Interior Chinatown by Charles Yu

When I was growing up one of my favourite parts of visiting a big city was going to that city's Chinatown. I don't think I ever necessarily felt I was getting an “authentic” Chinese experience but I enjoyed the food, confectionary and atmosphere. It wasn't until I read the author Madeline Thien's article 'Farewell to the fairy palace: are Chinatowns obsolete?' that I started thinking more complexly about these physical locations and how their “deliberately exoticised” architecture is more for tourists rather than its residents. Also, Chinatowns' “alleyways and buildings are the physical evidence of a discriminatory history”. The development, appearance and history of these locations is something the journalist Bonnie Tsui has written about extensively. Thien refers to Tsui's writing in that article and Charles Yu repeatedly quotes her in his novel “Interior Chinatown”. The story creatively and entertainingly lifts the lid not only on a location, but the hearts and minds of its characters whose sense of self is often occluded by stereotypes and (literally) the roles they are forced to play. 

The novel takes the form of a script for a TV drama cop show called “Black and White” that's set in the Golden Palace restaurant in Chinatown. Our hero is Willis Wu, but he is not the hero of this show. Rather he's an extra often relegated to being the “Generic Asian Man” in the background. He has a clear idea of the series of roles he hopes to obtain as a stepladder to achieving what he sees as the supreme part of “Kung Fu Guy”. That this is the ultimate he can aspire to says a lot about the limited ways a Western audience is prepared to see Asian actors in their TV shows and, by extension, in Western society itself. But this doesn't come across in a didactic way. Rather, Willis' aspirations are so sincere that he's an extremely endearing character who becomes more conflicted, layered and complex as we follow his journey and bungled attempts to become the lead in a show whose inherent structure won't ever allow him this status.

Although it doesn't use a conventional form of narrative this novel is very easy to read because it plays upon generic notions we're all familiar with from watching films and television. It's very funny because we can anticipate the characters' scripted response to a situation, but as the story progresses this humour becomes laced with the melancholy and frustration of individuals who are locked into playing certain roles. There's almost a sci-fi quality to the novel's structure in that reality melds into this TV drama so that it almost feels like Willis is a character in a video game repeatedly playing out set scenarios in the valiant hope of becoming the victor. At the same time we get the backstories of various other people in Willis' life. Even if these individuals have achieved the ultimate roles available to them age soon relegates them to debased parts. Distinctions are also made between the discriminatory experiences felt by different minority groups. Gradually figures emerge who help Willis understand that he shouldn't limit his expectations for who he can become.

The overall tone of this novel is humorous and clever, but the author doesn't shirk from listing historical incidents where legislature in the US excluded Asian people from immigrating to and owning property in the country. It not only makes the reader reassess their understanding of American history but also their personal experience of how Asian culture and identity has been packaged for Western consumption. It definitely made me think about the television and movies I watched growing up where Asian actors were more often cast to play stereotypes rather than fully rounded characters. I'm glad this novel recently won the National Book Award as its clear concept is so expertly built into a fully engaging story, but the nuance and complexity of what it really says has a moving and haunting effect.

Parakeet by Marie-Helene Bertino

You'd normally think of the time leading up to a wedding as a period of nervous excitement filled with saccharine feeling, but for the unnamed Bride who narrates the novel “Parakeet” by Marie-Helene Bertino it transforms into a surreal journey of self-discovery. She's staying in a luxury inn that is on (not in) Long Island and is meant to be relaxing while making the final preparations for the big day. But in her bedroom she encounters her dead grandmother who appears to her as a parakeet. The bird warns the Bride not to get married and seek out her estranged brother before defecating all over and ruining her wedding dress. There follows a series of increasingly bizarre and unsettling encounters which force the Bride to confront her difficult family and her own traumatic past. 

This story is both disturbing and comical in the absurd way that time, space and identity become distorted. Corridors and elevators warp and deliver the Bride into strange new areas. People she encounters are sometimes like a troubling mirror image and other times embody something significant about the Bride's past. A woman she buys a replacement second-hand wedding dress from bears a marked resemblance to her. She witnesses the production of a play written by her brother which recreates an altered version of her past. The spirit of her living mother seems to take possession of her body at one point. Another wedding plays out adjacent to her own in the same venue. Yet, while these experiences are undeniably odd, the narrator navigates them as if she's accustomed to a haunted existence. Since living through a violent tragedy she's discovered “The mean trick of trauma is that like a play it has no past tense. It is always happening.” She's trapped in a kind of hellish present where the past doesn't allow her to progress in ways that are either expected or desired.

Bertino imaginatively and poignantly describes the Bride's process of finding the willpower to enter a self-determined future. Her use of language is so playful and self-consciously literary. She makes references at several points to other absurdist literature describing how “Any Beckett play I've managed to wander into is odd weather that will pass” or “Every elevator in this building is a Borgesian nightmare.” It's as if the narrator's consciousness is so imbued with this sensibility it's entirely infected her worldview. I enjoyed the offbeat descriptions she makes to show how the Bride translates impressions of the world. When her mother speaks she feels “Her tone is egg whites whipped to stiff peaks.” There's an unsettling tension between the Bride and other people. She struggles to understand other people just as they struggle to understand her and her actions or inaction.

While all this was enjoyable and oftentimes fascinating, sometimes the narrative became too disorientating for me. Following the Bride's skewed impressions of her surroundings I felt like I was constantly trying to find my footing. This is no doubt purposeful because we become so ensconced in her mental process that it's hard to figure out where we are physically located in some scenes. So even though this is a relatively short novel it takes patience and time to read. Of course, that's not necessarily a bad thing if you're looking for an enticingly complex puzzle of a story. It's opaqueness is often a reflection of the narrator's state of mind. She's constantly distracted so that a florist is continuously disappointed when the Bride doesn't show up to approve the floral arrangements for her wedding. This kind of repetition and the bewilderment of characters in the background is comic but also makes her estrangement feel all the more powerful. Crucially, the meaningful relationship she reforms with her sibling who turns out to be transgendered acts as an important grounding force to help this Bride escape the unwanted reality she's been lulled into wedding. Overall, I enjoyed and admired this smart and unique story.

The Booker Prize 2020 Winner

Another year of the Booker Prize and another year where the result has utterly surprised me! But this time I am absolutely thrilled with the judges' decision. After closely following the International Booker Prize earlier this year and the book I liked least on the list “The Discomfort of Evening” won I lost confidence in my ability to predict Booker winners. Added to that was the fact that half of the main Booker Prize shortlist this year didn't work for me so I had resigned myself to the idea that the judges' tastes don't align with my own. So I held little hope that my two favourites on the list “Burnt Sugar” and “Shuggie Bain” held a chance of winning. But I was wrong. Douglas Stuart's debut novel has won! 

This brilliantly moving book is based on Stuart's own experience of a Glasgow childhood marked by poverty and addiction. Yet it portrays both the environment and its people in such a warm-hearted and dynamic way that he's really brought this time period and region to life. Douglas Stuart also has the distinction of being the second Scot to ever win this prize. The first was James Kelman in 1994. Coincidentally, just earlier this week “Shuggie Bain” was also shortlisted for the National Book Awards but it lost out to “Interior Chinatown” by Charles Yu.

Since a physical ceremony wasn't possible this year, the announcement was made online in a “ceremony without walls” last night. I filmed a live reaction video to this and participated in a press interview with Stuart afterwards where I got to ask him a question. You can watch this here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dxu5dYhyQFY

It was wonderful to hear from chair of judges Margaret Busby that the judges' decision was unanimous. And it was also very exciting to hear that Stuart is almost finished completing his second novel also set in Glasgow which will be called “Loch Awe”.

Have you read “Shuggie Bain” or are you interested in reading it? What do you think of this year's result?

The New Wilderness by Diane Cook

Given the urgency of the climate crisis and the difficulties of changing our way of living to save the planet, it's no wonder that we can easily envision a time when nature has been plundered of its resources and humans are scrambling to survive. Diane Cook dramatises this conflict in “The New Wilderness” not by showing the fall of society but by presenting a group of people who've reverted to a nomadic life where survival is truly a day to day struggle. The majority of the population lives in an overpopulated and smoggy city where the air is so toxic children are often seriously ill. Because Bea's five year old daughter Agnes frequently coughed up blood and the doctors had no way of treating her, this mother and her partner Glen took the radical step to form a group of volunteers to venture out into the rural landscape which had been abandoned due to pollution. But this experiment is strictly regulated by the government and its rangers who study and regulate their existence. They're not allowed to settle in any location or leave any physical impact on the rewilding of the environment. The novel begins at a point where this group has been struggling to navigate this wilderness for some time and life has come to mean very little beyond the animal instinct to survive. 

The trouble I had with this story is that I found it hard to buy into the structure and workings of its society. Dystopian fiction must build a plausible scenario through which its drama can proceed. Even if this isn't explicitly laid out there have to be logical indications of how society has come to this point. The negative impact humans are having on the environment is very real and with urban populations becoming so dense I can see why the author has set her novel up this way. But I struggled to get a sense for how society was being governed, the ways in which the wilderness was being so strictly regulated and why the volunteer group adhered to their rules. Of course, one of the elements of suspense is that there is a sinister government plan occurring in the background but I just didn't believe in the overall structure of how this society had come to operate. So I found it a challenge to emotionally invest in the plot or its characters. I also felt the plodding detail of their day to day lives wasn't engaging enough to make me feel the desperation and tension of their situation. There were occasionally moving scenes between the characters and creative observations about the hidden workings of the natural world, but overall the novel felt a little overlong and was a bit of a slog to get through.

I enjoyed the complicated way the story portrays motherhood. I felt the tension of Bea's genuine love for her daughter combined with the sometimes tedious obligations of it: “motherhood felt like a heavy coat she was compelled to put on each day no matter the weather.” The author shows the compelling and heart wrenching ways this parent-child bond is warped by the urgency of their circumstances. The story actually begins with Bea having a miscarriage. This grief must instantly be internalized because of pressing practical concerns and there is an emotional toll for this necessity. The same is true in how she relates to her daughter where the concept and practice of protecting one's child takes on a very different meaning. I became fascinated and felt engaged with the way that her daughter Agnes grows, develops and processes emotion herself. But it takes some time in the narrative to get to this point and after a while it didn't continue to strongly hold my interest. Overall I felt the impact of this novel's message got lost in a lack of clarity about this society's construction. So I was left questioning the author's creative choices rather than pondering the important issues at the heart of this book.

Burnt Sugar by Avni Doshi

Can a child ever really know their mother and can a mother ever really know her child? Though we're made to feel there should be a natural, inextricable bond here it's seldom ever so simple. It certainly isn't for Antara, the narrator of Avni Doshi's heart-aching and intensely thoughtful novel “Burnt Sugar”. As an adult she finds herself in the tricky situation of caring for her mother Tara who is showing signs of dementia. But Antara seldom felt cared for as a child when her mother abandoned her unhappy arranged marriage, joined a religious commune, had a passionate affair with an unpredictable artist and spent some time living as a beggar on the street. Given their turbulent history together, Antara naturally feels ambivalent about being her mother's carer and confesses in the novel's opening line “I would be lying if I said my mother's misery has never given me pleasure.” Painful emotions run deep throughout this narrative where Antara is haunted by her past and because of this burden struggles to negotiate her relationships with her husband Dilip, her often absent father and her mother in law. I felt intensely involved in this novel which asks poignant questions about the bonds of family and the nature of memory.

I appreciate how this tense mother-daughter relationship becomes deeper and more complex as the novel progresses. It's easy at first to label Tara as a villainous “bad mother” but, as her daughter probes into the past and considers the strain of familial expectations and society, Tara's rebelliousness feels in some ways justified. That's not to ignore the abuse Antara sustains, but it shows how there are many factors at play. Nor should Antara's point of view be taken as the whole truth since we as readers only see things through her perspective. I like how Doshi incorporates a mystery through the novel concerning a portrait of an anonymous man. As an artist Antara reproduces this figure in a series of drawings until he bears little resemblance to the original, but the question of who he is eventually becomes a crucial factor between the mother and daughter.

Antara's artwork is also one of the many intriguing ways in which this story approaches the question of memory. Like many people, Antara's touchstone to the past is through photographs which she peruses but the real circumstances of this history remain semi-clouded. One of Tara's doctors comments to the daughter how “memory is a work in progress. It's always being reconstructed.” Tara's perspective may be unreliable because she might be experiencing dementia, but Antara's memories seem to clash with the recollections of others at some crucial points. The question of who to trust remains throughout the novel. But Antara's trauma is clear and it's moving the way Doshi writes about how Antara learned to mentally distance herself from the present and her methods of self-preservation: “I disown so I can never be disowned.” This might ensure her survival but, of course, the tragedy is that relationships can't function if there isn't a healthy degree of trust.

As I get older I sometimes mull over how my childhood and upbringing have moulded my personality. Naturally I can dwell on the ways I might have been hurt or neglected at various points, but I also try to question how honest I am with myself about the memories that I mull over. This is difficult to do. No one can have a perfect childhood and I appreciate how this novel shows how “Humans grow up flagrantly, messily and no one was afforded the choice of looking away.” If we allow ourselves a degree of self-scrutiny we must own how we were participants rather than simply a victim of our past experiences. It was heartrending following Antara's journey in confronting her mother about the past, but it's even more touching how the narrator must radically confront herself in order to move forward.

The Warden by Anthony Trollope

So much current political discourse is thrashed out online and on social media that it can feel like an overwhelming cacophony. This arena which I'd idealistically like to imagine to be a forum for debate and exchange more often becomes a battleground where opposing sides become even more entrenched in feelings of righteousness. So when I took up the challenge from the Trollope Society to read my first novel by this writer and the first novel in Trollope's Barsetshire series I didn't anticipate the extreme pleasure I'd find in the more mild-mannered and reasonable moral, social and political debate as conducted in Trollope's fictional cathedral town of Barchester. The Rev. Septimus Harding is the warden of a charity, a role which comes with a generous income. John Bold is an idealistic young surgeon and reformer who calls into question whether the wardenship is really entitled to the funds which were primarily intended for the residents of the charitable hospital. However, Bold also has a romantic interest in Harding's daughter Eleanor. Tensions run high when a newspaper article comes out accusing Harding of retaining the charity's funds for himself out of greedy self interest. 

If this argument were to play out today there would likely be a public pile on Mr Harding until he was shamed into resigning from his role. Mr Harding would be a figure of ridicule turned into a meme. He would be “cancelled”. However, in Trollope's world things play out very differently. Through self-scrutiny on the part of Mr Harding and an entreaty to Mr Bold on the part of Eleanor, the accused and the accuser switch positions on the matter. This is not only a comic inversion of the central drama in this story, but it also shows the essential good nature of people who are receptive to critique and are willing to reconsider their views. What instantly endeared me to Trollope's writing was that (though his characters might possess certain prejudices) they feel well-rounded and realistic like neighbours. Their inner sense of justice is more forcefully applied to how they themselves interact with society rather than projecting their rigid idealism onto the rest of the world. Injustice is recognized and, indeed, the salary the warden receives is probably far more than the original founder of the charity ever intended, but there is also a recognition of the complexity of how communities work and the overall impact from implementing rapid change.

This makes “The Warden” a more quiet and contemplative novel than might even be found amongst Trollope's contemporaries. Although the misuse of charitable funds was a contentious issue in the mid-19th century because there were few governmental programs to deal with poverty, Trollope's central social issue is more localised and humble compared to the grand subjects being presented in much of Charles Dickens' fiction. Nor is Trollope inclined to describe his characters in language which demarcates whether they were essentially “good” or “bad” in nature as Dickens relentlessly does in his fiction. Trollope even hilariously satirizes Dickens in this novel when at one point a character amuses himself with a book by an author called Mr Popular Sentiment. Trollope describes how “Mr Sentiment is certainly a very powerful man, and perhaps not the less so that his good poor people are so very good; his hard rich people so very hard; and the genuinely honest so very honest.” This playfully pokes fun at the way there is little moral ambiguity among Dickens' characters and how to describe them in such strident terms diminishes the truly complex nature of humanity. 

Similar to other novels of the 19th century, Trollope as author is heavy-handed in the way he steers the narrative at certain points. However, I also found this quite enjoyable. Trollope is prone to interjecting his own opinions on the characters in the story. One section hilariously describes a large family in much detail, but the author repeatedly interjects how they are essentially dull. Not only does Trollope make his prejudices about certain characters known, but he also speculates on his readership of the ladies or “middle-aged bachelor” who might be reading these pages. It's amusing how this makes the author himself into a kind of character rather than being an unseen and entirely objective god behind the story. 

There's also a profuse amount of delightful detail about the period contained in the “The Warden”. Trollope describes the way this society is ordered and how finance works as well as details of what you might see in a particular kind of individual's house or walking down the street. There's a wonderful chapter titled 'A Long Day in London' when Mr Harding is visiting the capital and finds ways to occupy himself until his scheduled meeting. We follow his journey along The Strand up to Westminster Abbey as he views various shops and finds his meals. Rather than agonize over the monumental decision he's made, Mr Harding seeks soft contentment in humble pleasures observing “What on earth could be more luxurious than a sofa, a book and a cup of coffee?” This epitomizes the way this writing could be labelled as “cozy fiction” but at the moment I really appreciate the respite from the modern world that this book offered. There's also something admirable about the way the novelist recognizes the dignity and heart in all his characters as they strive to do what's right. I'm greatly looking forward to reading more of the novels in this series of books and other novels by Trollope.

The Young Writer of the Year Award 2020 shortlist

I always enjoy seeing what books are shortlisted for the annual Sunday Times/University of Warwick Young Writer of the Year Award. It gives a snapshot of some of the most exciting emerging British and Irish literary talent. To be eligible, writers need to be 35 or under. Judges for this year's prize include the writers Sebastian Faulks, Tessa Hadley and Kit de Waal. Normally only four authors are listed for the prize, but this year the judges are highlighting five! There are two novels, a memoir and two books of poetry. 

I'm very happy to see Jay Bernard's moving collection “Surge” on the list as it was one of my favourite books that I read last year. These dynamic multi-voiced poems are a response to the New Cross fire of 1981, in which thirteen young black people were killed. I also loved recently reading Naoise Dolan's first novel “Exciting Times”. Dolan was included in the Guardian's '10 Best Debut Novelists of 2020' list in January. The novel brilliantly and hilariously describes a wayward young Irish woman living abroad in Hong Kong who gets mixed up in a complicated love triangle.

I'm very eager to read Sean Hewitt's book as I enjoyed reading his poetry pamphlet “Lantern” last year. The poetry in “Tongues of Fire” contains prayers, hymns, vespers, incantations and longer poems that describe experiences of sex, grief and loss. Earlier this year, I started reading Marina Kemp's debut novel “Nightingale” and kept meaning to go back and finish it. So it being listed for this prize is a great prompt to return to it. The story concerns a young woman who leaves Paris to become a nurse for a tempestuous old man in a sleepy French village. Finally, Catherine Cho's memoir sounds fascinating and powerful as it recounts her experiences on a psychiatric ward after being diagnosed as having a rare form of postpartum psychosis.

The winner will be announced in a digital ceremony on December 10th. Let me know if you've read any of the books on this shortlist or if you're keen to now. 

Barchester Towers Big Read

Now that we're facing a Winter with even more time inside than usual because of restrictions due to the pandemic I'm keen to get stuck into reading a series of books. I'm also keen to read some more classic fiction since I've been reading so many debut novels whilst being a judge on this year's Costa Book Awards. One author I've always wanted to read is Anthony Trollope. He's one of the only prominent 19th century authors whose work I've not read at all. Also, Trollope was my grandmother's favourite author and I think it'll be meaningful to read some of his books knowing how much she enjoyed his stories. 

I've also been keen to join in more online reading groups since physical book clubs can't meet at the moment. The Trollope Society held a public vote during the month of October to determine the nation's favourite Trollope novel. The winner was “Barchester Towers” which is frequently cited as one of the author's most popular and beloved novels. Consequently, they are going to host a “Big Read” of the novel starting on November 9th. Every two weeks there will be online discussions from experts and Trollope super fans as we read the novel together. This will run through until January 4th. If you're interested in joining along with me you can register for free here: https://trollopesociety.org/pickupatrollope/reading-group/

I'm excited to start reading Trollope, but since “Barchester Towers” is the second book in his 'Chronicles of Barsetshire' series I'd like to start by reading the first book “The Warden”. I know that the second novel can be read independently, but I'd like to familiarize myself with the setting and characters which are established in the first novel. I really enjoy Balzac's novels and from what I've read it seems like Trollope's series similarly presents a realistic portrait of social and political conflicts in a series of stories whose characters sometimes cross over between the novels. With six novels in the 'Chronicles of Barsetshire' series I think this will be a fun project to embark on over the Winter months.

Let me know if you're keen to join in or if you have a favourite novel by Trollope!

The Liar's Dictionary by Eley Williams

Most debut novels commonly focus on autobiographical experience and while I know nothing about Eley Williams' background I wouldn't be surprised if this gifted author grew up between the covers of a giant dictionary. “The Liar's Dictionary” is quite literally the story of two lexicographers who both work for Swansby's New Encyclopedic Dictionary but their lives are separated by a century. While this might not sound like the most thrilling basis for a story, there's such charm, humour, warmth and surprisingly dramatic turns to this tale that I felt enthralled by this novel. 

In alternating alphabetically-ordered chapters, we're told the stories of Winceworth, an introverted lovelorn man in 1899 who fakes having a lisp, and Mallory, an introverted very-in-love woman in the present day who is nervous about introducing her girlfriend to people as more than a flatmate. Their intensely focused endeavour is to precisely research and define every word, but language is such an unwieldy beast this task seems insurmountable and never ending. Additionally, Mallory is newly charged with hunting down the mountweazels (made-up words) in their dictionary. Where did these false words come from and why were they added? Adding to this mystery are a series of threatening phone calls Mallory receives and a strange woman with whom Winceworth becomes infatuated. These elements form a quietly mesmerising tale that's also a love letter to the English language.

Something I really appreciated about this novel was its frank depiction of a young person struggling to make a living with a certain speciality. As an intern, Mallory can barely support herself. Swansby's is an esteemed institution but given modern technology Mallory is aware of the perfunctory nature of her job in a dilapidated building with outdated facilities: “To use a computer in Swansby House was to hate the sight of a computer.” It's moving how Williams writes about the contrast between the upkeep of the building and the amount of staff at the end of the 19th century in contrast to what it's been reduced to in the 21st century. 

Mallory feels like a character who was born in the wrong era, but she's also aware that this is historically a better time to be a homosexual: “it is a good time to be out. I know that. It's nice out. That's what I know to be true and yet and yet... It shouldn't define me. It definitely should.” This is one of the many complex ways this novel looks at the question of definitions and how there are deeper implications which are attached to many words. Mallory's girlfriend is unashamedly open about her sexuality in a way Mallory isn't. It's interesting how these ambiguous feelings have been expressed before in Wiliams' short story 'Smote' from her collection “Attrib”. I appreciate how this shows that being gay isn't simple no matter how progressive society becomes. 

Williams' revels in language: its etymology and evolution, the way it is commonly used, its many ambiguities and the gaps where there should be certain words for an experience or sensation. There are endless examples in this novel of innovative new words the author has created or infrequently-used beautiful words that she's unearthed. She also frequently points out how words come with so many connotations. For example she writes: “A freakish weed is just a flower that has not asked permission.” There are so many words and terms whose social meaning say more than their definition, but if you look at them from a different perspective their meaning can entirely change. This feels to me to be the ultimate message of the novel. Just like the innumerable words in our language, our unique personalities can never be precisely defined.

The Shadow King by Maaza Mengiste

One of the reasons I enjoy reading great historical fiction is that it illuminates periods of the past that I was totally unaware of. Most of my understanding of the events surrounding WWII are centred around an American and English perspective. So prior to Mengiste's “The Shadow King” I had no knowledge of Mussolini's 1935 invasion of Ethiopia, one of the last sovereign African countries at that time. As Mengiste has explained in interviews, the Second Italo-Ethiopian War is well documented but there are few written historical accounts of Ethiopian women's active involvement in defending the country through these battles. This novel provides a different framing of this period by insisting on the prominence and importance of these women. The author introduces us to this era by focusing on the story of Hirut, an orphaned girl who becomes a maid to Kidane who is an officer in Emperor Haile Selassie's army and his strong-willed wife Aster. As the invasion begins the balance of their lives is totally upended and their relationships alter in accordance with the joint will to fight to maintain Ethiopia's independence. The result is a dramatic story filled with bloody battles and the emotional journeys of individuals whose lives are fundamentally changed by these larger events. 

The difficulty with some historical novels is that they are so steeped in a narrative of the past it's a challenge to enter as a reader if you aren't equipped with a knowledge about it. This was definitely why I found it hard to finish reading “Wolf Hall” on the first go and why it took supplementary reading for me to better understand the events and drama being portrayed. The same was true for Mengiste's novel. Frequently throughout the story I found myself entrenched in scenes of conflict I struggled to understand so it was difficult to emotionally invest in the outcome. I fully accept this is a problem of my own ignorance about the series of historical events being portrayed. Like with Mantel's fiction, I think the payoff gained from really concentrating and reading additional material is worth it because “The Shadow King” is undoubtably an impressive work of fiction. I'm equally sure that reading this novel a second time will yield a lot more pleasure because I'd be able to focus more on the development of the characters, the links between them and the symbolic resonance of the story more than working so hard to follow what was actually happening. However, this means that at the moment this is a novel I admired more than really enjoyed.

Where this book shined the most for me were in private moments where a character like Hirut realises she is trapped in events much larger than herself. There's a sudden understanding that this entangled political conflict has irreparably changed her in a way that runs counter to her own natural development and she must radically redefine herself in order to survive. But there are different strategies for making this happen. In the case of Aster, she takes a stand against her own husband and insists she can play an active leading role in defending their country. In the case of the cook, she cannily flies under the radar by refusing to divulge her name or make her identity known. It's moving how Mengiste shows the way identity is distorted and reformed by the trauma of war. I also found it powerful how the characters aspired to shape the narrative of history while the conflict was still in progress through the photographs being taken and the news which was portioned out to the rest of the world. It's compelling how Mengiste portrays an evolving sense of national identity when a country struggles to maintain its independence and how that country's true character resides in the collective will of its people rather than a figurehead like Selassie who fled into exile. This novel shows that the truth of a nation is found more often in what its citizens' sacrifice rather than the spoils of war.

Attrib and Other Stories by Eley Williams

The short stories in Eley Williams' debut collection may not have any concrete connection to each other, but many of them depict brief moments of emotional drama. However, instead of burrowing into the characters' feelings or reasons for these instances of lovers breaking up and other life changes, the stories are filled with seemingly trivial, distracted trails of thought that we follow through until the apparent crisis has passed. This technique might feel hollow if it weren't for the skilful way the author shows how our encounters with others (especially in highly dramatic moments) are often consumed with a fragmentation of different thoughts. It points to the gaps between language and meaning, emotion and its expression, experience and memory. While this left me wondering about many of the details behind these stories, I was nevertheless very moved by the sensation of these private moments of contemplation which are often punctuated with a playful curiosity and humour. 

There's an affectionally-portrayed introversion to these tales. We follow narrators who recite the lyrics to a song from the musical Oliver! or recount how starlings were brought to America by a man honouring Shakespeare. There's an accumulation of odd tidbits and facts which clutter an inward looking mind. This sensibility is enhanced by the way the narrators have more evident connections with animals or insects rather than humans. There's a hedgehog paddling in a swimming pool, a landmine seeking rat with great comic timing and a spider who constructs elaborate tricks. These are beings whose interior realities are ultimately unknowable and so they are in a way safe as confidants. But there are also beautiful moments of romantic tension where a narrator is mesmerised by the colour of a boy's eyes who he hides in a closet with or a narrator who panics over whether to kiss their same-sex partner in a gallery. 

Naturally, I felt the strongest bond with stories where there was a clear tension and something precious was at stake (even if I wasn't certain about the dramatic architecture surrounding this moment.) Several stories express an intense longing for a lover or friend without describing the particular circumstances. 'Concision' is a heartbreaking tale where an abruptly ended phone conversation results in the narrator staring contemplatively at the numerous black holes in the landline receiver. 'Spins' recounts a narrator's fumbling attempts to furtively dispose of a lover's silk pyjamas in a bin that's a sufficient distance from their home. 'Platform' describes a photo taken during a lover's departure at a train station and how the toupee of a man in the background flew off his head at that exact second. There are volumes of unspoken emotion invisibly built into the background of these tales.

Not every story is built around an untold crisis. There are tales that compellingly focus more on an obscure job like recording sounds to go with an art exhibit's audio guide or a chef who specialises in cooking birds in alcohol or a story about the construction and meaning of rosettes in politics. Some stories pushed too far into obscurity so I was left feeling puzzled rather than moved by the unknown details surrounding them. But, on the whole, the stories in this collection are so innovative and enjoyable. Their sense of humour and wordplay alongside an affection for second person narrators felt reminiscent of Ali Smith to me and that's always a good thing. There's something so unique about Williams' slant on the world that I'm very much looking forward to reading her novel.

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

I always feel some trepidation picking up a classic novel I know I should have read before – probably in my teenage years. Like “Frankenstein”, “Jane Eyre” and “Little Women” I've come to “Rebecca” relatively late in my life. I was already familiar with the story because I've seen the equally classic 1940 film of Du Maurier's novel directed by Alfred Hitchock. But, of course, the great thing about a classic novel is that no matter how much you feel you already know it because it's so much a part of our popular culture the actual experience of reading it for the first time is often surprising and delightful. To finally read that famous opening line “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again” was to discover this story anew. I was instantly bewitched by the naïve young woman who finds that becoming a man's second wife means that she's entered into a love triangle with a ghost. Du Maurier evokes such an all-consuming and uneasy sense of atmosphere as she describes this unnamed narrator's introduction to becoming the new mistress of the grand estate of Manderley. From the memories of everyone who knew her, the routines of the household, the decoration of the rooms and the monogramed stationary, the presence of the late Mrs de Winter is everywhere felt. It's such a gripping and enlightening experience reading this novel for its mysteries and suspense, but also because its meaning can be interpreted in different ways. 

The narrator is so shy and meek it's impossible not to initially feel sympathetic towards her as she escapes a terrible job as a companion to the snobbish wannabe Mrs van Hopper by marrying Maxim de Winter. This romantic trajectory of a humble young woman entering into a relationship with a wealthy emotionally uptight man felt so reminiscent of “Jane Eyre”. It's no wonder the author Sarah Perry describes Maxim as “Mr Rochester at the wheel of a motor-car.” Like Mr Rochester, Maxim also has a secret about his previous marriage and, rather than being open and honest with his new wife, it takes dramatic events for the truth of the past to be revealed. Maxim's masculine arrogance certainly doesn't help the fundamental misunderstandings which occur in their relationship, but the narrator also concedes at one point how her own attitude creates a barrier between her and others: “I wondered how many people there were in the world who suffered and continue to suffer because they could not break out from their own web of shyness and reserve and in their blindness and folly built up a great distorted wall in front of them that hid the truth.” Like many introverted people, she lets her imagination run wild, especially in regards to her assumptions about people and what she believes people think of her. Of course, she has a right to be suspicious as she overhears some servants and “friends” candid thoughts about her, but she constructs a false system of beliefs about her place in the household in a way which is psychologically masochistic.

More than the narrator, the most fascinating character in the novel is certainly Mrs Danvers. Du Maurier sets us against her from the very beginning or, at least, makes us fear her through the narrator's eyes as she's described in such creepy terms with her “skull's face, parchment-white, set on a skeleton's frame”. Her attitude and manner is so foreboding and stern Mrs Danvers is much more like a school mistress who must be appeased rather than a head servant who manages the household of Manderley. Yet, her maniacal loyalty to Rebecca, the first Mrs de Winter, and fierce care for her remaining things which she dusts every day reveals she has such enormous stores of unvoiced grief for this lost woman. It's hard not to interpret Mrs Danvers' feelings for Rebecca as romantic given her overriding obsession with her and the fact that she fondly looks through the drawers of her underwear. While you could interpret this as a negative representation of homosexuality, she also must be one of literature's great queer villains. As Carmen Maria Machado describes in her memoir, it's hard not to love a figure like this because she's so fabulous in her misery and unvoiced passion. But, even though Mrs Danvers is cunning and vengeful, she's also sympathetic when in rare moments of grief she weeps and mentally breaks down. It's no wonder that Mrs Danvers has taken on a life of her own inspiring tales like Rose Tremain's excellent short story 'The Housekeeper'.

It's also fascinating how Rebecca looms so large throughout the story like an ominous spectre – not least of all because her name is emblazoned on the novel's cover whereas the name of the narrator is never even mentioned. She was someone with a legendary charm and beauty and the narrator is clearly consumed with jealousy. Surely this speaks about her own insecurities rather than the perceived malice of this lost woman's spirit. Of course, we can never get Rebecca's point of view since she died before the start of the story. So we can only speculate about her identity based on second-hand accounts. If you see her through Mrs Danvers' eyes Rebecca is like an empowered short-haired feminist figure who has eschewed any need for a man. From Maxim's perspective she was a cunning, selfish nymphomaniac. And from Jack Favell's perspective she was a mischievous woman to be manipulated and used for his own purposes. Out of these subjective points of view emerges a dynamic character who will remain a figure of endless fascination. No doubt, both the narrator and Rebecca are characters that readers make different conclusions about every time they read this book which is partly why it's considered such a classic.

Though there's no question this novel is magnificent and I enjoyed it thoroughly, I don't think it's entirely perfect. The later part of the book is almost entirely consumed with unearthing whether Rebecca's death was a crime or not. We follow the machinations of this quest for justice in tedious detail as figures are drawn out one by one to provide testimony. Rather than in a courtroom this is pursued by tracking down an individual that is sketchily referred to in an appointment book. It all felt somewhat ludicrous to me as surely no firm conclusions could be drawn from whatever is found but the narrator's nerves are constantly frayed as she's certain some incriminating evidence will be revealed at every turn in the road. This was when my sympathy for the narrator waned and I felt more irritated by her. Overall, it just felt like a somewhat clunky way to reveal yet another hidden layer to Rebecca's character that none of the characters knew about and a too convenient way to get the main characters away from the house for a certain amount of time. Nevertheless, the mystery about Rebecca's true identity is so enticing I'm sure I'll come back to read this novel again and look for more clues. That Manderley ends in a great conflagration seems like the ultimate last word from Rebecca herself that she will ultimately remain unknowable.

Cardiff, by the Sea by Joyce Carol Oates

Joyce Carol Oates excels at writing stories of psychological suspense which also contain an underlying layer of more profound and unanswerable questions. In “Cardiff, by the Sea”, her new collection of four novellas, she presents several differently compelling and inventive strategies for teasing the reader into questioning what's real and what's only a part of the narrator's imagination. In the title story, an emotionally-charged terrifying childhood memory haunts a scholarly young woman. In “Miao Dao”, a stray cat becomes a kind of ghost guardian for a vulnerable teenage girl. A bright young student falls prey to her influential mentors in “Phantomwise:1972”. And, in “The Surviving Child”, a new wife joins a household haunted by the memory of a mother who tried to eviscerate her family. These are innately dramatic situations whose psychological complexity is furthered by the longer amount of space the author allows for them to be told, but the stories remain compact enough for their tension to remain breathtakingly persistent. Recent books of short stories by Oates such as “Pursuit” and “Night-Gaunts” present similarly suspenseful situations, but it's interesting how the author works in this new book with slightly longer forms of narrative to produce an effect that is very reminiscent of Henry James' “The Turn of the Screw.” 

Two of the funniest and most vivid characters in this collection are Elspeth and Morag who are the great-aunts of Clare, the protagonist of “Cardiff, by the Sea”. Clare travels to Maine after being informed that a grandmother she didn't know existed has left her a house in her will and the aunts take her into their home while the estate is being settled. The dialogue between the two aunts whips across the page as they relentlessly bicker and fuss over Clare who is caught helplessly between them. They're like an elderly female version of Tweedledum and Tweedledee from Lewis Carroll's “Through the Looking-Glass”. In fact, a more explicit reference to “Alice's Adventures in Wonderland” comes in “Phantomwise:1972” where the student protagonist is named Alyce. She becomes the assistant and romantic interest/carer of Roland B___, a famous poet who remarks that he once met the original Alice who inspired Carroll. It's delightful to see how Carroll's writing continues to inspire and reconfigure itself within Oates' fiction.

I often remark how Oates' writing almost feels prescient given that her subjects frequently mirror the most topical debates occurring at the time of her book's publication. Here again, Oates' sensitivity for the questions dividing current politics inform her storylines. A pointed message is made in the novella “Phantomwise:1972” which, significantly, is set in the time immediately before the U.S. Supreme Court's landmark decision on Roe v. Wade. Given the vacancy on the Supreme Court left by Ruth Bader Ginsburg's death and her proposed replacement, the topic of abortion has come to the forefront of American politics again. Of course, this is an issue Oates has written about numerous times before, most notably in her tremendous novel “A Book of American Martyrs”. But, in this new novella, Oates considers the point of view of a young woman who finds herself unexpectedly pregnant and encounters a crisis because she's not able to legally obtain an abortion. The story serves as a stark reminder at this crucial period of time that vulnerable young individuals will face innumerable challenges if these laws are overturned.

The opening of Oates' 2007 novel “The Gravedigger's Daughter” included a scene where a parent comes close to killing everyone in his family before committing suicide. This tragic circumstance occurs again but in very different contexts in two of the novellas in this collection “Cardiff, by the Sea” and “The Surviving Child”. In returning to the region of her birth family, Clare discovers her father might have executed her mother and siblings when she was very young but there's a compelling mystery throughout the story about whether this was in fact what happened. In “The Surviving Child” Elisabeth marries a widower whose first wife Nicola was a famous poet that is posthumously accused of killing herself and her daughter. The son Stefan narrowly survived this harrowing incident and continues to live with his father and new stepmother in the upmarket house where this tragedy occurred. Elisabeth's experiences living in this solemn estate are extremely eerie and tense in way that resembles Daphne du Maurier's “Rebecca”. It's fascinating how Oates reconfigures instances of filicide in her fiction to give very different slants and perspectives on this almost unspeakable crime to show the multitude of societal pressures and psychological derangements which might motivate them.

What brings all these gripping novellas to life is Oates' masterful use of description and pace to evoke visceral feelings of dread in the reader's imagination. In the large unsettling house Elisabeth inhabits it's remarked “Doorknobs feel uncomfortably warm when touched, like inner organs.” The squirming discomfort and unsettling atmosphere these metaphors and figurative language cause make these compulsive stories darkly pleasurable to read. Equally, Oates uses creepy imagery such as a spider web to invoke a mood but also to suggest deeper meaning. In the title novella it's asked “But why are you walking away? Is this not the intersection with another? Another life, whose web you have blundered into.” Here the recurring image prompts a feeling for how our lives are made up of innumerable paths and possibilities, but we are simultaneously trapped in our circumstances. In this way, Oates ingeniously builds stories which are both thrilling and prompt deeper questions about the mysteries of existence. 

You can also watch me interview Joyce Carol Oates about this collection here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGJlsLdSd28

Exciting Times by Naoise Dolan

Multiple friends of mine who’ve read Sally Rooney’s phenomenally popular novel “Normal People” have asked me for suggestions of what they can read that is “just like Normal People”. I think “Exciting Times” by Naoise Dolan might be the answer. Of course, to say that this debut novel is “just like” Normal People does a disservice to the originality of Dolan’s tale and the uniqueness of the authorial voice. But there are several similarities. It’s a contemporary novel about young people new to adulthood. Although it’s set in Hong Kong, it’s by an Irish author and the narrator is Ava, an Irish woman who moved there to teach English to rich children. There’s a difficult romance at the centre of the novel and a suspenseful element driving the story is about whether or not they’ll get together. Factors such as social class and money play into the tension of the central relationships. It concerns a lot of miscommunication or failed communication which is muddled by the medium of modern technology. It’s a poignant and oftentimes funny story. There’s also the fact that in the acknowledgements Dolan thanks Sally Rooney alongside a couple of other contemporary Irish writers. These aspects all mean that if I were an algorithm I’d offer up “Exciting Times” as an if you read and enjoyed Normal People suggested purchase. Thankfully, I’m not an algorithm so I have a bit more to say about what makes this novel great.

The novel fits into a tradition of Irish books which explore the subject of emigration. Ava seems to have moved so far away from her native country because she feels like an outsider and she’s not entirely sure what to do with her life. This distance gives her a unique perspective on her own sense of nationality and the way she’s viewed by others. Given that she teaches English as a foreign language, there’s a lot of wry commentary on language itself: the limitations of it but also the cultural significance of how and where it’s used. She meets an English banker named Julian whose upscale apartment she moves into and they have sex but they are not “together”. This is another fascinating way the novel tests the limitations of language. Everything about their actions fit into the definition of a romantic relationship, but neither Ava or Julian will label it as such. But, also, Ava makes a lot of pointed commentary about how Julian uses the English language verses how she uses it as an Irish person. This shows a tradition of cultural imperialism and also a grotesque snobbery on the part of the English. Growing up with the influence of English culture in Ireland leads her to observe “The English taught us English to teach us they were right.” And the self-consciousness she feels teaching English prompts her to sardonically reflect “Sometimes I wondered if I was actually a native English speaker.”

The crux of the story concerns a romantic triangle Ava becomes caught in when she enters into a loving relationship with Edith, a lawyer looking for the sort of emotional commitment that Julian denies Ava. For a while, Ava tries to maintain both relationships separately but the pressure gradually builds forcing this ambivalent individual to make some tough decisions. I often found myself very sympathetic to Ava while also being very critical of her actions and choices. So it’s engaging how Dolan treads that line and it’s refreshing to see a sympathetic portrayal of bisexuality in a novel. I can’t think of many books that have successfully done this other than Rooney’s first novel “Conversations with Friends” or Rowan Hisayo Buchanan’s “Starling Days”. It’s also noteworthy the way Ava looks with a somewhat critical eye at how Ireland has been changing in recent years. She comments how on social media many of her old school mates publicly supported the 1995 referendum on same-sex marriage, but these are also the same women who ostracised her by labelling her a lesbian when they were girls in school.

One of the most relatable things this novel does is describe the dynamics of online culture/social media etiquette and the feelings of self-consciousness this medium evokes. So much of Ava’s time and energy is invested in browsing the online history or status updates of the people she’s most interested in rather than trying to communicate with them directly. The novel also shows how a lot of exchanges or interactions are made indirectly through this medium. Ava is intensely aware when her stories on Instagram are viewed by Edith and she’s very nervous about viewing Edith’s stories because then Edith will get a notification that she’s viewed it. It reflects the absolute absurdity of this world but it also shows how difficult it is for people to be emotionally open and how they can grow dependent on the ambivalence romance offers. When Edith tries to confront Ava about this she notes how “she asked if I thought I'd gone for unavailable people because I knew I'd never have to face the reality that being with them would not solve all my problems. I told her she had no business saying something that perceptive.” This perfectly summarizes how Ava is an intelligent and funny, but flawed individual. “Exciting Times” is the kind of relatable and modern story that I hope to see in more new novels and (aside from obvious comparisons) Naoise Dolan is definitely a unique new voice in fiction.

A Saint from Texas by Edmund White

Edmund White has a writing style which instantly charms and bewitches me whenever I open his books. Though he's probably most famous for chronicling the gay experience in his invaluable series of autobiographical novels and memoirs, he's also very accomplished in writing great historical fiction such as “Fanny: A Fiction” and “Hotel de Dream”. He has a tremendous talent for intelligently dissecting social class and mores while delivering a gripping story. This is certainly true in his new novel “A Saint from Texas” which chronicles the lives of twins Yvette and Yvonne Crawford who are raised in rural Texas in the 1950s. Though they are identical their personalities couldn't be more opposite. Yvette is studious and pious where Yvonne is free-spirited and socially-ambitious. Yet they share an inseparable bond throughout the very different paths they take in life. Narrated from the perspective of Yvonne, we follow her ascent to the heights of Parisian society when she marries a Baron and takes a series of lovers. All the while she maintains a correspondence with Yvette who loses herself in charitable work with a religious organisation in Colombia. It's a brilliant study in duality and one of the most pleasurable stories I've read in a long time. 

There's a sympathetic tension at the heart of this tale. Most of us feel the tug between being “good” and “bad” throughout our lives and this novel entertainingly dramatises this struggle by following the stories of two individuals who take very different paths. But the way White delineates their stories abstains from assigning value judgements to their actions and natures. Yvonne unashamedly follows her desires whether it be sexually pursuing men or women she's attracted to or obtaining a noble title which will grant her the social position she craves. Yet, Yvette pursues her religious ambitions with equal determination as she desires to be utterly selfless and exceedingly holy. The seriousness with which White treats her piousness and belief in scripture shows an admirable broadmindedness. But the author is also careful to chronicle the pitfalls of both paths in life whether it be the shallow snobbery of high society or the way dogmatic systems of belief encourage people to dangerously repress their instincts. The novel shows there is certainly no “right” way to live. What shines through are these two high-spirited personalities who lift off from the page.

White excels at writing about sex in a way which recognizes its central position in both the imagination and in our social interactions. So Yvonne doesn't shrink from describing the physical details of the female friend she fondles under the cover of darkness or the submissive will of the man she confidently dominates. There's also an acknowledgement of the brash desires of young men who exhaustively try to make women comply and the taboo subject of incest. Yvonne observes how “In our family the worst things imaginable happened so fast they couldn't be understood. The horrors weren't unprecedented but were instantaneous.” So it's startling when their father violates his daughter by taking advantage of her naivety and piousness. It's also tragic and moving how a family secret like this remains buried and can persist throughout the women's lives. This shows how no matter what path the sisters take in life, the entitled and pernicious “righteousness” of the patriarchy is what trumps all behaviour.

Alongside these deeper issues, the intricate detail and living history of Parisian society is wonderfully described throughout the novel. No doubt White's own fascination and experience of this world which he brilliantly captured in his memoir “Inside a Pearl” informed Yvonne's education about the many layers of this milieu. I love how the novel simultaneously shows the strong allure and the hilarious absurdity of the strict rules and aristocratic levels of this society. For all Yvonne's earnest and skilled abilities to integrate into it, she remains an eternal outsider. The way that she ultimately conquers and triumphs over her adopted nation is thrilling and I was gripped throughout this lively novel. It's also poignant how White suggests that sainthood is not necessarily obtained through “good” acts but in the loyalty and love of true sisterhood.