Nightcrawling by Leila Mottley

There's a geeky pleasure in discovering connections between authors so when Ruth Ozeki described in her speech after winning this year's Women's Prize for Fiction that her student Leila Mottley's “Nightcrawling” was just published, it made me even more eager to read this debut novel. It was a delight to find that it's a book worthy of all the buzz it's been getting as it is so moving, impactful and skilfully written – especially for an author who has only just turned twenty years old. It follows the story of Kiara who is seventeen at the start of the novel and lives with her brother Marcus in a run-down apartment complex in Oakland, California. They're in danger of being evicted because of rent increases and it entirely falls to Kiara to gather the money since her father is dead, her mother is absent and Marcus is more focused on trying to launch a music career rather than finding paid work. Since she didn't finish high school and doesn't have a resume, her options are extremely limited and she becomes a prostitute. However, when she's cornered by the police she's ensnared in a situation where she is frequently taken advantage of and abused. The narrative steeps us in Kiara's perspective and journey through this harrowing situation in a way which is so vivid and striking, but also artfully illuminates wider issues concerning the danger and violence experienced by many Black girls and Black women in America.

Part of what makes this such an arresting tale is that it is based on a real case from recent years and it's one that Mottley read about when she was Kiara's age. Being a character so close to her age and one who is from the same city gives a real authenticity to the voice of the character. She's entirely fictional but the way the author portrays her complex psychology and development makes her multi-dimensional. More than this it's written in a way which highlights the many issues at stake which could lead a young American girl to being the victim of such an atrocious crime. We are entirely locked in Kiara's point of view yet can see from what she witnesses how the police systematically abuse their power and the difficulty of making the perpetrators accountable. Through her struggle we're made aware why so many cases of abuse go unreported and aren't brought to justice and how there isn't enough support for the most vulnerable citizens in this country. Additionally, the story shows how the innate intelligence and artistic talent of many young people isn't developed because of the circumstances they struggle under and the concept that if something isn't profitable it isn't worth pursuing.

It's also a gripping story for many reasons beyond the shocking way in which its protagonist is a victim of sex trafficking. Kiara naturally feels resentment and anger towards her mother for making enormous mistakes. There is a confrontation later on in the book which is so heartbreaking and powerful in terms of how this daughter and mother gradually understand one another and connect over the awful decisions people have to make under desperate circumstances. There is also drama in the way Kiara must reckon with her brother, uncle and a trans woman named Camila who is also a prostitute. The novel dynamically conveys how their conflict with each other primarily stems from larger issues and pressure beyond their control, but they are also individuals with their own idiosyncrasies and flaws. Of course, it's also utterly compelling how the central drama of the story and the build up to a grand jury hearing plays out.

Mottley is also a poet and I think the way she portrays Kiara's psychological journey is enhanced by using a form of language which becomes somewhat abstract and ethereal at times. As her situation worsens, Kiara naturally begins to disassociate from her surroundings and retreat into herself. The narrative reflects this and there are some powerful passages where we feel both this girl's distress and her sense of mentally leaving her body in order to survive. However, it's important to note there is a specificity of detail and description so I never felt lost or confused as to what was happening from scene to scene. There is also a wonderful sense of humour and comradeship or rivalry amongst the characters so they feel fully rounded and real. Sections which could come across as overwhelming and crushingly serious are lightened by banter between friends, a neighbouring boy Kiara looks after and her lawyer. The love which Kiara continues to maintain for the world around her and the people she cares about makes this an uplifting story as well as one which has an urgent message.

Fight Night by Miriam Toews

Nine year old Swiv lives at home with her mother and grandmother after being suspended from school for fighting. Her grandmother Elvira has taken on the responsibility of her education though her methods of teaching are certainly unconventional, idiosyncratic and funny. Swiv's mother is frequently overwhelmed as she's heavily pregnant, struggling to find work as an actor and grappling with her own mental health issues. Since Swiv's father is absent, this novel takes the form of a letter she's writing to him (although most of the book settles down into a more standard account of events as she experiences them.) Each of these women write their own letters – not so much to communicate with someone but to try to articulate what they want and understand their own experiences. Their personalities vibrantly come to life as we learn about the intimate details of their days, the story behind the father's disappearance and their opinions of the world around them.

I developed such an affection for these three characters. Each is fiery and feisty in her own way. So the way they bounce off from each other is often hilarious. It's particularly moving how the narrative is mediated through Swiv's perspective. She's still a child but on the cusp of maturity so her choice of words often mimics her mother and grandmother. Equally her point of view is heavily influenced by them while also showing her own unique disposition. Given the big personalities around her there is a certain amount of grandstanding just to make herself heard. It's not surprising she's always determined to win King of the Castle when playing with her contemporaries because for her it isn't just a game. It's clever how Toews shows the way that each character may be called daughter, mother, grandmother because of their ages and positions in life, but these roles become interchangeable as they alternately nurture and educate one another. In this way none of them fit into a neat category so Swiv is naturally resentful when figures in authority at a hospital treat her dismissively and tell her to get a doughnut. At the same time, we see how she's undergoing an important stage of her development and maintains a naivety especially when meeting a cool older boy she wants to impress.

Though the circumstances are quite different from Toews' previous novel “Women Talking” this new book is a natural follow up. It poignantly shows the particular conversations which arise between women in an all-female space. Internal and external conflicts arise, but there is a genuine sense of bonding and love present as well. Though the trio in this story sometimes bicker and must negotiate how to co-exist in a single household they also have a fierce loyalty to each other. In a sense, it's them versus the world. Toews shows the way each of them are involved in their own particular fights with themselves, certain individuals and different institutions. The struggle is real and it's a daily challenge just to muster the spirit to keep going: “Fighting is so hard and yet we're never supposed to stop.” This novel movingly demonstrates how life is worth the battle and how family can inspire you to tough out the hardest challenges.

The Country Girls by Edna O'Brien

It's exciting reading such an influential book for the first time, but it's also a curious experience since radical elements of the story can already feel familiar. I've read a good amount of recent Irish fiction. So a novel about an Irish girl coming of age, experiencing the oppressive forces of the patriarchy/conservative religion, moving from the country to an independent life in the city and engaging in a romantic relationship with an older man doesn't feel that revolutionary now. But, at the time of its initial publication in 1960, the story presented in “The Country Girls” stirred a lot of controversy as it was condemned by some politicians and religious leaders who even went to the extreme of burning copies of the book.

I can only admire how Edna O'Brien broke boundaries at the time to represent young female experience in her protagonist of Caithleen “Cait” Brady. It's arrestingly portrayed how she must live with a father prone to violent alcohol-fuelled outbursts and amongst a community of men who expect kisses (or more) in exchange for favours. Though her academic prowess earns her a promising scholarship to a convent school she discovers she must contend with mean-spirited nuns and stomach-turning meals (stringy meat and sodden cabbage). Caithleen also develops a romantic infatuation with a figure nicknamed Mr. Gentleman who is married and grooms her for a future affair from the age of fourteen. Together with her longtime friend (frenemy) Bridget “Baba” she moves to Dublin to live for the first time as independent young women. These experiences are vividly conveyed throughly sharply-rendered details and emotional descriptions. So, even if such a storyline may no longer feel entirely new, it remains an utterly captivating tale that's brilliantly written.

Part of the magic of this book is in the minutiae of Caithleen's recollections whether it's glimpsing a woman in a striking sequin dress, carrying a cherished tea service or kindly receiving an iced bun when she's experiencing despair/grief. These are the kinds of small things which resonate with deep personal meaning and serve as important memories so that in turn they also feel special to the reader. Something such as a layer of dust on a cup of milk can feel so real it's like I've experienced it myself. The characterisation is equally as vivid in how even characters who are vile come across as complex and like someone we're likely to encounter on the street. I found it informative the way O'Brien describes the hierarchy amongst the nuns at the school based on their relative education and family status so even these predominantly overbearing figures came across as well rounded. Though Baba is snobbish and acts cruelly towards Caithleen their friendship feels real and layered. Both girls have distinct personalities with positive and negative traits. Baba's relationship with her parents hints at her motivations and why she might act so mean. Most poignantly, like all long standing friendships, their companionship runs hot and cold over the course of many years.

It's also completely understandable why Caithleen would be so enamoured with Mr. Gentleman who seems to be going through something of a mid-life crisis, but their secret affair is very ominous since it's unlikely this pairing will end in happiness. I found myself simultaneously swept up in Caithleen's young romance and extremely nervous about where their passion might lead. The way in which a tenderness builds between them and the awkwardness of other dates Caithleen goes on is so involving that I raced through reading this story. It's a testament to her power as a writer that O'Brien can make characters and subject matter that now feel well-tread feel entirely new and gripping. The only other novel I've read by her is the relatively recent “The Little Red Chairs” and the fact that O'Brien continues to break new ground by writing about politically-contentious subject matter is so impressive. I'm now eager to read the next two books in 'The Country Girls Trilogy' as well as her other work.

Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh

Rape... murder... masochism... cannibalism... mutilation... sexual debauchery... incest... body horror... regurgitated sausages. Welcome to the medieval world as presented by Ottessa Moshfegh! Those who aren't instantly put off by such sordid elements will probably find that an over-indulgence in such bombastic grotesquery comes to feel humorous and absurd. Maybe it enhances rare moments of tenderness such as when a servant girl longingly dreams of her lost love or when a grieving beaten boy who never knew his mother suckles the empty breast of a kindly old woman. Or perhaps this fictional reimagining of past horrors comes to feel like a distorted mirror of the present where the majority toil under increasingly strained conditions while society's elite live in excess. Or could it just be there for shock value?

Whatever your interpretation of Moshfegh's writing it certainly inspires plenty of discourse. Her debut “Eileen” earned her credentials with multiple book award nominations and her musings of a sleepy heroine in “My Year of Rest and Relaxation” became a big bestseller. “Lapvona” has already received a range of praise and damnation in literary circles. There is a mesmerising quality to this author's storytelling which drew me into the world of its naïve adolescent protagonist Marek. At first this son of a shepherd feels sympathetic with his unfortunate ugliness, twisted spine and mop of untended red hair. However, his pitiful desire for his father's punishment soon gives way to lowkey aggression and cruelty as he passively listens to the pleas of a dying boy. Over the course of a year he finds himself in a surprisingly close position to the town's lord and governor Villiam.

Marek is central to this story of a feudal land set in an unspecified place and in some archaic time period where peasants toil the land and live with the hope that their suffering will earn them points in the afterlife. But it's just as much a tale of this town's range of other inhabitants and the narrative frequently shifts to follow their points of view. We gradually discover hidden familial relations and a sinister scheme which drives the general population to starvation while Villiam indulges in his endless gluttony and demand for constant puerile and perverse entertainment. There's also the sometimes-blind elderly Ina who is called a witch, converses with birds and served as a wet nurse to most of the village. Later on she even helps “prepare” the men to repopulate the area. And a mysterious tongueless woman is rumoured to be carrying the new son of God and this disrupts the unequal order of this viciously brutal community. The way in which the reader is privy to information which certain characters are ignorant about creates an excellent feeling of suspense within this horrifyingly vivid story.

Randomly, I recently watched John Waters' film 'Desperate Living' for the first time. There are strange parallels to “Lapvona” in that both splinter away from reality to indulge in a carnival of debauchery centred around an imaginary feudal community. In the movie a mentally ill suburban housewife and her murderous nurse seek refuge in a shantytown ruled by an evil queen similar to Villiam in her insatiable appetite and pleasure in the suffering/humiliation of her subjects. Moshfegh and Waters make surprising but natural bedfellows in their invocations of immoral worlds filled with perversity and wild drama. Perhaps their rebellion against established orders show how continuous imbalances in society drive people to follow their most depraved instincts. Or that neither logic or faith hold up against the wilfulness of human experience which is always centred around the self. Towards the end of this novel, Moshfegh wryly comments “Right or wrong, you will think what you need to think so that you can get by.” Whether you applaud her, cancel her or allow yourself to be entertained by her writing, this is a writer who is unafraid of sticking a pitchfork in conformity.

Appliance by J.O. Morgan

I fondly remember being a child and going on the Disney World ride 'Carousel of Progress' which demonstrates through a singing audio-animatronic American family how technology has benefited and improved the lives of each successive generation. We can get so caught up in the belief that “progress” will be nothing but an asset for us as individuals and as a species. Certainly people in the past had poorer living standards and worse medical treatment – but how does progress impact the planet? In what ways does it bind us to capitalism? And how does it change our sense of being unique individuals? These are questions at the heart of J.O. Morgan's novel “Appliance”. Through a series of vignettes we follow the development of a device which can instantly transport objects (and eventually people) from one place to another. Think Wonka Vision but without the shrinkage. We follow the reactions and the impact it has upon a series of characters who are like bystanders to this march of progress which demands they integrate this device into their lives whether they like it or not. Though this may sound like a book with a Luddite agenda, it's more an emotional and philosophical examination about how we can get caught up driving forward our society more for the sake of it rather than to benefit the people who inhabit it.

Since each chapter moves to an entirely new set of characters the novel demands patience as it's necessary to reorientate to a new situation. But there is a pleasure in discovering how the technology has moved on and the way it is affecting the lives of these different individuals. From the outside one naturally wants to marvel at a rapidly-improving device which begins by transporting a simple plastic spoon and progresses to the point where it can zap whole cities to the moon. However, what's so clever about this novel is how it focuses on the dangers, frustrations and bewilderment it causes to those who live with it. As the device advances the infrastructure around everyone deteriorates to the point where they become wholly reliant upon this technology. Every resource must be mined to feed it even as most people increasingly don't understand it.

The story also teases out questions of authenticity. It addresses how we are biological beings which continuously regenerate: “The person we were yesterday is not composed of exactly the same stuff as the person we are today. Just as we can't be sure we are the same person who wakes up each morning, unless we stay awake all through the night.” If we can be wholly mapped and recreated elsewhere what aspect of our being is really individual? In each successive story the characters come to feel less authentically themselves and less intelligent. Those who protest against the system which demands they use this device find that their objections are met with indifference. Those who infiltrate the system find themselves being drawn into becoming a part of it. Everyone else blithely goes along with it though the quality of their lives doesn't necessarily improve. Though the premise of this story is like something you'd find in science fiction it feels eerily relatable and relevant to the world today. I got the creepy sense from reading this novel that technology would never need to become self-aware in order to enslave us as we're unwittingly allowing it to control us already.

Glory by NoViolet Bulawayo

It's quite a challenge for a new book to use a device from a classic novel in a way which feels both relevant and entirely fresh. George Orwell's “Animal Farm” brilliantly satirised the Russian Revolution of 1917 and Stalinism in the Soviet Union by anthropomorphizing barnyard animals who fight to free themselves from the tyranny of their human farmer only to find themselves ensnared in an equally oppressive system. At first I felt skeptical that NoViolet Bulawayo used this same format by applying it to the 2017 Zimbabwean coup d'etat, but as I continued reading I discovered how this is a forceful and heartfelt way to update and expand upon Orwell's allegorical novella.

In Bulawayo's story Old Horse has been ruling the country of Jidada for forty years until he is suddenly ousted from power and a new regime takes control. Though the general population is presented with a simulacrum of a #freefairncredibleelection not much has changed where those in power rule with an iron fist, the economy deteriorates and many ordinary citizens continue to suffer. In doing so she captures the way language and political rhetoric can be weaponized to control a population and shore up power in our modern era. It's a book that succeeds in how it refers to specific historical events and describes the way all systems of government can abuse their power. It's a sweeping epic that evokes the plight of a nation and an intensely personal story about an expatriate's return to the chaos of her country. It brings to the centre the lives of women and girls who struggle under an oppressive patriarchal system. Moreover, it's a funny, heartbreaking, horrifying and utterly bewitching tale that I fell in love with.

There are many innovative elements in this novel which creatively convey clear points and complex ideas. Bulawayo skilfully utilizes repetition in a number of ways. In the name of the country itself it's frequently emphasized how it's called “Jidada with a -da and another -da” which expresses the idea of national pride, an emphasis on the patriarchy and a defiant stance to the international community about the way the country's name is pronounced. Certain idioms and figurative language such as the phrase “tholukuthi” and “those who really know about things said...” create a sense of collective identity and common ways of speaking as the characters try to clarify their situation. There are also a few instances of pages which are dominated by certain words or phrases being repeated such as “I can't breathe” when the citizens witness the video of George Floyd's murder and the word “take” flows across a page in an incessant stream as an outcry about how leaders have repeatedly stollen from the country. Sometimes the text is crossed out to show how certain characters manipulate language or how the country is regressing such as the chapter heading “PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE, PAST”. Also, the image of red butterflies recurs throughout the novel as things of beauty which also appear to be dangerous and/or bloody and they eventually come to represent something specific on the nation's new flag.

I've always been doubtful about novels whose primary mode is satire because it feels like if you take an ironic stance to ridicule something it's very difficult to also express any kind of emotional sincerity other than disdain. However, “Glory” maintains a fine balance between hilariously skewering the leaders of this nation (including the “liberator” who pettily stresses about the amount of followers he has on social media and falls in love with his Siri) and expressing the earnest concerns of those suffering under a tyrannical leadership. It does so through the speeches delivered by particular individuals and political parties as well as the online discussion which rages while the country physically deteriorates. There's a large cast of vibrant characters who take the forms of different animals that are at turns hilarious, cunning in their doublespeak and sympathetic in their struggle. Together they express a palpable anger at clear acts of greed and abuses of power as well as the fragmentation which prevents the general population from overturning a corrupt system.

I was a big fan of Bulawayo's debut novel “We Need New Names” and it's so impressive how she's crafted an ambitious second novel which is very different from that first book, but stays true to the heart of her subject matter. Both books speak from the stance of a distinct individual while also voicing the concerns of the collective. In “Glory” there's the well-timed introduction of a character named Destiny who abruptly left Jidada a decade ago and has returned to reconnect with her mother and discover the truth about her family's past. She gives a much-needed moral centre to the novel as well as expressing the tension between an individual's drive for self preservation and a sense of obligation to her family and community. Through her we feel the emotional immediacy of this tale which tears off the mask concealing political hypocrisy and how every nation struggles to come together for the collective good.

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.