lot of humour and fun wordplay. Grace is also visited by Arthur and Charlotte from the novel “Winter” who are continuing their 'Art in Nature' online project. They all go to interview Daniel Gluck from “Autumn”. He's now 104 years old and still being visited by Elisabeth who is reading a novel she describes as “Sub Woolfian” about Rilke and Katherine Mansfield which was referred to in “Spring”. Although there are multiple references to events that occurred as recently as May and June of this year, the novel also looks back to previous seasons and periods of time such as the Hutchinson Internment Camp of WWII, a facility on the Isle of Man where German refugees and English residents with German or Italian heritage were held under suspicion throughout the war.

The way Smith threads pockets of history throughout her novels shows how no period of time stands in isolation from the past. Just as the seasons change in ways that we come to expect so do the machinations of society which alternately supports or suppresses its people. But, while larger events and the victors get their stories cemented in the history books, many of the casualties of these periods and their unrecorded stories are entirely forgotten. Smith's novels give a nobility to their perspectives as they show the opinions of people commenting and reflecting upon the changes occurring around them. Jeff's new younger partner Ashley has been working on an Updated Lexicon to trace the path between how words were initially used and how their meaning has been altered by politics. However, Ashley ominously goes silent.

As with the previous novels, “Summer” also meditates upon the life of a now relatively obscure female artist. In this case, she writes about the life of writer and filmmaker Lorenza Mazzetti. Smith also notes many lost attempts at communication between her characters with postcards, letters and text messages which never reach the intended recipient. Whether we are heard or not, Smith seems to suggest the solution to help guide and support one another is sincere open dialogue which bears witness to what's happening around us. In an exchange between Art and Charlotte it's stated: “I'm phoning because listening and communicating and staying in touch with each other is how we're going to get through this time for sure / Not that this time's going to be over for any of us very soon, she says. I have a feeling this time's here to stay, one way and another.” Though our society goes through cycles there are certain events and changes which permanently affect our lives.

from Lorenza Mazzetti’s film K (Metamorphosis)

Naturally coming to the end of this series of novels and reflecting on the progression of their stories has made me think back on how I've spent the last four years of my life. There have been so many small personal triumphs as well as failures I've lived through. I've sent many letters, marched in protests and cast votes in various elections. So much energy is expended trying to achieve a certain end and even more energy can be spent in frustration because the outcome isn't what was desired. But, as Grace reflects when embarking on a journey, “that's summer for you. Summer's like walking down a road just like this one, heading towards both light and dark. Because summer isn't just a merry tale. Because there's no merry tale without the darkness. And summer's surely really all about an imagined end.” There's no real finality in having made it through to this point and there's no stop to our stories even if this isn't the future we hoped to be living in. Smith shows how even the smallest action results in consequences which reverberate through time. The coming months will be very challenging with an upcoming US election, the fragile state of Ruth Bader Ginsburg's health and the continuing pandemic upturning the entire world. The story will continue and there will certainly be more disappointments, but there will also always be more moments under the sun.

Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid

There's been a lot of discussion recently about what makes a good ally to the Black Lives Matter movement. Certainly I and many other white people want to show support, get informed and help enact real change. But a troubling issue about this in our social media age is that such allyship can become performative and however well meaning allies can be it can come across as more concerned with image than the welfare of black individuals. These are issues that Kiley Reid's debut novel “Such a Fun Age” gets right to the heart of by dynamically portraying two white individuals who seek to support a young black woman who is racially profiled. 

Emira is an African American in her mid-20s who has the very sympathetic problem of properly “adulting” as she doesn't know what she wants to do with her life. Rather than seeking more substantial career advancements like her friends, she becomes a babysitter who is more or less stuck with meagre wages and no benefits. Her charge is three year old Briar, an endearingly panicky white girl who Emira grows to love. Briar's mother Alix is an upper-middle class blogger who revels in receiving free products and has launched a female empowerment brand with the message “Let Her Speak”. When a tense incident occurs in Alix's home late at night Alix calls Emira in to get Briar out of the house for a short period of time. When Emira takes the girl to a local market a white female customer and store security guard confront Emira implying that she's kidnapped this white girl. Kelley, another white customer intervenes and films the entire confrontation. Out of this incident, the novel's plot is set in motion as both Alix and Kelley seek justice on Emira's behalf.

Kelley encourages Emira to post the video publicly and get compensation while Alix seeks to befriend her babysitter by plying her with wine and creepily trying to gain her confidence. In both cases they are more concerned with an idea of Emira and exhibiting the right principles rather than respecting who Emira is as an individual. This makes for a very funny read as the author gently satirises the situation and tests out what's really meant by friendship/allyship. The novel skilfully gets at the subtle reasons discussing race and enacting true racial equality continues to be so problematic. What's even more impressive is that this is such an enjoyable, easy read that also makes many thoughtful, nuanced points. It's an excellent novel that encourages a lot of discussion and useful self-scrutiny.

The 2020 Booker Prize Longlist

The longlist for this year's Booker Prize has been announced and there are a lot of surprises here. Probably the novel readers will be least surprised to see is Hilary Mantel's giant final volume in her Cromwell trilogy. But this isn't the only novel on the list which completes a trilogy because we also have “This Mournable Body” by Tsitsi Dangarembga – which, if you can believe it, is part of a series of books even longer in the making than Mantel's novel. Dangarembga has been writing about her fictional character Tambu for more than thirty years. Recently the BBC named her novel “Nervous Conditions” one of the top 100 novels that shaped the world so it's really interesting to see her continuing influence now. Since I've only read four of the books on this list, I have to say, personally the novel I'm most happy to see here is Sophie Ward's novel “Love and Other Thought Experiments”. As I talked about in my video about the best books I've read this year so far, it is such a thought-provoking and original novel like nothing I've read before. So I'm overjoyed more people will be reading and discussing this book.

Overall, I'm very excited about this list as there are several books I've been really wanting to read and a few I've not heard of – there's always surprises on the Booker list and even moreso this year. I think most people will remark that there aren't many big well known authors on the list – except Hilary Mantel, Anne Tyler and Colum McCann. And the main reason for that is because eight out of these thirteen novels are debuts. There are also nine female writers and four male writers. I've made a video where I talk through all these novels. Four of them haven't been published in the UK yet, but they will all be out before the shortlist is announced on September 15th.

I must admit, I’m disappointed that Ali Smith’s “Summer”, Paul Mendez’s “Rainbow Milk”, Joyce Carol Oates’ “Night.Sleep. Death. The Stars” and Monique Roffey’s “The Mermaid of Black Conch” didn’t make this year’s list. I'd love to know in the comments what you think about the list as a whole and what you're most eager to read from it.

Spring by Ali Smith

The more I read of Ali Smith’s seasonal quartet, the more poignant and meaningful this magnificent artistic project feels. Although each novel has a self-contained story concerning a group of characters, an overarching fictional family is being built with small references connecting characters between the novels. This adds a little frisson of pleasure for attentive readers who spot the connections (one such link is explicitly made to “Autumn” at the end of this novel.) But, most of all, a portrait of our time period is being exquisitely encapsulated in Smith’s yearly novel account of recent events, society’s wildly divergent opinions and current political debates. The author also prompts us to ask important questions about the way we live now – one tenacious character in this novel continues to ask questions that need to be asked even when no answers are forthcoming. Moreover, Smith emphasises the importance of dialogue to better understand each other’s positions.

“Spring” primarily focuses on the story of Richard Lease, a down on his luck filmmaker mourning the loss of his good friend and former colleague/lover Patricia (Paddy). He contemplates a film project that playfully imagines a fictional relationship between the writers Katherine Mansfield and Rainer Maria Rilke. When his life comes to a crisis point he encounters a group of people he embarks on a journey with that includes Brittany (Brit), a correction officer at an immigration centre/prison; Florence, a mysterious girl who can freely enter forbidden spaces; and Alda Lyons, a librarian involved in a secret operation to assist detained immigrants. They engage in a number of conversations and relate stories to each other. Even when these characters try to avoid revealing themselves or step away from the stories of their lives they find themselves in a new story: “He was a man on a railway platform. There was no story. Except, there is. There always fucking is.” Smith reminds us that we’re always part of a larger narrative no matter how isolated we feel.

One of the fun tricks in this novel is that there are several short self-contained sections written in a collective or distinct narrative voice - in the way past books in the seasonal quartet have also done. These playfully mimic the voice of social media or represent an explosion of arguments. It’s revealed at one point that these are story sketches in Florence’s notebook making her a chronicler of our times in her own way. This is similar to the other characters in Smith’s previous books such as Elisabeth or Lux who are led by a bold curiosity and a wish to capture the spirit of an era through creative means. In addition to her fictional creations and as she’s done the previous novels, Smith also invokes the personality and artwork of a real female artist. In this novel she describes the artwork of Tacita Dean who tries to capture a cloud. It’s moving how Smith shows in these examples how there is a continuous artistic dialogue that runs alongside and intermingles with broader social and political dialogues taking place in our society.

‘Veteran Cloud’ by Tacita Dean

One of my favourite books by Smith is her novel “Artful” where she so beautifully depicts a character’s grief while contemplating a number of subjects. The way she wrote the character of Richard in this novel when his life grinds to a halt amidst the loss of Paddy made me recall how powerfully Smith depicts someone who experiences immense loss. She also touchingly describes his feelings of estrangement from his daughter who he hasn’t seen since she was young. He’s come to form frequent conversations with an imagined version of her in his mind and this underpins his sense of isolation. Yet, just as Spring brings with it a rejuvenation of hope, Richard finds his sense of engagement and prospects renewed in fresh connections and by giving voice to the refugees rendered invisible behind secure walls. However, there’s also the presence of the sinister firm SA4A (which also appears in some form throughout all the seasonal novels) that Brit maintains a dogged faith in. This seemingly immovable opaque system is an ominous backdrop to these novels.

I’m now more curious than ever to see how Smith will incorporate the recurring elements and themes of her series into the forthcoming final book/season. It’ll be a pleasure to finally fit together all the pieces of the puzzle – even if it’s a puzzle that doesn’t form a complete whole because one of the extraordinary things this project shows is that there are no borders when it comes to stories and there are always more pieces to add.

Utopia Avenue by David Mitchell

It's so interesting coming to this novel having read and admired – but not entirely loving - much of David Mitchell's fiction. His novels encompass a wide range of subject matter and diverse group of characters. Yet there's something so distinct about his writing style which I thought was exemplified in his most recent (uncharacteristically short) novel “Slade House”. Mitchell often builds realistic stories about the lives of individual characters into a larger fantastical narrative that bends time and dips into the ethereal. This new novel celebrates the psychedelic music scene of the late 60s by recounting the formation, rise to fame and short-lived career of Utopia Avenue, a fictional band that combines different folk, jazz and rock musicians to make a unique sound. This environment is fertile ground for a David Mitchell tale as it captures a certain sociopolitical shift by delving into the lives of each band member and explores how their music reflects this era of protest and evolving consciousness. Out of their individual stories of drug use and psychological breakdown emerges a larger tale set on another plane of reality that includes incorporeal battles and spirit possession. This also provides a direct link to Mitchell's past fiction; given that one of the band members is named Jasper de Zoet it's not hard to guess which source a branch of this story grew from. It's certainly not necessary to have read Mitchell's previous books to appreciate this novel but there are specific references which will excite his fans. 

I enjoyed this very engaging and readable novel, but a personal issue for me is that I'm not that familiar with this particular period of history and don't have a special interest in this genre of music. Those who feel the nostalgic pull of this era will revel in the story because an extremely pleasurable aspect of this tale is all the cameo appearances from famous personalities of the time. If you've ever fantasised about bumping into David Bowie in random locations, having a heart-to-heart with Brian Jones, moving in Francis Bacon's social circle, drinking “special” cocktails with Janis Joplin or tripping with Jerry Garcia you'll be thrilled by this journey. Some of the encounters are pure coincidence but most naturally arise from the band's growing fame so there are brushing encounters or distant glimpses of Little Richard, Nina Simone, Washboard Sam, Marc Bolan, Allen Ginsberg, Syd Barrett, Jimi Hendrix, John Lenon, Leonard Cohen and Frank Zappa. It's a lot of fun playing spot the celebrity amidst the band's wild tale.

The story moves at a good pace but I feel like Mitchell has written an account of a band from this time period exactly as you'd imagine it to play out. The group's rise to celebrity is both driven and hampered by the members' personal setbacks, sexual liaisons, political battles, warring egos and interpersonal conflicts. So, although I greatly enjoyed the novel, it didn't feel that surprising how their story plays out. There are plenty of delectable moments riding this “backwards flying memory train” but I didn't find much that's especially revelatory in the book. Even when it reaches a point where what's psychologically real melds so teasingly against the supernatural it felt expected rather than astonishing. Mitchell has such an interesting perspective about time so when it reaches the end where band members consider the legacy they've produced it does feel poignant. But I feel like the author has bigger statements to make with his unique artistic point of view.

Part of me wonders if his greatest book is one that no one living today will ever get a chance to read. In 2016 Mitchell wrote a novella titled “From Me Flows What You Call Time” for the Future Library project. This won't be printed until the year 2114 using trees which have just been planted. As Mitchell said of this project, hoping there will still be trees or even readers a century from now is “a vote of confidence in the future.” It's the perfect quirky experiment for this writer so concerned with the subjectivity and elasticity of time to be involved in. Yet it's frustrating for us readers who hope to be more affected by the power of his writing to not get the chance to read it.

Big Girl, Small Town by Michelle Gallen

Set in the fictional Northern Irish border town of Aghybogey, “Big Girl, Small Town” follows a week in the life of Majella, a young woman cruelly nicknamed Jelly by the locals. She works in a local chip shop and lives with her alcoholic single mother (her father disappeared during The Troubles.) The story begins with the dramatic news that her Granny was brutally murdered in her home. An awareness of this simmers beneath the story as we follow Majella's routine existence slinging fried food and caring for her Ma. Prior to this news she lived in relative anonymity, but local interest in the crime makes her an unwelcome focus of attention. There's a humour and wonderful lightness of touch to this story as we view her world through an extensive list of things “she wasn't keen on”. Subjects which encompass her judgement range from the “small talk, bullshit and gossip” to “the political situation”. Throughout the course of the days we see the tedium, absurdity and small-mindedness of this environment. In this way, Majella is granted dignity and power amidst a community that has so ruthlessly defined and dismissed her. 

Given the subject matter and setting, many readers will be reminded of the novel “Milkman” which similarly depicts the way a young Irish woman who wants to be left alone comes under the pernicious scrutiny of the locals. Gallen opens up a direct dialogue with Anna Burns' novel by quoting from it in the epigraph of this book. But the actual experience of the story feels more like “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine” in the way its protagonist feels psychologically distanced from those around her and only knows how to interact with people by imitating their social behaviour and routines. So when a lecherous male customer asks Majella “D'ye want a bit of my sausage?” she knows to use the cutting rejoinder that her coworker scripted for her “I'll batter yer sausage if you're not careful, now.” But, where the narrative of “Milkman” sometimes felt too viscous and the humour of “Eleanor Oliphant” sometimes felt too contrived, “Big Girl, Small Town” succeeds in conveying the frustrations and plodding routines of its protagonist's existence in a way which is consistently funny, endearing and compulsively readable.

Majella's life is in no way romanticised as she serves an endless barrage of drunken loutish customers, hurriedly shags a coworker in the storeroom or consumes her late night battered and fried meals in solitude. Yet there's a poetic beauty to this narrative in the way Majella has learned to regulate the life and situation she was born into. The author movingly portrays the way her routines are simultaneously comforting and maddening. I enjoyed how Gallen draws ironic contrasts between Majella's life and the lives portrayed in the TV show Dallas which she frequently rewatches. The novel also deftly skewers how many of the lives in this Irish community revolve around the chip shop and alcoholism is rife – Majella explains to an immigrant how the Irish have many words for being drunk. While the father's disappearance and the grandmother's death serve as intriguing mysteries as we follow the protagonist's daily life, the most meaningful question is how Majella can escape from an increasingly stultifying habituated existence. It's powerful how this novel dynamically portrays the life of a working class young woman who many people overlook and offers a tentative message of hope. 

Love After Love by Ingrid Persaud

There are some novels which are best read in silence and others which really shine when read aloud. Recently I've been listening to more audiobooks while traveling on trains or walking in the park. However, when I'm at home I'll read these books in their physical form. That's what I did with Ingrid Persaud's “Love After Love” which is about the life of Bette, a single mother in modern-day Trinidad; Solo, her wayward son and Mr Chetan, a closeted gay man who becomes like a husband/father to them. The narrative switches between all three of their points of view to illuminate their different perspectives on the dramatic events which rumble this improvised family. The audiobook is beautifully read by the author as she relates her tale with certain intonations and clear emotions highlighting the humour and sorrow of these characters' stories. I soon found that even when reading the physical book at home I'd read passages aloud as the colloquial narrative and dialogue are so filled with life they lift off the page. My emotional response was similarly expressive as I found myself alternately laughing out loud or crying during different passages. I certainly don't often have such physical reactions to reading most books, but this novel is imbued with such heartfelt feeling it's a story you experience rather than observe. 

Although the three main characters share a close emotional bond and support one another, they each maintain secrets and this causes friction in their relationships. For years Bette lived in an abusive marriage with Solo's father Sunil which she felt she had to endure because of low self-esteem and a lack of support from the community. Chetan is compelled to hide his sexuality since he was expelled from his immediate family at an early age when his same-sex desire was discovered and because of fears of continuing homophobic violence in the community. In this way, Persaud shows how the oppressive attitudes of the larger society deeply impact the personal lives of these individuals and create conflicts even in their most intimate relationships.

For some straight women and gay men who form very close bonds there's a natural desire to find romance together as well. I appreciate how the author portrays Bette and Chetan's awkward attempt to have sex, but how Chetan's nature prevents this being successfully achieved. Their relationship is so strong and their lives so intertwined as they share a household, cook together and jointly raise Solo; it's only natural they're compelled to become a couple in every sense. But, while there are feelings of dismay that they can't find true fulfilment as a couple, they are no less a family in their devotion to one another. Yet, when Bette's long-held secret also emerges over the course of a drunken evening, Solo feels so much resentment towards her he eventually moves to live with an uncle in America where he works illegally and tries to obtain a social security number on the black market. I truly felt the pain of this family's separation from one another as I could understand each person's point of view and developed a deep affinity for all three of them.

This novel brilliantly shows the many variations and stages of love in life. It's not at all sentimental in how it does this because the characters deal with their pain by sublimating their emotions in a very realistic and understandable way. Through their personal accounts I could feel the true motivations behind their actions. Their distinct voices are also infused with so much wit and affection there's a lightness to this tale which is very refreshing. It's joyous and irresistible how Persaud steeps the reader in both the stories of her characters and all the vibrant life of Trinidad.

I'm Judging a Book Prize!

As many of you know, I enjoy following a lot of book prizes and I'm excited to share with you that I'll be judging a very popular book prize myself this year: The Costa Book Awards. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the format of the Costa Book Awards every year groups of judges select shortlists in five different categories which are Novel, First Novel, Biography, Poetry and Children's Literature. I will be a judge in the First Novel category which is great because I love debut fiction and discovering new voices. So I'll be involved in picking a shortlist and a winner for this category. I'm so excited about it, but it's going to be an interesting challenge too because this isn't just about picking my personal favourite book. I've been a judge on a number of book prizes before. They've all been quite different experiences but I've also had some of the richest, most involving discussions about books with fellow prize judges. Towards the end of the process it can get really difficult to choose between very different but equally great books but that's the point of the job. I'll be discussing the submissions with two other judges in my category for the Costas and we need to keep in mind the prize's guidelines. Last year's winner in the First Novel category was Sara Collins' “The Confessions of Frannie Langton” which I absolutely loved.

The guidelines for the prize which I'm keeping in mind while reading is that:

A ‘Costa’ book is a sparkling, eminently readable book with broad commercial appeal. Not esoteric; not so ‘beautifully-written’ that the story and characters got forgotten along the way. Just terrific, intelligent, readable books which (we hope) large numbers of people will want to buy, and read, and recommend to friends.

That's something I think Sara Collins' novel does perfectly and it's a book I've recommended to so many people. So this is a great standard to try to live up to.

I'm already reading some great novels that have been submitted for the prize, but – as you can probably guess – I won't be able to discuss any of the initial submissions here because that wouldn't be fair to the process of the prize or the publishers or authors. I'll still be reading other books over the next few months and publishers send me books all the time so I'll still be reviewing many of these I just won't be able to discuss them in the context of the prize or whether they've been submitted for the prize or not. But, later this year, I'll be very excited to talk about the short list we chose after the announcement is publicly made. And, no doubt, I'll talk about the books listed in all categories because over the years I've read a lot of great books that have been listed for the prize. So last year, in addition to Sarah Collins novel I also loved Mary Jean Chan's collection “Fleche” which was the Poetry category winner and Jack Fairweather's book “The Volunteer” which was the Biography category winner. And this book was also the overall winner of last year's prize because once the five category winners are chosen an overall winner is picked as well. (I won't be involved in this final process, but it'll be very exciting to follow.)

Way back in the year 2000 Zadie Smith won the first novel award for “White Teeth” and this award helped launch and establish her career. So it's an amazing opportunity for an author and I see judging it as a great responsibility. Also, more sentimentally, it means a lot to me that I'll be a judge on this prize because another previous winner from 2000 was the memoir “Bad Blood” by Lorna Sage. This obviously won the biography category in that year when this award was still called The Whitbread Awards. The name of the prize changed in 2006 when Costa Coffee became the sponsor of the awards. But the reason this book winning was so meaningful to me was that Lorna was my teacher at the time and I know it meant so much to her to win this award. And Lorna was one of the most inspirational teachers I ever had and she helped shape who I am as a reader. She introduced me to the books of writers such as Joyce Carol Oates and Angela Carter. So it feels really special to be involved in judging this prize and it's a great honour.

Watch this space. This is going to be great. The shortlists and winners will be announced later this year. I'm sure I'll be talking about it a lot more at that time and I hope you follow along and read along as announcements are made.

The Fragments of my Father by Sam Mills

Being a carer for a loved one isn't always a strictly defined role like other professions, yet it's a vital service which helps support the most vulnerable people in our society. It's also a job that no one plans to take on until it's needed. When author Sam Mills' mother died in 2012 she inherited the duty of caring for her father who has grappled with serious mental health issues throughout much of his life. As she gradually becomes familiar with his particular form of schizophrenia, she also learns to deal with the extreme challenges and sacrifices involved with being a primary carer. Her insightful and heart-wrenching memoir relates her personal journey alongside a wider view of how mental health and the duty of carers have been managed throughout time. As society has progressed there's been a more enlightened and humane view of how to care for those afflicted with mental illness and support the people who take on the responsibility of care, but it's far from a perfect system and Mills makes a strong case for how it still requires more governmental and financial support. “The Fragments of my Father” broadened my understanding about the needs of carers and it will no doubt be a great source of consolation for anyone who has been in a situation where they've had to devote an extensive amount of time, energy and money caring for loved ones.

Since the struggles involved with care mostly take place in private it can be incredibly isolating. It's powerful how Mills describes this condition: “Being a carer can be a lonely duty; you can feel as though you are the only one in the world suffering in restrictions whilst everyone else around you are living lives of butterfly freedom.” She dynamically conveys how caring for her father takes a large toll on her personal relationships, professional life, finances and her own mental health: “I was not a full-time carer, yet my caring made my full-time work hard to sustain.” It's encouraging how meditation serves as a solitary activity which helps stabilize her amidst her daily whirlwind of duties.

As an author and publisher at Dodo Ink, Mills also poignantly considers how past literary lives were shaped by the duties of being a carer in the examples of Virginia and Leonard Woolf and Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald. She describes their very different journeys and relationships as well as how these have been interpreted in competing biographical accounts. It’s a very different perspective on grief and illness from what was portrayed in “All the Lives We Ever Lived”, another memoir which filters personal family experience through the example of Woolf’s life and her fiction. Mills gives an insightful new view of these literary lives from the point of view of carer and how this strongly influenced the literature these writers produced. So, alongside Mills' own story, I found myself engrossed in her dramatic accounts of these authors.

This memoir very movingly frames the dilemma of a carer who wants to do the best for her parents but wrestles with the challenges that must be faced within this role. It presents such a beautifully dignified and loving personal portrait of both the author's parents alongside a strong political message. Mills notes how during times of austerity it's funding for those who need it the most which often gets cut first. Given the enormous economic recession we're facing as a result of the pandemic, this memoir also serves as a timely reminder to be vigilant about government policy in regards to care programmes and how the challenges and struggles that carers face behind closed doors can't be forgotten.

Holiday Heart by Margarita García Robayo (translated by Charlotte Coombe)

Pablo and Lucía are Colombian immigrants who have established themselves in the US. They've been married for nineteen years and are raising adolescent twins Rosa and Tomás. Their relationship is extremely strained as they both grapple with ageing and their disillusionment with the American dream. While teacher Pablo is recovering from a heart condition he comes under scrutiny from his school in New Haven after the majority of his students make allegations against him. Meanwhile, Lucía has taken the children to her parents' holiday apartment in Miami and they spend placid but subtly-distempered days on the beach. In a series of alternating accounts between them we get a fascinating picture of a couple physically and emotionally divided. This is a perceptive and engaging novel about how the people closest to us can suddenly feel like strangers when we lose an understanding of ourselves and what we really desire.

Both Pablo and Lucía try to artistically articulate their points of view through writing rather than honestly communicating with each other. Pablo has been working on a novel for a long time and the way he goes about composing it is psychologically telling in regards to his understanding and expectations about Lucía: “an intelligent woman – like his character was supposed to be – would never leave her husband after so many years. She would prefer a miserable but stable life to the unpredictability of happiness.” Meanwhile, Lucía has also spent a long time trying to compose an article about gender and relationships which candidly reveals her frustrations with her family. She doesn't feel comfortable with the idea that a wife and mother should simply be caring and nurturing so purposely doesn't conform to the stereotype of a “good” mother: “The best thing she does for her family is fill their bellies with layers of cholesterol.” Equally, she finds no fulfilment in the tedious, time-consuming obligations which consume her days: “Her life was filled with important dinners that were completely pointless.”

It's moving and insightful the way in which Robayo writes about this couple who are uneasy in the roles they are expected to fulfil. Pablo is regressing to a kind of adolescent state by developing an inappropriate closeness to a student and fostering murky fantasies about returning to the homeland he's now estranged from. Lucía stubbornly asserts her independence, engages in a casual affair with a famous footballer and mostly passes the caring of her children onto Cindy, a maid and nanny who “came with the apartment.” While the title of the novel refers to a peculiar medical condition which Pablo suffers from it also describes the way adults try to take a break from the responsibilities of their lives - ones that they aren't sure they ever want to return to.

The novel also compellingly presents the complicated relationship this family has to race and nationality. While Pablo ponders themes for his novel and thinks about his job at the school he's idly aware of “The fear of wasting his life away in that building infested with minorities.” Meanwhile, Lucía looks with contempt upon the Russians she sees around the hotel and their son Tomás embarrassingly and loudly spouts racist statements such as “I don't like black people” on the beach. This probably reflects the resentment Pablo feels about different ways Latin American and African American people are treated in the US: “Being brown isn't an advantage, thinks Pablo – and he thinks about himself, his mothers and his sisters, even Lucía. Being black gets you further. A brown man is a watered-down man, stuck halfway between identities.”

It's bold how this story expresses the painful reality of never being able to fully integrate into American culture and how this arouses different prejudices. Yet, Lucía holds a different point of view feeling the nation one is born into isn't a defining factor of one's identity. At one point she angrily asks the rhetorical question: “Is anyone born with a flag tattooed on their neck?” The story movingly shows the many tensions engendered from self-consciously designating people into different “minorities”.

“Holiday Heart” brilliantly dramatises the disjunction between an idealized picture of life like sitting on a sunny beach and the reality of that life like getting sand caught in your teeth.

Swimming in the Dark by Tomasz Jedrowski

It's a big challenge for a modern author to write a historical gay love story that don't end in tragedy. Given the many past and current instances of homosexuals being persecuted in almost every culture around the world there are few opportunities to plausibly invent examples of such relationships which aren't entirely secretive or don't end in betrayal/exposure/death. It can be so discouraging as a reader because, while I don't want to diminish the painful reality and struggle of homosexuals throughout the ages, I also want to believe there are stories from history where same sex couples could enjoy the same opportunities for both swoon-worthy passion and heartbreak that heterosexual couples possess. I think a couple of novels such as Sebastian Barry's “Days Without End” and Patrick Gale's “A Place Called Winter” manage to faithfully represent the past while also offering an uplifting message of hope. 

Tomasz Jedrowski takes an interesting approach in his debut novel “Swimming in the Dark” which depicts two young men over the course of the summer of 1980 in Soviet-governed Poland. Prior to starting university they meet at an agricultural camp while serving their compulsory labour requirement for the country and embark on a passionate affair while reading James Baldwin's “Giovanni's Room”. It's described in highly romantic terms where the pair are able to form a world of their own: “we lay facing each other, the tip of your nose on the bridge of mine. Nothing else mattered in the dark.” They discover their own paradise in a beautiful, remote rural location. But, at the same time, the threat of Party politics and the punishment dealt for homosexual acts creates an atmosphere of suspense. Their story could go either way.

The novel is told in the second person where Ludwik speaks directly to his lover Janusz recounting their past experiences. This adds to the heightened sense of romance as these are memories which have clearly been retreaded in the narrator's mind until they have a smooth, hard polish. But, while the eroticism feels amplified, so does his resentment for the disagreements which divided them. Both men realise the perilousness of their positions within the Communist regime which actively punished same sex acts, but they have differing ideologies on how to survive this environment. While Janusz is intent on working within the system to ensure his individual survival, Ludwik becomes increasingly outspoken on condemning a system which leads to the suffering of many different people who don't enjoy the protection of privilege. It leads him to take risky actions and valiantly declare: “No matter what happens in the world, however brutal or dystopian a thing, not all is lost if there are people out there risking themselves to document it. Little sparks cause fires too.”

This a very readable story which does a good job at dramatising a gay romance while depicting a specific historical time period. It also has some memorable, complex female characters that feel like much more than window dressing (as women in gave love stories can often be treated.) However, I found some of the shifts in time to be slightly awkward making it confusing to locate where exactly the characters were in the narrative. It also felt like the novel didn't delve deep enough into either the complexity of certain political issues or the emotional ramifications they'd have for certain characters. Nevertheless, I think this is a very enjoyable book which meaningfully explores a part of gay history I haven't seen depicted in fiction before.

My Favourite Books of 2020 (so far)

At the start of this pandemic I found it so difficult to concentrate on reading any fiction because I felt like I had to check the news every five minutes. Like many people I felt extremely anxious, but I've gradually learned how to remain vigilant while also occasionally switching off to lose myself in a good novel. Reading has connected me with the world in an essential way while I can't physically travel outside my home. The books I read are such an important source of comfort and inspiration I don't know what I'd do without them. So I'm excited to share some recent favourites and I'd love to know about the best books you've read this year.

Love and Other Thought Experiments by Sophie Ward
You could call this inventive debut novel a book of short stories or interlinked short stories but it's primarily about a couple named Rachel and Eliza whose desire to have a child results in unforeseen circumstances. It's framed as a series of thought experiments exploring different conceptual ideas and philosophical concepts. I know that sounds way too cerebral for fiction but it's honestly so entertaining and engaging how she explores the emotional consequences of following different possible life choices to competing and dramatic conclusions. It's so creative and extraordinarily unique like nothing I've read before.

Weather by Jenny Offill
My favourite novel last year was “Ducks, Newburyport” and, in a way, “Weather” by Jenny Offill feels like a heavily condensed version of that book. They both explore our modern day anxieties concerning politics and the environment with humorous commentary. For instance, there will be a line such as “Today NASA found seven new Earth size planets. So there's that.” Weather has an incredible way of building out a much larger world view and a portrait of a life through snapshots of experience. It's a skilfully abbreviated view of one woman's reality. And I can't resist a novel that has a librarian as its heroine. This is currently shortlisted for the Women's Prize and I think it has a good chance of winning.

Huricane Season by Fernanda Melchor (translated by Sophie Hughes)
A notorious individual referred to as The Witch is found dead in a body of water in a Mexican village and through a series of accounts we get a portrait of both this victim and the larger masculine-dominated community. There's a dizzying pace and intensity to this narrative which is so hypnotic and gripping I found it hard to put down. Through the momentum of the characters' voices we see the complexity and contradictions of people who appear simply villainous on the surface. This novel feels heavily influenced by Gabriel Garcia Marquez with his journalistic or documentary style while telling a story from a variety of perspectives until the meaning of truth is completely obliterated. It's very powerful. Also this novel is currently shortlisted for the Booker International Prize and I think it has a good chance of winning.

The Illness Lesson by Clare Beams
This novel is set in the 1870s in New England at a newly-established private girls school founded by Samuel who has experimental views about the way community and education should function from a kind of Transcendentalist perspective. But the story focuses primarily on his adult daughter Caroline who works as a teacher at the school. Things go very wrong and it's extremely suspenseful. The girls become plagued by a mysterious illness and the the story goes to some very dark places saying something larger about complicity and sexual abuse. I think the author also uses such incredible imagery with strange red birds that periodically appear. It's very smart and movingly done.

The Eighth Life by Nino Haratischvili (translated by Charlotte Collins and Ruth Martin)
This great big family saga took me a long time to read but it was so worth it. It's enthralling, fascinating, beautifully-crafted storytelling about multiple generations of a Georgian family over the past century, their experiences throughout multiple wars across Europe and a cursed hot chocolate recipe. In my mind it's like “Gone with the Wind” crossed with “One Hundred Years of Solitude”. This novel has so much to say about family, shifting politics and the very direct impact that has on people's lives. I loved interviewing the author and her translators about this novel and you can listen to our conversation here.

Rainbow Milk by Paul Mendez
This novel primarily focuses on a young man named Jesse who moves from where he was raised in the West Midlands to London after being forced out of the Jehovah's Witness community he was raised in. The way the author captures this character's strength as well as his vulnerability as he plunges into city life and discovers who he is as a black gay man is achingly beautiful. And it's also very moving the way circles back to connect with past generations and the heritage he's been cut off from. Since I moved to London at roughly the same time as the main character I was also able to personally connect to many aspects of the story including different events, music and even local buses that I also regularly ride.

Minor Detail by Adania Shibli (translated by Elisabeth Jaquette)
I have some very big novels on my list here but this book is a masterclass in how much a writer can say in a short space. One half of the story is about a young Palestinian woman who is captured by Israeli soldiers in the desert in 1948 where she is raped and murdered. But we don't actually see this. It's filtered through the perspective of a commander suffering from a poisonous bite. The second half of the book is set many years later and follows a woman trying to find out more about this woman's death which only gets a brief mention in a larger article that she reads. The way their two stories connect through images and sensory experience is so moving and powerful and says so much about the way victims' stories get lost in the larger pages of history.

Night. Sleep. Death. The Stars. by Joyce Carol Oates
This novel begins with an act of racist police brutality. It's a startlingly topical opening given recent Black Lives Matter Protests in the wake of the horrendous real life instance of George Floyd's death. This is the story of a family grieving for the patriarchal figure who is killed as a consequence of his confrontation with the police, the painful loss felt by the widow, how some of their children in their misdirected anger resort to bigotry and how others find the courage to redefine their lives under their own terms. It's an epic story of American life as only Joyce Carol Oates can tell it and I'm still buzzing from the joy of recently interviewing Oates about her literary life and this novel. She's very candid in speaking about what inspired her to write this novel and you can listen to our conversation here.

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett
This is the story of two sisters who run away from their small town in Louisiana in the 1950s and how they go on to lead very different lives. As light-skinned African American women one sister pretends she's white and marries a white man while the other marries a very dark skinned black man before returning to their home town. It's about the assumptions we make about each other, the brutal legacy of racism and the many different ways people reinvent themselves. This is such a skilfully constructed story which says so much about the uneasy relationship we have to our constantly evolving sense of identity.

The Mermaid of Black Conch by Monique Roffey
This novel has a mermaid at its centre but it's definitely not your typical fantasy story. A fisherman strikes up a relationship with a mermaid on a Caribbean island but one day she's captured by American tourists. It's a story filled with love, greed, betrayal, sex and violence but it also says something much larger about the history of Colonialism. It's fascinating how it considers this from the perspective of an indigenous woman who has been cursed to dwell in the sea. And the heartfelt way the author portrays this character's abiding sense of loneliness made me feel like I was right there at the bottom of the ocean with her.