The Arena of the Unwell by Liam Konemann

It's heartening to see so many new queer books representing the complexity and many different forms of gay experience. The protagonist of debut novel “The Arena of the Unwell” is Noah, a 20-something North Londoner who is into indie music and feels “I'm a pretty sub-standard gay – not quite up to date on the culture and customs. I missed that part of my education.” He's one of many gay men that don't necessarily identify with the predominant gay culture. Though his closest friend and flatmate is a lesbian named Mairead, most encounters he has with the gay community seem to be coincidental. He doesn't go to gay bars or engage on gay social media/hookup apps. As such he seems to feel an increased sense of alienation and has few opportunities for romantic encounters. This adds to his existing issues to do with depression, low self-worth, alcohol abuse and lack of motivation. So when two slightly older men show interest in Noah he becomes intimately involved and entangled in their lives. Unfortunately it turns out to be a much more fraught relationship and complex situation than he imagined.

I sympathize with Noah's situation, but unfortunately I didn’t really like him. I certainly don’t always have to like the protagonists I read about. But I grew increasingly frustrated and bored by this novel as Noah is caught in a continuous cycle of disaffection, drinking and inertia. Though he has a number of people in his life who want to help and support him when he's having a hard time, he continuously bats away their offers or ignores them. This is a natural response from someone with very low self esteem, but he also fails to engage in other people's lives in a way which might allow him to feel more connected and gain a sense of community. Though his friend Mairead and his father are clearly struggling with their own issues we learn little about their situations. Instead, the narrative solely focuses on Noah's point of view and seems to take it for a given that the reader will like him. Though I recognized that he was wrestling with a number of issues and has the common self-centredness of the young, I grew annoyed with him as a character and how he refuses any opportunities to positively change his situation. Moreover, there's a kind of pretension about how he withdraws from society where he admits “I am 'convalescing'. Alternatively, 'drowning my sorrows'. Sulking, but in an artistic sort of way.” While this is someone who feels quite real the main issue I have with the book is that the author doesn't explore the dynamics of Noah's plight in a way that shows the character gaining any sense of self-awareness. Instead, the story seems structured in a way where the fault lies entirely with the two men who draw them into their twisted (and frankly baffling) co-dependency.

Additionally, there were several elements of the story which felt underdeveloped or didn't go anywhere. Though it's touching to see how Noah's father accepts his son's homosexuality we get little insight into the father's personal life or their family history. Noah receives threatening messages at one point but this dilemma is left aside. Some stollen money goes missing but we don't find out where it went. There's a parallel narrative which shows brief articles about a band called Smiling Politely where their singer Ryan Shelby struggles with self-destructive impulses similar to Noah's. It's interesting how (though ostensibly successful) this band member equally can't pull himself out of a downward spiral. Unfortunately, the way this part of the story concludes didn't feel as impactful as I felt it was supposed to. An aspect of the story which I felt most uncomfortable with was the way it handled Noah's struggle with self harm. Though this is a very difficult issue, it's introduced quite abruptly and then not referred to again so it felt like it was dropped into the narrative. If such a conflict is going to be a part of a story I feel like it needs to be a more integral part of the novel.

All of these issues prevented me from really connecting with the story in the way I wanted to. I was surprised not to appreciate this novel after having read (and loved) the novel “Love in the Big City” because the protagonist of that book is somewhat similar to Noah. However, I just never grew to care much about the faltering hero of Konemann's novel.

The Swimmers by Julie Otsuka

One of the most terrifying parts of ageing is the possibility of experiencing or having a loved one who experiences Dementia. I know someone who is wrestling with this issue now and it's such a complicated, difficult and heartrending issue. I'm not sure whether it's consoling or distressing to read a novel which deals with this if it's a condition you're wrestling with but I feel that's up to the individual reader. Nevertheless, I think “The Swimmers” brilliantly depicts how life changes for a character named Alice whose memory deteriorates to the point where her daughter brings her to a care facility. We're first introduced to her as one of many people who frequently swim at an underground pool. The opening section is narrated in their collective voice as they describe the customs of regular swimmers at this pool and how a loose sense of community forms at this location. But one day a crack appears in the pool and this causes a lot of anxiety for the regular swimmers. Shortly after it becomes necessary for Alice to go into care and we learn about her process of being admitted into this facility.

What's so impressive about this novel is that so much emotion is conveyed without the author necessarily delving into the interior thoughts and feelings of the characters. It's a reckoning with mortality that's conveyed so gracefully it left me breathless. I loved the way the opening section describes the sense of freedom the swimmers find in the routines and rules which become established at their pool. There is a solace here in being both known to the other swimmers but also anonymous because this is a space completely detached from ordinary life. Life is reassuringly constant in the pool – until it's disrupted by the fracture which is both literal and a metaphor for the way tragedy infiltrates all of our lives at some point. It's also incredibly moving how the dilemma of Alice's daughter is delicately shown over the period of admitting her mother to the care facility. I intensely felt both her struggle and the process of Alice losing her sense of self. This powerful novel is both beautiful and devastating and I'm so glad I read it.

My Favourite Books of 2022 (so far)

Here are my 10 favourite books from 2022 - so far! A new video is up on my YouTube channel discussing each of these novels.

I love this time of year when readers take stock of what they've read in the past 6 months to recommend their top picks. Although I've recently read many great books that I've appreciated these ten titles completely gripped me and meant a lot to me personally. Some I read at the start of the year and one I just finished in the past week. I've spent so much time mulling these stories over, copying down quotes and discussing them with other readers.

These include tales of forbidden love, murder, family secrets, crimes, bodily possession, colonisation, medical disability, national strife, war and community life.

Books such as “The Trees” and “What You Can See From Here” strike an artful balance between comedy and drama. The tension between love and family life is movingly explored in the novels “Love Marriage”, “Young Mungo” and “Bolla”. There's a brilliant intensity to “Paradais” which kept me totally gripped. The heartbreaking narrative of “The Swimmers” so brilliantly shows the challenging process of ageing by reciting the facts of a difficult situation. “Build Your House Around My Body” is such an inventive puzzle of a novel I'm keen to revisit it. “The Colony” and “What Elena Knows” so poignantly show how the personal is political.

I'd enthusiastically recommend all these novels. I'd love to know if you've read any of them or if you're keen to read any of them. Also, what are the best books you've read in 2022 so far?

The Trees by Percival Everett

This novel is so pleasurable to read while also making a big impact! Percival Everett's “The Trees” has the structure of pulp crime fiction and a biting sense of humour that comes from sharply drawn characters. But it also seriously engages with the legacy of racially-driven lynching in American history and the persistence of racism in the country today. The authorities of Money, Mississippi are flummoxed when the bodies of a badly-beaten black man and a mutilated/castrated white man are discovered together. Shortly after another white man's body is found alongside the same corpse of the black man from the first murder scene. Special detectives Jim and Ed arrive to investigate though they are looked upon with suspicion as black men in an overtly racist community. What at first appears to be bizarre supernatural acts of revenge gradually shade into the surreal as the plot thickens and similarly violent crimes spring up around the country. The story is so well paced with short, punchy chapters and a vibrant cast that kept me enthralled until the ending. It also builds in meaning as a commentary on contemporary American life where “The image of the boy in his open casket awakened the nation to the horror of lynching. At least the White nation. The horror that was lynching was called life by Black America.”

Many sections of the novel include a heavy amount of dialogue which vibrantly brings the characters to life and evokes a lot of humour. Though many of these figures might feel over-the-top and satirical their blatant prejudice or weariness at having to navigate racism is also frighteningly realistic. There are multiple occasions where some white characters stop themselves from verbalizing racial epithets as they are aware of how they'll be perceived. This culminates in a hilariously accurate fictional speech by Trump commenting on the violence sweeping across the country. In a way the verbal exchanges almost feel like a documentary film where the characters reveal more about themselves than they intend to. There's also a warm sense of camaraderie amongst characters such as the two special detectives and other black/Asian authorities that investigate these crimes as they are all too aware about the unequal system they inhabit. However, this also serves as a basis for conflict as there are wildly divergent views about how to disrupt the legacy of racism which is an endemic part of American life.

One of the most crucial characters in this story is the spirited Mama Z who is 105 years old and has been building a list of every black individual who has been lynched ever since her father was hung in a racist attack. Part of this list (which numbers in the thousands) is reproduced in the text of the novel and builds upon the “say their names” declarations most recently promulgated by the Black Lives Matter movement. It's a testimony to the loss of each individual amidst numbers which could be reduced to statistics. This also highlights how this is an issue which has persisted throughout American history. A canny individual named Gertrude observes: “Everybody talks about genocides around the world, but when the killing is slow and spread over a hundred years, no one notices. When there are no mass graves, no one notices. American outrage is always for show. It has a shelf life.” This novel makes a powerful statement that these issues will persist outside of isolated bouts of protest. It conveys this not simply through the book's themes but in how Everett so skilfully balances an atmosphere of comedy and horror in the structure of the novel itself. I was so impressed by this book's gripping story as well as its serious message.

Mischief Acts by Zoe Gilbert

Herne the Hunter is a figure from English folklore who is first mentioned in Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor. It's claimed he has antlers growing from his head, rides through forests on a horse and causes mischief. Zoe Gilbert reimagines his origin story in the first lengthy section of this wildly imaginative novel which playfully weaves this fantastical figure into local history. Throughout time he “permeates both reality and the imagination”. In the late 1300s Herne is a favoured huntsman of Richard II, but violent events lead to his downfall and resurrection as a spirit pursued by the vengeful magician Bearman. Their drama plays out over the course of many centuries and into the future. Along the way, Herne takes many different forms and enters into the individual stories of an array of distinct figures throughout many years. It's utterly bewitching how this novel reshapes myths and history into a riveting series of tales.

In a sense this book is like a collection of short stories which vary from accounts of nymphs in the woods to the fire which destroyed The Crystal Palace (a famous historic exhibition hall) to an ecological breakdown which fractures our society. Alongside reading the testimonies of a fascinating range of individuals throughout history there's a great pleasure in discovering what form Herne will take when entering this new era and the wicked ways he will interfere with the characters' lives. Gilbert playfully describes the way he shape shifts from one time period to the next alternately appearing as a man, woman or a flock of birds. The many sections of this novel take different forms as well including prose narratives, journals, poetry and song. It's clever how the styles of writing switch to suit particular eras and characters where the form of writing itself expresses something about the dominant ideologies concerning religion or science. I also alternated reading a physical copy of “Mischief Acts” with listening to the audiobook in which the lyrics and poetry are performed. This richly added to the experience of reading this novel.

There were some sections of “Mischief Acts” I enjoyed more than others. Some of my favourite parts included a sweetly pious man who tries and fails to uphold good morals within his community in the 1600s, a man determined to photograph woodland-dwelling homunculi that come to life in the late 1800s and a couple wrestling with issues to do with infidelity and sexuality in the early 2000s. Certain sections seemed to contain more lively inbuilt conflict than others and also included a more creative integration of the figure of Herne. Perhaps a second reading would make some other parts of the book more distinct and memorable. Nevertheless, this is a sweeping deliciously-creative novel which I thoroughly enjoyed. The author also bookends these tales with brief lectures which consider the role of myth in society. It interestingly builds on the impression that through the act of storytelling imagination can shape reality. Gilbert has created a novel that is utterly unique, thoroughly pleasurable and leaves the reader with a lot to ponder.

The Ruin of All Witches by Malcolm Gaskill

Every year I look forward to browsing through the list of books nominated for The Wolfson History Prize. It's fun to pick a nonfiction book to dive into as I primarily read novels and this year is special as it's the award's 50th anniversary. In the past I've read some great titles such a biographies of Toussaint Louverture and Oscar Wilde as well as John Barton's absolutely fascinating account of “A History of the Bible”. This year I avidly read a true tale of mid-17th century puritanical fervour and paranoia in Springfield, a frontier town in New England. Malcolm Gaskill's “The Ruin of All Witches” is a fascinating account of a couple named Mary and Hugh Parsons who seemed set to start a flourishing family in the New World, but whose personalities and misfortunes led them to being marked as targets and tried as witches by their own neighbours.

My only previous knowledge of this area and time period comes from accounts of the Salem witch trials and acting in a production of Miller's 'The Crucible'. I mostly think of those horrific events as being the result of bouts of mass hysteria, but Gaskill gives an interesting elaboration on the economic, social and religious factors which contributed to the spate of witch trials that occurred during these decades in both England and the American colonies. The author gives a well judged overview of how large scale transformations in society directly contributed to the extreme actions of individuals. Though people in the small, rapidly-growing communities in New England had to rely on one another there was also a lot of envy and mistrust. Gaskill's research dramatically places us in the psychological mindset of these figures by drawing upon historical records and their testimonies.

Although this is a nonfiction account it reads at times very much like a novel and follows the arc of how this particular couple came to live in Springfield. There's even a descriptive list of the “principal characters” at the start of the book which is useful to refer back to while following this story. Though we know from the beginning of the book that they are fated, Gaskill compellingly traces the gradual breakdown of their relationship, incidents which led to their complete undoing and even how they come to suspect each other of making a pact with the devil. Working conditions for both women and men were very hard in these circumstances and the author gives a visceral understanding of this as well as how it could easily lead to simmering psychological turmoil. I felt a building sense of tension as the tale progressed as well as sympathy for the isolated figure of Mary who probably suffered from psychological issues which would today be labelled as mental health conditions.

With a modern mindset it's challenging to conceive that instances of spoilt pudding and discoloured milk could lead villagers to make serious accusations of witchcraft. However, add to that severe weather, devastating disease and a high death rate among children and the desperation to find a scapegoat becomes more clear. Though the accusations seem ridiculous and visions of the occult feel fanciful now, Gaskill hastens to remind us that “witchcraft was not some wild superstition but a serious expression of disorder embedded in politics, religion and law.” It's engaging how the author embeds us in this reality and the sobering result it produced for a couple in as precarious a position as Mary and Hugh. Though this book is rooted in a specific history, it also speaks more widely to how in times of great economic and social pressure people who differ from the norm are more likely to be unfairly prosecuted. This captivating historical account is a fitting memorial to one such instance of personal tragedy.

Bolla by Pajtim Statovci (translated by David Hackston)

It's challenging to read about a protagonist who does absolutely despicable things but who still comes across as sympathetic. Like many young gay men living in a predominantly homophobic society, Arsim gets pressured into entering a passionless marriage with a woman to appease his family. In the city of Pristina during early 1995 he has a fling with a handsome aspiring-doctor named Milos. This gives him a taste of a life separate from his poor neglected pregnant wife Ajshe. However, sexuality isn't the only thing preventing these men from openly declaring their love. Arsim is Albanian and Milos is Serbian. With xenophobia and open aggression towards Albanians on the rise, Arsim is painfully aware the country is reaching a crisis point. This breathtaking novel depicts his troubled journey grappling for an independent life beyond his dire circumstances and actively harming people along the way.

Statovci takes an interesting approach to showing the consequences of The Kosovo War not by portraying the battle itself but characters affected by it before and after the conflict. Where the novel “At Night All Blood is Black” powerfully portrayed the process by which a soldier can be dehumanized on the battlefield, “Bolla” shows how individuals come to lose their empathy for others from the strain of living under horrifyingly tense circumstances and living with shell shock in the aftermath of war. The author does this through three narrative strands which alternate between an account of Arsim's life, a series of cryptic journal entries (whose author and meaning becomes clear as the novel progresses) and short fable-like passages about negotiations between God and the Devil. This third strand poignantly emphasizes the grey line between good and evil. Though this novel begins as a tale of forbidden romance it gradually morphs into something more complex and sinister showing how the urge for survival can totally corrupt an individual.

There are many deeply thoughtful and poetic passages in this book. For instance, amidst Arsim and Milos' intimate conversations it's remarked how “reality follows the lies we tell ourselves.” Amidst the larger conflicts, this statement applies on both a personal and national level. I was also taken aback by several shocking moments in the novel which emphasize the pernicious danger which exists for gay men in both liberal and conservative countries. The risks come from both outside and inside the gay community as well. Statovci takes care to show not only the painful consequences and isolation felt by gay men but by other characters such as Arsim's long-suffering wife.

Yet, for all the deep meaning and emotional draw of this tale I did question some inconsistent aspects of the story. At one point a character goes to prison for quite a serious crime. However, a year spent in jail is basically portrayed as a relaxing reading holiday. Certainly some prisons are rougher than others but it seemed unrealistic that it was such a tranquil experience. Similarly, once this character leaves prison having spent a year in a solitary cell, it's noted that “It takes me a while before I get used to the lack of things to do, the absence of human touch”. Would this really be a new sensation after having spent so long behind bars? Perhaps details such as this have more to do with Hackston's translation from Finnish but I do wish some aspects of the story had been developed more. Nevertheless, the originality and complex pathos of this novel are so impactful and striking. Statovci is clearly an extremely talented young writer and I'm eager to read his previous two novels as well as anything else he publishes in the future.

Tomb of Sand by Geetanjali Shree (translated by Daisy Rockwell)

I have a natural affinity towards novels centred around older women. So it was wonderful immersing myself in Geetanjali Shree's International Booker Prize winning 730-page tale “Tomb of Sand” which revolves around an 80 year old woman who is determined to follow her desires and show that her life isn't over yet. It's remarked that “At eighty, Ma had turned selfish.” She's variously referred to as Ma, Amma, Mata-ji and Baji as this is a story which flits between many different perspectives. Even though she's the central protagonist, Ma has physically turned away from both the reader and everyone in her family for the first 175 pages of the novel. She's grieving for her lost husband and chooses not to converse with others anymore but people flock to her when they come to believe that her cane decorated with butterflies has magical properties. Much to her family's consternation, she launches out on her own before settling in at her daughter's home and embarking on a quest to visit her homeland that is now known as Pakistan. In the process, she revisits her painful childhood which was disrupted by Partition.

This is a book packed with a lot of detail which fully evokes the lives of this family as well as the sensory experience of Indian life. There are beautifully evocative and highly-descriptive passages about food and Ma's various saris. Some sections come close to poetry in capturing the feel of a moment such as making tea in the morning when Ma is immersed in “the sound of peace.” Not only is it a long novel but it requires a lot of concentration and patience to follow the shifting perspectives and details of the plot. Though sometimes I felt it got bogged down in excessive detail (such as whether trees should be pruned and Ma's constipation), it's consistently pleasurable and rewarding to take the time with this story as there is a lot of joy, humour and deep meaning to be found in these pages. The narrative flits to the perspective of a group of crows at one point to playfully comment upon the characters. In another section a group of the most renowned writers about Partition gather together to argue and disrupt a ceremony. The way in which the point of view shifts not only gives a rounded point of view on the story, but tests the meaning of boundaries. Are there really borders between family members, nations, genders, classes and religions? The novel inventively shows how these are social constructs which might physically constrict us and inhibit our empathy. We've been conditioned into believing they actually exist and here we witness Ma's one-woman rebellion against these imaginary dividing lines.

Both the subject and style of narrative reminded me a lot of Ali Smith's fiction as Shree's novel also contains a lot of wordplay and etymological examination. Sections of the story might stop to query the real meaning of a word as opposed to its common usage. For instance, “Understanding has become a much eroded, much abused word, to the point that its sense has come to mean to establish meaning, when its real sense is to displace meaning. To give you such a shock you see lightening.” These passages challenge us to consider how the language and terms we use often contain a deeper meaning than what's used in common parlance. Similarly, the style of narrative blithely challenges our common conception of a meticulously-ordered official history: “On that day, the exact date of which is of no matter, because this is not a history, just a herstory...” Its female-focused story hasn't often been recorded in the same way as other narratives about the past and it joyously breaks free to fashion its own idiosyncratic style of telling.

One of the most endearing and pivotal characters in this story is that of Rosie, Ma's longtime hijra friend whose presence often discomforts her family. They find it difficult to understand the pair's attachment to each other and the meaning of their deep connection only becomes clear later in the novel. But the way in which Rosie moves between presenting as female and male challenges some of the characters' ideological beliefs versus the reality of encountering someone who doesn't neatly fit into certain categories. However, this isn't an issue for Ma who accepts and values Rosie as an individual though Rosie is often scorned and discarded by the larger society. For a story that takes a leisurely pace at evoking the world of its characters, it certainly becomes thrillingly plot-driven towards the finale of the book. For this reason and more, despite its intimidating length and complexity this is a novel that I definitely recommend sticking with to the end.

Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart

As much as I loved Douglas Stuart's debut novel “Shuggie Bain” and its complex portrayal of a mother's addiction to alcohol, I was left longing to know a bit more about Shuggie himself and what it's like to be a young working class gay boy in Scotland. There are many touching scenes with Shuggie and it primarily focuses on his perspective, but it's really the story of his mum Agnes. So I was thrilled to find that “Young Mungo” is almost exclusively about Mungo himself. Superficially the two novels might seem similar as they include characters from the same socio-economic background in the 1990s who are also wrestling with issues to do with poverty, addiction and toxic masculinity. However, the characters in “Young Mungo” are distinct and deal with the challenges they face in very different ways. Another issue which is touched upon in “Shuggie Bain” that I wanted to read more about was the sectarian conflict in Glasgow between Catholics and Protestants. This clash is also brought centre stage in this new novel because Mungo is born into a Protestant family and gets drawn into the resulting street violence with Catholics. Moreover, it's the queer 'Romeo & Juliet' story I always longed to read because Mungo falls for Catholic teen James. The result is a beautiful and devastatingly moving romance that's also about a personal quest for acceptance in a community that cannot accept or allow difference.

The novel is cleverly framed around a fishing trip that Mungo's mother forces him to join in order to toughen him up. The two older men who lead him into the wilderness grow increasingly sinister and there is a building tension to this storyline intercut with scenes leading up to this expedition. Gradually we get to intimately know about the struggle of this young man who was named after the patron saint of Glasgow. Naturally Mungo is severely teased about his name. However, he's also made to feel severely self-conscious about his nature and mannerisms which don't conform to the macho walk of other “Proddie boys”. The author poignantly describes this pressure to conform: “This swagger was a uniform as ubiquitous as any football top. It had a gangly forward motion like a big-balled, bandy-legged weasel, head swung low, eyes always fixed on the prey ahead, ready to lunge with either a fist or a silver blade. Mungo tried his best to wear the uniform but he felt like an imposter. It was a poor imitation.” It's so powerful how the language Stuart uses in this description is laced with the potential violence simmering beneath the surface.

When this violence actually occurs in the story it's brutal and horrible, but it's certainly not simply for dramatic effect. Given the real life cruelty so many young men like Mungo have experienced and continue to experience this depiction feels both pointed and relevant. For some people reading a physical copy of the UK hardback in public will be a challenge in itself. The cover photograph by Wolfgang Tillmans which depicts two men kissing might stir adverse reactions from some who notice it and this potential might make some readers self-conscious about holding the book up, but I feel like this adds to the provocative statement this novel is making. For those who have trepidation about reading such a proudly gay story with an in-your-face cover I think it's also important to note that this is a novel that balances its sexual scenes with an exquisitely delicate tenderness which anyone can relate to. Equally, its violent scenes are balanced with endearing humour and a welcome message of hope. Nor does it simply present a cast composed of heroes and villains. Mungo's mother, brother and the men who take him into the wilderness are nuanced individuals whose cruel and unfortunate actions spring from a mixture of selfishness and the overwhelming pressure of their circumstances. It's also poignant how his spirited sister Jodie faces her own troubled journey as a clever young woman being used by a married man.

I have a particular personal appreciation for how this novel presents the way James, a rural gay teen in the 90s, longed for platonic connections with other gay guys and how he found this through a party line phone service. It was something I could really relate to having grown up in the same pre-internet era when I had to find innovative ways of making such connections with a dispersed small pool of individuals under the fear of being found out. Though there's so much about this novel's craft I admire, it's this kind of detail and the beauty of its central love story which really tugged at my heartstrings.

Build Your House Around My Body by Violet Kupersmith

What a wild ride! It's so tricky trying to sum up Kupersmith's “Build Your House Around My Body” which is part crime novel/part supernatural ghost story but it largely centres around Winnie, a young American woman with Vietnamese heritage who is living as an expat in Saigon. It's a tantalizing puzzle whose narrative moves backwards and forwards in time tracing the disappearances of two young women in two different time periods. However, even with all this switching between stories which gradually connect I always understood where I was and felt extremely engaged with whatever turns the tale took. It's a riveting story in terms of its atmospheric detail with scenes ranging from a team of ghost busters who visit a rubber tree plantation overrun with snakes to graphic instances of bodily transformation. Yet, there's also a side to the book rooted in concrete reality concerning the ways in which women's bodies are handled and controlled, the dilemma of people who don't fit neatly into a single national/racial identity and the reverberating effects of French colonialism in Vietnam. There's a sly sense of humour which is often present in both shocking plot twists and quiet observations about Winnie's experiences. All these aspects of the book are artfully intertwined to creatively build an utterly compelling and gloriously mischievous monster of a novel. 

One of my favourite scenes is when Winnie is taken around Saigon by her brother's medical school classmate Dr Sang. He feels obligated to do this and she feels obligated to join him so there's a delicious awkwardness as he takes her to tourist destinations he confidently assures her Americans want to see though he doesn't bother to enquire what she's interested in. This is also an extension of how out of place Winnie feels and she finds it difficult to find somewhere to live peacefully bouncing from co-habiting with intrusive relatives to despised colleagues. She's utterly uninterested in her teaching job and her students are equally apathetic. This builds such a compelling portrait of someone who is searching for a sense of belonging and a place to call home. Therefore, the wondrously weird and unconventional way in which her story plays out has a kind of logic to it. So I finished the book feeling fully satisfied. But I was also eager to go back to see more clearly how all the many pieces of the story fit together now that I could see the full picture. My only criticism of the novel is how it sometimes excessively lingered on characters' digestive issues, but maybe that's my own squeamishness. I know the many descriptions of bodies serve a purpose in showing how we inhabit them and are contained by their mechanisms. Overall, I appreciated how the story invokes folklore to show the ways in which people can be pushed out of their physical circumstances to inhabit more sinister forms of existence. 

Creatures of Passage by Morowa Yejide

I admire novels that can so seamlessly blend supernatural elements with the real world to give a new view. In “Creatures of Passage” factors such as hauntings, shapeshifting, the afterlife and psychic powers are presented as entirely natural states of being which are part of these characters' everyday reality. They are represented with as much weight as difficult concrete issues such as alcoholism, poverty, drug abuse, child abuse and racial inequality. By doing so Morowa Yejide conveys the powerful sense and viewpoint of a disenfranchised community while also relating an extremely compelling and creative story. The novel is set in the late 1970s and at its centre is Nephthys Kinwell who provides a form of taxi service in Washington DC. However, her passengers don't summon her with an app or hail her by the roadside. Instead she senses how they are at a volatile place and in need so she drives them from one place to the next. At the same time, she's burdened with the loss of her twin brother who was killed in a racist attack and she continuously drinks from a hip flask. When she gets an unexpected visit from her great-nephew Dash, she discovers there might be a way to save this boy from a dire fate that's been foretold and reconnect with her lost sibling Osiris. Along the way we meet a number of her distressed passengers and learn about a twisted individual who has been persistently preying on vulnerable children in the community. It's an extremely solemn and disquieting tale whose wondrous elements build their own logic to give an utterly unique perspective.

Small details such as how the names of places are described convey how these characters are part of America but feel separate from it. For instance, states are never simply named but are presented as the “Kingdom of Maryland” or the “Kingdom of Alaska”. This emphasises the sense that these are lands that have been colonized and it's described early in the novel how Nephthys' familial territories of the Gullah people has been permanently lost. Throughout the novel there's a persistent sense of how communities from the past have dwindled and that in the future there will be more marginalization: “there would be latter-day nationalists and citizen circles and patriots, who from the forgotten fiefdoms of the territories heard the claxon bells of an orange-skinned king. And they would clamor ever louder to end the bloodlines of others to stem the end of their own.” So the characters of this story exist in a present which straddles this line between a past and future where they aren't a part of the country's dominant narrative. Therefore it's meaningful how Yejide presents the way they dwell in a liminal space with their own beliefs and conception of reality which is separate from that of the larger nation. 

While I appreciated these powerful elements and felt completely drawn into this tale, I had some issues with certain aspects of the novel. Often as soon as mysteries such as Osiris' death or the unspeakable thing which Dash witnessed were presented the narrative explicitly details what happened. So at times the author over-explains parts which could have been simply referenced and more subtly referred to. I feel like it could have been more powerful if an understanding of these traumatic events were conveyed gradually. For instance, the way in which the ghost of a white girl exists in the trunk of Nephthys' car making subtle noises throughout the other characters' journeys had a more potent cumulative effect. Also I was less convinced by a character named Red's story which felt somewhat rushed and seemed more for the benefit of the overall plot than giving integrity to the sense of guilt he possesses. But these are relatively small quibbles I had with the book as in general I was very moved by the atmospheric and uncanny elements of the story. I especially admired the vengeful celestial journey of Osiris and the way in which Nephthys' niece Amber lives a kind of fairy tale existence tending large vegetables in the moonlight. Overall, reading this novel is a striking and memorable experience.

The Sentence by Louise Erdrich

It's difficult not to fall in love with a novel so firmly rooted in a love of books. Tookie, the protagonist of “The Sentence”, works in a Minneapolis bookshop. She's established a relatively stable life after extending her teenage habits into her 30s and serving time in prison for a bizarre crime. But her peaceful days are disturbed when a deceased customer named Flora starts haunting the bookshop. The specific sounds and messy habits of this woman were well known to Tookie so she's immediately able to identify whose invisible presence is browsing the bookshelves. Flora was a well-meaning and open-hearted individual who frequently spent time in the shop, but she possessed the “wannabe” characteristic of a white woman who likes to imagine she possesses Native American heritage. While raising a problematic attitude connected with liberal white society, this is also a playful and ingenious narrative twist on a familiar outdated trope of American storytelling which frequently invoked Indigenous stereotypes for the sake of comedy or horror – i.e. the common reference of “Indian burial grounds” in ghost stories. Tookie also frequently pokes fun at the pointed reasons which bring customers into the shop. Not only does this novel reference a lot of recent literature from Ferrante's “The Days of Abandonment” to “Black Leopard, Red Wolf” but it also includes idiosyncratic lists of books from 'Short Perfect Novels' to 'Tookie's Pandemic Reading'. In a way, this makes the experience of reading Erdrich's novel feel simply like a conversation with a fellow book lover. 

There's an easygoing familiarity to the characters whose daily trials we follow alongside Tookie's supernatural storyline. She comes into possession of the book Flora died reading and it might be cursed. The process of dispelling Flora's spectral presence is connected to this artefact which provides a new view of Indigenous history. However, this central part of the narrative becomes more of a side note when world events take over. Erdrich has stated in interviews how she wrote this novel “in real time” so when the pandemic hits it dominates the story as does the shocking occurrence of George Floyd's murder and the protests which ensue. This makes the narrative feel somewhat like a jostling ride or a lockdown diary. Other novels from Ali Smith's “Summer” to Sarah Moss' “The Fell” have been based around the pandemic, but incorporated the fact of it more intrinsically into the story. In Erdrich's novel it jumps in abruptly. Though part of me wished for more cohesion and a neater arc I appreciated how this made a suitably open-ended tale which captures the ongoing uncertain nature of our times. It also carries on political themes which can be seen throughout the novel and shows how history is an ongoing story. I guess that's another reason why this book feels more like it's opening a dialogue rather than creating a self enclosed narrative. It makes me highly conscious of the fact that any novel that begins in late 2019 will have to wrestle with the fact of the coming pandemic or comment upon it in some way. 

Salt Lick by Lulu Allison

I sometimes feel skeptical about fiction set in the near future which presents how our society might devolve and disintegrate in dystopian ways. Is this really what will happen? Ishiguro cannily avoided going into much detail about his projected future in “Klara and the Sun” by showing it through a limited perspective. Alternatively, one of the reasons Diane Cook's “The New Wilderness” didn't work for me was because the way her society had reorganized itself due to dwindling resources felt unrealistic. Lulu Allison takes an inventive method with her narrative which describes a near future England with coastal erosion, populations concentrated in cities, racist/homophobic clans, increasingly devastating pandemics and a United Kingdom that's disbanded. One could easily argue that this is only a lightly exaggerated version of the country as it currently exists. Given the way things so rapidly changed because of the recent pandemic it sometimes feels like the author is commenting on what's happening now: “all of them, young and old, know that the process of getting back to normal is still a long way off. It is called up like a spell, or a prayer, the earnest expression of a shared desire that is experienced now mostly as a matter of faith rather than expectation.” The story shows a gradual acknowledgement that whether we like it or not our society has been substantially altered because of viruses and climate change. Therefore, a collective desire for a return to a simpler recent past is a wish that probably won't ever be fulfilled. 

Alongside the primary story about a rural boy named Jesse and a young woman from London named Isolde, there are poetic descriptions of the transforming landscape and a chorus of feral cows who collectively comment upon the action. In this way the author creatively and energetically presents individuals searching for a sense of home and communities struggling to decide how to organize themselves within an increasingly strained environment. A pleasantly surprising aspect of this novel is the way that Jesse and Isolde's stories intersect with each other. Because the narrative switches back and forth between their journeys, the author manipulates their relative time periods and plots out when details are divulged to produce a wonderfully dramatic effect. It gripped me and allowed me to feel an emotional attachment to a story which sometimes meandered into the pastoral. However, it never grew too ponderous as idyllic descriptions of country life were balanced by inevitable conflict - even within an intentional community that strives towards harmony and self-sufficiency within the larger society. Initially I felt more engaged with Jesse's story but, as the novel progresses, Isolde came to feel like the most developed character. Other characters such as Jada and Lee don't feel like they get quite enough space in the narrative to become wholly rounded. However, this didn't detract from my overall enjoyment of the suspenseful aspect of this tale. 

I especially appreciated how the author occasionally interjected short sections which describe the human history behind a decayed part of the physical landscape whether it be a crumbling house or an abandoned object. This gave small glimpses into other stories which briefly touch the main characters' narrative and the way different people are impacted by larger changes in the world. It's also effective the way the author presents the trauma and ongoing grief people feel: “Everyone carries these snap shots, these mosaic memories of the dead and dying.” There's a building sense of the strain and fear people feel which leads to groups of people growing increasingly distanced from each other and breakdowns in communication: “These rare settlements and the cities survive, by mutual consent, in avoidance of each other.” Inevitably, this leads to serious conflict which culminates in rustic warfare within the story. It shows how the author is in some ways more concerned with demonstrating the psychological and social effects of the challenges we face today rather than speculating on what society might look like in the coming decades. In this way, the novel is both absorbing and provokes a lot of quiet reflection. 

The Bread the Devil Knead by Lisa Allen-Agostini

It can sometimes be difficult for people on the outside of an abusive relationship to understand why someone would remain in such a dangerous situation. Books such as “When I Hit You” and “In the Dream House” have provided dynamic points of view exploring this question which encompasses much more than toxic romance. Factors such as money, gender, culture, religion, sexuality and psychology all play into why someone doesn't simply leave their home after being degraded, hit and/or raped. Alethea, the protagonist of Lisa Allen-Agostini's novel “The Bread the Devil Knead”, gives another important viewpoint. She's a Trinidadian woman who manages a clothing boutique in Port of Spain. She's about to turn forty and she has lived with Leo for over five years. He's a former locally-famous musician who has come to regularly beat Alethea and controls her to the point where she has little social contact outside of work. Though she's a deeply private person, Alethea decides to share the nature of her abuse with a colleague one day. This confession combined with the return of two key figures from her past and a deadly attack outside her shop create subbstantial changes in her life. 

I immediately warmed to Alethea's independent nature and reserved sensibility. She frequently loses herself in books and it's enjoyable reading her commentary on several different authors she's read. Though I grew as concerned as the people around her who see her bruises as signs of an abusive relationship, I gradually become more aware why the question of leaving Leo wasn't so simple for her. On the surface she's cognizant of the social stigma around single women: “people does get on like if you, as a woman, who have no man, you not good enough, like you's not a real woman. So if is either stay with a asshole or have no man at all, I rather stay with a asshole.” However, there are deeper factors to do with her past being abused by her mother and an uncle which factor into why she reacts to being beaten and controlled in the way that she does. Scenes from Alethea's childhood are interspersed with the present story to show how they continue to impact her. Readers should be aware that there are some disturbing scenes of abuse in the book. They aren't there to shock but to show how it affects Alethea's relationship with her own body, men and sex. I appreciated the way in which the author artfully arranged these scenes within the novel to make this larger statement. 

There are also some surprising revelations and occurrences in the story which make it a thoroughly dramatic and engrossing read. At one point, Alethea wryly comments that her life has more twists than a soap opera. Yet, I fully bought her character because her distinct personality and the tone of her Trinidadian voice felt so real. At times this meant the narrative became a little too overloaded with her recounting small unnecessary details. However, it also allows her space to reflect and point to larger issues such as colourism on the island: “Is still a kind of racial, colour-conscious place where people who look like me does get through when people who look like he doesn't get one shit.” The way in which people who have different skin tones are treated in subtly different ways was also skilfully incorporated into the story. It presents a complex portrait of a community. But the focus of this novel is always centred on Alethea herself. By the end of the book I became aware of how something as simple as her choice of surname could become so loaded with deeper implications and meaning. It's a moving depiction of one woman's difficult journey to independence. 

Companion Piece by Ali Smith

Amidst the tumult of the past four years it's been a balm when a new Ali Smith novel has annually appeared to herald in a new season, a new story and a new encounter with this author's inspiring imagination. “Autumn”, “Winter”, “Spring” and “Summer” have provided an invaluable frame for our recent times. So I felt worried when I read the beginning of her new novel “Companion Piece” which is described as being adjacent to the quartet or in the same family as this recent group of books. A character named Sandy states how “I didn't care what season it was... Everything was mulch of a mulchness to me right then. I even despised myself for that bit of wordplay, though this was uncharacteristic, since all my life I'd loved language, it was my main character, me its eternal loyal sidekick. But right then even words and everything they could and couldn't do could fuck off and that was that.” Oh no! Is Ali feeling so discouraged by the ongoing chaos in the world that she's feeling depleted? Well, frankly, who isn't? But, of course, the wondrous and surprising tale which continues on from this point shows that this author's creativity is still very much engaged and vibrantly active. 

Sandy Gray is an artist whose elderly father is unwell and in hospital but it's “not the virus.” Visiting him is difficult as this takes place in 2021 while the pandemic is still causing restrictions when entering hospitals and what contact is allowed. She's also desperate not to get sick herself and inadvertently pass it onto her father so Sandy is limiting her interactions with other people. However, an unexpected call from an old classmate that she never even liked provokes a series of events leading to Sandy's house being colonized by a family that disrupts what's become her cautiously reserved existence. Those familiar with Smith's work will know that unexpected guests frequently appear and this novel is partly about what it means to let other people enter your life even when you don't want to interact with them. Given how isolated and distanced we've been from each other over recent years, this notion of letting others in is a challenge we all need to think about. 

The invaders are not only individuals, but ghosts from the past. At one point a medieval girl and her bird come to steal Sandy's boots. Does this actually occur or is it a dream? That's not the question which this narrative is concerned with because “If any of this ever happened, if either of them ever existed. One way or another, here they both are.” Many more fascinatingly strange things occur over the course of the story as we're led to question not only the boundaries between people, communities and nations but between one period of time and another. A clock smashes and forms back into a whole. People are being categorized, shepherded into confined spaces and branded in different ways today just as they were hundreds of years ago. The shape and form may change but it's the same old story. This book is partly about that constancy, but also the light and dark which can be found in all these experiences. We may call the leaves of a tree green but they encompass a range of shades and an infinite variety of colours. This is what Smith's fiction celebrates. 

We follow Sandy's development as disruptions in her life cause her to open up, consider new possibilities and have new encounters. Meeting someone can entirely change someone's point of view. Companionship can be found in a simple “hello.” Sprightly dialogue is interspersed with poetry analysis in a way which sparks unanticipated connections and new meaning. If we're attentive enough to the world around us we can see the mechanisms at play in language, in the ways we are governed and in nature. As in the Seasonal quartet, there are also references to specific political and social events to not only testify to what occurred in 2021, but remind us of what really happened because so many news stories are headlines one day and forgotten the next. Sandy's journey doesn't only bring her to one destination but allows her to see all the doors which are open to her. The novel beautifully shows that it's okay to take time to be alone just as it's okay to reach out to form a new connection, but we mustn't allow ourselves to become numb to what's occurring around us or the possibilities available to us every day.