The Appointment by Katharina Volckmer

Confessional narratives such as tell-all magazine articles and dramatic reveals on talk shows frequently dominate the media. I could easily imagine the narrator of Katharina Volckmer's debut novel “The Appointment” inhabiting a similar scandal-hungry space as by the second page she admits she's sexually drawn to Hitler and muses “don't you think that there is something kinky about genocide?” But this book isn't simply trying to be sensational, exploitative or shocking. This is an unfiltered monologue from the perspective of a young woman who is a German expat grappling with unsavoury compulsions that consume her. She discusses her tumultuous relationship with a married man and how she lost her job after threatening a coworker. Over the course of the book she speaks to a mysterious individual named Dr Seligman who she's arranged to meet in a London examination room because she believes “the only true comfort we can find in life is to be free from our own lies.” The true nature of their appointment remains elusive, but over the course of their session she reveals her innermost desires and thoughts. In doing so we come to understand her ambiguous feelings about her family and relationships as well as her own national and gender identity. Through her unsparing honesty we're given a fresh perspective about the many instabilities at the centre of being. 

There are some books I'd enthusiastically recommend to absolutely everyone and there are others which I'd only recommend to a select few friends. Because of the explicit and prolonged meditative nature of her monologue, this novel would fall into the later category. But it's one I savoured mulling over as its narrator presents such a challenging point of view with many pithy comments and insights. It made me think more deeply about how the country and family I was born into have impacted how I perceive myself and the way I conduct myself. She also gives such an interesting perspective about desire and relationships – how our intense connection to others becomes its own distinct narrative because “Love, like blood, needs to be a story we can tell.” It reminded me somewhat of the equally short novel “The Collection” in the way it boldly discusses erotic desire in a meaningful way. Volckmer is so insightful about how a prolonged disconnection from others can inhibit our abilities to actually express what we really want: “I think that's what loneliness does to people, Dr Seligman; they forget how to articulate their desires.”

I also really appreciated how meaningfully this story looks at the development of gender identity. The narrator humorously describes how as an adolescent she believed she could simply go into a shop to purchase a penis. It's a similar sentiment to what Hilary Mantel described in the first section of her memoir “Giving Up the Ghost” where as a young girl she assumed that she'd eventually wake up one morning as a boy. There's a sense in our early years that these aspects of our identity aren't necessarily fixed so the way adults relate to us as if being a girl or boy is integral to who we are shapes so much about our attitudes towards gender. Given what a politically-contentious subject gender identity is in the UK at the moment, I think it's especially useful to read a narrative that so openly discusses these experiences. 

This novel also has an uneasy suspense to it given that the narrator is speaking continuously to the silent Dr Seligman. Of course, I initially assumed he was some kind of psychotherapist. But we're given small unsettling clues that this isn't all that's happening since she's positioned in an odd way while talking to him and at one point she notes how he's taking pictures of her. The mystery of what's going on adds a sense of drama because she's being so vulnerable, but there's nothing weak-willed about her because she actively speculates about Dr Seligman's identity and desires as well. It creates a curious atmosphere and sense of tension which engaged me beyond the overriding cerebral nature of this book. “The Appointment” certainly presents a forceful and welcome new voice in fiction. 

The 2020 Booker Prize Shortlist

I haven't had the time to read as much from this year's Booker longlist as I normally would. I'm very busy reading lots and lots of books as a judge on the Costa Book Awards, but I have read six novels from the longlist including Hilary Mantel's giant end to her trilogy “The Mirror and the Light”. And what a surprise that this bookies' favourite hasn't made the shortlist! It's a shame in a way as it'd have been exciting for Mantel to be the first author to win the Booker three times. However, the novel certainly doesn't need the attention a book prize can give it as much as some of the other novels on this shortlist – 4 of which are by debut novelists. Equally, Dangarembga and Mengiste are authors who haven't received as much attention as Tyler, McCann or Reid. But, if I consider the novels I think are the most accomplished and my favourites, I'd have picked “The Mirror and the Light” and “Such a Fun Age” over “This Mournable Body” and “Real Life”. 

I'm so happy “Shuggie Bain” made the shortlist and I know it's a popular favourite and probably the most likely novel to win at this point. Of course, I can't really make that judgement yet till I've read all the books from the shortlist. I'm very eager to read “The New Wilderness”, “Burnt Sugar” and “The Shadow King”. I'm torn about whether to give “Real Life” another try as I simply didn't enjoy the first 50 pages I read from the novel. But there are so many competing opinions about it I'm almost curious to try finishing it just to see where I fall in the debate. The winner is currently scheduled to be announced on November 17th (that's later in the year than it's usually announced so more reading time!) but, as we all know, event dates can easily change this year. 

I'll be very interested to know what you think of the list. Let me know in the comments if you've read any of these six novels, what you think of them or which books on the list you're most eager to read. 

The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel

What a journey! I've probably devoted more time to Mantel's Cromwell trilogy than I have to any other series of books since I not only read all 2,009 pages of the novels but also biographical and historical writing to better understand this time period. Though it required a lot of concentration and effort it was definitely worth it. I'm going to miss Cromwell whose soul searching odyssey and unprecedented influence as righthand man to the King comes to a heart-wrenching conclusion in this final book. 

There's a building tension which Mantel incrementally ratchets up and impressively maintains as Cromwell's enemies increase and the politics become so heated over the course of this long novel. Factions within England plot against the ruling monarch amidst the new religious divide and the country's relations with other European nations always feels delicate. Although great promise comes with Henry VIII's new wife Jane Seymour, the King's dynasty is still not secure. The unashamedly classist English noblemen also grow increasingly resentful of Cromwell's influence and power; they never let him forget he's merely the son of a blacksmith without noble lineage. So there's a lot at stake. Mantel uses many fascinating historical details to describe this complicated period of time and bring it alive. It does take patience to follow, but Mantel tempers her narrative with a fantastic humour which prevents the story from becoming dry.

There's so much tantalising banter and innuendo between characters in the royal court or whispered in shadowy corners. This includes speculation about what happens in the royal bed, accusations of treason and hints about shifting loyalties. The dialogue is very funny and kept me consistently engaged, but it goes beyond mere gossip as Mantel shows how politics is so often about the spread of rumours whose presence gradually takes on such weight that the truth becomes irrelevant. It's what leads to countless (many innocent) people being imprisoned and executed in these novels. As was noted in “Bring Up the Bodies” those in power must also rewrite history to suit the ruling force's narrative and objectives going forward. So although this is a story very much rooted in the past, I can see parallels to how our current leaders use similar techniques to craftily mould the narratives of nations to suit their purposes.

As with the previous novels, although this story is closely based on history and the larger outcomes are known, Mantel includes a lot of surprising facts and occasionally she slightly tinkers with some of the historical elements to make Cromwell a more dynamic character. There are several shocking twists in this novel which are so engaging and add to the complexity of the story. One of the most notable is a figure who appears that Cromwell didn't know existed. But there are also delightfully weird details such as how Henry was in disguise when he first met Anne of Cleaves. So I found this a suspenseful story with many sumptuous elements. It's also obviously more emotionally involving than a reading a historical account as we follow Cromwell's emotions and the path of his thoughts as Mantel imagines them.

The author has a tremendous talent for writing about how the ethereal can intrude upon our psychological reality. As both Henry and Cromwell have got older over the course of the novels, the dead have a stronger presence in their lives. It's even noted how “He thinks the dead are crowding us out.” Naturally, their presence is felt more keenly when there are feelings of guilt and regret associated with those who have died and both protagonists wrestle with these unresolved emotions. Mantel has a fantastic way of creating an eerie atmosphere where the presence of the dead make themselves felt. It also gives a different perspective on history because if those people had lived the fate of many and the state of the nation would have had such a different outcome. Part of the tension is that in the moment obviously none of the characters knew what was going to happen and with so many potential ways that events could twist the reader feels their intense struggle to decide what to do. Of course, we have the privilege of knowing the ultimate outcome but in reading this novel we can see potential alternative histories such as if Jane Seymour had lived and convinced Henry to reconcile with the Pope.

However, the biggest point of tension in this particular novel is between Henry and Cromwell. While Thomas has always been a faithful servant, the King can't help being swayed by the whispers being made against him. Figures such as the crafty diplomat Chapuys ominously warns Cromwell about the perilousness of his position since he entirely relies on the King's favour. Equally, Thomas seems to develop a more refined understanding of Henry's position since no matter how close and personal their relationship becomes Henry is a monarch whose role occludes his state of being a mortal man. Thomas insists “What should I want with the emperor if he were emperor of all the world? Your majesty is the only prince, the mirror and the light of other kings.” But Thomas also realises that no matter how faithful he is “If Henry is the Mirror he is the pale actor who sheds no luster of his own but spins in a reflected light. If the light moves, he is gone.” It's only through exercising his deadly power that Henry is able to maintain his position as the absolute monarch. Thomas knows that “This is what Henry does. He uses people up. He takes all they give him and more. When he is finished with them he is noisier and fatter and they are husks or corpses.” Again, I couldn't help thinking of modern equivalents of tyrannical powerful figures such as the current US president or Rupert Murdoch whose colleagues often end up in jail and whose multiple children from different wives form a dynasty.

One of the most obvious questions with a novel this long is: does it justify its length? Certainly some sections felt slightly extraneous to me. Drifting too far into a side plot with yet another character I had to struggle to recall somewhat diluted the power of the central story. There's such a profusion of tales and fascinating figures surrounding this period of royal history that it must have been difficult for Mantel to sift through which ones to include and what to leave out. For instance, the story of Margaret Douglas and Thomas Howard could form a novel in itself and I wanted to know more about them. I can't really begrudge Mantel leaving it in because I'm sure if I reread the novel these characters would come more into their own, but perhaps including so many characters demands more patience from the reader than it needs to. I also think that reading this novel without having read the first two books would really lessen the impact of the story because many parts refer back to scenes from the earlier novels and the narrative assumes the reader is familiar with them too. Additionally, you really need to have read the two previous novels to fully see how Cromwell's character develops over the course of the series and why horrific scenes and figures from his childhood continuously haunt him.

Reading this magnificent series of books is such a worthwhile experience. If you're like me and feel slightly hesitant about how much they might demand from the reader I can assure you they certainly deserve the investment of your consideration and time. It's no accident they are so lauded and widely loved. The story of Henry VIII and his wives has been told and retold so often it seems nearly mythological, but by approaching the politics and meaning of this historical period through the lens of Thomas Cromwell is a brilliant way to explore the workings of power. It also reimagines the heart and mind of an individual who endured so much hardship and trauma I fell in love with his story. Mantel's writing shimmers with so much insight and beauty that becoming immersed in this historical world is a deeply pleasurable experience.

You can also follow a journey I took to the Tower of London while discussing this novel here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HqAq-XYYiwg

Dominicana by Angie Cruz

Who would have thought the story of a fifteen year old girl who moves from the Dominican Republic to the United States in 1965 is exactly what I wanted and needed to read right now? Over the past several months I've been desperate to lose myself in some really good stories to temporarily avoid the difficult reality we're living through. It's such a blissful relief from the chaos and the magic of a great novel is discovering new love for a character I never could have imagined. “Dominicana” is a novel that swept me up in the immediacy of its story of young Ana Canción whose family pressure her to marry Juan, a man over twice her age. He brings her to New York City even though it was never her dream to live in America. Her family see this pairing as part of a strategic plan for them to eventually move to America as well. Juan and his brothers also seek their own benefits from this match. There's such an intense pressure built into this transactional marriage that made me whole-heartedly feel for Ana's difficult position where she essentially becomes a prisoner in a dank 6th floor apartment in Washington Heights. But I also revelled in the joys and passion she unexpectedly discovers in her accelerated maturity and as she gradually discovers what she truly wants in life. Angie Cruz evokes the intense feeling of this perilous coming-of-age tale with evocative detail. 

I enjoyed how as Ana immerses herself in American culture she begins to imitate and parody it. So after watching 'I Love Lucy' or 'The Sound of Music' she incorporates herself into their narratives in a way which playfully undermines their idyllic images. Equally, on a trip to the World's Fair she becomes aware that she must present an exaggerated image of her own culture in order to sell pastelitos to the American public. She also becomes aware of all the distinct ethnic neighbourhoods in the city and the stereotypes that develop alongside them which are perpetuated by Juan, but when she actually begins talking to different people those stereotypes are dispelled. I also thought it was moving how Ana naturally dreams of being saved by a knight in shining armour, but learns she needs to rely on herself as an independent woman to achieve what she really wants in life. Although both Juan and Ana's mother place unfair expectations upon Ana and take advantage of her, Cruz is careful to show how they are also subjected to pressures placed upon them. This certainly doesn't justify their actions, but it shows how they are all caught in a system which perpetuates different forms of oppression. There are also larger shifts happening in both America and the Dominican Republic which Ana is only slightly aware of but these are delicately incorporated into the background of the story. However, Ana is really at the heart of this novel and I was glad to be fully drawn into her solitary existence.

The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree by Shokoofeh Azar (translated by Anonymous)

When I want to learn about world events and political revolutions there's a reason why I don't only read newspaper articles and history books. There's so much more to a country, its people and their culture than can be found in facts. “The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree” describes an Iranian family splintered apart by the country's 1979 Islamic Revolution. They flee their home in Tehran and settle in a small village with the hope of continuing their lives in relative peace but find the new regime imposes changes which hinder or end their lives. The novel doesn't shrink from the brutality of what happens to people who are imprisoned, murdered or suffer wider violence because their beliefs and opinions run counter to the new order. But it also fills these stories with fantastic occurrences including encounters with jinns and a girl who morphs into a mermaid. These tales which draw upon Persian mythology are a way for the characters to process what's happening to them but they also keep their culture alive when it's being quashed by an enforced monotheistic government. A character named Beeta comments “when life is so deficient and mundane why shouldn't imagination supplement reality to liven it up?” So this novel's method of telling also produces an enthralling and beautifully inventive story. 

It's noted how many people in the country simply want to get used to the new ruling order but by situating their personal stories within the full breadth of their community's folklore the family commit a passionate act of defiance. Similarly, they seek to defend what is being censored or erased. They are great readers whose books include many titles from Western literature as well as Persian poetry. One of the most vivid and striking scenes comes when their library is being burned in a cruelly slapdash fashion. Bahar, the narrator of this novel witnesses its destruction and while it is perishing she recalls many characters and lines from the books going up in flames. It feels as if holding them in her thoughts will make them continue past the physical pages' destruction. Indeed, the father encourages the family to write down as much as they can remember from the books which have been lost.

Much later, a harrowing moment occurs when the imprisoned father is ordered to write a confession by the morality police and instead recreates the fantastical tales of his family life. It seems just as difficult for his captors to believe in the tragic losses he's suffered as a result of the regime change as it is for them to believe in vengeful spirits. It's powerful how Azar implies it's just as dangerous to be unaware of the full consequences of wider political changes as it is to blindly follow the dictates of a new order.

When revolutionary guards check the family's car for forbidden items they discover a copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's “One Hundred Years of Solitude”. The framework for “The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree” is somewhat influenced by that novel's style but, as Azar has noted, it's also based in magical realism that can be found in Persian literature. Since I read this novel as part of the Booker International Prize shortlist, it's an interesting coincidence that another book on the list “Hurricane Season” was also directly influenced by another Marquez novel. An enjoyable part of following prize lists is noticing small parallels like this between very different books.

Overall, I felt this is a stunning novel which is full of passion and romance. It's also very effective in giving voice to those whose stories aren't accounted for in most history books. It makes me want to know more about the country's history as well as its culture and literature.

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.