Memorial, 29 June by Tine Høeg (translated by Misha Hoekstra)

I really enjoy it when novels deviate from using traditional narrative structures to tell emotionally impactful stories in a way which is utterly unique. Danish author Tine Høeg's intriguing “Memorial, 29 June” is a tale told from the point of view of Asta, a young author working on a novel and a book about semi-obscure Polish sculptor Lysander Milo. Her account is related in fragments which feel somewhere between poetry and a non-linear first person account with occasional text message exchanges. Dialogue, observations, thoughts and written communication blend together. This may sound disorientating and it requires a heightened level of attention to keep track of who is speaking and how to situate this information. However, it quickly builds to a meaningful sense of Asta's personality and a more fluid sense of time. In this way it conveys a highly distinct new view of the complexity of youthful bonds, friendships, romance and rivalry.

The novel begins when Asta is invited to a memorial service commemorating the tenth anniversary of her friend August's death. This disrupts her literary work and her longstanding friendship with Mai who is a single mother. It also leads to a blending of the past and present as the text moves between her current circumstances and the heady days of her university life with a tight-knit social group. There's a mystery surrounding August's demise but also the nature of Asta's relationship with him. Intimate scenes between them are related in pieces giving clues concerning what happened to him and the love triangle involving August, Asta and Mai. I enjoyed how this presents a different way of understanding the ambiguity between people when their connection to each other can't necessarily be defined or classified. Small exchanges between them feel all the more poignant when surrounded by so much empty space on the page.

There's also a wonderful use of symbolism in certain details. The sculptor Milo worked clandestinely during his lifetime to memorialise the working class people around him. In a similar way, Asta has preserved her memories of August to solidify their intensely private moments together and maintain his unique personality. Their friendship group had a number of themed parties which descend into debauchery but they also inspire a sense of the carnivalesque which tests the boundaries of gender and sexuality. Asta's friend keeps a perpetual calendar which doesn't specify any particular year. Her account in this novel also defies a sense of linear time as it morphs from past to present. Though Asta's first book was relatively successful and has led to her receiving a residency and invitations to give readings, she humorously observes the shallowness with which some of the public interact with the literary world. It's one of the things which drives her to create new forms of narrative just as this book presents an enjoyable, surprising and meaningful new way to read a story.

The World and All That It Holds by Aleksandar Hemon

The vivid intensity of both love and war are majestically captured in Aleksandar Hemon's sweeping historical novel “The World and All That It Holds”. The story begins with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, the incident which famously initiated WWI. This is witnessed by pharmacist Rafael Pinto who goes out into the streets after making a romantic overture towards a calvary officer. It's an occurrence which permanently changes the course of this poetic and fanciful man's life as thereafter he's conscripted and thrust into battle. There he meets and begins a passionate affair with fellow soldier Osman. We follow Pinto's rootless existence over multiple decades as he is nationless and desperately struggles to survive. The gritty details of conflict are paired with the ardor and enduring bond between these two men in an evocative way. These accounts are infused with Pinto's religious sensibility as a Sephardic Jew – not in a dogmatic way but which expresses the soulful feeling of this emotional individual. It's an integral part of his heritage so informs the way he frames events and the world around him. In doing so, we view this period of history through a striking new lens and witness the story of a uniquely epic romance.

The act of storytelling takes a central role in the novel. This occurs on multiple levels from Osman's charismatic ability to entrance fellow soldiers with his tales to the frame surrounding this book explained in the epilogue. Though Pinto only briefly glimpsed the shooting of Franz Ferdinand he eventually tells and retells the story so many times it acquires many dramatic flourishes. This is a natural consequence when any lived moment subsequently becomes one of historical importance. He comments “I can confirm, from personal experience, that we are always late to the history in which we live.” What might have felt random and fleeting at the time takes on a seismic meaning when we understand what followed. So we follow Pinto as he's haplessly swept into events to do with migration and civil unrest over the decades. As the burden of exile mounts he falls into despair reasoning “God was invented by the lonely people, by those who could not bear to think that no one would ever care about them, spend a thought on their loneliness. We are not chosen, what we are is terribly lonely and unloved.” Rather than faith, the only thing which prevents him from becoming completely disconsolate is his enduring loving connection to Osman and the duty he feels to care for the girl who might be Osman's daughter.

It's refreshing to gain a different view of such large scale conflicts from a point of view not often explored in historical accounts. This is especially true when it focuses on individuals without any particular political conviction who nevertheless become the casualties of war as in the novel “At Night All Blood is Black”. Hemon's novel posits that alongside the bloodshed and madness, passion was also possible. This is portrayed in the encampments where such clandestine sexual meetings between men occur as an open secret or something which is unimaginable to others. Rather than fetishising such experiences, the novel shows Pinto's fierce longing for such sensuality amidst the brutality. It seems only natural that intense encounters between soldiers might turn into loving and sustained relationships. Sebastian Barry also portrayed a same sex relationship which blossoms amidst battle in his novel “Days Without End”. Though that story came with a welcome message of hope, it's more likely true that most homosexual love affairs which occurred in such circumstances ended in tragedy. Though Hemon's novel fully embraces the likely fate of his characters it also shows how transcendence can be found in beauty and passion.

The Hungry Ghosts by Shyam Selvadurai

I'm a sucker for a story involving a fabulous but sinister grandmother and “The Hungry Ghosts” has one who is absolutely fascinating to read about. Set in Sri Lanka during a time of civil war, the protagonist Shivan describes his early life when he and his impoverished mother and sister were forced to move in with his grandmother Daya Nona. This is an intimidating older woman who is kind of a cross between Ebenezer Scrooge and Miss Havisham. The story plays out a bit like a Dickensian tale as Shivan becomes the favoured grandson of this irascible and tightfisted lady who begins instructing him on how to manage her many rental properties. He appears to have good future prospects but as he becomes a teenager the political unrest in the country reaches a degree where it becomes unsafe for Shivan and his sister to remain living there. Though their mother is Sinhalese their deceased father was Tamil, an ethnic minority who were severely persecuted amidst the conflict. Added to this is Shivan growing awareness of his own homosexuality. Despite Daya Nona's objections, the trio move to Toronto where they experience difficulty establishing new lives as immigrants. The narrative relates the story of Shivan's life from a point where he's independently established a good job, apartment and relationship but he must make a crucial decision between his hard-won present day existence and the country he's left behind with all its painful memories.

I was glad to already have some understanding of the recent conflicts in Sri Lanka after reading novels such as “The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida” and “A Passage North” which encouraged me to research more about the deep-set political divisions in the country which led to much bloodshed. The complex and tragic situation has been fought for decades with periods of egregious discord and genocide. Though it mostly occurs in the background of Selvadurai's novel it influences and effects the lives of its characters to such a degree it's necessary to be aware of the stakes involved. The novel explains this somewhat and helped broaden my understanding even further. It's extremely effective how the larger conflicts within the country suddenly become very personal at a certain point in the story and how some individuals used the larger political strife for their own personal gain and advancement. This increases the characters' complexity as they find themselves caught between opportunity, loyalty and justice.

At the centre of this tale is Shivan's conflicted sense of being as he obtains certain freedom and safety in Canada, but longs for his homeland. At one point he remarks: “Rising in me was a great longing to be back in Sri Lanka and also, paradoxically, a revulsion against being there. These two irreconcilable feelings pressed tight against each other.” These feelings are very connected with his grandmother who is both his supporter and partly responsible for inhibiting his freedom. It's impressive how their relationship develops more and more layers as revelations are uncovered and events dramatically unfold. Equally, it's poignant how the novel shows that parts of the gay community in Canada which Shivan desperately wants to join is plagued by racism which makes him feel even more cruelly ostracised. Though it's moving how the story roots the reader so strongly in Shivan's first person point of view, the narrative wobbles somewhat as we switch in some sections to the mother and grandmother's perspectives. I'm not sure if we're meant to believe these are their actual thoughts/experiences or Shivan's projection of their points of view. While I understand the author wanted to give a balance to the story and delineate these figures' states of mind it confuses the novel somewhat.

Another aspect of the novel running alongside Shivan's personal account are Buddhist stories which his grandmother relates to him. These act as parables which comment upon the characters' actions and decisions. I enjoyed how this sense of storytelling becomes so infused with his sense of being. Of course, I felt very sympathetic to Shivan since he is naturally bookish and it's pleasurable how he drops in the names of many titles and authors he reads. Alongside the strength of his character, the evolving dynamics of his relationship to his mother and grandmother are very compelling. However, the tensions between Shivan and his longterm boyfriend feel more inscrutable. This becomes the most prominent aspect of the later part of the novel and makes the book less satisfying than if it had stuck more closely to Shivan's immediate family. Nevertheless, I greatly enjoyed this tale which evocatively brings to life two very different and distinct environments and a boy caught between them.

The Shards by Bret Easton Ellis

It was useful reading Bret Easton Ellis' debut novel “Less Than Zero” before diving into his latest “The Shards”. In this new novel a fictional version of 17 year old Bret is working on that first book and in this autofictional mode presents the story of his early life as a confession about the dramatic events which occurred during that formative period. (At the conclusion of the novel we're assured that this book is entirely a work of fiction.) It's 1981 and Bret is entering his senior year of high school in this uber-privleged side of LA with its mansions, servants, flashy cars, easy access to drugs and designer backpacks. Like in “Less Than Zero” we bear witness to this extremely beautiful and wealthy set of youth engaging in endless parties and sex. However, there is also a serial killer who has been dubbed “The Trawler” stalking the city's elite and murdering them (and their pets) in a gruesomely ritualistic fashion. The perpetrator(s) could be a deranged loner, a satanic cult prowling the city or the mysterious new boy at school, Robert Mallory, who charismatically worms his way into Bret's friendship group. Worrying signs reveal that the killer is getting closer and closer to Bret who becomes increasingly anxious and unhinged as his world of entitled excess implodes.

At its core, this novel is a very effective thriller with a rich atmosphere of suspense and tension. Real hazardous signs of violence appear even as we grow increasingly mistrustful of our narrator, a progressively paranoid (and medicated) Bret. As a writer for the large and small screen, Ellis is very adept at integrating elements such as creepy telephone calls, suspect vans which follow characters and a carefully judged release of information to consistently surprise and titillate readers. Bret's obsession over Robert is both intensely erotic and full of dread which builds a powerful sense of salacious danger. There's a clear propulsion to the story which builds towards its much foreshadowed “ironic and tragic conclusion”. The novel does feel overlong which is probably a hangover from it being initially written and released in serial form on Ellis' podcast. Though the author has stated a large chunk was edited out for the physical publication it still feels bloated as we get the back and forth gossipy details of these rich teenagers' vapid lives. The overly dramatic and cinematic denouement also feels a bit forced and unsatisfying with its gallons of bloodshed. Nevertheless, I felt mostly engaged throughout the bulk of the novel.

The book is also a kind of revisionist teen fantasy where Bret casts himself as being part of the most popular social group at his school. He's with a rich beautiful girlfriend whose father is a studio executive and he also gets to have lots of sex with two incredibly handsome guys on the side – details of which are related in highly descriptive detail. Though it doesn't actually happen, Bret even has a possibility of lunching with one of his literary idols Joan Didion. In this way, the novel feels like a curious blend of wish-fulfilment and nostalgia. Interestingly this pull toward the past was also present in “Less Than Zero” as Clay gazes longingly at buildings from his personal history. “The Shards” also reveals the degree to which Bret was inhibited by the sexual norms of the time. He felt pressured to have a girlfriend though he really longed for sex and a relationship with another man. There's an aching resentment over this but, of course, Ellis isn't the kind of writer who'd directly address this kind of oppression as a societal issue because it would involve engaging in identity politics – something I assume he rolls his eyes at.

It feels like a missed opportunity for emotional sincerity and showing the importance of gay rights as a means of attaining personal fulfilment. Of course, one could argue novels shouldn't have to engage in politics in this way but I believe if Ellis had done this the novel would have been more striking as it'd show growth and maturity. Instead what we get is very competent suspenseful fiction which refashions the same subject matter he first dealt with forty years ago. Only this time we get much more explicit detail about hot young guys and hot sex with those hot young guys from an author pushing 60. Sex positivity is one thing but it feels to me like this falls into yet more wish fulfilment by a man recasting his youth. On another level, Ellis does address a political issue but in a darker way. In one scene Bret accepts an invitation to lunch with Terry Schaffer, a powerful studio executive, about potentially writing a film script. However, it's abundantly clear that this is really an opportunity for this much older lecherous man to have it off with sexy 17 year old Bret. They do have hot sex and Bret walks away with a bleeding anus. Though he realises that he probably won't get the chance to put forward his script he comments when glancing in the mirror “I looked not only remarkably composed but as if I'd actually accomplished something – it wasn't what I wanted but it wasn't so bad. I was okay.” Given the very prominent discussions surrounding the MeToo movement in the past several years, it feels like this a direct rejoinder to this conscious fight to make accountable those who abuse their power.

Sure, it was a different time and it's just one character's personal experience but the way it's presented feels callous and disregards the vulnerability of younger individuals involved in a situation where the physical and emotional consequences can't always be anticipated. Instead of actually engaging with the complexity of this issue which has provoked many nuanced debates, Ellis presents a situation which blithely dismisses it. The larger consequences and meaning of such an exploitative exchange aren't addressed in “The Shards” any more than they are in “Less Than Zero” when protagonist Clay passively watches his best friend prostitute himself to pay off his drug debts. Certainly fiction should encompass all points of view, but personally I prefer them to be more sophisticated and artfully presented as in the novel “Vladimir” which shows the effects of power dynamics in cross-generational sexual relationships with more complexity. You could argue that Ellis shows the karmic consequences of this instance because Terry Schaffer gets his comeuppance but only in a melodramatic way that's not actually concerned with justice.

The annoying thing is that Ellis would probably eye any such critiques of his novel with a wry smile because I'm playing his game; I'm reading and discussing his novel; I'm making it all about Bret Easton Ellis because that's the subject matter Bret Easton Ellis is most interested in. In “The Shards” he comments that in writing “Less Than Zero” “it was about mebut there was no story”. So in this new novel he makes himself the protagonist as well as giving us a plot. It's effective on that level but the more I ponder this book and consider the way Ellis publicly presents his opinions the more it feels like a hollow egotistical exercise. I guess he wants to generate divisive opinions because it keeps him as the focus of attention – a technique successfully used by many populist leaders and megalomaniacs. So I'll sum this up by saying I'd recommend this novel if you're looking for a competent thriller, but bypass it if you're looking for anything more substantial.

Vladimir by Julia May Jonas

There are many elements in Julia May Jonas' debut novel “Vladimir” that make it such a tantalising and compelling read. In the story's prologue its unnamed fifty-something literature professor narrator casually mentions that she's staring at an unconscious Vladimir who she has tied to a chair. He is an extremely sexy forty year old husband, father, respected novelist and visiting professor who she's infatuated with. Naturally there's the thrilling tension throughout the novel as we wonder how things came to this point and what will happen after the “liminality” of this scene ends. The narrator herself is in a different kind of tense and uncertain position throughout the book. Her husband John who also teaches in the English department at her small university has been accused of misconduct after having a number of affairs with students over the decades. The narrator was aware of these dalliances but they have an open marriage. Now she's also come under the scrutiny of students and her fellow faculty. Some see her as a victim because she's a wife who has been cheated on by a disgraced husband. Others view her as a conspirator who enabled and permitted her husband's affairs. She patiently (with begrudging tolerance) listens to their concerns and points of view, but she absolutely believes that because the college students her husband slept with consented to the relationships there was nothing wrong with these affairs.

Throughout the novel we're thoroughly entrenched in the narrator's highly educated and convincing point of view – so much so that we can be lulled into a definite stance on issues to do with consent and questions concerning power dynamics in sexual relationships. But as the events of the story dramatically unfold these arguments and issues are revealed to be much more complicated. The narrator herself also unravels as her deeply-ingrained insecurities about ageing, beauty and status as a writer become apparent. This all filters into her desire for Vladimir who is experiencing his own sense of inner crisis despite superficially being a success. Matters are further complicated as we hear the voices of John and their adult daughter Sid who is scathing about her father's behaviour but in some ways mimics it. This all makes for a juicy novel filled with a lot of intrigue and it's a fascinating way to approach these topics. As the story is dominated by the narrator's point of view the slight shift at the end to consider the voices which have been conspicuously absent throughout the book make a big impact and left me with a lot to ponder.

French Braid by Anne Tyler

In an entry from 1977 in “The Journal of Joyce Carol Oates” she remarks that “Anne Tyler's imagination turns (instinctively?) toward her central theme of staying-in-one-place / running-away. Taking on responsibilities / ridding oneself of all responsibility.” This is certainly noticeable in many of Tyler's novels – most notably in “Ladder of Years”. There's a persistent tension for many characters between maintaining the life they've built and leaving it behind. In her latest novel “French Braid” we have an example of a character who, in a sense, has it both ways. Mercy is the matriarch of the Garrett clan. Though in her younger days she fantasized about walking out on her life she has loyally loved and supported her husband and three children for decades. But her natural domain isn't the domestic. Once their youngest child has flown the coop she embarks on pursuing her passion for painting and gradually moves out of the family home into her artist's studio. She's developed a technique for painting a family's home by focusing on one aspect which is represented in high detail while the rest remains a bit of a blur. Mercy's living arrangement mostly goes unspoken amongst the family so she maintains her position while achieving a kind of independent freedom. It's an excellent compromise for a riddle that has been threaded throughout so much of this author's meaningful body of work.

The novel begins in 2010 before leaping back to a rare Garrett family holiday in 1959 and skipping forward through the decades alighting focus on several different members of the household. Similar to Tyler's “A Spool of Blue Thread” we get a broader picture of these individuals by seeing brief snapshots of them in different periods of time. Gradually we come to understand how this family has maintained loose bonds while living separately and largely unknown to each other. Though they are reunited for some holidays and anniversaries, other occasions such as weddings aren't always marked with the traditional get together. Tyler presents instances when they do see each other with a wonderful amount of detail and dialogue which captures all the awkwardness and uncertainty of people who are united through coincidence of birth rather than natural affection. Men in the family revert to bland discussions about the traffic getting there. Women side-eye the choices of dishes brought to the dining table. These are familiar figures who are of a certain type – yet they are also unique and distinct. Mercy and her husband Robin's son David doesn't conform to his father's masculine expectations. The rift this causes is subtle yet severe in creating a longstanding distance which is never entirely broached. It's just one example of how this family has drifted apart while still remaining roughly connected. Though Robin might be simply viewed as a domineering dad he's depicted with a lot of compassion and sympathy showing how evenhanded Tyler is when writing her characters.

The title of the novel is acknowledged as a metaphorical cliché when an older David observes how this style of hair arrangement which leaves waves in the strands when undone is “how families work, too. You think you're free of them, but you're never really free; the ripples are crimped in forever.” It's a bit of hard-won terse wisdom which is a platitude but still essentially true. However, the real understanding of family life comes from looking at members as individuals caught in different periods of time and circumstances. This is the technique Tyler has employed and which Mercy might have depicted visually if she painted people rather than objects. It's wonderfully affecting as the novel builds to say so much more than any of its finely-observed parts. Tyler's ability to find profundity in the mundane without any overly dramatic plotting is unparalleled and highly accomplished.

Ghost Music by An Yu

Song Yan is a gifted pianist who gave up pursuing her own musical career to marry a dedicated businessman and start a family. But her husband Bowen staunchly refuses to have children. At the same time, Bowen's mother has moved into their apartment and frequently nags Song Yan about having children. Caught between these two conflicting opinions, Song Yan longs to become pregnant. She directs her maternal feeling and talent towards children who she instructs to play the piano. As she gradually discovers hidden aspects from Bowen's past she has strange dreams about glowing orange mushrooms. She also connects to a mysterious individual named Bai Yu who was once a child prodigy and star pianist who disappeared many years ago. This is an absorbing novel which explores the psychological tension of a woman wrestling with issues to do with creativity, ambition and belonging. It also blends in surreal elements of talking mushrooms and a whole village which becomes covered with a strange orange pollen. An Yu has a fascinating way of depicting quietly transformative moments in life when we enter into realms of being separate from our ordinary day to day existence.

Mushrooms are something the characters consume but they also take on a symbolic force in the novel as Song Yan dreams about them and tries to tend growing them herself. Perhaps they stand for hidden desires which grow in the dark or the struggle for Song Yan to find purpose in a perilously isolated life. After discovering shocking details about her husband's life she observes “Solitude is tolerable, even enjoyable at times. But when you realise that you've given your life to someone, yet you know nothing but his name? That kind of solitude is loneliness. That's what kills you.” Though her father desired that she become a famous pianist, Song Yan realised there were limits to her talent. The figure of Bai Yu stands as a counterpoint to the celebrated musician she might have become as he renounced his fame to live in seclusion. I think the novel tries to show how fulfilment isn't necessarily found in the larger life goals we set for ourselves but in experiences where we're able to truly express ourselves. It's enjoyable following Song Yan's uneven and dreamlike journey, but there were some elements of the story which felt like they could have been developed more fully such as Bowen's absent sister and the meaning of the orange dust. Overall I appreciated the subtle shifts in her character through strange encounters which lead Song Yan to a new independence.

Really Good, Actually by Monica Heisey

Heisey's debut novel is a lighthearted and funny modern story with the kind of high “relatability” factor found in the tradition of “Bridget Jones's Diary” and “Heartburn”. Maggie is fast approaching 30 and her marriage to Jon has just ended. There was no big dramatic breakdown in their relationship; it just stopped working. And while Maggie wants to strive for a “Good Divorce” her life slowly spirals out of control even as she desperately tries to hold it together. Plans for self improvement with mental and physical wellbeing regimes frequently falter. Her experiences on dating apps veer from amusing to cringe. She engages in late-night online shopping binges which result in unsustainable hits to her dwindling bank account and her need to return many items. She is pursuing a post-graduate degree in Shakespearean studies, but isn't so devoted to it or her teaching to find them fulfilling. Maggie's loyal circle of friends and a new fellow divorcee bestie grow impatient with her. And the more she strives for an amicable break from Jon the more distant and silent he becomes. In essence, her story captures how she's approaching a time in her life when everything should be coming together but instead it appears to be rapidly falling apart.

As a former screenwriter on the excellent sitcom 'Schitt's Creek', Heisey's skills at writing awkward comedy really come through in the narrative. There's plenty of bad logic humour with lines such as “Tragically I was the victim of a supportive home life” and Maggie's musing that her brief romantic forays with other women mean “I’m not sure I’m bisexual enough to count.” Personally, I feel there's no better comedy than a sad blundering threesome scene and this novel contains an excellent one. There is plenty in this story which made me chuckle in appreciation – if not laugh out loud. I enjoyed the creative approach of interspersing Maggie's account with revealing text exchanges, Google searches and fantasy interludes which further reinforce how little control she has while trying to keep it together. Also, there are some wonderfully cutting scenes where other characters reveal just how wacky Maggie's behaviour has become in a way that she herself hasn't divulged to readers.

The trouble is that the novel begins to feel too drawn out as Maggie becomes eminently unlikeable with an increasingly unbelievable lack of self-awareness. This partially undercuts the more meaningful message of the book about a newly independent woman learning to love herself. As sympathetic as Maggie is with her restlessness, body issues and contemporary romantic problems, I wanted to like her more. Certainly unlikeable central characters are a stalwart of great stories and offer a lot of potential for great comedy, but it ultimately felt like Heisey sacrificed her protagonist's integrity by striving to get more jokes in. It's an issue similar to what I found in reading “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine”. I definitely found Heisey's novel funny and enjoyable, but while it's unquestionably heartfelt it doesn't quite capture all the emotion it could have.

Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis

In the opening lines of “Less Than Zero” Ellis seems to lull readers into believing that his debut book will be a comic coming of age novel. 18 year old Clay has just returned to his native city of Los Angeles during the winter break of 1984 and been picked up at the airport by his ex-girlfriend Blair who comments that “People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles.” When this novel was first published in 1985 I don't know if LA folk discussing driving was as much a cliché as it's become – so much so that the SNL sketch “The Californians” made a hilarious daytime soap parody where car talk drowns out any other dramatic issue. But the emphasis on the frivolous mechanics of navigating the complicated road networks makes Clay immediately realise the importance of the superficial over the substantive in this city where he originated. As we follow his month of partying, drug taking and emotionless hookups with women and men, the humour initially found in all this meaningless consumption and frivolous interaction takes on a feeling of dread. After a while the reader realises that amidst the spectacle of these ultra-privileged young people's lifestyle there is a looming emptiness and soullessness from which there can be no return. So much so that being a passive witness can be the only response when confronted with death, rape and destruction. It's no wonder that when discussing this novel Ottessa Moshfegh remarks “If this book is an existential satire its actual premise is that the world is hell disguised as paradise.”

Of course, it's only a paradise for people who desire a landscape populated with beautiful young people engaged in endless parties with their seemingly inexhaustible funds as their parents are all wealthy from the film industry or real estate business. Those parents are conspicuously absent or, when present, act as badly or worse than the children. Clay's own parents show little interest in his life or well-being beyond enquiring what he wants for Christmas. The only thing close to morality in this affluent world comes through empty words spouted by televangelists on money-motivated religious programs. As Clay stumbles through this city of drug-fuelled revelry and gossip many people's names begin to blur together but this is apt because the characters frequently refer to individuals whose identities they can't recall. A sense of quiet desperation gradually comes through. The words “Help Me” are anonymously scrawled in a buzzing club. Clay inexplicably cries in a bathroom or stares vacantly into the distance while standing naked in a window like an Edward Hopper painting. Visiting places from his childhood give no sentimental feeling because they aren't connected with any firm emotions. Julian, his best friend from high school, just wants money from him. This eminently photographable rarefied environment steadily becomes less amusing as it's revealed to be completely hollow and frighteningly sinister.

What's so effective about this style of narrative is the way it normalises violence and impending disaster. Since everything is underpinned by emptiness there are no stakes. So as increasingly horrific things occur they come to feel meaningless. Drug addiction, poverty, mutilation and even murder are just a joke to this elite group. Real life and film increasingly blur. Rumours of impending disaster become present with houses falling into the sea, earthquakes, inhumanly high temperatures, roadside accidents, sexual assault, exploitation and physical attacks. It's all fodder for more anecdotes blithely recounted at another party. Anyone sensible will know that such a superficial lifestyle will be unfulfilling, but the point seems to be that our culture continuously glamorises and strives to maintain this style of living which will always collapse because it has no foundation. The question shouldn't be why such violence occurs in the novel, but why do we continue to believe that such frivolous beauty and ravenous consumption at the expense of others will ever lead to fulfilment? How can such an environment be so repulsive but also so compelling to watch? Many will want to turn away, but Clay is tragically trapped in this horrific reality. So even though I didn't love reading this novel I appreciate that it has meaning and a message.

Vista Chinesa by Tatiana Salem Levy (translated by Alison Entrekin)

The difficult details of what happened in our parents' lives before we were born often remain secret. This short, startlingly impactful novel is composed in the form of a letter which Júlia writes to her twin children. She confides in them about a violent incident which occurred long before they were conceived during which she was raped. In 2014, Júlia went on a run in the forest of Rio de Janeiro before a planned meeting about her architectural project of constructing an Olympic village in the city. She was sexually violated and physically attacked at gunpoint. The perpetrator was never found. Though she is aware that “now when people look at me they no longer see the body of a woman destroyed”, the damage is always emotionally present even if it is no longer physically visible. “That was my despair. The world went on, and my body, too, my work, my relationship, the things I wasn't sure about, my issues. My life was still there, even though it was over.” In describing her experience of surviving the attack, the police case which followed and the excruciating difficulty of life afterward we gain a complex and vivid portrait of the damage which persists after such a horrific assault.

The author notes at the end of the book that it was created through long conversations and a collaborative effort with her friend who was raped. They could have written a nonfiction account of her experience but it's fitting that it was transformed into a fictional narrative to more adequately represent the psychological reality of the victim. The style of the novel cleverly represents Júlia's state of mind to give a visceral understanding of her experience. Memories are both clearly present and jumbled. She's asked to describe what her attacker looked like for a police sketch and identify suspects from line ups, but it's moving how she conveys the agonizing difficulty of recognizing her attacker when “Looking in the mirror... I don't even recognise myself.” Sometimes sentences in the novel extend at a rapid pace showing the confusion of thoughts, emotion and her sense of time. Sections move back and forth between details of the attack and her life afterward. Though clarity becomes ever more elusive, while with her therapist she desperately thinks “If I talked about nothing else, if I only repeated the same story every day I came here, putting all of my versions together, maybe I'd get there. At some point, I'd get it all out and free myself of this past.” Sadly, there can be no escape from what happened to her but this account does a great deal to instil understanding.

Tatiana Salem Levy has an artful way of presenting individual experience framed by issues to do with nationality as in her previous novel “The House in Smyrna”. In this new book she shows the disconnect between the protagonist's life after her assault and the authorities' agenda. Police are more focused on closing the case than finding the right suspect. At one point the female investigator suggests that Júlia was partly at fault for jogging in an unpopulated area at a certain time of day. There's a buoyant attitude in the country surrounding the World Cup and Olympics while issues of public safety are being swept under the rug. Factors such as this shows why some victims of rape choose to not report or pursue justice because the continuing emotional trauma and further damage is too difficult. It reminded me of the clearsighted way Kandasamy's “When I Hit You” shows why reporting domestic abuse often results in further punishment for the victim. Levy's novel is full of bravery and insight in how it conveys the painful reality of sexual assault.

Sugar Street by Jonathan Dee

Who do you become when you leave your identity behind? The unnamed narrator of “Sugar Street” has abandoned his home, family, friends and job along with any identification. He goes to great lengths to avoid leaving any detection of himself as he drives to a remote town with nothing but a large bundle of cash. Here he finds lodging at a ramshackle house owned by a wayward woman who doesn't even care to know his name. In his dank upstairs room he simply exists, gazing out of the window and the only technology he allows in his space is an old radio. The mystery of who he is and what he's run away from persists through much of the novel especially as he cautiously plants several red herrings so the reader of this account won't be able to decipher his identity. At the same time, his story prods at existential questions to do with the meaning of life and whether being a “good” person is possible especially as a well-meaning white, heterosexual man from a comfortable background. He declares “I want peace. A just and lasting peace, peace in our time. I've always wanted peace, and I used to imagine that made me some kind of radical. But now I get it that peace is self-serving; peace protects the status quo and those who like it.” Stripped of everything in life but the bare essentials he pursues whether it's possible to exist in a morally wholesome way in modern America or if this is just another egotistical trap. While this might sound like a lot of liberal hand-wringing the story conveys a sense of deeply-felt crisis.

Much of the action of this novel is concerned with the painstaking measures he takes to avoid cameras, being logged on any system or giving any indication which could connect him to his origins. As he acknowledges, this is practically impossible in today's world when most large venues use CCTV and even searching the catalogue of a library requires a form of ID. It makes for quite a meagre, sad and lonely life as any tentative connections he forms with other people cause him to become paranoid. Of course, any interaction he experiences is also amplified as so much of his days are spent sitting in his dingy darkened apartment. He can sway from extreme acts of generosity to lashing out against those who disturb his placid afternoon. Many readers might grow frustrated or impatient with this novel as the plot becomes so concerned with the minutiae of these details. However, there are occasional moments of sly humour like when he refers to himself as Bertha Rochester (the so-called “madwoman in the attic” from “Jane Eyre”). He also asks difficult questions of readers and the inherent value of literature: “What are books anyway, though, in this world? Little antiquities. A library is a sort of roadside museum.” Many readers believe books give us an accumulation of knowledge and points of view along with entertainment, but this is a concept he has completely lost faith in.

What's more he's lost faith in humanity in general and cynically feels: “every effort to change the world has failed, is doomed to fail, as long as people are involved. Because people are a nightmare. Any system predicated on the idea of innate human decency is a joke. We're proving that now, as we have been for centuries.” Most people believe that human society is making incremental progress towards the betterment of all, but he seems to posit that this is an impossibility if we're to believe Sartre's maxim that “hell is other people.” Certainly anyone who has become involved in social media with the hope of it providing an earnest exchange of ideas where everyone is allowed to have a voice will quickly become disillusioned with its integrity. In fact, he dispels with the belief that individual perspective contains any essential importance: “in the end you are not a voice. You are not a name, not an identity; all that is vanity. In the end you are a body. That is the most, maybe the only, useful thing at your disposal. You must not flatter or deceive yourself about that.” Though these views about the illusion of individual existence veer towards some Buddhist philosophy, the narrative remains resolutely irreligious in his search for answers. However, it's interesting that his ultimate conclusion similarly suggests the necessity of obliterating the self (or some version of oneself). Those prone to such angst will find much to meditate on in this brooding tale.

The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O'Farrell

With her latest novel “The Marriage Portrait” Maggie O'Farrell proves that she's one of the finest historical novelists working today. The basis of her inspiration comes from using that classic trick of plucking a semi-obscure figure from the distant past along with a bit of gossip to conjure a tale from between the pages of history. The subject is Lucrezia de' Medici, a noble daughter from Florence who was married to Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara in 1558 when she was only thirteen. A year later she died from what was labelled as “putrid fever” but it was rumoured that she had been murdered by Alfonso. Although this new novel is set in the mid-1500s (only a few decades prior to her previous novel “Hamnet”) the stories are worlds apart. We follow Lucrezia's life as she is born into a busy privileged Italian household and ostracised for being the strange daughter of the family. O'Farrell imaginatively transports readers to this era with sumptuous, lavish, gorgeously-rendered detail of palace life with its many ornate rooms and hidden corridors, trysts and shady dealings and a menagerie of exotic animals kept for Cosimo, the Duke of Tuscany's amusement. When Lucrezia ventures into the depths of the palace to spy upon her father's new acquisition of a tigress she feels a momentary connection with this wild beautiful animal that stirs her spirit.

The narrative alternates between the story of her upbringing and her time at the remote “hunting lodge” of her husband Alfonso when Lucrezia is suddenly convinced “that he intends to kill her.” Is this true? Is she delirious from illness? Is she paranoid? Is there any way she can survive? These questions remain tantalizingly suspended throughout the story until the exhilarating and clever climax. There are so many compelling characters: vain sisters, bratty brothers, a wise nursemaid, seductive suitors, mysterious artists and scheming friends. As heads of the family, Eleanora and her husband Cosimo provide a model example of rulers of the region in their productivity and determination to educate all their children – both the boys and girls. However, their great flaw is underestimating their daughter Lucrezia. Here she is placed at the centre of the novel as the consummate outsider and forgotten child whose artistic talent leaves her teachers in awe. Though this position naturally makes her somewhat lonely, it's also advantageous as she can see the workings of things more clearly from a distance. Lucrezia's keen skills of observation and ability to discern power dynamics serves her well. She probably would have remained sidelined by her siblings if her elder sister Maria hadn't died from illness which means Lucrezia is ushered to take her place in marrying Alfonso.

I felt so drawn into the dynamics of palace life. O'Farrell is very skilful at evoking this period as well as creating a mystery around Alfonso who comes across as so charming but secretive. It's a tribute to the author's ability that she can build such a strong sense of hope while also making readers dread an impending doom. I was kept in suspense throughout while being spellbound by the heady experience of Lucrezia's wealthy but cloistered life. What's especially intriguing about this historical novel is the way the author allows you to see how things could have played out so differently if fate had blown in a different direction. If Maria hadn't died from disease and married Alfonso her outcome would have been very different from Lucrezia's. If Alfonso hadn't been so ruthless in his desire to produce an heir and allowed Lucrezia to become his equal partner, they could have ruled in as harmonious a way as Lucrezia's parents. O'Farrell shows how certain events dictate history, but they don't determine the future. And through the inspiring conclusion she establishes an ingenious way for us to re-view the past.

Spare by Prince Harry

My curiosity got the better of me and I read Prince Harry's memoir “Spare”. In the opening section he describes meeting with his father and William who state they don't know why he's done what he's done so he begins by saying “Pa, Willy, World... Here you go.” And I think the main point of his justification is stated later in the book when he says: “My problem has never been with the monarchy, or the concept of monarchy. It's been with the press and the sick relationship that's evolved between it and the Palace. I love my Mother Country, and I love my family, and I always will. I just wish, at the second-darkest moment of my life, they'd both been there for me. And I believe they'll look back one day and wish they had too.” Throughout the memoir he recounts the events of his entire life and states his case against the press and his family's failure to act on his and his wife's behalf.

Most of us have probably seen some of the shocking revelations and statements that Harry and Meghan have made lately in interviews and through their documentary series. This couple have been everywhere! Many are aware of the horrific abuse they've received by some of the press and public, the bickering between Harry and his family leading up to a physical fight with William (which is detailed in the book), the testy relationship between Meghan and Kate – all of which lead Harry to officially break away from the Royal family. I think it's been well covered already how Harry openly talks in this book about his drinking and drug use, losing his virginity and what were probably his biggest public gaffs of wearing a nazi outfit to a fancy dress party and using a racial slur when talking about a friend because he “wasn't thinking” and because of a “failure of self education” which he humbly admits he needs to improve. However, there were several things I read in Spare which I found surprising and I discuss them in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRdsfxXzWwI

There's no doubt Harry has undergone an extreme amount of physical and mental hardship and he's shown great resilience. He's clearly a talented and dedicated soldier (and it's a shame he wasn't able to continue in service because of risks to him and his colleagues). He's in some ways an ordinary guy who shops at TK Max, eats Nandos (bizarrely he places an order for this during the birth of his first child while sucking down laughing gas to help calm himself) and binge watches Friends – but he's also obviously in an extraordinarily privileged position. As one example, he labels himself a Chandler and later physically stays at Courtney Cox's house. So there's this odd mixture of the mundane with the extraordinary throughout the book which I guess is the thing that really makes us so fascinated by the Royals and what Harry calls his “fancy captivity”.

I felt a limited amount of sympathy towards him after reading this book and I think it's effective in showing his point of view but I don't know if I'm convinced he's right and those he's speaking out against are wrong. Or that anyone in this situation can be completely right or wrong. Many claims are made about leaks from within the Royal House to the press and how the Queen's close aides were basically manipulating her before her death. However, most of this comes across as conjecture and paranoia with little evidence apart from his word - though it's not at all surprising Harry would be highly suspicious given all the backstabbing and dirty deals that apparently go on in these circles.

How much should we trust his word? He states early in the memoir that he has an extraordinary memory for spaces but not dialogue from the past. There are many conversations recounted throughout the book in which he comes across as supremely reasonable while others sound irate. Should we trust that these were the things actually said? They might be roughly true but it feels like they mostly emphasise the fact that this is a one-sided account. Overall, I'm just left feeling the entire Royal mess is in a sad state of affairs. I'm not sure if this book will work positively towards fixing things or just fuel the fire which he seems so desperately to want to put out. But it makes sense that he'd put this book out there and it seems remarkable that we now have such a candid account from someone in the inner circle. I wouldn't recommend reading it unless you have a keen interest in the Royals and are really intrigued by such a personal account. However, if you do read it don't expect any clear answers.

The New Life by Tom Crewe

Crewe's debut novel begins in the summer of 1894 as John Addington makes the important decision that he won't deny his sexual and romantic longing for men any longer. He's middle aged and married to a woman named Catherine. They have multiple children who are now adults themselves. The few sexual encounters John's previously experienced resulted in repentance and a return to the sublimation of his desires. After he meets a man named Frank at a nude swimming pond in London he longs for the kind of domestic closeness any couple in love wants. Most modern readers will naturally recognise that John has repressed his homosexuality because of Victorian attitudes which not only condemned gay relationships but criminalised them. The consequences of such laws were made famous by Oscar Wilde's 1895 trial which casts a shadow over this story.

Obviously John's life has been painful and we want to see him find happiness. What's so engaging and innovative about this novel is the way it shows the full complexity of trying to obtain such happiness. How do you change laws which criminalise such desire without first dispelling widespread prejudice? How do you change the attitudes of the public without first changing the laws? How do you reconcile your own innate desires within the framework of a society which teaches you to repress them? How much are you willing to obstruct the happiness of others' to achieve your own? Many scenes in this novel are more concerned with the way such questions intrude upon moments of these characters' lives leaving them in a tense state of ambiguity and uncertainty. In doing so, it causes readers to ponder their own assumptions about what is just and what is right.

Running parallel to John's story is that of a shy young man named Henry who enters into a non-traditional marriage with Edith. The couple share a strong intellectual connection and commitment to working towards “the New Life” as Henry feels “we must live in the future we hope to make”. Henry and Edith maintain separate residences as Edith is engaged in a romantic relationship with another woman named Angelica. Henry also has secret sexual proclivities which he finds excruciatingly painful to admit. He exchanges letters with John as they write a book together titled “Sexual Inversion” which seeks to establish an intellectual and medical basis for homosexuality. They hope this will lead to changes in the larger society and help usher everyone into this ideal conception of a “New Life.” However, historical circumstances and the impact this publication has upon people connected to the book dramatically complicate these aims.

These matters create such an intriguing and unexpected plot which plays out over the course of nearly two years in these characters' lives. Crewe's academic speciality for this period of British history gracefully informs the story and imbues it with tantalizing atmospheric detail. It also allows the author to adeptly deviate from historical fact and the actual men who inspired these characters in a way which serves the fiction extremely well. There is a striking scene where London is covered in such a thick fog that boys with lanterns need to be hired to guide people from one spot to another. This fog provides a natural metaphor for the dilemmas of the story as well as a romantic opportunity for desires which ordinarily must be concealed to be expressed in the open. The writing is highly sensuous (as one would hope it would be given the subject matter) and unashamedly captures the object of these characters' desires as well as how their yearnings manifest. It makes it a very sexy novel (albeit in a very English way) falling naturally in line with the work of Alan Hollinghurst.

I found it particularly moving how John has such a strong sense of being watched even in private moments and how this has inhibited him for most of his life. Yet, when he becomes adamant about being open about his desires it impedes upon the lives of others such as his wife Catherine who speaks up at a crucial moment in the story. As total disclosures are made it also turns some who are sympathetic and supportive of John against him. This creates more haunting questions for the reader concerning what liberty we actually possess to confess all that we are to the world. How much honesty can our relationships and larger society take? Equally, the characters' earnest desire to establish a “New Life” compellingly teases out the vaguely shifting lines between being and becoming. There are no easy answers to these problems and by casting us back to a period of history that we believe we've progressed far away from, Crewe cleverly makes clear how the past is actually still present.

Winter Flowers by Angelique Villeneuve (translated by Adriana Hunter)

I admire a quiet novel that allows emotional significance to arise from the facts of history rather than dramatic or showy events. “Winter Flowers” is set directly after WWI in late 1918 when soldier Toussaint returns to his wife Jeanne and daughter Leonie in Paris. He's been away for years and has been wounded and facially disfigured in battle. Though his much anticipated return is welcome, everyone has been heavily changed by the war, disease and poverty. The majority of the story takes place in the confined quarters of their humble abode where Jeanne spends exhaustive hours painstakingly shaping fake flowers to adorn women's attire in upscale boutiques. This family must slowly readjust to each others' presence. Their interactions are often awkward and Jeanne must guess at the thoughts of the often silent Toussaint. It's a meditative experience following this family as they readjust to each other, grapple with grief and accept what's been lost. It also presents a focused portrait of the state of a country which has been traumatised by war.

It's intriguing how even though Toussaint and Jeanne share a bed again there is still a mental, emotional and sexual gulf between them. Jeanne must mull over his cryptic brief remarks and is reduced to following her husband when he makes unannounced excursions. Her desperation to better understand him is palpable. It's moving how the story delicately presents this example of a couple who aren't able to share their innermost thoughts and feelings. There's also an uncertainty for the characters concerning what's happening in the country. This is presented in an innovative way in one chapter where there is a list of speculations which all begin with the line “Word is...” In this way the author shows how the community is united in their struggle to understand what's happening and how they should best prepare for the future. It reminded me somewhat of the way the author Annie Ernaux is able to simultaneously represent both the individual and the collective psyche in her books through the shifting concerns and preoccupations of a group of people.

Not only is there an aching tension in the relationship between this husband and wife, but also between Jeanne and her daughter Leonie. When Jeanne lashes out against her adolescent girl at one point it's shocking, but also indicative of how they struggle to effectively communicate despite living together in such close quarters. Additionally, there's an absence in this home from a lost family member which is delicately woven into the narrative. The novel presents the continuing impact of many different kinds of loss for both this family and their neighbour Sidonie who once had a large family but is now perilously alone. So even though the central family are lucky to still have each other there are sorrowful gulfs between them. For such a seemingly lowkey story, the author powerfully presents how bereavement creates both barriers and bonds between individuals who rely on one another and the hard-won love between them.