23 Classics to Read in 2023

I enjoy making a New Year's resolution to challenge myself to read or reread some classics that I've never got around to. As encouragement I make a reading list for the year inspired by certain books celebrating an anniversary based on initial publication date or an author's birthday or a new reprint. You can watch me discuss these 23 books here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28oc5Vel0lA

The titles I've chosen for this year's list range from novels first published two hundred years ago to fifty years ago. Certain books such as “Around the World in Eighty Days”, “The Good Soldier Svejk”, “Catch 22” and “Sula” are celebrated and widely read classics. Some include less well known titles from famous authors such as Mary Shelley, Thomas Hardy, Joseph Conrad, Willa Cather and Aldous Huxley. Some such as “Ourika”, “Thy Neighbour's Wife” and “Bobbin Up” are now more obscure books due for a resurgence. And others are from authors whose work is being reprinted for the first time in many years.

I've tried to include a diversity of titles so that some will probably be familiar while others might be from authors you've never encountered before. I discovered some surprising connections when researching my list such as Virginia Woolf's short story which is a precursor to her tremendous novel “Mrs Dalloway”, the influence Jaroslav Hasek had on Joseph Heller and how a Willa Cather novel greatly inspired F. Scott Fitzgerald in writing “The Great Gatsby”. It's wonderful how reading classic titles will naturally lead you on to finding other titles to enjoy till literary history begins to resemble a patchwork quilt of connected books.

My Top Books of 2022

Here are my top 10 books of 2022! A video is up on my YouTube channel discussing all these titles and why they made the tippity top of my year's reading pile: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2R6z-i1zDws

As usual, I followed a lot of book prizes this year. The winner of the Booker Prize ended up being one of my favourite books. It was a thrill to be able to attend the award ceremony and learn that Shehan is a fan of my YouTube channel. It was wonderful to be able to interview Joyce Carol Oates again this year about her most recent novel as well as the new film adaptation of her novel “Blonde”. Of course, a real highlight of the year was having two books of my own published. I was commissioned to write these titles suggesting 50 great romances and 50 great mystery novels. It was a fun project and they’ve been turned into two lovely little books.

I read around a hundred books in the past year but these are some which have made the most impact. From a mother struggling to find out how her daughter died to a recently deceased war photographer seeking his killer, these are gripping tales with characters embroiled in emotionally dramatic journeys. Many portray historic battles and wars through a personal lens. Others depict the deep personal impact chronic illness has upon the lives of families and lovers. These books bring to life the unique personality of characters caught in wide scale social and societal change. Some draw on the models of classic literature while others seem to invent their own form of storytelling.

A few such as “Demon Copperhead” and “Nights of Plague” stretch to hundreds of pages while others such as “Elena Knows” and “The Swimmers” are so slender they could be read in a day. There are scenes of heartbreaking cruelty as well as exquisite tenderness in novels such as “Bolla”, “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” and “Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies” which stick out in my memory. Books like “The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida” and “The Colony” made me laugh as much as they made me cry. Some I read at the beginning of the year, but I only read “Trust” a few weeks ago and I was so struck by its inventive structure to reexamine the way we view history, capitalism and those in power.

Have you read any of these? What are the best things you've read this year?

Cocoon by Zhang Yueran (translated by Jeremy Tiang)

“Cocoon” begins with a tantalizingly eerie, almost gothic, setting where a young woman named Li Jiaqi returns to her grandfather's palatial house in the winter. Here “Great swaths of snow are coming down now. As if God were flinging back at humanity every letter we've ever sent him, ripped into tiny pieces.” Not only is there a layer of snow but “This ancient country was under a thick layer of dust, and leaving would feel like being cleansed.” Her respected and reclusive grandfather is seriously ill. While staying with him she goes to see Cheng Gong, a childhood friend who she hasn't spoken to in some time. As they recollect and sift through the past, the narrative alternates between their perspectives and the troubled lives of the proceeding generations are gradually unwound. Their parents and grandparents were traumatized or perished amidst the strident political conflicts of the previous decades and the Chinese Cultural Revolution. However, Jiaqi and Gong were never informed about exactly what happened or the truth about the bloody events their families lived through. As wilful and defiant children in the 1980s they felt their lives were hampered by seismic events of the recent past, but only now that they're older can they get a better understanding of how their families were impacted by this history.

Though there is a sharp contrast between Jiaqi's stoic grandfather and Gong's grandfather who remained in a coma for many years, they are equally distant and inaccessible to their grandchildren. The generational schism between the grandparents and parents is also palpable. But it's difficult for Jiaqui and Gong to understand where the blame is located and who the real victims were. They embark upon their own investigations as “I definitely had a strong desire to walk among these adults and take on their burden of culpability. Maybe because my life was so empty, I needed to enter a world that didn’t belong to me in order to find meaning.” Neither of them have been able to find positive purpose or success in their lives. In a sense they are haunted by the recent history which neither is able to access or fully understand. However, through their discussions they gradually piece together some aspects of the past.

I enjoyed the moodiness of this novel and the way it portrays these generational divides especially when the country has undergone such violent recent change. It reminded me somewhat of the Chilean novel “The Remainder” in how it depicts how children can never fully access the traumatic history which has inadvertently shaped them. Jiaqi continuously has nightmares about matryoshka dolls which seems an apt symbol as no matter how many containers of the past she and Gong open they aren't ever able to get to the true meaning of what preceded them. There's also a bitterness to these wilful individuals which is endearing in a nihilistic way as they believe “Memory is selective, and my memory would rather cling to suffering.” There's a memorably horrific scene where Jiaqi discovers a fetus in a toilet, but this is questioned as it might have been something she invented. In contrast to the central characters are Jiaqi's cousin Peixuan who is diligent, honours her parents/grandparents and started a new life in America but is scarred from an early encounter with Gong. And there is Jiaqi's father's mistress Wang Luhan who is a hard won survivor. While these characters keep an eye on the future, Jiaqi and Gong are determined to stew in the past. This story presents a complex puzzle of these characters lives with pieces which seem to vanish as soon as they are fitted into place.

Trust by Hernan Diaz

It's impressive when a novel draws you so fully into its story only to pull the rug out and make you question the validity of what you're reading. Diaz presents four different manuscripts about Wall Street tycoon Andrew Bevel and his brilliant wife Mildred in a way which makes you reassess and question the legitimacy of what came before each part. Every section creates a persuasive picture of these figures and their role in financial affairs which led up to the Great Depression. Though the novel continuously reframes the same characters and events it shows them from radically different angles. Far from being convoluted or repetitive, this gives a dynamic understanding of how narrative can be shaped to fit the ideologies and points of views possessed by different authors. Moreover it's captivating how it lulls the reader into the magnetic glamour and power of these individuals who are at turns sympathetic and suspicious, seductive and repulsive, the saviours of America and the scourge of the nation.

Diaz cleverly plays off from the double meaning of words such as “trust”, “bonds” and “futures” which refer to financial arrangements as well as human relationships. In doing so, he shows how business isn't simply a matter of mathematical equations because there are real world implications and its motives are often based in human emotions. The novel interrogates a capitalist system which allows high proportions of a nation's wealth to be in the hands of relatively few people. The way the story plays out makes us question the honesty behind the stated moral imperatives of moguls who claim to be acting in the best interest of the general population and their country while also increasing their own power and wealth. Crucially, the story also depicts an example of a man driven by communist ideas who earnestly endeavours to query the system and spread news of an alternative ideology. However, his schemes seem as egotistically driven as the financial leaders he scorns. Threaded through the stories of these domineering men on either side of the political divide is a virulent misogyny which leads to the suppression of women's voices. So it feels only fitting that the final two narratives of this novel are handed over to female characters who relate their points of view in a memoir and diary entries.

The novel is deeply compellingly in its series of dramatic reveals which cleverly prompt the reader to piece together an understanding separate from any single one of these narratives. But I think it's also a valuable exercise in questioning how we view history and the motives behind certain stories – especially those that are spun by people in power. Excessive wealth is so often justified by tales of individuals who have earned it through hard work and ingenuity. It's condoned through philanthropy which washes clean any cut throat measures or misconduct which led to its creation. These persuasive mythologies lead to complacency. However, as Diaz demonstrates in this book, there are multiple viewpoints which give very different perspectives on how and why such fortunes are built. It's a message and methodology we should carry with us whenever reading the news or listening to the self-satisfied stories of those in power.

Nights of Plague by Orhan Pamuk (translated by Ekin Oklap)

Now and then it is such a pleasure to get lost in a long, immersive and well written epic! I've had this feeling in the past with novels like “The Luminaries” and “The Eighth Life” whose long page counts allow enough space to fully reimagine a bygone era and intricately involve the reader with the many twists of fate a large cast of characters experience over many years. Set during the beginning of the 20th century, “Nights of Plague” sits comfortably alongside these other bewitching tombs. The Ottoman Empire is gradually disintegrating and the Sultan sends a few emissaries including the Royal Chemist, the Sultan's niece Princess Pakize and her doctor husband on a ship bound for China. However, it first stops at the (fictional) island of Mingheria which is suddenly beset by a virulent disease. As the governing forces try to repress rumours of a plague these three characters find themselves closely involved in the resulting chaos which unfolds. The instability causes religious, economic and national divides to come to the surface. Murderous plots, scandalous affairs and grabs for power ensue. Pamuk deftly handles the many threads of his story in a way which is fairly easy to follow, creates plenty of intrigue and reveals many surprises with dramatically gripping scenes. This novels works as both a historical epic and a murder mystery with a Sultan who is hilariously keen on the stories of Sherlock Holmes.

It's narrated from the point of view of Mina Mingher, the fictional female author of this tale, who explains at the start that the book is both a novel and a historical account informed by Princess Pakize's letters and records from Mingheria's past. This authorial voice occasionally comments upon the action and interjects to give context to events. Initially I was worried this device would feel too artificial or complex, but it doesn't intrude so much that it detracts from the pleasure of the narrative. It also raises interesting questions to do with how to account for people's past actions and understand history. The killers in this story can be deduced from evidence given throughout the story, but the real perpetrators behind these crimes and the many plague deaths which result because of government action (or inaction) are a different question. Naturally this history still feels very relevant when viewed next to recent world events. Mina enters into the story itself towards the end of the novel in a pleasing and poignant way.

Alongside the immediate action, I was fascinated by the way this novel depicts the rapid formation and transformation of a country. In its skilful depiction of the rise and fall of governments we also follow the dramatic lives of those who might be the most powerful person in the nation one day and a vilified rogue the next. Like all totalitarian governments a great deal of suppression and torture is used to silence unpopular opinions. It's noted how “You really couldn't solve a problem in the Ottoman Empire without throwing someone in prison.” Through blending Mina's fictional recreations and historical accounts we gain a better sense of the path of justice. We also get a female-centred view of the past and what a possible matriarchy would look like compared to the venal male leaders focused more on power than the welfare of the people. Since she is narrating retrospectively we receive a contextual understanding of events versus the country's myth building which is taught in school and emblazoned on national banners and monuments. It forms into an expansive and impressive chronicle which could have only been created by a masterful storyteller.

Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde

Great coming of age tales are enthralling because we can all relate to the awkward transition from childhood to adulthood. However, they can also attune us to the challenges some face because of a particular individual's identity or circumstances. “Zami” draws on much of Audre Lorde's autobiographical experience to form what she calls a “biomythography”. It's a process of understanding and defining herself as separate from the ways in which she has been categorized by her circumstances and the way other people view her. We follow her piercing observations of the world around her being raised in Harlem through to her independence and early adulthood in the 1950s. She charts her journey towards being proudly “Black, female, gay and out of the closet” in a time and society with widespread racism, sexism and homophobia. With evocative and emotive detail Lorde captures the difficult process of establishing an independent state of being within the circles of family, friends, lovers, community and country. It also endearingly charts her progress towards becoming a great reader and writer.

The depths of loneliness Lorde felt being so different from those around her is powerfully related in celestial terms: “I grew up feeling like an only planet, or some isolated world in a hostile, or at best, unfriendly, firmament.” This intense sense of alienation is carried forth as she is sensitive to the hostilities of other people's opinions and the ways they look down upon her. It has a persistent physical effect upon her as she describes: “I could feel bands of tension sweeping across my body back and forth, like lunar winds across the moon's face.” This is such a clever way of framing her mental and physical state in her early years. By casting herself as a planetary body she shows how she is at once cognizant of her inherent greatness but also painfully aware of her distance from others.

There's so much powerful imagery from her childhood which brings this bygone era to life. From descriptions of her glasses which frequently broke to a briefly known playmate we come to understand the world of her youth through the things she valued the most. One of my favourite sections is about the West Indian pestle and mortar in her family kitchen. It's both a symbol of the Caribbean island her mother came from and a beautiful object which she attends to with an almost hypnotic intensity. Seemingly everyday items such as this are elevated to near religious significance when understood within the context of a household because it's what ties this family to a particular lineage, culture and history.

Lorde also deftly differentiates her understanding of her environment as a child from what she knows now viewing it in retrospect. For instance, there were occasions when out in public white people would spit at her but her mother explained it away as people who were simply careless. She realises that “My mother and father believed that they could best protect their children from the realities of race in america and the fact of american racism by never giving them name, much less discussing their nature.” So it was only through experience and her own rationale that she came to truly understand her position in this society as a black woman.

I appreciated how there are detailed accounts of her economic struggles as a young woman who found it especially difficult to find steady and decently-paid work because of the colour of her skin and her educational background. Gruelling experiences of working in a factory are described with such intensity. The paltry safety measures in place had to be ignored in order to produce the demanded workload leaving employees dangerously at risk to exposure or injury. However, one point I found it difficult to understand was her self-proclaimed lack of typing skills. She describes how with every move to new lodgings she made she laboriously carried with her a typewriter which she used to write poetry. Yet at every job interview she insists “I had never really learned to type” which closes many opportunities. I'm guessing she means she never learned how to type a certain amount of words per minute, but because this was such a barrier to finding jobs other than manual labour it seems strange she didn't teach herself to properly type while regularly using a typewriter.

It feels especially meaningful that even when Lorde is able to enter liberating spaces as a young woman she discovers there are barriers which prevent her from finding true happiness or being truly equal to those around her. She feels an instinctual desire to move to Mexico and there “Wherever I went, there were brown faces of every hue meeting mine, and seeing my own color reflected upon the streets in such great numbers was an affirmation for me that was brand-new and very exciting. I had never felt visible before, nor even known I lacked it.” Yet, such freedom is short lived as she must return to America. Also, when she gradually discovers a lesbian community she finds they are united in a belief that “as lesbians, we were all outsiders and all equal in our outsiderhood... It was wishful thinking based on little fact; the ways in which it was true languished in the shadow of those many ways in which it would always be false.” Lorde pointedly describes how there's still discrimination and aggression because of her blackness which is mostly unspoken because an oppressed community doesn't want to believe they are also capable of being oppressors.

An interesting stylistic choice of the book is how the linear story of her development is interspersed with short italicised sections. Earlier in the text these seem to be youthful poems and later on they become more narrative-driven to articulate her burgeoning understanding of the world. These poignantly add to the sense of her evolution as a writer and intellectual. It shows how her growth as a literary artist has been an ongoing process running alongside larger issues to do with family, work and lovers as “Writing was the only thing that made me feel like I was alive.” It's such a gift that Audre Lorde insisted upon documenting her experience and thoughts in this way for future generations. Jackie Kay, a contemporary writer I admire, commented that “I came across Audre Lorde's Zami, and I cried to think how lucky I was to have found her. She was an inspiration.” Reading this book is an enriching and wondrous experience.

The Golden Mole by Katherine Rundell

It can be easy to forget just how astonishingly wonderful and weird animals can be. Rundell has created a collection of short essays focusing on an array of creatures whose characteristics and histories are so extraordinary their very existence seems like a miracle worth preserving. Some such as the pangolin and narwhal are more exotic and some such as the bear and crow feel more commonplace. But the author teases out fascinating facts about all their behaviour and makeup which make us re-view the true beauty of these beings. From burrowing marsupials to ancient sharks that dwell in the depths of the ocean, we learn intriguing information about them as well as how many face destruction because of humans and the effects of climate change. There are also often details about the way these animals have held a certain place in our culture and politics leading us to either fear, harvest or revere them. Rather than attempting to give comprehensive accounts of all these creatures, Rundell consciously takes an idiosyncratic approach to alight upon curious information which sparks the readers imagination and sense of wonder.

As a way of winding down at the end of the day I'll often read aloud to my husband before bed. This collection made an excellent book for this routine as each section is usually only four-five pages long (the perfect amount before either or both of us grow too sleepy to continue.) It also made a delightful surprise to reveal what would be our “animal of the night”. There were many instances where we'd exclaim aloud at facts such as how “wolves are one of the very few animals who convey information with facial expressions” or how mating seahorses “dance” by changing colours, entwining tails and clicking at each other. I was particularly delighted to discover the first animal discussed in the book is the wombat since it's a favourite creature of mine. The beginning of each chapter comes with a beautiful custom illustration of each animal by Talya Baldwin which adds to the overall exquisite beauty of this edition which is adorned with gold foil. Such a level of attention rightly makes Rundell's nature book feel like a sacred text. Given that half of the author royalties are going to charities to push back climate change and environmental destruction, hopefully this publication will also do a little to help the creatures within it survive.

Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies by Maddie Mortimer

Having a serious illness inevitably changes a person's relationship to their own body. This is the experience which is creatively and movingly dramatised in Maddie Mortimer's debut novel. Lia is a writer and artist who illustrates children's guides to the body as well as being a wife and mother. At the beginning of the novel she receives the news that her cancer has recurred and she will have to undergo another cycle of brutal treatment. The story follows Lia and her family's extremely challenging process of dealing with this and come to terms with her past. While they love and support Lia through this illness, her adolescent daughter Iris and her academic husband Harry struggle to deal with their own issues because ordinary life doesn't stop.

Running alongside the tale of their lives is a narrative voice which is marked in bold type. The identity of this narrator is intentionally elusive as it could be interpreted as the disease, Lia's body, a projection of her psyche (feelings of guilt, anger or restlessness) or genetics itself as it travels through generations. The voice is sporadic at first, but it comes to have a stronger and more prominent presence in the story. It's both an antagonist and a reliably familiar presence in Lia's life. It can be at turns mischievous and funny in its (high and low) cultural references as well as threatening and manipulative. Though it can feel disarming to have this odd presence amidst a more traditional narrative it comes to feel like an integral part of the story and makes sense since when our lives are disrupted by serious illness it can feel like another entity with its own agenda is constantly with us.

I was somewhat hesitant to start this book since people very close to me have struggled with cancer, but I ultimately found it extremely beneficial reading such an impressive debut novel. It helped me process my feelings surrounding this condition and the emotional and practical implications of dealing with such an illness. The story sympathetically shows how everyone has their own unique ways of coping with the life altering challenges which accompany cancer. It's also extremely artful how Mortimer describes methods of viewing the body and how we can reconsider our relationship to our physical being. There are also multiple emotionally-charged scenes which I know will stick with me such as when Iris undergoes a painful stunt to impress the school bully only for it to backfire and when Lia is groped on a train by a group of raucous lads. Scenes of strife are also mixed in with moments of tenderness such as when Harry cares for Lia or when Iris and Lia playfully come up with multiple creative answers for Lia's school test questions.

There were some moments where it feels like the author is controlling the nebulous voice to make a statement or get a point across rather than it coming organically, but for the most part it feels like an authentic presence that Lia is inextricably linked to. I was also somewhat uncertain if the scenes from Lia's early life were necessary to flash back to, but ultimately this comes together to make a poignant statement about how the past and present intersect, just as the beginning of life/potential of life circles back to our lives' inevitable end. Overall I was impressed by the scope and ingenuity of this novel to give a different perspective on the physical and mental process of illness. It's a moving and memorable experience reading it.

A Line in the World by Dorthe Nors (translated by Caroline Waight)

I enjoyed the unique narrative of Dorthe Nors' novel “Mirror, Shoulder, Signal” so I was curious to experience her first book of nonfiction which is a meditation on the coast of her native Jutland. She visits various points along the line of the map where the land meets the North Sea including villages, churches, lighthouses, power stations and surfing beaches. It's an area where she was raised and where she currently lives, but she poignantly captures the seemingly paradoxical sense of being from this place as well as being a perpetual outsider. She frequently refers to the “schism” where identity is formed. This is an intersection between time, memory, landscape and community which the individual uneasily occupies. At the same time she reflects upon her personal history as well as the factual and mythic history of the people found here. However, she realises that there cannot be one true chronicle as details of the past become muddled: “When does a story begin? Always somewhere else, always further back in the text, beyond the horizon, in the unknown”. What she offers instead is a personalised view of the beauty and dangers of this natural environment as well as the courageousness, warmth and occasional narrow mindedness of its people.

The memoirist style of this book is pleasurably meandering and broody. Specific instances of erosion, pollution, religious conflict and colonialism have affected different areas of this landscape. Nors shows how these issues raise larger points regarding how the narrative of history is formed and the function of community. I was reminded of Keegan's novel “Small Things Like These” when she describes the tension surrounding how locals want to defend a local company because it employees so many people, but at the same time it's poisoning the land and water with chemical waste. Nors meaningfully recounts the mission of Denmark's first environmental activist known as 'Amber Aage' and observes how “The silence that can close around someone who says what mustn't be said in a small community isn't for the faint of heart.” The drive to maintain the status quo is also reflected in the way women have been traditionally treated in this location and how outsiders are regarded with suspicion because of provincial attitudes that: “Big cities, free speech and foreign lures are the work of the devil.” At the same time Nors recounts the humour and warmth she experiences with many of this coastline's inhabitants. I admire the way she shows how we can have so many mixed feelings about our homeland and how it's an inextricable part of our character.

Spike by Jeremy Farrar with Anjana Ahuja

The recent pandemic was such a world changing event which altered all our lives, but I think so many of us were left reeling as it happened so fast and we all had to scramble to understand what was going on. So it's invaluable to read the inside perspective of someone who is an expert on infectious diseases and who was one of the first people to hear about this mysterious new respiratory disease in China. Jeremy Farrar traces the history of this pandemic from the first outbreak, explains the nature of the disease and why a failure to properly contain and report on it helped it to spread across the globe. The title refers not only to spikes in infections as the disease was traced through different countries, but also the spike protein found on the surface of Covid-19 virus cells which aids it in invading the body. Not only does he give an inside perspective on the medical channels across the globe which sought to understand it and rapidly develop a vaccine, but as a member of the SAGE emergency committee he gives an invaluable perspective on the UK's uneven plan for dealing with this outbreak.

It's sobering to think how the pandemic could have been responded to so much better, but also terrifying to realise it could have been so much worse if it weren't for the valiant efforts of certain scientists, leaders and medical professionals! Farrar highlights some of the real heroes, but also politicians who failed to act on the best advice or actively lied to the public at different points: “Ministers were not following the science even if they said they were.” The author doesn't mince his words in condemning Boris Johnson and his cabinet for their arrogance, incompetence and lack of planning which led to unnecessary deaths and societal chaos. It's pointed out how the idea of “herd immunity” is a dangerous notion without any basis in scientific fact. He also humbly admits how a lack of information led him to hesitate at certain points when he should have acted more forcefully. Understandably, he also seriously considered the possibility of certain conspiracies such as the theory that the disease was created in a lab and accidentally released – a notion which has now been judged to be absolutely false. Farrar describes the heart racing stress at certain points of not only realising the seriousness of this highly infectious disease, but knowing how improper government handling was going to lead to it spreading more and causing many more deaths.

The book concludes with some sensible advice about the way in which governing bodies and scientific cooperation across the globe can help prepare us for future pandemics and prevent them from being as destructive as Covid-19. There are many financial and political challenges which will make following these steps difficult, but it's vital to address these issues. It felt somewhat triggering to mentally return to this tense time period. However, I think this book gives an essential understanding of the pandemic which we can learn a lot from as well as standing as an invaluable document to historically catalogue what actually happened.

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver

Barbara Kingsolver uses the same structure and moral imperative of Dickens' “David Copperfield” to tell the enthralling and utterly convincing fictional story of Demon Copperhead, a charismatic boy born into an impoverished area of contemporary rural America. His real name is Damon Fields but he bears the nickname of the title which is what people called him as a boy because of his absent father who had a snake tattoo and copper-wire hair. But also it's a moniker he proudly adopts as a way of asserting his individuality and “You can't deny, it's got a power to it.” In a charmingly conversational and evocative manner he recounts the story of his life from his birth up through to his adulthood having survived an abusive stepfather, a mother grappling with substance abuse, foster care where he's forced into farm labour and drug addiction borne out of America's surging opioid crisis. There's a physicality to the language of this narrative which evokes the feel and texture of this adolescent boy's existence. His fiery spirit, wicked sense of humour and rational ability to navigate the challenges of his circumstances make his narrative mesmerising. Through his eyes we witness the state of a country where individuals in Demon's position can fall between the cracks and suffer from the stereotypes made about people in rural and low income areas.

It was especially meaningful reading this novel after having previously read Patrick Radden Keefe's searing nonfiction account “Empire of Pain” concerning the Sackler family's involvement in the pharmaceutical industry. This background knowledge of the financial drive to prescribe the drug OxyContin despite its highly addictive nature was useful as a large portion of the novel is concerned with characters unwittingly caught in this system – although I don't think it would have prevented me from appreciating the story if I hadn't been aware of it already. The way in which Kingsolver has dramatised this conflict and crisis powerfully shows the social and psychological implications of health services which are driven by profit rather than the welfare of patients. Demon is part of a whole generation whose early lives were stymied or cut short because of this drug and its addictive effects. The tragic way this plays out in the story makes this far-reaching issue intensely felt and it's utterly heartbreaking knowing this is merely one of countless examples of this drug's virulent influence.

I also appreciated the way this novel gives a complex picture of its hero's ethnicity. Demon knows he's from Melungeon heritage, but he only understands the real meaning of this over the course of the story. It taps into a whole history of citizens who experienced prejudice but were excluded from legal protection as their mixed racial heritage meant they didn't fit into a legally defined category. As he becomes more aware of the past and his position in the world, Demon comes to understand why some people react to him in the way they do and call him certain names. Through slurs to do with his race and regionality he comes to understand “A thing grows teeth when it's put into words.” Yet he also learns that terms intended to wound can be reclaimed and used to empower those who experience the deleterious effects of bigotry. This leads Demon to artistically harness satire as a means of counteracting the stereotypes inflicted upon him and those he loves in a cartoon series he draws titled “RedNeck”. Through his humour and intelligence, he's able to emerge from his perilous circumstances and fraught journey as a survivor with an important story to tell.

Terminal Zones by Gareth E Rees

Existential angst meets the climate crisis in this thoughtful and entertaining short story collection. Nearly every tale in this book makes reference to an impending environmental disaster whether it's two female friends living in a cliff edge home that's literally collapsing into the sea or a mother who ingests the constant news of climate change and feels “It was the end of the world and she was totally bored.” This psychological swerving between intense alarm and resigned tedium poignantly reflects the modern experience of watching the world rapidly change around us. Rees dramatises this state of being in imaginative ways including a research ship which ventures into the arctic only to encounter new/ancient forms of sinister spores and sentient bacteria, an animal park/refuge that literally goes up in flames and a dystopian future-set story about a reclusive oligarch's scheme to harness the world's first living computers. Other stories show characters developing surprising emotional attachments to seemingly anonymous concrete and metallic structures whether it's a girl finding paternal feeling in a Motorway Bridge or a new father who falls romantically in love with a pylon. It's moving how the author demonstrates the multifarious ways this admirably diverse set of characters' lives play out in the anonymous interstices of parking lots or seemingly barren fields. Rees' fiction brings to the forefront the experience of individuals in rural England who are often marginalized and relegated to the fringes of society.

Many of these psychologically complex stories are imbued with suspense and horror which makes them riveting to read. A social outcast attempts to harness astrological powers to prevent a crisis with disastrous results. One of the most disturbing tales embeds us in the consciousness of a psychopath who feels threatened by his professionally successful wife and becomes disturbingly obsessed with disposing of his household waste in their new home outside of London. Other pieces in this collection show sympathetic individuals who have grown world weary by the uneasy transition from the freedoms/possibilities of early adulthood to the responsibility-laden experiences of parenthood and home ownership. Rees also experiments with form in his stories. One of the most ambitious of these is 'The Levels' where modern life intersects with ancient occult figures in a time-bending location between land and sea. The variety in structure is consistently intriguing as is the astute levels of social commentary charting not only the climate crisis but the way society is drifting into repressive forms where the public “didn't really know what was going on. The media were in the service of the government, and the government was in the service of oligarchs”. It's also very satisfying reading this collection from start to finish as the closing story neatly makes a brief reference to events which occurred in the first. Fans of Jessie Greengrass and Sequoia Nagamatsu will particularly enjoy these stories. This is socially engaged and inventive fiction at its best.

ti amo by Hanne Ørstavik (translated by Martin Aitken)

Norwegian author Hanne Ørstavik (author of the brilliant novella “Love”) gives an account of a protagonist whose life closely resembles her own as the author of a number of novels. The story follows the time between the narrator’s husband receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis and his death in this frank and incredibly moving story. What makes it feel all the more immediate and personal is that she writes it in the second person present tense speaking directly to her husband. She describes the emotional and physical trials they face as well as the blurred line between her deep devotion to him and a desire to continue living after his inevitable end. Every moment begins to feel precious as “death has become an attendant presence, everything's just the way it is, I'm here with you and soon you won't be here any more.” It's both a confession about this hard reality and an exquisitely composed hymn to their love.

One of the most striking things in this account are moments of unexpected humour which feel all the more buoyant because the couple are aware that the possibility of tragedy is so near. It's what makes their experience so relatable and real. Equally, the narrator is caught off guard by the passion she feels for another man during a work trip to Mexico. She naturally feels guilty about this but it's admirable she states her honest feelings and reaction to a highly pressurised situation. Though grief can be overwhelming, there is also the human drive to connect and create amidst devastating loss. While this tale is naturally a sorrowful and sobering read, it's also exquisitely beautiful how Ørstavik captures the final fleeting months of this rare relationship.

Cells by Gavin McCrea

Amidst the anxiety and tumult of the recent lockdown, being restricted indoors for long periods of time inspired many people to seriously reflect about both the past and future. Slightly before the pandemic, novelist Gavin McCrea (author of the excellent “Mrs Engels” and “The Sisters Mao”) had moved back in with his mother in Dublin during a writing residency. While there he worked to complete his second novel and care for his mother who showed signs of early dementia. As the country locked down, he found himself confined in the home and country which he'd previously vowed never to return to. Amidst the relatively peaceful daily routines in the rooms/cells of this small apartment, a tension mounted regarding unresolved issues to do with McCrea's uniquely challenging upbringing and school life where he experienced years of daily homophobic abuse. He deeply felt that “The problem was that I did not feel at home in my own home.” This account is his personal reckoning with that history, a confrontation with the woman who gave birth to him and an account of the formation of his distinct artistic sensibility.

It's a heartrending experience reading about McCrea's strife in his family and community which naturally leads to intense feelings of pain, suffering, anger, frustration and isolation. However, he is not self-pitying. Instead he seeks to articulate and understand his position and the factors which lead to this situation. There's a rare honesty in how he interrogates the past and the human body itself. He examines the light/dark in himself and those around him including his reserved father who committed suicide and the untrustworthy boyfriend who infected him with HIV. Rather than allowing these tragedies to overwhelm him, they add to his fuel for artistic literary expression. The blunt fact of his survival through these tribulations heighten the moments of rare joy in this memoir such as quietly watching his mother enjoy a book or taking tearful pride in seeing a stack of his novels on sale in a bookshop.

While it's admirable that he extends empathy and patient understanding to people who have wounded him (including a gang of homophobic Irish adolescent boys who violently beat him a few months prior to lockdown), I wish McCrea had spent more time recounting the ways in which certain people have enhanced his life. Figures such as a steadfast childhood friend and his supportive literary agent only get brief mentions. If equal weight had been attributed to them in this dissection of his life it may have given more lightness and balance to this largely elucidating account of trauma. Nevertheless, it's an extremely edifying experience reading this inspiring story. By making his life the subject, McCrea shows how the individual spirit is both beautifully fragile and frightfully robust. Not only does the title refer to our biological makeup, but also the emotional/physical state of being a prisoner in one's own home, country and society. McCrea describes the challenges and (sometimes) impossibility of escaping from these circumscribed aspects of being in a deeply relatable and intelligent way.

The British Academy Book Prize for Global Understanding 2022 shortlist

Although I primarily read fiction I've been wanting to add more nonfiction to my TBR pile. In addition to reading nonfiction books about subjects I'm naturally interested in I also like to peruse book prize lists for guidance and recommendations of the best new nonfiction out there. The British Academy Book Prize for Global Understanding always offers an interesting selection of books which give informed accounts about subjects related to certain regions or countries. Through these compelling narratives and histories the authors also indicate how these issues effect the rest of the globe and help us appreciate our positions as citizens of the wider world. The books selected are also highly readable making it easy for anyone to enjoy and understand the subjects being discussed.

This year's winner will be announced on October 26 and there will be a free public event on October 24 (taking place in person and online) where all the shortlisted authors will be interviewed and discuss their work. These books come with stories from around the world from Chile to post-war Germany to China to life in a remote Swedish village. They encompass themes from the invention of the telephone and its impact on the deaf community to developing a more global understanding of the history of science – did you know Einstein's studies in quantum mechanics were inspired by the Bengali physicist Satyendra Nath Bose?! Or that it was the 17th century African botanist Graman Kwasi who discovered a cure for malaria? You can watch me discussing the prize and all six of the shortlisted titles here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmPNDjVE6iM

I just finished reading Jing Tsu's fascinating “Kingdom of Characters” which looks at the evolution and transformation of written Chinese over the past century which led the country to becoming one of the world's biggest superpowers. I enjoyed how she selected specific individuals who were instrumental in adapting the language so it could be more easily learned and replicated by citizens in China itself and foreigners. We follow these stories through periods of massive political and technological change. She gives accounts of rebel librarians and oppressed women who developed a secret language of their own. It's a fascinating and comprehensive account which helped me not only better understand the language itself but also China's relationship to the rest of the world.

Have you read any of these titles and what's the best nonfiction you've read recently?