The Colony by Audrey Magee

On a small, sparsely-populated and remote Irish island there is an ageing population that still speaks their native Irish language, but they are steadily dying out. One of the remaining youngest island residents is James who prefers to speak English and be addressed by his English name rather than his Irish name Seamus. Two foreigners separately travel to this island for their own purposes. There is irascible London artist Lloyd who wants to create paintings that capture the island's beauty and its inhabitants. He hopes to produce great works that will establish him as the “Gauguin of the North”. There's also Frenchman Jean-Pierre, a linguist who has been making excursions to the island for many years to record how the “purity” of this spoken language is slowly changing with the increasing influence of English. He wants to write an account of whether true Irishness can be preserved and Lloyd's presence is mucking up his plans. The two bicker and clash over their right to be on this island. The actual residents of the island grudgingly tolerate both of them as they are paying guests who bring in much needed capital as the native fishing industry has also been dying out – quite literally as both James' father and grandfather died at sea. 

This is a slow burning drama that builds to say something much bigger about notions of national purity and colonialism. I admire how Magee approaches this on a very human level – as she did in a very different set of circumstances in her powerful debut novel “The Undertaking”. This new novel opens with a very funny scene where Lloyd insists on being ferried out to the island via an outmoded form of boat transport that's so rocky he's frequently sea sick. However, the heart of the novel is with the character of James who is caught between two worlds and whose opportunities are very narrow. He desperately wants to avoid following the family tradition of becoming a fisherman and finds a new passion in painting from his interactions with Lloyd. It's so moving how he develops an affinity for the spiky gentleman and what he can offer him as Lloyd suggests the boy's natural talent might go down well in the London art scene. Conversely, James is repulsed by the attention of Jean-Pierre who tries to get James to use his Irish name and preserve his native language. This all raises such strong questions about the meaning of national identity and who decides the fate of individuals and a distinct group of people.

Interspersed with the narrative about life on this island are short - almost journalistic - accounts of victims of The Troubles. These brief glimpses into lives that have been destroyed have the sobering effect of showing how ordinary individuals and families suffer while issues to do with Irishness and colonization are being more violently fought over. Even on the remote outpost of this island this longstanding war touches its citizens. Though Lloyd and Jean-Pierre believe their presence is benign or altruistic, they have a pernicious impact on James who finds himself left in as hopeless a position as before they arrived. The same is true for James' mother who (against the wishes of her family and the community) models for Lloyd and expresses her desire for a sense of permanence in Molly Bloom-esque soliloquies. The effect of this story is haunting. Its writing is so finely tuned with dialogue which fully brings to life these characters and their points of difference. Magee conjures a sense of tragedy that is very moving and impactful. 

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

I was especially keen to read “The Moonstone” since it's credited as having established many of the parameters and rules of the modern detective novel. Elements found in mysteries such as an English country house setting, red herrings, a clever investigator, a large number of suspects and a final plot twist might feel commonplace amongst many books in this genre now, but Collins' novel appears to have been one of the first to successfully combine these into a thrilling story. It concerns a legendary Indian diamond that's bequeathed to Rachel, an heiress who first wears the stone at her lavish birthday party. However, it goes missing during the night and it's disappearance concerns much more than simple thievery. There are many side plots and dramatic occurrences within the story which gradually unravels to produce a surprising conclusion. 

It's no wonder this novel was a hit with the general public who read it in serial form when it first appeared in Charles Dickens' magazine. It was subsequently published as a book in 1868. Gabriel Betteredge, the household's head servant and the first narrator in this epistolary novel, is so charming and sweetly funny. He frequently reads a copy of “Robinson Crusoe” and compulsively refers to it for guidance as if it were the bible. Betteredge also strikes up a friendship with Sergeant Cuff, the renowned detective who takes charge of solving the case. However, their relationship becomes strained as Cuff's suspect list begins to include many members of the household including Rachel herself. I found the down-to-earth quality of both these men really endearing especially the way Cuff is actually more interested in retiring and growing roses than he is in seeing justice served.

It's also extremely entertaining reading the point of view of Rachel's poor cousin Drusilla Clack, the second narrator of this story, as she is extremely pious and evangelical about pressing her religion on those around her. But everyone firmly rebuffs her proselytizing and clearly considers her to be an annoyance. It's clever how engaging Betteredge and Clack are as narrators while also laying out lots of vital clues to intrigue the reader. The plot really heats up going forward as we continue by following Franklin Blake, one of Rachel's suitors. He seeks to untangle what really went on during the night of Rachel's party and clear his name from the suspect list as he appears to be guilty. While I was delighted by the many twists in the story they did grow to feel increasingly ridiculous and impossible. Perhaps implausibility is also a necessary element of most detective stories because they want to create a heightened sense of drama. Also, it's somewhat uncomfortable how a large part of this premise relies on colonial exoticism and an exaggerated sense of Indian mysticism with a group of disguised Hindu Brahmins lingering in the background as additional suspects.

Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the humour and excitement of this tale. It's genuinely thrilling as well as emotionally engaging so it was such a pleasure to read. I was excited to learn that Anthony Trollope created a parody of this novel with his book “The Eustace Diamonds”. So I look forward to reading that once I get to Trollope's “Palliser” series of novels. Trollope poked fun at Dickens in his novel “The Warden” with great comic effect so he clearly enjoyed sending up some of the most popular fiction of the day. Yet, the influence of Collins' novel is irrefutably far reaching in how it set the standard for murder mystery stories. Though this tale is initially solely about a theft, bodies are discovered along the way giving a heightened sense that the culprit is lurking around the corner and must be discovered before they strike again. 

International Booker Prize Longlist 2022

It's the second big book prize announcement of the week! Here are the 13 books nominated for this year's International Booker Prize. A new video is up on my YouTube channel discussing all these titles: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=paQELE_7QVU

I love that this award highlights the best new fiction translated into English and I've found so many new-to-me great authors through this award. With international relations in such a terrible and tense place at the moment it feels more important than ever to read stories of experiences and points of view from other countries. 

These novels and collections of short stories were translated from 11 different languages and originated in 12 different countries. This year's prize has a good representation of stories from Asia which is hasn't always been the case in past years and it's wonderful to see. There are also a number of queer stories. There's also quite a BIG difference in page length! The shortest “Paradais” is 118 pages and the longest “The Books of Jakob” is 893 pages. Phew! I do want to read Olga Tokarczuk's new epic but I'm on the fence about her writing since I didn't get on with “Flights” but really enjoyed “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead”. 

I've currently read 4 books from this list: “More Than I Love My Life” by David Grossman, “Heaven” by Mieko Kawakami, “Love in the Big City” by Sang Young Park and “Elena Knows” by Claudia Pineiro. They're all excellent and truly worthwhile reads! I do hope to read all the rest of the books at some point but don't have much hope of finishing the list before the shortlist is announced on April 7th. Probably the next book I'll read from this group is “Paradais” since I loved Melchor's novel “Hurricane Season” so much. 

What do you think of the list? Are there any you're curious to read? Do you read much translated fiction? 

Women's Prize Longlist 2022

The longlist for the 2022 Women's Prize has been announced! There are a lot of surprises and there are quite a few ghosts/spirits in these stories. I've posted a video on my YouTube channel discussing the 16 novels. There are at least four dubut novels. A number of these authors have been longlisted before including Rachel Elliot, Charlotte Mendelson, Leone Ross, Catherine Chidgey and Elif Shafak. There are a number of authors from the UK and America, but some come from Trinidad and Tobago, New Zealand and Turkey.

I'm especially thrilled to see This One Sky Day by Leone Ross and Great Circle by Maggie Shipstead listed as these were two of my favourite novels that I read last year. I'm also delighted to see that The Paper Palace by Miranda Cowley Heller and The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak are nominated. Given how much Anna described her dislike of Heller's novel in our predictions video, I'm sure there will be lots of good debate about this book! 

I'm excited to see The Sentence by Louise Erdrich, Build Your House Around My Body by Violet Kupersmith, The Book of Form and Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki, Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason, The Final Revival of Opal & Nev by Dawnie Walton and The Exhibitionist by Charlotte Mendelson listed as I've been wanting to read these anyway. I'd not heard that Rachel Elliott has a new novel out but I really enjoyed her previous novel Whispers Through a Megaphone (also Women's Prize longlisted) so I'm looking forward to reading Flamingo. I'd not heard of the novels by Lisa Allen-Agostini, Lulu Allison, Kirsty Capes, Catherine Chidgey and Morowa Yejidé but they all sound fascinating so it's wonderful that this list has tipped me off to books I probably wouldn't have encountered otherwise. 

Currently I've only read 4 books from this group. Before it was announced I didn't think I'd read the whole longlist, but now I've looked through them all they sound really good. So I'm going to aim to read all 16 before the shortlist is announced on April 27th but it'll depend on how busy I am. I might start by reading The Bread the Devil Knead or The Exhibitionist. It's definitely surprising that Sally Rooney, Lauren Groff, Hanya Yanagihara and Honoree Fanonne Jeffers didn't make the list.

What do you think of the longlist? Are you planning to read some or all the books nominated? Any books that you're disappointed didn't make the cut? 

Let me know! 

They by Kay Dick

Who can resist a story about a literary editor chancing upon a copy of a novel that's been out of print for over three decades and hails it as a lost dystopian classic? That's the seductive tale which accompanies the recent republication of “They”, a 1977 novel by a notorious figure from the 20th century literary scene. Though Kay Dick is barely remembered now, an obituary written for The Guardian in 2001 by Michael De-la-Noy makes her sound infamously unreliable, cash-strapped and vindictive. It's an ignominious end for a woman who was once George Orwell's editor and is called by Carmen Maria Machado “a trailblazing queer author.” This new edition of the novel is also covered with a string of endorsements from Margaret Atwood, Eimear Mcbride and Claire-Louise Bennett. If I'm focusing more on the author's reputation it's because I found myself more interested in the author herself than the content of her novel. 

By Machado's account, “They” is an unusual volume amongst Dicks' slender oeuvre as its cryptic stories describe a series of artistic individuals being intimidated by an unnamed group who are watchful, destructive and intensely creepy. The painters, sculptors, musicians and writers who populate this novel revel in nature, thrive in having intellectual exchanges and delight in friendship. However, their individuality and desire to express themselves makes them a target for the menacing figures who hover in the distance. These figures don't seem to belong to any one organization, but represent a homogenized bullying group. The artists realise that “We represent danger. Non-conformity is an illness.” They endeavour to find ways to cultivate their individual expression and exist on the margins of this repressive society even if some of them are punished, pillaged and have their memories wiped.

Though I appreciated the creepy tone to these stories and the eerie sense of being hemmed in, it was difficult to become emotionally invested in any of the characters because so few details are given about them or the nameless narrator(s). Instead we're just given snapshots of their behaviour wandering through the countryside walking their dogs or holing up together in places of refuge. The artists resent the figures in the distance not only for the way they terrorize them, but for their conformity in watching television and listening to pop music: “I could not endure the 90 dB intensity of pop music that street megaphones related at such times.” Equally, children generally rove around in marauding groups to torture animals. From reading about the author's life and the way in which the society outside this civilized circle of friends is represented makes me feel that this perception is coming more from a curmudgeonly author's point of view rather than an invented character's. Perhaps that's an unfair assumption, but I came to feel as critical of the pretensions of the artists as I did about the vicious figures that intimidated them.

I think reviews which came out when this novel was first published describe this book as a fever dream. That feels like a much more apt description than calling it a dystopian novel. Perhaps because I came to it with that expectation I was more disappointed because it felt quite different from any dystopian story I've read before. Perhaps that's a good thing and perhaps the dystopian novel now comes with expectations which are too limited. Nevertheless, the style of “They” left me with little to grasp onto or remember. There are some lovely evocative descriptions: “The damp sharp smell of newly mown grass stirred areas of childhood memories.” I admired the writing but it didn't build to a satisfying whole. The story could certainly be interpreted in many ways, but it felt too cryptic for me to feel impacted by it. Overall, I was left longing to read more about the author's life than to read more of her fiction. 

Five Days Untold by Badr Ahmad (translated by Christiaan James)

Several years ago I acted as an extra in a docudrama about a conflict in Afghanistan where I played a soldier. I was given a crash course in military training and how to handle a real weapon which was only armed with blanks. When filming started I fumbled with my weapon and found it difficult to keep pace with the other actors as they raced across the set re-enacting a war. The arms expert, crew and other actors got quite annoyed at what an incompetent soldier I made and it's safe to say my performance wasn't convincing. Luckily this was just a fictional situation and I've not ever been conscripted or made to perform compulsory military service. Ziad Al-Niqash, a young man who is one of the central characters of “Five Days Untold”, isn't so fortunate as an order delivered to his home commands him to join in the civil war occurring in his country. Though the specific location and conflict isn't named in the text, one can assume this is set during the civil war in Yemen given the author Badr Ahmad's nationality and because it takes place over the New Year of 2017-2018. We follow his harrowing journey being drawn into military service, the experiences of his family and the malicious plot of a local tyrant named Naji Awad. It's a terrifying insight into what it means to be a frightened young man who is suddenly forced to be a solider. 

There's a lot of pressure on Ziad at home already since he is the only son of his family and his father is mentally and physically unwell. Equally, he's made to feel like he must work in a specific job to support his family although his heart is drawn to a different kind of profession. So it's all the more heartbreaking when he's suddenly forced to become a soldier and he frantically wonders “how will I avoid being killed? I was unable to process it all. I wasn't made for this. I was created to draw and sculpt, to cultivate beauty in small corners, and to plant delight in people's souls.” The narrative follows the five days of his service which feels to him more like a lifetime as he's immediately fearful for his life and he encounters numerous gruelling attacks. The way this is vividly presented is so moving and heart racing. It's powerful how the author portrays the psychologically and physically destructive effects of such an experience while Ziad desperately clings to his humanity. At the same time, it's so brutal how little he's valued as an individual by many of the soldiers around him and how he's viewed as an absolute enemy by the opposing forces though he clearly didn't want to enlist in the first place. It's a devastating and impossible position to be in.

Though I appreciated how the author tried to also portray a politically-powerful man who is involved in dodgy arms dealing, I didn't think the characterization of Naji Awad was as convincing and his storyline seemed to belong more to a generic thriller. I don't doubt such self-interested and vicious people exist, but the way the author depicted his motivations for being such from his bad childhood to his impotence resulting from a car crash injury was rather rushed. It also made me very uncomfortable how the extreme sexual violence inflicted upon his wife was dealt with in an equally hasty manner. There's a scene where she seems on the brink of exacting her revenge which felt quite confusing and his story plays out in a rickety over-dramatised way. For instance, there's a scene where he enters a dance studio and takes out a gun but eventually leaves without anyone there seeming to notice him. Though the tensions amongst Ziad's family were handled somewhat better, I felt their unique story got swallowed up in a clunky plot and lacked the atmosphere present in the young man's sections.

I greatly appreciated reading a story from Yemen that concerns a conflict I've never read about in fiction before. However, I wish the novel had focused solely on Ziad's point of view as this was undoubtably the heart of the book. I'm still grateful to have read this because the way it immerses you in the perspective of a young soldier is very impactful. It’s wonderful seeing more Arabic fiction being translated into English from the publisher Dar Arab.

What You Can See From Here by Mariana Leky (translated by Tess Lewis)

It's been a while since a novel has consistently made me smile. “What You Can See From Here” has a wonderful lightness of touch to it while also being an emotional story which considers larger philosophical issues about the human condition. It follows Luisa who, at the start of the novel, is an adolescent girl and we follow her into adulthood. Moreover, it's the tale of the small West-German village Luisa has grown up in and the idiosyncratic members of this community as seen through her perspective. Luisa's grandmother Selma occasionally dreams of an okapi, an exotic African animal that's like a squashed-together version of several different animals. Whenever this creature features in her dreams someone in the area dies. So it's turned into an omen of death. At the beginning of the novel Selma has dreamed about an okapi again. Though they realise it's superstitious to believe a dream can signal such a tragedy, everyone in the village can't help fearing it and tensely wondering who will be next. Rumours of the dream spread like wildfire around the community leading everyone to take excessive precautions or prepare to meet their end. When someone eventually does die it has a devastating effect on Luisa and we follow her many years later as she and the village are still dealing with this tragic loss. 

Much of the delightful humour in this novel comes from the naturally amusing characters that populate it. Selma is a loving grandmother living in a slanted house. The local optician is secretly in love with Selma and begins many letters to her informing her of this but can't quite bring himself to complete or deliver them. Luisa's friend Martin dreams of being a champion weight-lifter and frequently picks Luisa up. Villagers flock to Luisa's eccentric great-aunt Elsbeth who makes homemade remedies for ailments or conditions. Luisa's mother is perpetually late for any crucial event and her father is constantly absent as he's travelling the world. Marlies is a grumpy woman who lives in the most remote corner of the village like a melancholy Eeyore. Even the family dog Alaska comes bounding in and out of scenes knocking things over and making its presence known. The way in which all these disparate individuals with all their foibles and peculiarities come together is handled in an endearing and loving way.

Another reason why this novel is so funny is from the clever and engaging way it portrays the absurdity of life. Though we may have grand ideals or try to follow the path of logic, we can't control our instinctive reactions to what we encounter. So the villagers allow themselves to grow fearful when Selma has her dream of an okapi though they know it's not rational. It's natural for our emotions to occasionally consume us and the novel shows how this especially occurs when it comes to love and death. In her adulthood Luisa has a chance encounter with a Buddhist monk named Frederik and develops a strong bond with him. Though it may seem like a very random thing to insert into the story, it makes sense how the principles of Buddhism are contrasted against human nature. Various concepts concerning the perception and natural of reality are raised between the characters – though Frederik is more concerned with eating French fries than he is with discussing Buddhist texts. The story isn't mocking the religion but showing how challenging it is to free oneself from disruptive desires and an attachment to a limited, subjective understanding of the world. Whether a person is a Buddhist or not, these are large issues we all grapple with in one form or another. The novel poignantly demonstrates how these aspects of our nature are the very things which make us so beautifully human and join us together as a society.

The Family Chao by Lan Samantha Chang

Reimagining a classic novel is a risky business. Some such as “Gorsky” by Vesna Goldsworthy and “The Promise” by Damon Galgut have successfully borrowed plot lines from classics (“The Great Gatsby” and “Howard's End” respectively) and transposed them to an entirely new setting and context. However, there is a danger that using the scaffolding of a pre-existing plot might inhibit a new story. For instance, I felt Craig's novel “The Golden Rule” needlessly forced in some elements of classic tales in a way which lessened the impact of the otherwise compelling characters and storyline. 

In “The Family Chao” Lan Samantha Chang gives a modern-day retelling of “The Brothers Karamazov” to relate the story of a family with a domineering patriarch and three very different Chinese-American sons. For decades the Fine Chao restaurant has been a fixture of the community, but disharmony is brewing behind closed doors. The youngest boy James returns to his family's home in Wisconsin for Christmas to discover a lot of infighting. Though his eldest brother Dagou organizes a lavish feast and celebration at the family restaurant things don't go as planned. An explosive argument leads to Leo 'Big' Chao being discovered dead in the meat freezer the next morning. Was this an accident or did something more sinister lead to his demise?

Vicious gossip swirls around the family and the eldest son Dagou is put on trial for his father's murder. His two younger brothers Ming and James scramble to come to terms with their family's turbulent history and uncover what really happened that fateful night. With elements that include a dead stranger's travel bag filled with cash, an illegitimate child's well-kept secrets, a missing dog and a murder trial this is a mystery that grows increasingly thrilling as it unfolds. It's also a unique and meaningful tale which grapples with issues to do with racism, corruption and greed. At the same time it is darkly funny, poignant and gripping. 

Leo is rudely vicious in maintaining his dominance and ready to serve up whatever the public wants to feed their appetites and line his pockets. He succumbs to the American ideology that whatever is most profitable is also correct. But his sons have a decidedly different understanding of what it means to live and survive in this country. What's more telling is that the tragedy which occurs sparks public reactions showing deep-seeded stereotypes and biases. Though their situation is unique and the brothers come armed with different points of view, they are churned into an ongoing discourse. It takes honest reconciliations to extract themselves from this and persist in building their own lives. It's poignant the way in which Chang structures the novel to portray why this is such a struggle for this family. In its style and plot, she has successfully modernized and utilized elements of Dostoevsky's classic to tell a story which is uniquely American. 

Elena Knows by Claudia Pineiro (translated by Frances Riddle)

I can't think of another novel that has so deeply and intimately drawn me into the experience of someone living with a debilitating illness. Elena is in a late stage of Parkinson's disease where every physical action is timed around when her pills can be taken as these allow her a limited amount of movement. In the interim periods her body refuses to respond to messages from her brain and, even with the pills, normal actions which we take for granted are an enormous struggle. This is especially problematic as Elena is determined to visit someone on this day to call in an old debt. Her daughter Rita was recently found hanging in the belfry of a church. Elena doesn't accept the police's conclusion that it was a suicide and is determined to uncover the mystery behind her daughter's death. We follow her journey as she discovers the truth behind this tragic event and, in the process, get a profound insight into the challenges of her daily existence. However, this isn't a story that's as miserable as it sounds. Elena isn't the nicest person - often with good reason. She's irascible, extremely rude to some people and has a keen sense of irony. So following her thoughts and reflections is often a darkly funny and entertaining experience, but it's also very moving and enlightening. All these elements make this a riveting, revelatory and brilliantly imaginative story. 

Though Elena is only 64 years old she has the appearance of someone much older. She's unable to fully lift her head so that in the course of her journey our perspective of the world is limited to only what she can see. Usually this is people's shoes or the ground. This is one of the ways this narrative locks the reader so fully into her experience. At one point before her death, her daughter demanded she go to a beauty salon and, during the course of a pedicure, the beautician suggested she regularly use a cream on her feet. However, “she wasn't willing to add any more chores to the unending list of daily challenges: walking, eating, going to the bathroom, lying down, standing up, sitting in a chair, getting up from a chair, taking a pill that won't go down her throat because her head can't tip back, drinking from a straw, breathing. No, she definitely wasn't going to put calendula cream on her heels.” At almost every point in the story we're made aware of how all these necessary actions which most of us perform unconsciously require a big effort on her part because of the limitations her illness imposes. She comes to think of her disease as a separate entity in itself which she describes in the most disparaging and vicious terms like a hateful neighbour that has taken control and resides within her body.

There are so many lines in this book which made me attentive to aspects of physical existence which I normally don't consider. For instance, Elena observes how “She'd never had to think about her neck, about her eyebrows, to wonder whether they were muscles or flesh, or just skin, and she doesn't know what they are, but they hurt.” It's almost surreal how her illness makes her hyper-aware of things she hadn't previously considered so that her own body reveals itself as a foreign landscape. The story also gives an insight into the tremendous burden Elena's illness causes for the people around her. Before her death, Rita was Elena's full time carer assisting her with feeding, bathing, going to the bathroom and almost every daily action. This put an enormous mental, physical and financial strain on their relationship and Elena comments about how much they bickered. Rita also possessed some conservative values which caused conflicts and harm to people she encountered. I appreciated how the novel sympathetically shows the strenuous challenges Rita faced and the difficulty this caused in her relationship with her mother while also acknowledging her foibles at the same time. It's a tragic situation, but it's meaningful how Elena doesn't perceive herself as a victim and how she's committed to living though her illness has severely reduced the quality of her life. This is an example of a novel whose impact and meaning will continue to resonate with me for many years.

Love Marriage by Monica Ali

When a couple decide to get married it's a nerve-wracking experience arranging for the parents to meet for the first time. Monica Ali's “Love Marriage” opens with Yasmin travelling with her parents to the home of her fiancé Joe and his mother. Though Joe's mother Harriet is a feminist and scholar who has published a progressive sexually-explicit book, Yasmin is too nervous to even mention sex in her household because of her parents' traditional values. So she has even more cause to worry about how their very different families will get on. The story describes how these individuals become heavily entangled in each other's lives amidst planning for Yasmin and Joe's marriage. Certain aspects of all their identities have remained hidden, but as they come closer to making a commitment the truth about the past and these characters' desires comes out into the open. There's a wonderfully engaging quality to Ali's style of writing which makes so many of these characters feel instantly familiar. I greatly enjoyed reading this romantic drama which involves the complexities of modern relationships, misunderstandings between generations, cross-cultural tensions and issues in the medical profession. 

It's moving how Yasmin's character develops over the course of the novel so she gradually comes to question what she really wants in life (both professionally and romantically) and how she underestimates her parents. Her experience diligently training to become a doctor contrasts sharply with that of her brother Arif who wants to make a documentary that he'll post on YouTube. Equally, the way he pursues a relationship is very different from Yasmin. However, the novel teases out assumptions which are made concerning career choices and the path couples take showing how there is no single way to live one's life. It also openly addresses different levels of racism and Islamaphobia and how the dialogue surrounding this in both liberal and conservative circles of British society can involve misconceptions, oversensitivity and hypocrisy. Since Harriet is a writer and knows a number of other authors there are also discussions between the characters involving the purpose of the novel itself and whether an author should only write about their own experience or allow themselves to imaginatively create stories of other lives.

Though the novel openly addresses these and many other issues, the characters are fully rounded so I felt really involved with the way Ali dramatises their inner and outer conflicts. One of the most fascinating characters is Yasmin's mother Anisah who undergoes a feminist awakening and starts to develop her own business selling chutneys. Though Yasmin's parents have always maintained theirs was a love marriage (as opposed to an arranged marriage) there's a question surrounding how they got together which hangs in the background until the truth is finally revealed. As so often is the case, what we perceive on the surface is very different from what's going on inside of people's experience. The pressure this causes builds throughout many different characters' lives. It's touching following how Yasmin gradually comes to a more dynamic understanding of those closest to her and herself in this tale filled with suspense, humour and wit.

Love in the Big City by Sang Young Park (translated by Anton Hur)

It's so exciting and refreshing reading new fiction which fully represents the complexities of modern gay life. There are romantic moments in “Love in the Big City”, but it certainly doesn't romanticize queer experience. Nor does it wallow in oppression or resentment. Instead it faithfully represents the point of view of a young Korean gay man named Young as he navigates family, friendship and various relationships (some are mere hookups while others are knotty emotional entanglements.) He struggles to complete his education and hold a stable job. Many nights are spent drinking, clubbing or chasing tricks on gay hookup apps. On his first night's leave from compulsory military service “the only three things floating around in my brain were iced Americano, Kylie Minogue, and sex.” He's overweight and aware of where he falls in the pecking order of a cruising culture that classifies men based on superficial physical attributes. His contemporaries have developed more stable jobs and relationships, but he's entirely unapologetic about following his desires and instincts even if it leads to his own undoing. The result is a riveting account of the pleasures and pitfalls of intimacy. 

The structure of this novel is satisfying in how it's divided into four parts where each begins with a particular moment in time. This thrusts the reader into a pressing dilemma Young faces. Then the story tunnels back to describe how Young got to this moment and what results from it. I admire how this draws the reader into his particular experience since it often feels like he just falls into situations, but we gradually see how he comes to particular points in his life based on his personality and the circumstances that he lives under. There's also an unflinchingly honest quality to his account which veers from defiant to self-deprecating. In fact, at times he verges on the maudlin in how he feels “life had always been eager to fail my expectations, no matter how low I set them.” It's a tone of writing which feels like a mixture of Jean Rhys and Brontez Purnell – two very different authors but their prose equally expresses a relentless commitment to romantic/sexual pursuits despite feeling it will inevitably end in heartbreak/emptiness. At one point Park observes: “is love truly beautiful? To me, love is a thing you can't stop when you're caught up in it, a brief moment you can escape from only after it turns into the most hideous thing imaginable when you distance yourself from it.” The way he captures experiences fuelled by this bittersweet belief is paradoxically life affirming.

Of course, there were parts of this novel that made me want to bitch slap the narrator. He insistently tries to maintain a relationship with an ideologically-driven man suffering from internalized homophobia who can't love him back. But he also treats his most consistent relationship with a sweetly-devoted responsible man too frivolously and actively pushes him away. All the while Young is fully aware he's making bad choices and acknowledges “my whole life was basically a series of not-clever moves”. It's infuriating behaviour but his character is written in a way which made me entirely sympathise with him and care about his welfare. So it's especially alarming when he doesn't use protection during one sexual encounter and contracts HIV – which is something he can barely openly acknowledge and calls his Kylie, but it’s not something which defeats him. However, he can't avoid the practical difficulties it causes in getting the right medication, having sexual encounters and passing medical exams for certain jobs he tries to get. It's arresting how the story deals with this issue and other long-lasting consequences of his affairs.

I found it touching reading in the translator's note how strongly Anton Hur identified with Park's writing as a Korean gay man. Though there were some specific geographic and linguistic references which I had no knowledge of, I certainly appreciated getting a brief insight into Korean gay life. There were also so many points of reference concerning gay popular culture and a homosexual mentality that I strongly identified with and recognized. It reminded me of reading the nonfiction book “Gay Bar” where drinking holes in different regions and countries are described as having a unique character but all exert the same feeling of being a gay-specific space. Similarly, entering Young's perspective seeking pleasure and companionship while struggling with issues to do with marginalization and poor self-esteem will certainly ring true for any gay man in the world today.

Born of No Woman by Franck Bouysse (translated by Lara Vergnaud)

I was greatly anticipating this gothic novel which brings to light the secret journals of a 19th century woman named Rose. She was sold into servitude at a creepy mansion and condemned to die in a rural French asylum. It begins promisingly enough with a priest called upon to bless the poor lady's body. When Father Gabriel is entrusted with her notebooks he's overcome by the story of her plight and seeks to reveal the consequences of her wretched life. But rather than just getting her account the perspective switches between a number of characters including a mysterious man and child whose identities aren't revealed until the end. However, most of the other points of view including Rose's father, the mansion's tyrant and a mysterious labourer who works on the estate all feel like one-dimensional characters. Nor do their perspectives add much to the story which couldn't be deduced from reading Rose's journals. The villains are ridiculously evil and a number of the characters act in a pitifully naïve way. Though Rose is obviously a sympathetic character trapped in a horrific situation and there are some chilling atmospheric details it's like the narrative doesn't trust her enough to convey her own tale. Though this book was a best-selling prize winner in its native France, I sadly found it to be a let down as the structure doesn't do anything innovative and the story isn't groundbreaking or especially engaging beyond its thrilling final twist. 

What Willow Says by Lynn Buckle

There's something so moving about stories concerning a strong intergenerational bond – in the case of slender novel “What Willow Says” it's between a grandmother and her deaf granddaughter who spend time in nature developing their own unique form of communication. It's composed of 29 journal entries which follow their excursions in parks and forests as well as their encounters with schools, hearing specialists and the deaf community. In doing so we come to understand their beautiful relationship and get an insight into a language formed for just two people. Subtle issues arise about the way society strives to “normalize” deaf people: “Her specialists may hear her not, because her ears are not working for them.” The story raises questions concerning the limitations of what speech can do and how the hearing community's ways of using language are so institutionalized we don't always acknowledge different forms of communication. There's also a tense element to the story as we're aware the grandmother's time is short and she wants to do what she can to ensure her granddaughter's security while cherishing the special bond they share. 

I felt immediately sympathetic to the grandmother as each entry begins with a description of the weather and my grandmother kept a journal in a similar way where the weather is always mentioned. As the book goes on, these brief observations about the weather come to reflect much more her psychological and spiritual state of being. She's someone who stands somewhat outside the mainstream like an ageing hippy (at one point she notes going to an Irish ashram) and I think this makes her especially attentive to the limited ways her granddaughter is treated. Because of her own hearing issues and advanced age, she finds it difficult to learn the sign language which her granddaughter fairly quickly picks up. So they need to invent their own way of speaking and they do this by spending time in nature developing unique ways of conveying an observation, feeling or question – especially as it's related to the movement of trees in the breeze or signs which can be gleaned from closely observing life in the natural world.

The grandmother is forming a catalogue of the trees in their area by drawing them and she refers to her process of attempting to do this - though it's cut short by her physical limitations. I wish some of this artwork had been reproduced in the text and it's interesting to hear in an interview conducted by Shawn the Book Maniac that following this novel's publication Lynn Buckle (who is also an artist) has created some pictures based exactly on what the grandmother describes. Though I found this story very moving, I felt the text sometimes got too poetic and abstract so I struggled at points to understand exactly what was happening in both these characters' lives. But its central message is conveyed in a powerful way. Out of necessity the granddaughter must constantly invent new ways of speaking: “She rewrites dictionaries for all who meet her.” Of course, on some level, creating a particular language is something we all do in the close bonds we form with other people as we all develop a shorthand or way of communicating which is special to that relationship. It's beautiful how this story emphasizes such a distinctive bond while alluding to larger issues concerning our perceptions of deafness and the environment. 

Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope

I'm grateful I've been reading Trollope's Barsetshire series in order because – although the central protagonists of this fourth book “Framley Parsonage” are new – there are a host of familiar characters in the background who are also integrally involved in some of the novel's side plots. Though I'm sure readers unfamiliar with the previous books would still enjoy this novel the experience is greatly enhanced by a knowledge of these established characters. It's a wonderful pleasure to again meet the domineering Mrs Proudie with her weak-willed bishop husband who were first introduced in “Barchester Towers” and confident, clever Miss Dunstable who we first met in “Doctor Thorne”. In this new novel we even get a new generation as Griselda, the eldest daughter of Dr Grantly and Susan Grantly (who we first met in “The Warden”), is now looking to marry and there are a couple of suitors in contention. In fact, there a number of marriage plots in this new novel which all spin in the wings amidst the book's central story of Mark Robarts, a young vicar who gets drawn into the glamorous lives of the county's aristocracy and unfairly burdened by a debt attached to the cunning Nathaniel Sowerby. Mark's patroness Lady Lufton is deeply saddened by how he's seduced into this faction of the upper class and she serves as a fantastically intimidating foil to the set of characters that revolve around the Duke of Omnium. 

Like a soap opera, the book is perhaps a little overburdened with plot lines as there are also the stories of Harold Smith's short-lived time as a cabinet minister and Mr Crawley, an impoverished clergyman who needs assistance as his wife is stricken with typhus. It makes sense that Trollope had so much going on since this novel was written in serial form for a magazine edited by William Thackeray. However, for the most part, the abundance of story lines balance well and come together to present a fantastically entertaining and compelling portrait of a community. It's a tale rich in themes surrounding ambition, money and marriage. As always, Trollope's characters are so dynamic that even more “villainous” figures such as Mr Sowerby are presented in a semi-compassionate way. But that doesn't stop the author poking fun at the foibles of several characters and playing them against each other. Nor is the author an invisible puppet master working in the background as what really makes Trollope's novels rise above typical stories of scandal and romance is the way the narrator frequently intervenes to converse with the reader on the issues at stake, the choices the characters make and the nature of society.

One of my favourite scenes is when the characters indulge in a social fad which they label a “conversazione”. Though it's really just a party with a pretentious name it's hilarious how it leads to discussions about what should and shouldn't be allowed to occur at a “conversazione”. There are several interactions which occur at this party concerning certain characters' marriage prospects. It also culminates in a confrontation between the novel's two most politically opposed characters Lady Lufton and the Duke of Omnium. As I know from reading “Barchester Towers”, Trollope writes truly captivating and uproarious party scenes. But he also beautifully describes moments of great tenderness such a discussion concerning the nature of grief between Mark's sister Lucy and Lady Lufton's son Ludovic. I also adored the dynamic between Mark and his loving wife Fanny who must not only serve as an intermediary between Mark and Lady Lufton but loyally stands by Mark when the debt collectors come knocking at their door.

Though Trollope doesn't often create much dramatic tension concerning the conclusions of his plots, I was surprised by the fate of Miss Dunstable in this novel. I despaired for her having to fend off yet another scheming suitor intent on marrying her for her money and I love how she relishes “ridiculing the world's humbugs.” So it was satisfying to see her finding comfort and happiness in this story. Certainly, there are some uncomfortably telling moments about the attitudes and values of mid-19th century society from the way certain characters refer to Jewish people or some characters describe their colonialist plans to “civilize an island in the South Pacific”. Yet, there are also many wonderful scenes and keen observations Trollope makes that his books continues to be an absolute delight to read and I'm looking forward to the next two books in the Chronicles of Barsetshire. 

More Than I Love My Life by David Grossman (translated by Jessica Cohen)

The older I get the more I contemplate what I can never know about past generations of my family. Even as I've tried to outline the facts and piece together story fragments, I know that there won't ever be a way to truly understand what my ancestors went through or why they made certain decisions. This is a subject Maria Stepanova rigorously contemplated as she sifted through family mementoes and records in her fascinating and extensive book “In Memory of Memory”. One of her conclusions seemed to be that whatever narrative we construct about the past doesn't necessarily give us any substantial insight or meaning. Equally, David Grossman rigorously questions the intention and value of documentation when it comes to examining family history in his compelling and moving puzzle box of a novel “More Than I Love My Life”. 

The book opens with a narrator recounting the story of her parents and grandparents' lives on a kibbutz in the 1960s. It doesn't occur to this narrator to introduce herself as Gili until we're deep into the complicated relationships of her immediate family. She's enthralled with their stories (even though they occurred long before she was born) and they give the sense of having been told and retold so many times they've developed into a personal mythology. After the death of her grandfather Tuvia's first wife he married a Yugoslavian immigrant named Vera. Tuvia's son Rafael also falls for Vera's daughter Nina, but it's an unequal love affair as Nina is hampered by the violent circumstances of WWII and life under President Tito. Gili feels a deep anger towards her mostly-absent mother Nina as she's led a promiscuous life full of wanderlust. However, Gili is also aware that Nina's problems stem from something which happened when she was a girl – an unaddressed betrayal by Nina's mother Vera.

The second half of the novel takes place in 2008 when Gili and her father Rafael decide to record a documentary about Vera who has just turned 90 years old. Nina has returned for her mother's birthday and also reveals she's suffering from an illness which will cause her to prematurely lose her memory. In order to memorialise Vera's life and create an account which Nina's future self can use as a reference point, this family of four embark on a journey back to Vera's homeland as she recounts the horrors she endured during wartime. Many secrets and revelations emerge which lead to emotional confrontations. All the while, Gili and Rafael endeavour to film and interview Vera to better understand her life. It becomes clear that no matter how rigorously or honestly they try to document her account they won't ever fully understand what she lived through or why she made choices which put both herself and Nina at risk. Interestingly, in some sections the narrative slips to Vera's intensely gruelling imprisonment at Goli Otok, a barren island known as the “Croatian Alcatraz” that was used as a political prison when Croatia was part of Yugoslavia. In their earnest attempt at preserving Vera's memories and forming a reconciliation, they are left with more questions than answers.

I greatly appreciated how this complex and entrancing story explores issues to do with family, self-worth, the past and truth. The way it dramatises its characters yearning for understanding and a sense of belonging made me deeply feel for them. Though some scenes that occur in the present felt needlessly melodramatic I still got caught up in the intense feelings involved. This novel painfully shows that love doesn't necessarily allow for justice – especially when under the intensely pressurised circumstances of national upheaval when life is lived “on the edge of a knife”.