A Christmas Memory by Truman Capote

My cousin Martin used to throw a Christmas party in his Boston apartment every year. At one point in the party he'd gather everyone around who'd listen in rapt attention while he read aloud Truman Capote's beautiful short story “A Christmas Memory.” This was a decades-long tradition and I was lucky enough to attend one year. Martin worked professionally as an actor so he's especially good at dramatising and doing the voices in the story. Though he hasn't held his party for many years, this year he organized a video call with eighty or so guests to watch as he recited the story again. It was a lovely way to unite people from all over the US and globe who can't physically meet this year because of the pandemic. In order to carry the tradition on and share this good feeling, I've made a video of myself reading Capote's story aloud which you can listen to here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBb-9iB89gQ

This is the most lovely Christmas story and unusually sweet for Capote who was such a troubled and viciously distempered individual. I know he was a great writer but I can't help feeling somewhat prejudiced against him since he once said of Joyce Carol Oates that she's “a joke monster who ought to be beheaded in a public auditorium.” Putting aside his personal insecurities and bad behaviour, in this story he perfectly evokes a holiday spirit of cheerful sentiment, friendly goodwill, the evocative warm scents of Christmas baking and a melancholy longing for loved ones we've lost. In their perfectly-balanced companionship young Buddy and his much-older female friend create a harmonious world for themselves filled with loving traditions. Yet, at the same time, they are oddly strangers to each other since Buddy never gives her a name except “my friend” and though Buddy is not his name she calls him this “in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend.” This anonymity funnily makes the story feel more intimate as if individual identity doesn't matter as there is a perfect bond which makes them “each other's best friend.”

The relationship they share is made even closer with their opposition against the unnamed people who also inhabit the house. It's striking how the presence of these familial others is never felt except when chastising the pair for singing and dancing while getting tipsy after they've completed their baking. Their special friendship is sublimely self-enclosed and the cakes they send to people (many of whom are strangers) is such a touching gesture for rewarding mere moments or general expressions of kindness. Of course, it's somewhat uncomfortable reading the racist description of Mr Haha Jones with his “Satan-tilted eyes”. Though he ultimately turns out to be a kind-hearted individual and we're seeing him only through the pair's erroneously-fearful and misguided perception, I don't think this excuses such a detail in the story. It shows it to be a product of the time. Nevertheless, the overriding message of this tale is so graceful and no matter how many times I hear it I get very emotional at the end. I feel lucky to have made some similarly special friendships in my life.

The Pull of the Stars by Emma Donoghue

There have been books such as “Hamnet” published this year whose content and focus on a pandemic seem eerily prescient regarding the world we find ourselves in. Of course, such widespread and devastating illness has always been a part of human history so naturally historical novels will incorporate it into their stories. But I've not read a book that captures the feelings of living through it like “The Pull of the Stars” by Emma Donoghue. Set in a Dublin maternity ward in 1918 amidst the outbreak of the Great Flu, it follows a nurse named Julia who struggles to care for her patients in the understaffed hospital. It's terrifying how death feels perilously close and can come swiftly. Just as we're getting to know several idiosyncratic patients, one might become gravely ill while another might recover. Expectant mothers were particularly vulnerable to suffering more from this pandemic. Though Julia is very knowledgable and dedicated, there's only a limited amount she can do for them so I was utterly gripped by this harrowing situation. Matters aren't helped by the misogyny and dogmatic religion in Ireland at that time. But through all the strife comes a beautiful message of humanity and a tender love story. 

What amazed me were specific details regarding the effects of a pandemic that Donoghue gets so right in this novel and that I've witnessed this year. When Julia is travelling in the city there's an all-pervading sense of dread about the virus spreading. The story fully captures the nervousness of people on public transport and the sudden hyper-awareness when someone so much as coughs. There are also astute observations made about the pernicious side effects of trying to close down society in order to protect the population. For instance, it's remarked how closing schools results in some children going hungry because they aren't able to get the free lunches that might be their only meal of the day if they come from a poorer family. This was an oversight also made in England this year and it took some time before measures were made to help support the more vulnerable members of the population. It's remarkable how Donoghue evokes these common experiences but also shows the specific medical and technological limitations of the time.

As in her novel “The Wonder”, Donoghue is excellent at portraying the intensely-felt emotional reality of her characters and how they are affected by the social pressures of the time. A volunteer helper and a highly-capable female doctor enter Julia's life, but each are inhibited by religious and political strictures. Julia's brother also suffers the after-effects of war, but his disability isn't taken as seriously by the wider society because it's not physical. I also found it very poignant how we realise Julia has unexplored desires when she develops an attraction for another woman, but because of constraints and circumstances this dimension of her heart is soon stymied. Throughout the story, the author elegantly weaves through a message about the effect of the stars on our lives to consider whether we are subject to a certain fate or can form our own destinies. Though there are many sombre and terrifying moments of dealing with the reality of hospital life during a pandemic in this novel, I ultimately found it a heartening read in its message of hope and strength in the fight to survive.

Betty by Tiffany McDaniel

As I get older I've naturally become more curious about my family history and I've felt the urge to record this personal lineage before it's lost or forgotten. Of course, everyone's family story is unique to them but Tiffany McDaniel's is one that felt wholly new and bracingly honest to me. She's fictionally reimagined her mother's story in the artfully composed and extremely moving novel “Betty”. With her mixture of white and Cherokee ancestry, Betty has darker skin so stands out from the crowd. She's frequently teased and tormented in the rural area of Appalachia she grows up in during the 1960s. Additionally, she's made aware of the perilous vulnerability of women and girls who are frequently the targets of sexual abuse within their community. In telling her mother's story, McDaniel has memorialised not only the creativity, resilience and spirit of her direct lineage but also the conflicts and struggle of a whole community that's not often represented in literature, television or the media. She poignantly shows the way prejudice and a culture of silence is passed down through generations and thus perpetuates abuse and violence. But she also evokes the particular personalities of Betty, her siblings and her parents in such a compelling way that I felt intimately drawn into this family and fell in love with their story. 

One of the most affecting aspects of this novel is the way storytelling itself is woven into the lives of the characters. Betty's father relates the mythological traditions he's inherited to his children while also conjuring his own stories about their place in the natural world. Some characters scoff at these considering them to be simply tall tales, but Betty surmises their deeper importance: “Dad says so. That means it's true... I realized then that not only did Dad need us to believe his stories, we needed to believe them as well. To believe in unripe stars and eagles able to do extraordinary things. What it boiled down to was a frenzied hope that there was more to life than the reality around us. Only then could we claim a destiny that we did not feel cursed to.” The way that the larger community diminishes their family (Betty and her father in particular) means that these stories form a more meaningful and substantial reality than the one they exist in.

As Betty interacts with more slighted and marginal figures in the town she discovers many more people have their own hidden stories and legacies. This hits closer to home when she discovers the way her mother and sister have been secretly abused. The fact of their rape is shocking but so is the way it darkly affects their personalities. While her father is naturally gregarious and loveable, I found myself initially angry at the mother for the rough way she treats Betty. But I developed more sympathy for her as it becomes clear this is a consequence of the way the mother hasn't been able to deal with or voice the trauma she's experienced. Equally, I found Betty's sister Flossie such a compelling character as her vanity is initially charming and then takes a darker turn as her pretensions make her turn her back on her family. But, ultimately, it's tragic the way Flossie is unable to reinvent herself in the way she desires. The way McDaniel shows how private suffering is often turned inward and forms self-destructive behaviour in a variety of individuals is very powerful.

This novel is both a reckoning and a testament. When we begin to realise the challenges and strife our ancestors suffered (and sometimes didn't survive) the fact of our existence can feel like a kind of miracle. “Betty” is a very special personal story that speaks to this in the way it skilfully evokes a lost world and distinct individuals that shouldn't be forgotten.

Frying Plantain by Zalika Reid-Benta

I love it when novels take the form of interconnected short stories. I think this episodic style of narrative can feel more impactful because it only focuses on crucial moments in the lives of the main characters. Books such as “Anything is Possible” or “All That Man Is” tell stories about a range of characters whose tales cross over with each other to build a bigger picture of a community. But “Frying Plantain” focuses solely on the perspective of Kara Davis, a Canadian teenager of Jamaican heritage who comes of age and encounters conflicts with her family, friends and boys. Because each story centres around a particular incident from her development, this novel has a retrospective feel even though it's narrated in the present tense. It also forms a distinct impression of the community as Kara grows up in Toronto's 'Little Jamaica'. I really felt for her as someone who others label as “quiet” and who often feels alienated from those around her – even her closest friends and family. This novel movingly captures the way Kara gradually comes into her own, asserts her individuality and learns to overcome the limited way people view her. 

The novel also interestingly portrays the intergenerational tensions between Kara, her mother and her grandmother. During one period of her adolescence Kara's mother is so financially strained that she needs to move them in with the grandmother. But rather than immediately show how this arrangement breaks down residual bad feelings are woven into every encounter and discussion. This is a very sophisticated and impactful way of showing how resentments are borne throughout the years. It also made me feel deeply for Kara who is caught in a larger conflict between two rather difficult women. But it's also fascinating the way we gradually learn about the strained relationship between her grandmother and grandfather. His philandering is a well-established fact but they belong to a generation where such indiscretion is skeptically endured. Nevertheless, it's a source of great tension and the atmosphere this creates is evocatively described as Kara witnesses their strained arrangement and silent battles.

I really enjoyed this sensitive novel and felt a tender connection with Kara even though her life is very different from my own.

Dear Reader by Cathy Rentzenbrink

Readers are a special type. We're drawn to spending hours between the covers of a book when the world tells us there are more important and more exciting things to do. But readers know that there is nothing more important or more exciting than the story which is waiting on the page to come alive in our imaginations. As such we devote countless hours to reading and we make room in the busyness of life for this remove from reality because we know that it is richly-rewarding time well spent. Cathy Rentzenbrink is a true reader. In “Dear Reader” she enumerates the many books which have held special meaning for her while chronicling the events of her life. More than this, she elegantly describes a life spent reading – how books are a central fixture in her life providing ballast, comfort and joy. Although reading is necessarily a solitary activity it also makes us all feel less alone. Rentzenbrink states “I find it consoling to be reminded that I am not alone, that everything I feel has been felt before, that everything I struggle with has been perplexing others since the dawn of time. My favourite books are specific yet universal. They illuminate my own life as well as showing me the lives of others and leave me changed, my worldview expanded.” This beautifully summarises the gift of reading and why for many of us it is a way of life. 

If reading is viewed as a leisure activity predominantly for the middle-upper class, Rentzenbrink proves this is wrong. She describes her youth being raised in a working class family with a father who only learned to read and write later in life. Books were always present from an early age: “My granny gave me my first book when I was a few months old.” Growing up she always got her hands on books through the library or school or buying books as a special treat. As a naturally gregarious and extroverted individual, Rentzenbrink worked in pubs when she became an adult. But her penchant for recommending books to people naturally led her to becoming a book seller. The jobs she held in a number of different bookstores from Harrods to Waterstones to Hatchards is described so compellingly from the mechanics of shop life to the varied experience of dealing with customers.

Because her passion was so integral to her work, it naturally led to more opportunities in the wider publishing industry including programmes to encourage reading/writing in prisons and initiatives to support adults who struggle with literacy. In addition to being the fascinating life story of a bookish soul, what I loved about this account is the way Rentzenbrink comes into contact with a wide spectrum of readers from many different social groups. It shows the many ways books populate and influence people's lives.

A quality common to all readers is an intense curiosity about what other readers are reading. The author describes a familiar habit of peering at the covers of what people are reading on public transport and when someone is reading a book she loves finding it difficult to resist striking up a conversation with them about it. Part of the draw of this book is seeing what titles Rentzenbrink will discuss. The experience is like scanning a great reader's bookshelf where I quickly identified books I'm familiar with (“Little Women”, “The Goldfinch”, “A Tale for the Time Being”, “A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing”, “What Belongs to You”); titles I've always meant to read (“The Diary of a Nobody”, “The Crimson Petal and the White”, “Jamaica Inn”); and novels that I've not heard of before but Rentzenbrink makes them sound so intriguing (“March Violets”, “Mr Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore”, “Instructions for a Heatwave”). But many more books are discussed throughout. She groups lists of books under certain qualities or styles and summarises each with brief insights into how she personally connected with them. They're bracingly honest book recommendations like you'd get from a friend. When describing the novel “A Little Life” she accurately assesses “I won't lie to you, dear reader: there is little comfort or joy in this novel, but it is a work of genius that asks the hardest questions about the limitations of love.” It's wonderful the sheer variety and scale of Rentzenbrink's reading especially as she explains how she never distinguished between so-called “high” and “low-brow” literature when she was growing up.

There were so many parts of this book that I found myself nodding at because even though the author has a very different life from my own I could deeply connect with her experiences as a reader. This includes issues such as the bewildering question which committed readers are often asked “How do you read so much?”, the dilemma of not wanting to say anything bad about a book and the feeling of not being good enough as a reader “it is too easy to get in a panic and decide that the fact I haven't read everything means I have no right to love books.” She also describes the dismaying feeling we can get when going through a period of our lives where we can't concentrate on reading as we normally do. This is commonly known as the dreaded “book slump”. There was a period following the birth of her son when Rentzenbrink couldn't read and she describes how “I hadn't felt right before, like I'd been robbed of my magic powers.” What the author also describes so movingly is the reason why we readers are so engrossed by this solitary activity and how it provides an endless source of inspiration for us throughout our lives: “The very way that fiction works – the process of conflict and resolution at the heart of every story – means that novels are full of people encountering challenging situations and, usually, surviving them. Books are a masterclass in how to carry on.”

This book is deeply consoling for any keen reader. It made me feel understood. Opening this book is like passing under that sign in Foyles bookshop that proclaims “Welcome book lover, you are among friends.” Rentzenbrink is brilliant at articulating why the physical object of a book and its content is so important to us. “Every book holds a memory. When you hold a book in your hand, you access not only the contents of that book but fragments of the previous selves that you were when you read it.” I think that's partly why my personal library is so important to me. Not only do these books offer enthralling stories I can return to and learn more from but they are touchstones to the past and to the person I was when reading them. If you're a reader, you'll know what it means to stare at a shelf of books and feel like they are a part of you. “Dear Reader” poignantly conveys the deep pleasure to be found in the experience of reading and the communities that books build.

The Swallowed Man by Edward Carey

When thinking in more depth about the story of Pinocchio I realized that it is absolutely a story about loneliness. What bigger expression of loneliness can there be than to ascribe consciousness to inanimate objects and pretend they are your family? Edward Carey beautifully plays off from this classic fairy tale by writing from the perspective of Geppetto during the period when he became trapped in the belly of a whale after embarking out onto the ocean to try to find his lost puppet son. He describes a ship that the whale also swallowed and how this becomes his home with a limited supply box of candles and hard tack to sustain him. Interspersed with Gepetto's text are illustrations of the pictures and figures he newly creates within the prison of this marine mammal. What emerges is the most touching and creative portrait of a solitary individual desperately trying to fashion some companionship for himself as he contemplates the meaning of his life.

There's a sweet playfulness to Geppetto's character. He befriends a tiny crab in his beard who he calls Olivia and when he anticipates that he might have some company he fashions dried sea stuff into a toupee. This reinforces how he is caught in a childlike state where he believes a doll he created came to life. Not only that, but he and Pinocchio developed a multi-layered relationship filled with disagreements, fights and reconciliations. It's an expression of loneliness but one which is filtered through his creative artistry. Geppetto states “I am – despite my father's deepest wishes – a carpenter. My art is bolder than I. It send messages of me out into the world. When I come to wood and we work together, things come out of me that I should never have thought possible.” He persists with his craft despite discouragement from his father who neglected and oppressed him. Geppetto movingly describes how he never received the nurturing he needed and how he was unlucky in love with a series of women. He became a figure of ridicule and scorn in his community after his family's business collapsed. So he was essentially on his own.

The state of Geppetto's current situation reinforces the melancholy state of his existential absolute aloneness. Here he is a being trapped inside a much larger being that has no awareness of his presence (except when Geppetto tries to dig his way out of the whale.) It's in some ways worse than being a small dot in a cold universe because his circumscribed universe is a living, breathing animal. This combined with Geppetto's recollections and reflections produces a touching meditation on what it means to be totally on your own. It's also a powerful depiction of ageing and how “Old age is a single room.” In additional to the physical, financial and societal pressures that come from getting older we also essentially become trapped in ourselves and our memories. In the case of Geppetto, there's an additional anxious tension to the story and the narrative becomes increasingly hallucinatory as Geppetto's situation becomes more desperate and the candles begin to run out. I strongly connected with this artfully rendered short, impactful and haunting novel.

The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman

I've never been someone who has enjoyed reading murder mystery or detective novels, but “The Thursday Murder Club” surprised and delighted me as it was such a pleasurable and rewarding experience. Four charismatic individuals who are in their seventies live in a retirement village where once a week they gather together to mull over old police cases that have gone cold to see if they can solve them. But one day when someone is murdered in their own back yard they plunge into vigorously investigating this new case. Between them they have a wealth of experience, knowledge and connections – especially the high-spirited and persistent character of Elizabeth. They've also each lived distinct and fascinating lives. What's so compelling about this novel is that on top of the mystery surrounding the murders which occur in the story the reader is led to wonder about the mystery of these characters' pasts. Many of the younger people around them including police officers and characters from the local community overlook and dismiss them. Richard Osman shows there is much more to these septuagenarians than meets the eye. 

Usually when I read a novel that's divided into different characters' perspectives I tend to prefer one point of view over another so find myself almost racing through the pages to get back to the character whose story I prefer. But Elizabeth, Joyce, Ibrahim and Ron are all such endearing and funny characters that I never tired of being dropped into one of their perspectives. Their conversations pleasingly flip between speculations concerning the murder cases, trivial matters like homemade vs supermarket cake and reflections about larger life issues. In a way, this novel reminded me of Muriel Spark's novel “Momento Mori” in its humorously rich portrayal of a series of characters in their later years. But even though I found the characters so engaging and fun, I did get somewhat weary from waiting to find out how these murders would be solved. I know it's in the nature of a whodunit for information to be withheld and slowly parcelled out to draw the reader along but I find this structure so self-conscious I'm not really interested in who did it or how.

What I loved most about this story was how Osman captures the idiosyncrasies and strengths of his characters as well as their faults. He sympathetically describes the longing, regrets, petty grievances and resentments which they've clearly held onto for so many years as well as their infinite sense of curiosity and fun to want to pursue the mystery of these murders. But I was also moved by the heartbreaking decisions they have to make as they lose loved ones and find their options limited because of their circumstances. It's a wonderfully cozy read, but one which also has some bite and conveys a heartfelt sympathy for the struggles of its characters.

My Darling from the Lions by Rachel Long

I enjoy how some poetry collections can give an impressionistic feel for an individual's life. Rachel Long's poems in her debut collection “My Darling from the Lions” link hands to form a portrait of its narrator experience. The poems alternate between quiet moments of introspection and distinct observations about a series of spirited personalities. But there is also a self-consciousness where the narrator is aware of being perceived and interpreted. A series of short poems all labelled 'Open' describe the narrator's experience in a state of sleep or repose where different people around her make the same or similar observations. This conveys something so striking about experience as we feel it as opposed to how others see us inhabiting the world from the outside. 

Some poems such as 'Helena', 'Red Hoover', 'Bloodlines' and 'Danielle's Dad' are more narrative based as they are clearly rooted in a particular time and place and convey a specific experience. Others are somewhat more abstract in how they express a mood or a subtle moment of realization or transformation. The striking poem '8' describes the ritualized labour of being cleansed as a woman “for men to crawl out and in” so there's a haunting sense of how religion and maternal forces claim and prepare young female bodies for the patriarchy. Another perspective on emerging female sexuality is given in the poem 'Red Roof' which feels almost taboo with its frank portrayal of young girls exploring their own and each others' genitals. Existing somewhere out of time is the object of 'The Musical Box' and this poem beautifully expresses the experience and emotions of people in our lives when they were younger and before we were born. The poem 'And then there was the time I got into a fight' is charged with indignation as children at a school don't believe the man picking the narrator up is her father. Many of the poems are also imbued with a sly sense of humour and this is most strongly expressed in the satirical poem 'The Sharks and Victoria Beckham'.

Some of the poems I liked the most describes unexpected moments of tenderness such as 'Car Sweetness' where parents are caught in a rare moment of romantic connection touching each others' hands. I also enjoyed how the narrator obtains a glimpse into her mother's interior life when a private diary is uncovered in the poem 'Inside'. This is quite a different look at the woman who “combs her auburn 'fro up high” as glimpsed in another poem 'Orb'. Together these poems express a curiosity and wonder about people close to us as we collect bits and pieces of their complex existence. The poems in this book lay these observations out like a precious collection to admire and contemplate.

Caste by Isabel Wilkerson

Like many people recently I've been observing the rise of populism and the continuing deadly effects of racial conflict (especially in the USA) with anger, frustration and sorrow. 'Why is this still happening?' is a question I continuously ask myself and seek answers for by reading a variety of journalists and listening to social commentators. I was aware of many of the historic reasons which would allow hierarchies and systems of injustice to remain in place, but reading Isabel Wilkerson's “Caste” has better equipped me with a framework, understanding and language with which to comprehend why society continues to experience such strident conflict. In this extensive, well-researched and compulsively-readable study the Pulitzer Prize winning journalist clearly defines the difference between racism and the caste system at the heart of American society by drawing parallels with the examples of Nazi Germany and the long-established caste system in India. In doing so, she powerfully describes the way artificial hierarchies in any society create a vicious imbalance of power that leads to the subjugation of a certain segment of the population. 

Wilkerson illustrates her points with many examples (both personal and well-documented historic cases) that bring her arguments to life and explain why progressive legislation alone can't dispel with persistent racism. Caste is a psychology that's been bred into the national identity leading to countless examples of injustice which have long-term detrimental effects for every member of our society. Although it shouldn't have surprised me, I was startled to learn how the Reichstag looked to codified racism in America to inform the anti-Jewish legislation created in their 1935 “Party Rally of Freedom” meeting in Nuremberg. The author also details many specific examples of how the caste systems in different nations has led to the dehumanization or deaths of individuals designated to be of lower caste. I felt a furious sympathy reading about the memories Wilkerson recounts where she as a woman of African American heritage has been slighted or discriminated against because of her position in the caste system – especially as someone who frequently inhabits spaces traditionally designated for the dominant caste. It reminded me of the importance of speaking up when witnessing examples of injustice and to examine more closely my own unconscious biases as a product of the caste system.

Some people try to explain or dismiss specific examples of racism as unfortunate isolated cases. For instance, it's frequently claimed that the many cases of US police officers using extreme force against unarmed black men are simply due to the actions of a few “bad apples”. Rather than trying to simplify these violations as extreme cases of racism, Wilkerson's book shows how it's important to understand that these actions are a consequence of the way people have been programmed to think and act within their caste. The primary tenets of caste are enumerated over a number of sections to show exactly how it functions and why it's so difficult to dispense with this system once it's in place. It's extremely enlightening how the author comprehensively shows the way everyone in society is subjected to this mindset and how we can only progress out of it by making heart-to-heart connections with people outside our designated caste rather than resorting to more violence.

I've read several reader reviews which criticise this book for its liberal political bias. This is not a study standing outside of a particular time and place. Rather, Wilkerson situates her arguments and her story in where we are here and now in Trump's presidency with the COVID-19 virus running rampant throughout America. The country is in turmoil and, as usual, people at the lower end of the caste system are struggling the most. Wilkerson uses objective facts and clearly-researched social analysis to delineate why we are in this position. It's much larger than any single election or figurehead. It's about working on a personal and political level to try to dispense with the caste system we're all unknowingly trapped within.

Since we're nearing the end of the year, I always enjoy looking at the 'best books of the year' and this book has appeared on multiple lists including from Publisher's Weekly and Time Magazine. I'm glad this encouraged me to pick up Wilkerson's tremendous study because I don't read that much nonfiction and it's given me such a different perspective on an important issue.

The 2020 Costa Book Awards First Novel shortlist

Several months ago I posted about being a judge for this year's Costa Book Awards in the First Novel category and I've been aching to talk about all the great books I've been reading. Today I am thrilled to finally announce our shortlist! I've read so many debut novels in the past few months. Judging a book prize is like a full time job – although obviously I enjoy reading as much as possible so it's really a labour of love and it was such a pleasure discovering so many new voices amongst the submitted books. It was also wonderful conferring with my fellow judges novelist Jill Dawson and Debbie James, owner and manager of Kibworth Books. I wish I could gossip about heated arguments and falling out with each other, but honestly we got along brilliantly. They are such intelligent and sympathetic readers that it was really a joy discussing a huge range of novels with them. Given the circumstances we couldn't meet in person but we spoke for multiple hours over video call to discuss an incredible range of novels. Judges always say this, but it was honestly such a difficult decision when it came down to selecting certain books over others. I'm excited and proud to reveal the four novels we selected for the shortlist. 

The novels are “Big Girl, Small Town” by Michelle Gallen, “The Family Tree” by Sairish Hussain, “Love After Love” by Ingrid Persaud and “All the Water in the World” by Karen Raney.

We were absolutely unanimous in these choices. After having such an in-depth conversation about so many books we decided the best way to pick the shortlist was to each create a pile of four books off camera which we'd reveal to each other simultaneously. We did this and all three of us had picked the same four novels. So that decided it! I know there's often a lot of politics around book prizes and speculation about favour being shown to certain types of books, but we honestly picked these because of the strength of the writing and the power of their storytelling. Reading each of these four novels was a completely absorbing experience and I'd enthusiastically give them to any friend, family member or stranger to read.

You know I love following book awards. Since there are different categories for the Costas I get the best of both worlds with this prize as I've got to be a judge but I'm also delighted to see what books have been listed in the other categories. The full list has been published on the Costa Book Awards' website but I am especially thrilled to see Monique Roffey's novel “The Mermaid of Black Conch” shortlisted for the Novel Award. It's one of my favourite books that I've read this year and it's fantastic to see it receive this recognition. There are many on the other shortlists I'm eager to read over the Winter holidays including books by Susanna Clarke, Tim Finch, Julian Barnes, Rachel Clarke, Lee Lawrence, Rachel Long and others.

The winners in each category will be announced on January 4th. Also, between each category winner an overall winner will be announced on January 26th. Last year's overall winner “The Volunteer” by Jack Fairweather was an incredibly powerful true story about the resistance hero who infiltrated Auschwitz. So I'm excited to see which book is selected for this year's prize. In the meantime, I'm so excited to follow discussions about the shortlists and reader reactions to the First Novel category in particular. I hope you love reading them as much as I did. Let me know what you think in the comments if you've read any of these books or if you're interested in reading them. 

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.