Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters

Pregnancy is a traditional storyline that's part of many domestic dramas. With the prospect of a child those involved must decide whether to see this pregnancy through to birth and, if so, how they will make room in their lives for a baby and organize themselves as a family unit to support the child whether that's as a single parent, a married (or unmarried) couple or an extended family. Torrey Peters portrays this universal situation with the inclusion of a trans woman and an individual who has detransitioned. Katrina is a successful businesswoman who discovers she's pregnant while having an affair with her employee Ames. Neither are certain they can handle the full responsibilities of parenthood. Meanwhile, Ames reveals to Katrina that he'd previously transitioned to being a woman before transitioning back to being a man. While he was a trans woman he had a serious relationship with a trans woman named Reese. Although Reese has a tempestuous personality she has strong maternal urges so Ames proposes she could help them both raise the child. Peters brilliantly traces the compelling and complex story of these three characters in the time leading up to and proceeding conception. 

I'd been wanting to read this novel since it was first published but was encouraged to prioritise it after it was longlisted for this year's Women's Prize for Fiction. There's been a controversy around the book being listed for this prize because the author is a trans woman and some readers object to the way female identity is portrayed in the story. I almost don't want to mention these claims as I don't believe they are credible and demonstrate damaging and prejudiced views against trans women. Yet to completely pretend the furore surrounding the novel isn't happening is to ignore the political questions this story wholeheartedly engages with. Peters addresses many issues to do with transphobia and trans identity within the story showing the full complexity of arguments that are occurring within the trans community, the overall queer community and society as a whole. The story skilfully represents many perspectives while also portraying views that are particular to these specific characters. The novel fully deserves recognition on this prize's list because it engages with an important dialogue about womanhood and how the concerns of many different women often intersect, but moreover it's an extremely enjoyable and well crafted novel.

The tension in this story emerges not just out of the question of this pregnancy but the many explosive or contemplative scenes where the characters have tense conversations or an inner dialogue about their circumstances. There are so many funny and tender moments as well as instances of emotional vulnerability where characters grapple with complex issues to do with sexuality and gender identity. It's pleasurable how pop culture references are frequently integrated into the characters' metaphorical understanding of the world. Humour often arises from the snappy dialogue but also the way characters frequently trip over their own contradictions and the irony of their situations. This makes them very relatable and I felt like I intimately knew all three main characters by the end. I also felt close to Ames and Reese as we get memories of their development which portray the pain, pleasure and hope both experience amidst their personal evolution. A scene where Ames (when he was Amy) first goes to a clothing store for transexuals felt particularly vivid as it's both a liberating and shameful experience. I also admire the way the novel boldly portrays the way people can act in self-destructive ways – especially when it comes to sexual relationships and how what we desire can contradict our moral beliefs. Most of all, it's such an engaging, intelligent and compelling story that takes seriously the dilemmas and struggles of its individual characters and the political issues which arise out of this family affair.

Small Pleasures by Clare Chambers

If you hate the ending of a novel after really enjoying the majority of the story is it still a successful reading experience? It's a tricky question and one I've been left pondering after finishing “Small Pleasures”. Set in the late 1950s it follows Jean, a journalist at a local paper in the suburbs of London. Though she's around 40 years old she still lives with her mother whose cantankerous and overbearing manner leaves little room for Jean to have a personal life. Jean is assigned to write a feature about Gretchen, a Swiss woman who claims her daughter is the result of a virgin birth. During the process of researching this curious case Jean gradually develops a personal relationship with Gretchen, her husband Howard and their daughter Margaret. The author skilfully evokes the atmosphere of mid-20th century England alongside a compelling mystery which plays out in such an interesting way. It's a delight how Jean's fluffier news pieces about domestic matters are interspersed throughout the novel. Most of all, I grew to feel strongly emotionally involved with Jean whose quiet but painful loneliness is assuaged by her growing affection for this family. It's also very intriguing how this personal story intertwines with the facts Jean uncovers surrounding Margaret's birth. But the novel ends with a dramatic event which feels entirely disconnected from this gentle and beautifully immerse tale and it's left me feeling betrayed.

I'm not someone who needs a happy ending in novels. Even if I come to feel so attached to characters that I hope to see separated lovers reunited, good individuals rewarded and villains get their just deserts, I can accept it when things don't work out for the best because that often happens in life. But I think the conclusions of novels ought to be consistent with the tone of the story and stay true to the integrity of the characters I've come to care about after following them for hundreds of pages. It's true that disasters occur and the chance of being caught in such a horrific circumstance is a reality we wake up to every day. At any moment the narrative of our lives can be horrifically thrown off-kilter by such an occurrence. However, in a novel such unexpected events should be integrated into the story in a way that allows the reader to emotionally process a calamitous occurrence alongside the characters. That's why novels plotted around dramatic events often follow the aftermath so we can see how people survive or falter when confronted with tragic loss.

The way “Small Pleasures” ends simply left me feeling cold and manipulated because it's like the trust I'd formed over the course of the narrative had been broken. The afterward of this book made matters worse because the author describes how she wanted to self consciously incorporate two historical incidents into one novel. But the way she did this felt tacked on rather than artfully blended into the story. I'd rather not have spent so much time focusing on these final pages because I truly feel the majority of this book is moving and well done. It's poignant how there are storylines about suppressed same sex desire, the way family members can become overly burdened with becoming their relatives' carers and issues to do with untreated mental health problems. But I feel like the conclusion of this novel taints the overall experience of the story which is very unfortunate.

Nothing But Blue Sky by Kathleen MacMahon

One of the reasons I love reading is so I can get a sense of people's lives and situations that are very different from my own. So it presents an interesting personal challenge to encounter a novel about a man who I feel like I already understand as he's similar to many men I've known throughout my life. The narrator of MacMahon's “Nothing But Blue Sky” is David, a middle class, middle age Irish journalist. He's a bit grumpy, unfailingly practical and drags his feet when he has to go to social occasions. In some respects he's probably like the man I'm rapidly becoming. But he also has a morbid sense of humour which is imbued with an underlying contempt for the people he's blithely making fun of and I find this kind of masculine comedy particularly odious. His jovial, kind-hearted wife Mary Rose provides the perfect counterbalance to him. But she died in a tragic event and when the novel begins we meet David as he is grieving for the woman he might not have ever fully understood or fully appreciated. He recounts his memories of her, the awkward process of continuing to holiday with friends without her and discovers new familial connections which he never knew existed. 

MacMahon presents the pain of his grief and his lingering regret in a sympathetic way. Of course, I have empathy for his situation but the difficulty for me is that he's not the kind of character I'm naturally interested in reading about. I know this says more about the kind of person I am than it does about MacMahon as a writer and I think the novel is partly about the question of whether privileged men like David are often unfairly overlooked. Is there more to a man like David than I'm willing to give him credit for? I'm still not sure after having finished the novel. Certainly, the pain of his situation is no less sincere or deeply felt than anyone else's. David is exactly the sort of character Anne Tyler often writes about with great profundity. But, while there are moments of insight and pleasure in MacMahon's novel, I found spending so much time in David's head somewhat tedious as if I were forced to sit next to him and make conversation. However, MacMahon does present interesting dilemmas which I continue to wonder about. What would have happened to David and Mary Rose's relationship if it hadn't abruptly ended in tragedy? Like all the unrealised possibilities in life this question haunts David's ongoing existence in an intriguing and troubling way.

The Pear Field by Nana Ekvtimishvili (translated by Elizabeth Heighway)

One of my favourite novels from last year was Nino Haratischvili's epic “The Eighth Life” which follows multiple generations of a family from the country of Georgia. So it was fascinating to read a much more self-contained story from this nation with Nana Ekvtimishvili's “The Pear Field”. This is set in a Residential School for Intellectually Disabled Children on the outskirts of Tbilisi which is understaffed and the slim amount of government funding it receives is mostly filched by the management. Having no knowledge about the family who left her there when she was young, 18-year old former-pupil Lela still lives and works at the school. She used to be fearful and regularly abused but now she's older, more confident and sees the corruption of the administrators more clearly. Irakli is a sweet boy who is half her age and he longs for the return of a mother who keeps promising she'll take him back but disappoints him week after week. Lela wants to help him escape the school and the country before settling a score and leaving this dysfunctional institution herself. 

This story is a finely-rendered realistic portrait of a community of children who only survive through their own ingenuity and resilience. Moments of playful rebelliousness are alarmingly paired alongside horrifying instances of abuse. Because violence has become normalized the children approach a game of jumping on the springs of abandoned beds as seriously as the regular sexual violation of female students. It's effective how the author shows the cruel circumstances these children are unnaturally maturing under. However, I appreciated that the story isn't all misery because there are also moments of deep-felt friendship and some scenes of clandestine pleasure such as a night when a group of children successfully steal delicious ripe cherries from a neighbour's tree.

Early in the novel Ekvtimishvili gives flashes of the societal change which led to the degraded state this school has fallen into and I appreciate how this connects this school's particular story with a larger social history of the country. The novel also includes powerful symbolic images such as a staircase Lela likes to climb hoping it will emerge into a more promising space but there is only a wall at the top. The pear field referred to in the book's title borders the school and it looks inviting, but its ground is flooded and its fruit is hard and spoiled. Equally, the students may be given glimpses of an auspicious future only to find the price of entry is too costly and the result isn't what they were expecting.

This slender novel powerfully depicts the hard lessons that children on the fringes of Georgian society learn as their maltreatment and neglect are often unseen.

International Booker Prize Longlist 2021

I follow a lot of book prizes but the longlist of last year's International Booker Prize was the most enjoyable and interesting that I read. Last year's winner “The Discomfort of Evening” wasn't a personal favourite, but many other books up for the prize were among the best that I read in 2020 and I love that the prize helped me discover many new authors I've not read before. So I'm very excited to see the thirteen books that have been listed for this year's award. These are touted as the best books translated into English from the past year. They primarily come from European countries but some also originated in Argentina, China, Chile, Kenya and Palestine. Though they span many countries and historical periods something that connects a lot of these books is the way many blend form and genre to tell a unique story. Some combine fiction with memoir, history, travel, essay and poetry. I find this kind of innovation and diverse storytelling really exciting so I'm looking forward to reading many from the list. 

Currently I've only read three of these books. “Minor Detail” by Adania Shibli was one of my top books that I read last year. It's such a powerful, artfully-written novel so I'm thrilled to see it get even more prize attention as it's already won an English PEN Award and was shortlisted for the National Book Award for Translated Literature. Unfortunately, “The War of the Poor” really didn't work for me as it felt like little more than an extended wikipedia entry about a fascinating 16thcentury historical figure. Vuillard is a highly respected writer and there are many positive reviews of this book so I was surprised to find it so disappointing and slight. However, it's thrilling that the inventive sci-fi novel “The Employees” is listed because this collection of testimonies from human and humanoids that work on a spaceship that discovers strange objects on an alien planet is such a pleasurable and thoughtful novel. It's also great see such an exciting and relatively new publisher Lolli Editions getting attention. 

The shortlist will be announced on April 22nd and the winner will be announced on June 2nd so it will be interesting to follow which books progress forward in the competition. Several of these books I've not heard of before so I'm glad this longlist will introduce me to new writers and publications I wouldn't have found otherwise. I'm looking forward to reading them as well as joining in all the public discussion about them. You can watch me give summaries of each book here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JBlCQD_El2M

Which ones are you keen to read? 

The Employees by Olga Ravn (translated by Martin Aitken)

The recent pandemic has caused many people to be furloughed or forced them to change their careers. So it feels especially poignant now to contemplate the degree to which our work defines us and expresses who we are as individuals. “The Employees” by Olga Ravn is a very thoughtful and artfully-written science fiction novel that speaks a lot about this subject through a future-set fantastical point of view. I'm hesitant to filter everything I've been reading lately through the events of the past year, but how we read is often reflective of our states of mind and so I'll naturally have a slanted experience of what I'm reading in response to how the pandemic has consumed my recent life and effected the entire world. This book's relatively new publisher Lolli Editions has also been intimately concerned with the effects of the pandemic as one of their first publications was the anthology “Tools for Extinction” which gathered writers' responses to the pandemic from around the world. Of course, Olga Ravn couldn't have anticipated this reading of her novel because the book was first published in Danish in 2018. Nevertheless, I found a lot of relevancy in how the human and (robotic) humanoid employees of the Six-Thousand Ship discuss their approach to labour in relation to their essential purpose for being. This short novel is composed of over a hundred brief statements given by the ship's crew in relation to some evocative and mysterious objects gathered from a distant planet as well as their perspective about a growing crisis aboard the ship. 

Given the limited resources of a spaceship every human must fulfil an essential purpose. Equally, the humanoids were literally created to perform a necessary function. Yet their interactions with the extraterrestrial (living?) objects provoke them to question many things about their existence including whether their work defines them and what it means to be human. In some of the statements we're told whether the speaker is human or humanoid. In others the speaker seems to have forgotten or become confused about whether they are organic or manufactured. Some feel a more secure sense of self knowing they provide a useful contribution. Others feel enslaved by the tedious obligations they must perform. It's so evocative and playful how their interactions with the curious objects which emit different scents or light provoke the employees to contemplate their positions more deeply. They inspire memories or sensuous feelings which had previously been dormant. It has a liberating effect for many including one humanoid who declares “I may have been made, but now I'm making myself.” These are issues reminiscent of Philip K. Dick's classic novel “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep” but Olga Ravn approaches these subjects from a highly original perspective.

As the testimonies progress we become more aware of the bureaucratic force behind these interviews and the mystery surrounding a certain cadet being removed. We also get a sense of an individual named Dr Lund who invented the humanoids. These larger plot points form an overarching narrative behind the individual points of view with their subjective concerns. Naturally, this style of storytelling gives a limited perspective as we only get very small pieces of the story from different human and humanoids. I longed to know more about some of their lives such as a human that forms a strong bond with a humanoid who eventually disengages from further personal contact. Nevertheless, I enjoyed their contrasting voices and felt together this complex network of employees make interesting psychological, sociological and philosophical points. This is a very thoughtful novel but one which also delivers doses of immediate pleasure with it's imaginative take on space exploration.

The High House by Jessie Greengrass

It may seem perverse to read an apocalyptic novel when we've spent the past year living through a pandemic. I can certainly understand the hesitancy to engage in a fictional crisis when there's so much in reality to make us anxious or angry or mournful about what we've so recently lost. Yet, I think it's ingenious the way Jessie Greengrass has written about an environmental disaster which floods the country and leaves a small group of people subsisting on a small plot of elevated land. This story reassuringly solidifies the physical world at a time when our minds are consumed with calamity. When you're in a moment of deep distress it's common for someone to calmingly say to you “there, there.” To be reassured that “you are there” when feeling trapped in an interminable limbo is a precious comfort. Similarly, reading the accounts of three individuals recalling the events which brought them to this house and the stark nature of their meagre living energetically brings us back to the present moment.

Francesca is a world-renowned environmental scientist and activist who sees with alarming clarity that there will be a widespread disaster due to climate change. This has been highlighted by scientists and the media so often that it doesn't need to be explained in the narrative. The difference in this story is that Francesca knows it will occur sooner than we thought possible or were willing to admit so she makes provisions in a house she inherited and its surrounding farmland to prepare for this crisis. Unlike most survivalists, she does this not to save herself but her young son and his older step sister. She also arranges for a local young woman and her grandfather to live in this sanctuary to help maintain it. The fact of this cataclysmic event is inevitable from the start of the novel, but what Greengrass presents so meaningfully is the journey of how Caro and her brother Pauly and Sally and her grandfather (who is nicknamed Grandy) arrive at this place. Just because we know what has happened and where they will end up doesn't decrease the spellbinding tension of their flight or their sober realisation of the large-scale devastation.

There's a pared down simplicity to this story which enhances its effectiveness. From the characters' actions to their dialogue there doesn't need to be any philosophical speeches, whimsical descriptions or melodramatic flourishes because what they are dealing with is the stark reality of tragic situation. For instance, the question of survivor's guilt is presented rhetorically: “What option is there, in the end, for those few of us who have survived, but to be the unforgivable, and the unforgiven? All those who might have lived instead of us are gone, or they are starving, while we stay on here at the high house, pulling potatoes from soft earth.” The unstated emotions of sorrow, doubt, grief and existential crisis are all here beneath the surface of the immediate necessary action of pulling potatoes from the soft earth so that they may continue to eat and live.

I found it especially poignant the way that salvaged objects, the things they grow and the stored supplies are enumerated because we know their importance in this strained new reality. Equally, we strongly feel the longing for objects that were taken for granted and have now been lost when Caro recalls a half-consumed chocolate pastry or the forgotten scissors which would have made cutting her brother's hair so much easier. These present and absent objects are what bring Greengrass' story into such sharp focus. It's akin to how Virginia Woolf described the power of “Robinson Crusoe”: “by means of telling the truth undeviatingly as it appears to him – by being a great artist and forgoing this and daring that in order to give effect to his prime quality, a sense of reality – he comes in the end to make common actions dignified and common objects beautiful. To dig, to bake, to plant, to build – how serious these simple occupations are; hatchets, scissors, logs, axes – how beautiful these simple objects become.” In the specificity of these realistic details the world of Greengrass' characters with all their attendant emotions arise fully formed in the reader's imagination. Thus we come to better appreciate what we have and take for granted.

Greengrass has previously imagined what effect widespread disaster would have upon an individual in her fiction. In her collection “An Account of the Decline of the Great Auk, According to One Who Saw it” there is a story called 'Some Kind of Safety' in which a narrator is trapped in a bunker with a dwindling food supply. It's unsurprising that an author prone to testing out philosophical concerns should fictionally conjure scenarios where individuals are cut off from the wider society to arrive at a place that allows deep contemplation. What's admirable about this novel is the way no special insight about humanity or the cycle of nature is achieved from arriving at this state. The grandfather simply states: “All I can think is that what's different now is that no one can claim this is progress.” Nor does it prompt the characters to lyrically describe the ruins of the world that's left. Rather, it simply gives them a perspective about the true value of the things they have and the agency they possess to support each other and continue to survive.

If you follow the news for any length of time it's difficult not to feel an imminent threat of crisis and thus we often bear the weight of the world's problems on our shoulders. Of course, we watch the news because we want to be informed, but like the characters in the novel we can be left wondering “what difference did my knowledge make?” Lucy Ellmann voluminously documented this condition in her lengthy novel “Ducks, Newburyport”. Where Ellmann skilfully captured this mental state, Greengrass has encapsulated the dignity of our individual actions and the true value of what we possess. In the past year we've become all too aware of the potential lack of the things we take for granted because the merest hint of scarcity sends us all racing to the shops to stock up on toilet paper. Equally we now know what it means to be physically removed from a collective and many of us have felt intense loneliness and isolation while being in lockdown. Like the characters in the novel we've run the risk of losing “that sense of being a small part of a whole which persisted, even when we might dislike everything about it.” So reading about characters forced into a state of self-reliance when the larger world is drowning around them gives a strange sort of comfort. It connects us to humanity and makes us grateful for what we still have and what we have to lose.

Kololo Hill by Neema Shah

What is it like for a family to be forced to leave everything behind and start again? This is the terrifying question at the centre of debut novel “Kololo Hill”. The story hinges upon a significant moment in Ugandan history when in 1971 an officer named Idi Amin became dictator after a military coup. Amidst the brutalities of his new regime, he forcibly removed the entrepreneurial Indian minority from Uganda. I first learned about this shocking period of history when reading another recent debut novel “We Are All Birds of Uganda” which describes the desperate flight from the country. Neema Shah positions Amin's decree halfway through her novel so we follow a family's life in the before and after of this enforced expulsion. This makes it a dramatic and gripping experience because just as we become familiar with the daily life of this family they are uprooted and flung into a new life in England. For couple Asha and Pran who were recently married it presents an even greater complication because they have different passports so are no longer allowed to live in the same country. The catastrophe of the expulsion and the violence this family experiences and witnesses transforms each individual as they struggle to adapt and adjust to their changed circumstances. It's powerful how this novel prompts the reader to question how they would cope if suddenly forced to leave behind the only home they ever knew.

The question of nationality and the meaning of home become so complicated when considering the history of colonialism and the economic disparity between classes in Uganda. The family's community built on an area known as Kololo Hill has clear demarcations between the higher area inhabited by the prosperous Asian community and the lower area with cramped accommodation for black Ugandans. Shah sensitively probes the tensions of these divisions while faithfully representing a family caught in a larger thorny social and political system. The question of their moral responsibility is intriguingly represented in a central mystery concerning what happened to the family's “house boy” December. It was moving following their emotional and physical journey through the revolving perspectives of Asha, her mother-in-law Jaya and her brother-in-law Vijay. Each has a very different point of view and way of coping so I thought it was clever how the author split the story between them. It's especially poignant the way the family recall to each other specific details about Uganda that they loved as a way of not allowing the harrowing experiences of their escape from dominating the memory of their lost country. I found it really powerful how the novel artfully represents this complex history. It left me wondering how I would cope with being forced to flee my home and how it would transform my familial relationships.

The Manningtree Witches by A.K. Blakemore

In times of social, economic and religious strife within misogynistic societies women are much more likely to be unfairly persecuted and suffer at the hands of authoritarian men. One historical example where this was made blatantly obvious was in the mid-17th century witch trials in England – especially during the civil war and Puritan era. There's a blood-curdling sensational aura to the witch hunts that occurred as they are endemically associated with hysteria, the occult and horrific means of state-sanctioned punishment. But A.K. Blakemore brings an insightful and refreshing lyrical realism to her fictional depiction of a period in East Anglia and the Home Counties when hundreds of women (and men) were condemned by a charismatic and pious man named Matthew Hopkins who proclaimed himself to be a Witchfinder General. Thankfully this opportunistic charlatan isn't at the centre of the novel and Blakemore focuses instead on the much more interesting perspectives of a group of women who were often persecuted because they were convenient scapegoats or simply didn't conform to the accepted norms of the time living more on the fringes of society. 

The story is told from the point of view of Rebecca West, the daughter of a lively, opinionated widow who is looked down upon by her community and struggles to eke out a living within this gloomy landscape. Rebecca is very clever, observant and seeks to become educated by a scholar she fancies named John Edes. But her plans for romance and social progression are stymied when local speculation about supernatural occurrences reaches an increasingly feverish pitch. It's very effective how Blakemore conveys the gradual transformation of the local population's sensibility. This combined with chilling and creepy atmospheric descriptions means that the narrative which starts at a slow trot eventually develops a galloping pace and becomes absolutely gripping. Though there is no mystery about the tragic fate of the accused witches, the story shines in the sympathetic and complex portraits of these women who come alive through their high-spirited dialogue. It's also so compelling seeing what leads to a crucial decision Rebecca makes amidst the psychologically and sexually twisted interactions she has with Hopkins. This skilfully written historical novel fully transports the reader to these bleak and desperate times while bestowing integrity to these vilified women.

The Rathbones Folio Prize 2021 shortlist

It's always exciting to see what books are listed for The Rathbones Folio Prize. This is an award which is shaped by The Folio Academy and its members (who are mainly writers and critics) play a strong role in putting nominees forward for the prize. So it's essentially a book award where writers celebrate what they consider the best new work of their peers. I'm especially keen to peruse this year's shortlist and see which book is selected as the winner on March 24th because the excellent group of judges include poet Roger Robinson, writer and broadcaster Sinead Gleeson and novelist Jon McGregor. I really respect their taste and I've currently read half of the eight books on this shortlist. 

“Indelicacy” by Amina Cain is an original ghostly, feminist fable about a cleaner in a museum who marries a wealthy man and pursues her desire to write. The debut poetry collection “My Darling From the Lions” by Rachel Long was also shortlisted for the most recent Costa Book Awards and I enjoyed the sly sense of humour of these personal and political poems. Carmen Maria Machado's highly inventive memoir “In the Dream House” describes the experience of being in an abusive relationship by recasting it as a fairy tale filled with fantasy, pleasure and horror. The brilliantly imaginative “The Mermaid of Black Conch” by Monique Roffey was the overall winner of this year's Costa Book Awards and it's impressive how this novel works as a fantastical love story as well as a clever reexamination of the history of colonialism in the Caribbean.

I'm also keen to experience the four books I've not read yet. I've been a big fan of both Sara Baume's novels so I'm especially keen to read her most recent book “handiwork” which is a short narrative about the nature of art, grief and a life lived well. Elaine Feeney is another Irish writer on the list whose debut novel “As You Were” concerns a tough, driven and funny property developer with a terrifying secret that she only confides to a shiny magpie. Yet another Irish writer and poet on the list is Doireann Ni Ghriofa whose “A Ghost in the Throat” has become a bestseller in Ireland as it won The Irish Book Awards' 'Book of the Year' and it's also currently on the Republic of Consciousness Prize longlist. Its narrative is a creative blend of memoir and history as it explores how the 18th century poet Eibhlin Dubh Ni Chonaill becomes a haunting presence in the life of a contemporary young mother. Finally, as someone who lives in south London, I'm very eager to read Peckham poet Caleb Femi's debut collection “Poor” which celebrates the lives of young black boys and the architecture that shapes them. You can watch me discuss all these titles more here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cpg5SNOgTgg

Overall, this is a really fascinating group of books and I'm excited to see which will win on the 24th. An Irish readathon is taking place this month so the group of books I've not read will give me some great inspiration to join in! 

Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope

It's been such a pleasure continuing my first reading of Trollope's Barsetshire series. While “Barchester Towers” greatly expanded on the characters and dilemmas first met in “The Warden”, the two books seemed to neatly follow on from each other. So it was interesting to find “Doctor Thorne” takes a broader view of the geographical region and introduces entirely original dramas and a host of vibrant new personalities while only occasionally still featuring small appearances from previously met characters such as the Bishop and Mrs Proudie. 

The primary story of this third book involves the dilemma of Frank Gresham, the son of a gentry family that is in dire financial difficulty. It's repeatedly impressed upon him that he must marry for money but Frank falls for Mary Thorne, a young woman with no money who was born out of wedlock. Mary has been raised by her morally upstanding uncle Doctor Thorne who is the only one that knows the scandalous history of her true parentage. The other main plot points of this novel concern a lineage of alcoholism in the Scatcherd family who've achieved substantial wealth from patriarch Sir Roger Scatcherd's success building railways across the country. The story also follows his troubled campaign to be elected to Parliament.

These aspects result in a compelling portrait of mid-19th century England whose society was rapidly changing with the advent of industrial growth and the prospect of marriage between different classes. Many families of high social ranking found they needed the help of new money to maintain their privileged lifestyle and Trollope teases out the uncomfortable tension and hypocrisy that results from this. I think I've got a good feel of Trollope's sensibility and style of writing now which mixes lively social commentary with touches of delicious satire. This creates some truly funny, touching and memorable scenes as his vibrant characters get into squabbles, engage in romantic trysts and form supportive bonds with each other. 

It's pointed that Trollope named the novel Doctor Thorne when it could be argued the real hero of the story is Frank. There are long chapters which follow this young man's uneasy introduction into society where he meets a suitably-wealthy potential wife, attends a hilariously impersonal Duke's dinner at a castle and takes violent revenge upon his sister's ex-fiance. Yet, Doctor Thorne hovers behind the story as the only one with special knowledge regarding his niece's true origins, the beneficiary of the Scatcherd's will and the medical condition of several characters. The plot really hinges upon what he chooses to reveal and how he chooses to act. I often felt frustrated with his character until later on in the novel when it's remarked that because of his values he believes we must take serious responsibility for our actions despite what we may think or feel. It struck me then how Trollope is meaningfully considering the position we're all put in when choosing how to conduct ourselves and what it means to be a good person. So for this reason and because of his involvement in the central plot, Doctor Thorne is really the person with the most agency and binds the novel together.

Trollope himself playfully speculates within the narrative about the title of the novel and when Doctor Thorne is absent for a number of chapters he humorously reintroduces him. A distinct aspect of Trollope's writing is the way he speaks directly to the reader and self-consciously discusses the plot or how he'll tell the story. A later section of the book is wonderfully told through an exchange of letters between women discussing a marriage prospect. Trollope discusses reverting to this epistolary form of narrative and we discover later on why it was so important to have these women writing in their own voices because there were biased motives behind the advice which was given. This is a delightfully clever and effective form of storytelling.

It also frequently and unashamedly presents the author's own affection towards some characters and prejudice against others. Trollope is scathing in his descriptions and the storylines he creates for characters such as Mr Moffat, a suitor for one of the Gresham girls with high political and social aspirations. Trollope is also entertainingly critical of privileged families and their properties describing them in disparaging terms. Characters the author feels great fondness for such as Mary Thorne and Lady Scatcherd are described in much warmer terms. He also presents such a compelling and dynamic portrait of Martha Dunstable, a wealthy heiress who multiple gentlemen in the novel scheme to capture as a wife. Yet she is extremely aware of their motives for courting her and hilariously dismisses or confronts them. This makes her my favourite character that I've encountered in Trollope's novels so far. However, Trollope seldom wholly portrays his characters as heroes or villains and depicts most of them as dynamic and complex. For instance, Frank's naivety is evident but he's also a young, idealistic man so his fumbling and misadventures are understandable and this made him quite an endearing character.

Something I've noticed about Trollope's novels is that he can get a bit repetitious in some chapters. Later on in the story we get some conversations insisting on Frank's need to marry for money even though this was made abundantly clear already. I think the author unintentionally tests the reader's patience when repeatedly discussing the conflicts his plots revolve around as a similar thing happened in the previous novels when debating about who would be the warden of Hiram's Hospital. Perhaps this is just a side effect of the deliberate narrative style that Trollope chose and it's his way of keeping his plots ticking along to their heavily foreshadowed conclusions to allow space for his wonderful characterisations, dramatic scenes and social commentary. It's a small quibble to make about his books which overall I find such a comfort and entertaining joy to read. So I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the Barsetshire series as well as more of Trollope's books. It's also been great participating in the Trollope Society's fortnightly bookclub meetings focusing on this novel as getting the engaged perspectives of other readers and Trollope fans has really enhanced my experience and understanding of the book.

Unsettled Ground by Claire Fuller

It was thrilling to see Claire Fuller's “Unsettled Ground” recently listed on this year's Women's Prize for Fiction. I've read and admired all of her novels ever since her debut “Our Endless Numbered Days”. Fuller's settings are typically in remote locations and this new novel primarily revolves around a cottage on a rural farm and country estate. Twins Jeanie and Julius are 51 years old and have lived here their whole lives with their mother Dot. But when Dot dies at the very beginning of the novel these sheltered adults struggle to manage the practical difficulties of keeping the cottage, paying the debt their mother has left behind and determining how their lives will continue going forward. Gradually family secrets are uncovered as their impoverished situation becomes increasingly dire. It's a heartrending story, but also a compassionate portrait of individuals not often represented in fiction. 

Jeanie's life has been fairly harmonious up until this point keeping her garden, playing music and enjoying the steady companionship of her family. But there's also a danger to this insular pastoral lifestyle because now she's a middle-aged woman who has never had a paid job and who can only read at an extremely rudimentary level. It's moving the way we follow her uneasy steps in trying to adjust to living in the larger world and how she falls into desperate circumstances. She also has a wonderfully creative side and musical talent. Fuller incorporates the lyrics of a number of folk songs into the text. Using a lot of richly-imagined atmospheric detail, the story vividly portrays how she connects with the natural world more than people. As someone uneasy in social situations and who possesses a lot of pride she also struggles to accept help when it's offered to her. This is portrayed so sympathetically and realistically that I felt a great amount of compassion for her so it's very tense how the story plays out.

I'm someone who really values stability and is generally resistant to change. But it's unrealistic to expect that things can always stay the same and the novel suggests how we limit the possibilities of life by sticking too closely to our own familiar circumscribed realm of experience. Julius describes how “Sometimes, I reckon, we need something to come along and trip us up when we're not expecting it. Otherwise, one day we're kids playing with the hose pipe, and the next we're laid out on an old door in the parlour.” It's harrowing how the story traces the development of people who are so firmly set in their ways and how they seek a new form of independence. It's also interesting the way the novel approaches memory and how we have to radically readjust our sense of self when we learn new life-altering information about the past. At one point it's stated 'It is hard to rewrite your own history.” So I found it compelling how the book approaches the idea of rewriting not only the future we were expecting but the past we thought we understood. This is such an original and poignant story unlike any I've read before.

Gay Bar by Jeremy Atherton Lin

Journalists have been noting the rapid closure of gay bars for years and the economic strain of the past year's pandemic has certainly added to the demise of many more of these venues. So it feels especially poignant to read Jeremy Atherton Lin's nonfiction/memoir “Gay Bar” now as he catalogues his personal experience going to gay bars and other historic examples of notable establishments where gay people congregated. From this he considers the meaning of gay identity itself, notions of intimacy and the political/personal importance that these physical locations played in queer communities. The subtitle of this book “why we went out” feels especially poignant when considering why he and his long term partner 'Famous' went to bars to make friends, view the “scene” and have sex with other men. I really valued how candidly and explicitly he describes his experiences and what a positive example this gives of how sex is a part of Lin's own evolving sense of being a gay man and how an open long term relationship can work. His life, sensibility and values are very different from my own but I appreciate the intelligent and skilful ways he considers how experiences in gay-designated spaces can positively and negatively contribute to our personal and collective sense of gay identity. 

Though Lin's experiences span decades and nations, it's perhaps telling how surprisingly small the gay community really is given that a number of the bars he describes are places I've been to and even some of the people he encounters I've met myself. I'm not someone who enjoys going out that much so I understand how the experience of gay bars can sometimes be tedious and even stifling given how self-conscious the gaze of men in these venues can make me feel. Yet, I've also had some wonderfully empowering and liberating experiences at gay bars whether that's been dancing to Kylie in a Prague bar, drunkenly playing pool with a stranger in a London gay pub or having a heart-to-heart talk with an older drag queen in Cleveland dive. What Lin describes so well is how these experiences are, of course, particular to the individual but they also allow the potential for instant connections no matter where you are in the world. The interactions that occur in these spaces also contribute to an ongoing community conversation we're having about how to negotiate living in a largely straight society as gay men. I think it's clever how the author balances playful points such as how San Francisco blow jobs differ from Los Angeles blow jobs with more series accounts of how gay bars became meeting grounds to launch gay liberation and inspire AIDS activism. This book is a valuable historical document which manages to be both intellectually rigorous and arousing.

Women's Prize Longlist 2021

I've been looking forward to following the Women's Prize for Fiction this year more than usual because it's just a joyous communal reading activity and a relief from the stress of the world. So I'm excited for all the discussion and debate that we'll have over the next few months – especially because this is a really interesting group of novels and there's a lot to say about them. There's a real mixture of styles and subject matter in these novels. Six of the authors are debut novelists. For some such as Brit Bennett, Susanna Clarke and Yaa Gyasi this is their sophomore novel. Other authors such as Amanda Craig and Clare Chambers have written quite a few novels before so it's great to see them receiving award attention. Ali Smith is a previous winner of the Women's Prize. Avni Doshi was also shortlisted for the Booker Prize last year. 

This is the fifth year that Anna James and I have got together to make a predictions video. Both of us found it a challenge to only include sixteen books because there's such a wide selection of quality novels from the past year to choose from. Between us we only managed to guess six correctly. However, I've actually already read nine on the longlist so I can attest that many of these books are truly excellent. Some titles such as “The Vanishing Half”, “Burnt Sugar” and “Summer” are among my favourite books that I read last year. Other novels I've read this year and loved include “Piranesi”, “Luster” and “Transcendent Kingdom”. 

I had quite mixed feelings about “No One Is Talking About This” but it'll be really interesting to see how more people respond to this novel. I feel like it's a book that had an instant fan base because of Patricia Lockwood's popularity on social media so I'm keen to hear what a wider readership that's not familiar with her online personality makes of it. I'm currently reading “Unsettled Ground” by Claire Fuller and I'm so happy to see this on the list because I've been such a fan of her work since her first novel. I also look forward to reading the other novels on the longlist. 

It's going to be really difficult to call what might be shortlisted this year – let alone what might actually win. Some of these novels are so strong it'll be a challenge to hold up one as more worthy than another, but that's also the fun of these competitions. Maybe it’s because I’m still so enthralled with its story having read it recently, but if I had to make an early guess I’d predict “Transcendent Kingdom” will win. I may feel differently after I finish reading all of the longlist though! You can watch me summarize and discuss all of the books here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAS01UzkdOk 

What do you think of the list as a whole? Any early favourites? What books on this list are you most looking forward to reading? 

A Burning by Megha Majumdar

Megha Majumdar's debut novel “A Burning” begins with an incident where more than a hundred people are killed in a fire bombing on a train as part of a terrorist attack by unknown assailants near the slum of Kolkata. There is public outrage and a need for someone to blame. A young working class woman named Jivan views an angry online discussion about it on a phone she feels proud to have recently purchased. Being naïve about the real world repercussions of engaging in virtual chat she posts on Facebook positing that the government is just as culpable as the terrorists. This turns her into a convenient scapegoat as she is imprisoned and faces the serious charge of orchestrating the bombing. Though the evidence against her is entirely circumstantial, the public's desire to see her punished and the government's need to take action means she's incapable of receiving a fair trial. She hopes to help defend her case with the help of character witnesses PT Sir, Jivan's former physical education teacher and Lovely, a hijra who Jivan has been teaching English to. The narrative revolves between the perspectives of Jivan, PT Sir and Lovely as the trial proceeds. The story movingly shows that everyone is capable of corruption in a skirmish for advancement within a struggling society. 

It's become commonplace to read inspiring stories about how justice is served after a hard-won battle where a humble individual endeavours to bring down a tyrannical system. So there is something noble in Majumdar's painfully honest depiction of someone who isn't reprieved from false charges because of the corruption and moral failings of individuals as well as the media, politicians and the courts. Though it makes for a depressing read, it's probably more often the case that vulnerable individuals are sacrificed as part of these larger social mechanisms and schemes of personal ambition. PT Sir's desire for political advancement is fuelled after he happens to attend a rally because his train is delayed. His quest for advancement and its privileges means he turns a blind eye to the many people who are unfairly persecuted along the way. Equally, Lovely's dreams of becoming a film star means she's unwilling to face possible public scandal from being entangled in Jivan's case. As we follow the advancement of both these characters we're given more of Jivan's backstory as someone whose family has faced absolute poverty and persecution as Muslims. It's skilful how Majumdar has constructed this novel because it shows how the odds are really stacked against Jivan and her acute personal suffering is wilfully ignored by those who could defend her.

The novel includes many painful scenes but the voices give an energy to the story in faithfully relaying their idiosyncratic perspectives. I was most drawn to the sections by Lovely who is so spirited in her interactions and snappy rejoinders she gives to members of the public who sneer and look down upon her. There's also a compelling depiction of the hijra community (a class of intersex and transgender people in India) through her perspective. I've previously only read about hijras in the novels “The Parcel” and “The Ministry of Utmost Happiness” so I was glad to get another perspective on this particular group and it was moving reading about Lovely's romantic difficulties. It was also effective in how I initially felt very sympathetic towards her but grew to feel more critical as she succumbs to her own shallow fantasies. In fact, all of the characters seem enthralled by the glinting surface of convenience and the illusion of prosperity which makes them ignore a harder reality. The trajectory of these stories mean that “A Burning” is certainly not an easy read but it is one that can cut to the truth of things with devastating effectiveness.