Is Mother Dead by Vigdis Hjorth (translated by Charlotte Barslund)

There are few subjects more tender and heartbreaking than a child whose parents have rejected them. Being cast out like that can crush someone's self esteem and make them feel like their place in the world is a mistake. It can also be liberating and allow someone to develop an identity separate from what their family has designated for them. So it's interesting how Vigdis Hjorth gives a unique point of view of such a case in “Is Mother Dead”. The story is told from the perspective of successful artist Johanna who has recently returned to her native Norway after a long absence. A major retrospective of her artwork will soon be shown and it's causing her to reflect on the remaining family that she's been estranged from for many years. She's aware her mother and sister inhabit the same city she's returned to and she doggedly attempts to make contact. When her advances are ignored and rejected Johanna begins stalking her mother. The reasons for this family rift and the painful feelings surrounding it are gradually revealed as we follow her determination to get some answers.

The prose are imbued with a lowkey solemnity and simmering resentment because she's not part of her family's life anymore. Having been labelled the black sheep, she prides herself on her independence and even at one point remarks “it feels like I am of the earth and not of Mum”. She's built a career, been in a loving marriage until her husband's death and has a thriving adult son of her own. However, there's a longing for a connection with her mother and she's desperate to know what her mother's life is like now. She's nervously aware that if her mother dies she might not even be informed of this fact. Though this novel is literally full of questions it feels notable that there's no question mark in the title. In a sense Johanna is haunting the old life she's left behind. She visits places from her youth and tries to reconcile the old woman she now spies on with the woman she knew growing up. At one point she realises her mother “had placed a ghost where she imagined me to be and she was terrified of it”.

So why can't Johanna simply part ways with her family who no longer want any contact with her? Johanna ponders this herself as she's doing this against her better judgement but she states “I yearn for something unobtainable... so why can't I just accept the situation as it is, my common sense already has, but pig-headedness makes me write to Mum, I don't understand myself.” And she realises that “I've come to terms with losing my mum, but I can't come to terms with Mum coming to terms with losing her daughter”. Since her mother refuses to discuss it with her, Johanna must become almost like a detective piecing together an answer from what she observes of her mother and what she remembers. The primary reasons for Johanna becoming an outcast are clear but the deeper motivations and pain her mother carries are harder to discern. Alongside this psychological mystery, there is a tension throughout the novel as we wonder will she actually speak to her mother again and can there be a reconciliation after all this time?

I feel like what you get out of this novel depends somewhat on what you're willing to put into it. On the surface it can feel repetitive and empty since Johanna is left to speculate about so much. However, seriously pondering the deeper questions at the heart of this book makes it feel achingly resonant. What obligation should a parent feel towards their child and vice versa? Is it possible to overcome fundamental differences of opinion about how life should be lived in order to maintain a family bond? How do you negotiate levels of personal privacy between family members without creating emotional distance? Is it a betrayal of trust to speak about private family matters publicly or express them in art?

One of the reasons for the break between mother and daughter is a series of paintings by Johanna called 'Mother and Child' which were exhibited in her family's home town. Her family interpreted this artwork as unfairly representing their lives whereas Johanna didn't necessarily intend them to be autobiographical. At first I found it frustrating that these paintings aren't described in much detail – nor is Johanna's body of artwork or technique though she's apparently prominent enough to deserve a retrospective exhibit. However, as she describes her memories it's clear there's a fundamental difference in how she interprets the world versus how her family views it. When she was younger Johanna drew pictures which were expressive and symbolic whereas her parents felt they should represent life as closely as possible like a photograph. This difference in point of view also extends to how they interpret a familial sense of duty and degrees of emotional connection to one another. The rift this eventually causes between them is shown to be quietly explosive as we follow Johanna's obsessive investigation.

No matter how close or distant you are from your own family these are issues which everyone can relate to some level. I think it's so interesting how with family we always get to a point where we wonder: am I the weird one or are they the weird ones? And this question is teasingly probed in this novel where on one level Johanna's behaviour is erratic and intrusive. But, on the other hand, her family's absolute rejection and refusal to speak to her is perversely cruel and viciously cold. Communication is key and this is something her family won't engage in but Johanna feels “There are so many crucial questions we never ask except in our most private moments, so many issues we avoid discussing even though the people who could contribute to clarification and information are still alive.” She witnesses her mother and sister routinely visit her father's grave. However, they ignore her though she's still alive and so close by. It's always felt like a mysterious tragedy to me that people can devote themselves so strongly to the memory of a family member who has died while ignoring the family they still have. I found it moving how this novel dynamically ponders this question.

Boulder by Eva Baltasar (translated by Julia Sanches)

I feel lucky that my husband and I have always fully agreed that we don't want to have children. For some couples this can become a difficult and painful subject. Such is the case for the protagonist of “Boulder” and her partner Samsa. Because the narrator had previously been living an isolated life working as a cook on a merchant ship, Samsa nicknames her Boulder like “those large, solitary rocks in southern Patagonia, pieces of world left over after creation”. Upon meeting the women immediately form an intense emotional and sexual connection. So, when Samsa is offered a good job in Reykjavik, Boulder is persuaded to give up her nomadic lifestyle and settle down. After several years Samsa is determined to have a child and Boulder hesitantly agrees. This novel follows the complications this causes in their relationship and raises larger questions about the meaning of life especially in regards to procreation. It's written in a poetic and briskly engaging style full of verve and insights.

It's interesting how Boulder's philosophy of life is disrupted by the challenge of partnership and parenthood. For most people, settling down is a stage which naturally follows from a rootless existence. But she believes “The destination always kills the journey, and if we have to reduce life to a story, it can only be a bad one.” Equally she shuns any attachments believing “I can give anything up, because nothing is essential when you refuse to imprison life in a narrative.” This ethos is contrary to what mainstream society promulgates concerning the matters of a stable job, life partner and starting a family. So it's striking how Boulder feels irresistibly drawn towards Samsa and their bond challenges her essential nature. This is described in deeply evocative prose: “The intense heat of Samsa's body is rhythmic, it reaches my skin in waves that wash over me the way a murmuring tide washes over a lone rock, bringing in something new each time – a tale of shipwreck, a ship buried in the sand, calm and quiet at the bottom of the sea.” I admire the rich descriptions which not only invoke the heat of their connection but the gradual shift in Boulder's psychology.

The metaphor inherent in Boulder's nickname is worked into the texture of this book. She doesn't feel connected to the story of our species so becoming a mother and entering into that narrative is deeply uncomfortable for her. This isn't just a queer perspective because clearly Samsa feels differently. However, I feel like it's a sense that many queer people strongly relate to since we often feel ostracised from the values of larger society and certainly many heterosexual people can feel the same. There's an interesting section where she goes to a museum and remarks “I'm not even interested in the sculptures – nude, still, deliberately feminine, wrested with every strike of the mallet from slabs of granite, from rocks that had once held meaning under the stars.” For her, propagating the species takes away from the inherent value of life for life's sake. She didn't ask to be created; she simply exists and doesn't feel obligated to ensure anyone will continue on from her. Also, as with many couples who become parents, her emotional and physical relationship to her partner dramatically changes once they have a child. The growing distance between them is palpable.

I found it very moving how the storyline evokes gradual but seismic shifts which occur between them and within Boulder herself over a long period of time. It takes a lot of skill to convey immense and complicated feelings through such economical prose. While the ideas of the book seem weighty, there's also a lightness in this story demonstrated in the feverish desires which takes hold of Boulder and the humour of her drinking partner Ragnar who had many wives and children. “Wife number three had amazing tits. Creamy as skyr, he says. The man's a poet,” Boulder wryly comments. I found this description which invokes Iceland's famous yoghurt-like product so funny. Maybe I also strongly connected to this short, impressive novel because I feel sympathetic with Boulder's point of view. However, I don't think it's dogmatic in its message. Instead it offers an alternative perspective from the idea that existence only has meaning if you have children. It poignantly opens up a conversation about having children as well as the nature of life and how it should be lived.

The Birthday Party by Laurent Mauvignier (translated by Daniel Levin Becker)

It's been a while since a novel has kept me up reading late into the night because I need to finish it and find out what happens. “The Birthday Party” could definitely be categorized as a thriller because its sense of danger and tension gradually escalates over the course of the book until it reaches a feverish pitch. However, it's structured in an interesting way with elaborate detail and intricate sentences which fully account for the multitude of thoughts, memories and impressions of I ts central characters. This creates a unique in-depth understanding of their points of view. The story is set in a hamlet in the French countryside where Patrice prepares for his wife Marion's 40th birthday party. Their daughter Ida draws pictures to give to her as a present and she's guided by their older neighbour Christine who is a slightly eccentric artist. Although this setting seems peaceful and idyllic ominous uncertainties linger especially as Christine receives anonymous threatening letters and the party which is about to kick off is crashed by sinister uninvited guests. What follows is a slow-building tale which teasingly reveals the motives and secrets of these characters. The tightly wound plot cautiously unravels until the truth is laid mercilessly bare.

This is a novel which requires some patience at first because its pace initially appears so languid. But it becomes increasingly compelling as all the elements which consume the moment to moment lives of these characters reveal how people are overwhelmingly preoccupied by thoughts of the past and projections of the future. At least, this is the case until something disrupts the self-designated line on which they walk through the world. Then they become firmly rooted in the present. The author describes this in the novel as “the surprise giving way to a mute shock so strong that all reality finally dissolves into a sensation of brutal hyperrealism”. Through the domestic drama and tense stand off in this story Mauvignier poignantly shows the perilous uncertainties of life. These persist no matter how firmly people believe in the narratives they write for themselves and it reveals the intense clash which occurs when these narratives are disrupted. The precariousness of self invention is reflected in Christine's method of painting: “you can layer over your life to call it into being, superimpose coats of realities, different lives so that at last only one is visible, nourished by the previous ones and surpassing all of them”. The conflict which occurs between these characters reveals how their sense of being is violently torn apart when it infringes upon the liberty of others. In particular, it exposes how a certain type of hyper-masculine sensibility is remorseless in its determination to dominate and control.

It's clever how the author builds a sense of mystery surrounding his characters and their motives. Many times when I began to feel weary of the convoluted tangle of this situation, I'd be drawn back in wondering what's really going on here and what's going to happen next. Mauvignier certainly keeps the reader guessing and I can see how some might feel information is being artificially withheld for the sake of suspense. But I think as well as building a sense of tension the author is reflecting the reality of daily existence and our relationship with time. In fact, life begins to feel like its composed of blocks of time which are moveable pieces. The present is often overlaid by a future which might never materialize and frequently it doesn't as events mean the characters' plans must be rewritten. The novel is paced to reflect this where experiences move quite slowly until lots of surprising things suddenly happen all at once. At one point Mauvignier adopts a cinematic language to describe how: “Now what happens goes very quickly, and it's as though only a very long slow-motion shot can make it visible.” Action sequences are notoriously difficult to present in novels but I think this story masterfully conveys events which occur quickly. Rather than trying to imitate the visual impact of film, Mauvignier shows in his text how cinema reflects the heart-stopping moment when something calamitous occurs in an instant. It takes a certain style of presentation to show how this decisive moment will change things forever.

This novel could be read simply for its suspense though I can understand why some readers' patience is tested. However, I think its overriding message makes more of an impact than any generic potboiler and this is because of the distinctive style Mauvignier uses to relate this story. It's like Virginia Woolf meets Patricia Highsmith. Though the setting is provincial and it presents only a tiny community it speaks to some of the current concerns of the wider world. It reveals the dangers of group mentalities and an incel-type misogynistic frame of mind. Also, about halfway through the book I felt completely hooked and knew I had to finish it even if it meant I would lose some sleep.

Fire Rush by Jacqueline Crooks

It feels like some debut novels have been building up in an author's mind for their entire life. This is certainly the case with “Fire Rush”. In the bio for Jacqueline Crooks on the dust jacket it describes how she was involved in the music and political scene of migrant communities in 70s and 80s London and that she was “immersed in the gang underworld as a young woman.” This novel follows Yamaye through this same period of time. She spends her nights clubbing with friends at a venue which caters for the emerging dub music scene. But when a promising relationship is cut short because of a racist attack by the police, she's thrust into a movement of protest and criminality which eventually leads her to Bristol and Jamaica. At one point she muses “I wonder if one day I'll write a song, a sound memorial for the times we had. Those winter nights of music and heat, Asase, Rumer, Moose and me.” This innovative novel is that memorial because although it's fiction it is rich with the feeling of perilous young adulthood and prose which are infused with the music of British African-Caribbean culture. Reading it is a mesmerising, revelatory and utterly immersive experience.

What's immediately striking about this book is the voice of Yamaye which strongly captures her perspective as a creative young black woman in London. Both her narrative and the dialogue build a powerful sense of her personality and worldview. She resides in a housing estate with her emotionally-distant father, works a tedious job and longs for a connection with her absent mother. What gives her life is going to a club with her friends and chanting lyrics in her head which eventually burst out in public improv sessions when she takes to the mic. Although she finds inspiration and support from this community there's also an element of animosity. It's striking how she frames the slender options available to her when unwanted men grind against her in the club or when the police come knocking on her door. Also, her strong-willed close friend Asase is an ally but she also belittles Yamaye. On top of this is the larger threat of “Babylon” or the British establishment with police who target and spy upon both her and her community. It's inspiring witnessing Yamaye's growth over the course of the dramatic story. Although she experiences tragedy, heartbreak and violence she channels this into artistic expression. She also courageously fights to establish a space where she can feel at home.

There's a mural of black protest near to where I live in south London and its message really came alive for me when reading a section of this novel which features a march through Norwood that turns into a riot. These scenes are filled with evocative physical details and convey the emotional atmosphere of this confrontation in the streets. A visceral pain and anger for the way minorities have been systematically discriminated against and marginalized in this country is powerfully expressed throughout the story. Yamaye is deeply aware of the way her ancestors were subjugated on a day to day basis from the sugar she consumes to the nightmares that plague her. The story also meaningfully deals with the complexity of how to move forward as a society with options that range from complicity to flight to extremism. By following Yamaye's heartrending journey we experience the personal impact and difficulty of these larger events and debates.

The ongoing story lines of who might be snitching to the police in their local community and what happened to Yamaye's mother add compelling elements of mystery to the novel. Although I was fully engaged by this book, there were some elements of the plot that felt a little clunky to me. Circumstances surrounding a friend's incarceration are handled a little too swiftly, some encounters rely too heavily on coincidence and the ending came across as melodramatic. Also some of the short dream sequences dealt a bit too literally with the novel's central subjects. But these are minor quibbles considering the overall vibrancy of the utterly unique prose. It's a moving experience following the way Yamaye grows and transforms over the novel. This story may be set in the past but there is an urgency to Crooks' writing which successfully pays tribute to a movement and music scene which isn't part of mainstream history but whose influence is still strongly felt today.

The Gospel According to the New World by Maryse Condé (translated by Richard Philcox)

Maryse Condé has been alternately dubbed the Grand Dame of Caribbean Literature and the Queen of Caribbean storytelling. She is a prolific novelist and critic from Guadeloupe. Her numerous books have often explored the African diaspora that resulted from slavery and colonialism in the Caribbean. Now, in her late 80s, she’s written what's said to be her final novel “The Gospel According to the New World” which is longlisted for the International Booker Prize. It's a parody of the New Testament in which we follow Pascal, a mixed race boy born in contemporary Martinique. He's abandoned at birth and his adventures play upon the life of Jesus. Many of his experiences and the people he encounters have direct correlations to the bible. Numerous occurrences involving Pascal are rumoured to be miracles – though there's little evidence to prove this. As such, he acquires a devoted following and group of disciples as well as many detractors. Although he was adopted, Pascal embarks on a quest to discover his true parentage: his birth mother who converted to Islam and his father who is a guru that runs an ashram. As he travels to many locations he also engages in a number of affairs with women which often end in disappointment. By drawing upon a number of different religions to inform his journey, Condé questions what the role and purpose such a messianic figure might have in the modern world.

This novel is fairly readable with evocative descriptions and it contains some interesting ideas. But the structure doesn't allow them to be developed enough. Since it sets out to self-consciously present an exaggerated version of events from the Bible it begins to feel routine. It cycles through variations of Lazarus being raised from the dead, the sudden appearance of multiple loaves of bread to feed a wedding crowd and a form of the last supper where Pascal washes the feet of his apostles. This quickly grows tiresome and feels a little too on the nose – especially because Pascal himself so often comes across as naïve, hapless and dull. He has banal epiphanies which show his outrageous ignorance such as “He had thought India was a land swarming with men and women sentenced to a life of famine. On the contrary, he had been dazzled by its extraordinarily rich culture. He had also realized the diversity of the world and the complexity of its problems.” While I'm guessing this is satirising his small-mindedness it makes it difficult to empathize with him at all. There are some other more interesting characters such as his adoptive mother Eulalie who enjoys attention from the press and his charismatic and ambitious gay friend Judas who Pascal might have some romantic attraction towards. Potential storylines are rapidly abandoned such as when a mute boy named Alexandre goes missing after Pascal is charged with caring for him. The novel moves on at such a pace that these potentially compelling dynamics aren't fully explored.

There's an uncomfortable relationship between this novel and the religious text it draws inspiration from. Christian holidays and the life of Jesus are acknowledged, but no one in the story seems to note the increasingly ridiculous parallels between the lives of Pascal and Jesus. For instance, at one point Pascal is approached by the equivalent of Mary Magdalene and Judas objects to fraternizing with her. Condé writes “Pascal replied absentmindedly and in a gentle tone: 'Let he who has never sinned cast the first stone.' Used to his mysterious and incomprehensible words, Judas Eluthere made no objection.” Why would this statement (one of the most famous lines from the New Testament) be “mysterious and incomprehensible” as Condé's character must be familiar with the Bible? I know this novel is written as a parody but it's difficult to gauge by the tone of the story what relationship the characters and situations are meant to have with the real world. So, in following the New Testament so closely, this novel doesn't come across as refreshing or emotionally involving enough.

Similarly, people rally around Pascal as a new messiah but there seems to be little justification or reasoning for them to believe he'd be this. References are made to Pascal teaching classes and assembling disciples but it doesn't feel like this would be far-reaching enough to invoke the kind of near hysteria from his followers around the world which is occasionally mentioned. There's the potential for his life and message to reach more people with a television debate (which doesn't materialize) and a self-published memoir (which is badly reviewed). At one point it's remarked “Why did he arouse so much excitement? Why did the unlikely adventures of a new messiah destined to harmonize the world get so much coverage? Why did some people take sides with him while others held him to public obloquy? People were nurtured by a void and a malaise that no elections by universal suffrage could satisfy: they felt that neither the elected nor their ministers represented them.” This is an interesting statement but it doesn't show the reader any tangible reasons why we should believe that so many people would rally around Pascal except through local rumours. For example, it felt like Condé could have built upon this being a modern story with his fame being spread on the internet and social media.

Perhaps none of this lack of realistic detail should be taken seriously, as the novel could simply be read as a satire about how any messiah that appeared today with a well-intentioned message of peace would be hopelessly overwhelmed by the complexity and nuance of problems in the modern world. Unfortunately, I don't think this needs to be stated in novel form as it mostly comes across like a simple conceptual exercise without enough humour or wit. There's a character named Roro Maniga who is “well known as a painter and his paintings were extremely popular since they were an explosive mixture of sacrilege and religious beliefs. For example, he had painted a series entitled Virgin and Child, where one canvas represented a Black woman, one an Indian woman, one a Dougla, a Chabeen, a Capresse, a Mulatto woman, and finally an Octoroon, each holding a lovely Black infant.” It's an idea worth stating and it feels like Condé is doing something similar in her fiction by presenting Pascal with his mixture of heritage as a modern Jesus. But I'm not sure this novel conveys anything beyond this fully justified perspective which diverges from traditional representations of the messiah. If it's saying that we're not progressing as a society as much as we think we are it's only pointing out examples that are already obvious.

Many notable writers such as Jose Saramago, Philip Pullman, J.M. Coetzee, Norman Mailer and Colm Toibin have felt compelled to write fictional variations on the life of Christ with varying results. Perhaps authors who reach a certain stature feel it necessary to comment upon the modern meaning and questionable relevance of one of the most influential religious stories. In the end, I feel like Condé's text is more like an interesting exercise rather than a satisfying novel. It's perhaps unfortunate that this is the first book I've read by her. I am definitely keen to read some of the more famous books from her back catalogue as her writing clearly contains a sly sense of humour and a different perspective. However, reading this novel on its own comes across like a box being ticked.

Ghost Town by Kevin Chen (translated by Darryl Sterk)

“Ghost Town” is the story of Keith, a young gay man from Taiwan who moves to Germany but eventually goes back to the hometown and family he vowed never to returned to. He's just been released from prison and there is an ongoing mystery as to the circumstances surrounding his incarceration. It also follows the lives of his siblings and parents who've all experienced big disappointments in life because of the repressive conditions and limited opportunities of their provincial Taiwanese village. The premise of this novel had a lot of potential, but I found the structure of the narrative very jarring with its shifting points of view and time lines that constantly jump back and forth. This meant that it was both repetitious and confusing. There are a lot of characters so it's challenging to keep track of them all. There's also too many plot lines to adequately do justice to the complexity and nuance of the subjects raised including domestic abuse, suicide, mental health issues and public shaming. As such, I found it difficult to feel emotionally invested in this book. It was perhaps too ambitious of the author to try to present such a panoramic account of this family and it might have worked better if he'd focused on a single point of view.

Though Keith seems to be at the heart of the story he's strangely absent for most of the novel as we only get brief glimpses of his life and cryptic clues as to the traumatic events he's experienced. It's only toward the end that he comes to the forefront and by this point the story rushes through an explanation of violent events which could have filled up the entire book. Keith is a writer who has been published and achieved some success. The explicit details about gay life within his work has shocked some people from his native village and further ostracised him. So it's almost paradoxical that there are so few overt gay experiences shown in “Ghost Town”. There's a lack of descriptive power in his cruising and first sexual encounter with T, a man Keith meets and marries in Germany. It's noted how “they caused the little bed to quake” but while having sex Keith also gets a new idea for a novel and bizarrely muses on the sound of termites. Because the events he survives are rushed through they also often lacked plausibility.

The most effective scenes were when all the siblings were reunited. Here the dialogue between them felt authentic because it was often awkward and infused with a deep familiarity for each other's personalities. I liked that the narrative points of view varied between the living and the dead. However, I felt this could have been developed further to add more poignancy and it reverted too frequently to banal statements from the deceased such as “Is it good to be a ghost? I say it's great.” There were interesting side characters such as a gay couple who operated a bookshop and got arrested after a betrayal. As the case with most threads of this novel, their storyline could have been expanded upon more. Overall I think this book tries to contain too much so, in the end, it adds up to too little.

International Booker Prize Longlist 2023

Here is the International Booker Prize longlist 2023! Lot of exciting and surprising titles to choose from - 13 books of fiction translated from 11 different languages. A new video is up on my YouTube channel discussing these books and the list as a whole: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keaPFG8xFXY

I love how this award helps me to travel around the world through fiction to experience so many different points of view and cultures I might never encounter in real life. Last year's winner “Tomb of Sand” was such a wild, epic journey. I've read several books translated into English in the past year that I was expecting to see listed but I didn't guess any correctly. Looking at other people's predictions I've only seen a few of the books that have been nominated here. Unusually, I've not yet read any of these newly longlisted titles so I'm enthusiastic about taking the plunge and following this year's award closely.

There are stories about the dilemma of being a parent, communities that come together and fall apart, forbidden love, working class undocumented immigrants, a possible new messiah, the personal price of artistic integrity, a clinic for the past, triplets that lead very different lives, a survivor of the Cultural Revolution, the challenges of growing up in a newly unified country and a character who communicates with elephants. They vary from the thrilling to the fantastic to multigenerational sagas. Some of these tales give an epic wider view of a society undergoing change and others concentrate on the life of a single unique individual.

It's really interesting how books nominated for this award tend to be more daring with narrative form. Many are published by smaller, independent publishers who tend to take a chance on fiction others aren't willing to take on. However, this means they discover some overlooked gems and I enjoy how the International Booker highlights so many great titles I'd probably not have encountered otherwise. Now it's time to start reading and I feel spoiled for choice. I'll probably begin with “Boulder” or “The Gospel According to the New World”. I've been meaning to read Maryse Condé for ages.

Let me know what you think of the longlist and if you've read any of these titles. And which book are you hoping to read first?

Cursed Bread by Sophie Mackintosh

When a narrator begins a tale stating “I could say a lot of things, but perhaps it's best to be honest, now” how much can we really trust her? Regardless of how straightforward or truthful she's being, she is certainly earnest in her bitterness. Elodie is a dowdy self-effacing individual from a provincial French town where the painful reverberations of WWII are still felt. In this short but eerie tale she describes her formerly humble existence as a baker's wife. Life irretrievably changed when she developed a twisted relationship with a glamorous ambassador's wife named Violet. At the same time, unsettling things occurred amongst the increasingly hysterical residents of her town. An undertone of violence and resentment fills her account as she reveals small pieces of the puzzle that is her past. Policemen who periodically come to interview her in the present don't get any clear answers and I'm not sure I entirely understood what occurred, but I don't think Mackintosh is interested in solutions. Instead we're offered a novel that possesses a perverse charm as its central character's debasement becomes the self-lacerating tool she uses to discover her own agency.

This story is saturated with Elodie's insatiable hunger - for sex and love but also a life beyond the boundaries of what she's been offered. She declares “I have always been a sort of archivist, glutting myself on what has been left behind.” Memories are presented as sour stuff which she has chewed, swallowed and regurgitated multiple times. She made increasingly desperate attempts to sexually entice her husband and what appeared to be his sweetly earnest desire to produce the best bread in the country was more about his withdrawal of affection. Elodie wanted to simultaneously be intensely close to and become Violet. However, it becomes evident that Violet didn't see her so much as a companion or a confidant, but someone to manipulate for her own churlish amusement. The enigma of who is the perpetrator and who is the victim is teasingly drawn out even after the book's thrilling conclusion so I was left wondering what really happened. Elodie masochistically clings to and inhabits the past commenting that “Pain becomes an animal, walking at your side. Pain becomes a home you can carry with you.”

Though I appreciated the Jean Rhys type mood of this story, I'm not sure it's entirely satisfying in its splicing of fable (in the mode of Mackintosh's debut “The Water Cure”) and fictionalised history. The circuitous nature of the structure became a bit frustrating at points when I wanted to be more enticed by the mystery. Details which might have been clues quickly evaporated as the narrative gradually detached itself from a clear timeline. I enjoyed this book most at points when the private obsessions Elodie nurtured are revealed to be fully known to those around her and used as something they can manipulate. This poignantly shows the vulnerability of someone so fixed in their own perspective they aren't aware of how they can be drawn into a trap. Given how little empathy is extended to Elodie it's no wonder she became so acidic and her testament is effective in demonstrating how the sweetest things in life can so easily turn rotten.

The Baillie Gifford Prize for Non-Fiction 25th Anniversary shortlist

What's the best non-fiction you've ever read? I've been trying to increase the amount of historical accounts and biographies I read and I'm looking for some more top choices. I've read some great titles in the past several months including Katherine Rundell's “Super-Infinite” - a brilliantly innovative biography of the poet John Donne which won The Baillie Gifford Prize for Non-Fiction last year. This is the UK's premiere book prize for non-fiction and it's their 25th anniversary this year. To celebrate they've created a Winner of Winners Award (I keep thinking of this in Drag Race terms – Legendary Legends!) A specially selected group of judges are pitting all past 24 winners of the Baillie Gifford against each other to choose one overall winner on April 27th and that author will receive £25,000. They've now chosen this extremely compelling shortlist of six books.

“Empire of Pain” by Patrick Radden Keefe is one of my favourite books of non-fiction that I've read in recent years. It's a brilliant and riveting exploration of the Sackler family's scandalous involvement in the pharmaceutical industry putting profit over public welfare. I'm now keen to delve into more books from this shortlist. Many of these titles explore pivotal moments in history including James Shapiro's “1599” (the year Shakespeare produced a phenomenal amount of work including Henry the Fifth, Julius Ceasar, As You Like It and Hamlet); Margaret Macmillan's “Paris 1919” (the year of the post-WWI Paris Peace conference); and Wade Davis' “Into the Silence” (documenting the years 1921-24 when British climbers including George Mallory attempted to find a way to the summit of Everest). Barbara Demick's “Nothing to Envy” gives rare personal insight into North Korea, one of the most repressive and secretive states on earth. And Craig Brown's “One Two Three Four” is a kaleidoscopic examination of The Beatles phenomenon.

Let me know if you've read any of these books and which you'd suggest I read next. Or let me know some of your favourite non-fiction that I should add to my TBR list.

Women's Prize Longlist 2023

Here are the 16 novels longlisted for the 2023 Women's Prize for Fiction! It's an exciting and (mostly) surprising group of books. A new video is up on my YouTube channel discussing all these titles with some fun info about the list as a whole: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sf6MJ_Xb4TQ

There are 9 debuts including some which have featured on other prize lists and some I've not come across before. Amongst these is “Trespasses” by Louise Kennedy which I have read and it was also shortlisted for the Waterstone's Debut Book Award. It's such a moving and unique account of a Catholic teacher who has an affair with a married man amidst The Troubles in Northern Ireland.

I'm also thrilled to see “Glory”, “The Marriage Portrait” and “Demon Copperhead” which are all such accomplished immersive reads. In my predictions video with Anna I declared that Barbara Kingsolver will win this year's prize and I'm sticking with that speculation. To be fair, this is hardly an imaginative guess given that Kingsolver has won the award before, this novel is already very popular and she's one of the most respected American authors working today. But I really loved this story and I'm so glad that (even more) people will be reading it now. And... I may change my mind about what book I want to win after reading more of this year's nominations.

I've currently read only 4 of the novels from the list and I'll probably next read “Cursed Bread”, “I'm a Fan” or “Wandering Souls”. But there is so much enticing fiction here which all appears to be high quality (no fluff) so we're spoiled for choice!

What will you read first? What do you think of the list as a whole? Do you have an early prediction about what will win? Any books you're gutted not to see on the list? I'm disappointed “Nightcrawling”, “Fight Night” and “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow” weren't listed... but hey ho that's how it goes with book prize lists. Nevertheless, this is a great looking group!

England's Green by Zaffar Kunial

The poetry in “England's Green” describes not only the natural world in this country but the personal and national history embedded in its flora and language. Kunial is so attentive to the construction of words as well as their sounds. In several poems he takes certain words apart to give the reader a unique three dimensional view of them demonstrating how “Words have pockets. Small, deep pockets that go on for ages. We put words on a page and they preserve infinitely more than we mean or guess”. Through this attention to linguistics the author delves into his family's past and converses with writers from Chaucer to Shakespeare to the Brontës. As many authors do, several poems begin with an epigraph however Kunial adds a touching personal resonance when quoting from Iris Murdoch's “Flight from the Enchanter” as he notes the underlinings were made by his mother in her copy of the book. This imaginative and playful collection is awash with emotional resonance which shines through in each carefully constructed and beautiful line.

I also enjoy how alongside the actual past Kunial considers potential alternative paths in life and spaces in time when things could have gone differently. He states “We all have lives that go on without us. Unwritten... a realm between weathers, where losses and times fold, at the crease – clueless as to what it was. Or for whom.” This so wonderfully encapsulates the influence of chance upon our lives as well as the ambiguity of different possible outcomes. Through our ability to recall and reimagine amidst our individual linear narratives he posits how “Life is wider than its page. And days are a cut field, clipped and made to run on.” The resonance of these larger themes coupled with the metaphorical force in these poems makes them utterly arresting to read. I especially enjoyed the way he incorporates nature and at one point describes “the snow drops – tiny tongueless bells – the quietness is still ringing”. With great intelligence Kunial allows us to re-view words and the world around us. This book also has one of the best endings I've ever read in any poetry collection: “The very last thing poetry is is a poem.”

Osebol by Marit Kapla (translated by Peter Graves)

Marit Kapla was born in the small village of Osebol situated in the dense forests of rural Sweden. Though she's often lived elsewhere she's continuously returned to this humble location whose adult population is only about forty. In 2016/17 she conducted a series of interviews with the village's residents about their lives, the history of this location and their points of view. They range in age between 18 and 92 years old. Their accounts are presented in this book in short statements. While it's detailed at the bottom of each page who is speaking and their date of birth (in some cases there is also a date of death because some have since died), the way these narratives are arranged allows them to flow together as a continuous stream of speech. Gradually a larger picture of village life and its past emerges. Reading this book feels partly like watching a documentary about a single obscure location and partly like reading a highly accessible prose poem. It's both surprisingly compelling and comforting. In listening to the multiplicity of voices from this small Swedish village we come to understand the full spectrum of our society in microcosm - as well as getting to know the unique personalities and histories of an endearing group of people.

Though there are some young people still in the village the majority of its residents are much older. Fewer educational and employment opportunities mean the younger population has been moving away for years. Trees are no longer farmed in this region for timber and other industries such as tourism have been flailing which has left both the locals and regional government worse off. As such the public resources are crumbling – in particular a double arch bridge which can now only be used by pedestrians. The only way to drive in or out of the village is over a potholed dirt road leaving it almost cut off from the rest of the country. It's touching how this location comes to feel like a quiet island with its last remaining voices relating stories about a near-forgotten past and people who have long since died. Yet there is so much life and humanity in their stories it makes for compulsive reading. It's also not as melancholy as it might seem because of the humour which emerges from petty grievances which have played out over generations and droll observations such as “You don't see youngsters out on their bikes these days. They've started going out a bit more thanks to Pokemon Go.”

A wide range of points of view are presented concerning how both the shrinking village and the larger country should be governed. There's a more radical liberal who was a leader in a commune that existed in the village in the 1970s and a conservative family who blame a lack of funding for the community on an influx of refugees. There's someone who keeps a holiday home in Osebol and a relatively young person who moved to the village because they prefer small town living to city life. Some residents have family who have lived here for many generations and others are recent immigrants. There's a general sense that the village has gone from having a more communal spirit “when potatoes were grown who actually owned them became irrelevant and people took what they needed” to possessing a more insular nature “People used to get together in their homes and chat. Now you have to be invited before you go.” Naturally, the residents all have very different opinions about the quality of local life and characteristics of the region. The community is small enough that there is no one personality to an Osebol resident. As Istvan Foth observes: “In a place like this you don't have people around you you have individuals. You get closer to one another.” The book presents a beautiful portrait of a village which isn't very distinct on the surface but is filled with meaning because of the diverse people who inhabit it.

The Rabbit Hutch by Tess Gunty

Before I read “The Rabbit Hutch” I was very drawn to the story because the synopsis describes how teenage central character Blandine dreams of becoming a female mystic. This instantly made me think of the 1990 film 'Mermaids' and the pious Charlotte Flax played by Winona Ryder. However, once Blandine's appearance is described in the book I couldn't help picturing her more like the actress Anya Taylor-Joy. Film references aside, I was instantly delighted by the structure Tess Gunty chose for this narrative which alights upon the stories of several residents of a low-cost apartment complex in the financially depressed town of Vacca Vale. We witness different individuals' preoccupations watching television, struggling to care for a baby and performing naked on a webcam for money. Though the many characters are in close proximity to each other and can hear each other through the thin walls and ceilings they have little or no physical interactions. Blandine herself lives with three teenage boys who are also products of the state foster system. They are attracted to her but know little about Blandine as she is mysterious in her habits and what she divulges about her past. She is a complex and damaged character who also possesses an ethereal beauty and high intelligence. The novel describes a series of events one summer leading up to the ominously foreshadowed event where “she exits her body”. Whether this is through spiritual transcendence or death is left tantalizingly unclear until the story's dramatic conclusion.

It's interesting how the novel presents larger issues going on in the community as reflected by the individual perspectives of different residents. A controversial renewal plan is disrupted by creepy protest actions. The motor industry which employed many of the area's residents has departed and left behind unemployment and pollution. An egocentric actress dies in old age but is still remembered as the beloved child star of a schmaltzy sitcom. I enjoyed how these subjects touch the characters' lives like all the ambient noise in the apartment complex so they are involved but at a remove. It's intriguing how a larger picture of life gradually unfolds through this constellation of points of view. However, the primary figures Gunty focuses on throughout the novel didn't feel as compelling as the potential of this narrative design. Both Blandine and a figure named Moses who is the son of the deceased actress Elsie are imbued with a lot of eccentricities which begin to feel more grating than endearingly quirky. I felt much more invested in the relatively down-to-earth figure of Joan whose job is to monitor public comments on a memorial website. But even her character becomes slightly burdened by overtly idiosyncratic detail such as her ability to consume limitless amount of watermelon, the freckles on her eyelids and her penchant for eating jars of maraschino cherries in bed. These descriptions come to feel more whimsical rather than realistically building upon the circumscribed world of Vacca Vale.

I did appreciate the way in which Blandine's near other-worldliness is gradually deflated as we come to understand the truth about her background and a tumultuous affair she had with a former teacher. Given the way in which she's been used and manipulated her flirtation with fervent religious practices begins to feel entirely natural and logical. However, the larger plot in regards to animal sacrifice, obstructions to redevelopment plans and Blandine's radical intervention felt a little contrived. So I was left feeling somewhat unsatisfied. Where this novel really shined for me were in the small moments in the lives of individuals as viewed through Gunty's prismatic lens: a couple's indignity at finding a mouse corpse which has been dropped on their balcony, a woman named Penny who plants herself outside a convenience story with a shopping cart full of Beanie Babies and a young man whose online self exposure leads to empty connections. Our brief time with these characters lead to small glimpses into experience which is both unique and relatable. This is Tess Gunty's debut and it's won the coveted National Book Award, but I get the feeling she'd be a much better short story writer than a novelist.

Birnam Wood by Eleanor Catton

Eleanor Catton's prize-winning and best-selling novel “The Luminaries” has a special place in my heart – not only because it's a tremendous story which is brilliantly written – but because it partly inspired me to start this blog in the first place. When I finished reading that intricate and impressive book I felt so compelled to discuss it with other people I went online. It's the first book I posted about here and the conversations which followed encouraged me to continue engaging with the virtual book community. So naturally I'm thrilled that now (nearly 10 years after that novel first came out) she's finally published a new novel “Birnam Wood”. The title is taken from a line in the play 'Macbeth' when the weird sisters predict that “Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill shall come against him.” It's certainly not necessary to know the implications and meaning of this to appreciate Catton's new novel. The story plays upon themes of ambition and power, but I don’t think the Shakespearian influence is explicit until very late in the book.

At the centre of the book is a New Zealand guerrilla gardening group or farming collective who use the name Birnam Wood. They utilize unused land to cultivate crops to be distributed to those in need. This is both a political act and environmental/humanitarian initiative whose methods aren't often strictly legal. So when the group's founder Mira researches a large tract of land bordering a national forest which has been seemingly abandoned following a natural disaster she sees an opportunity for a large-scale planting project. However, an American billionaire and pioneer in drone technology named Robert Lemoine is under negotiations with the land owners to purchase this tract of land – purportedly to build a doomsday bunker. When Lemoine proposes to the collective that he can charitably fund their activities some members of the group feel that they are making a deal with the devil. What follows is an ecological thriller, in-depth psychological study and social commentary about modern day politics/technology.

Many readers may grapple with getting into this book because Catton front loads the story with a lot of character detail. Long sections describe the primary characters' backgrounds, ideologies, mentalities and conflicts. This means that most of the initial scenes of the novel occur internally as a psycho-drama concerning members of Birnam Wood (especially central members Mira and Shelley), renegade journalist Tony, scheming Lemoine and newly anointed Lord and Lady Darvish who own the property. Reading such a rich portrait of these individuals and their relationship to each other is interesting but there is little action involved until some of the later parts of the novel. It's like spending a long time sitting in a revving car before it launches forward at great speed. But when it does get going the story is absolutely gripping – especially in the final 150 pages. The trouble is that there are 275 pages before getting to that point. I think some readers' patience will have worn thin by then. Again, that's not to say these early sections aren't interesting but they are slow moving. However, I found the thrilling ending and the larger meaning of the book that I was left with extremely compelling. So overall I think it's a worthwhile reading experience and I was glad I went on this journey.

I'm not sure why Catton chose to structure the novel in this way. Typically the information which she relates in great big chunks would be integrated more into scenes where the characters interact and more dramatic action occurs. Yet in this story most of their psychological makeup is related while they scan the internet or their phones or surveillance footage. Characters spend a lot of time justifying their points of view to themselves or projecting into the future how they want events to play out. When verbal exchanges occur such as in a group meeting (hui) or telephone conversation or a dinner party it's more like the characters are delivering monologues without really listening to others. This occurs in a Jane Austen style which makes sense given that Catton recently wrote a screenplay for a new film version of “Emma”.

I think perhaps Catton might be commenting on the way our online lives are so internally focused. When we think we're communicating on the internet we're actually talking more to ourselves or within a narrow group of likeminded people whose opinions are all in agreement. Catton has also commented that when planning the novel each character could be seen as Macbeth as it revolves between their perspectives. This is an intriguing idea to consider in regards to each character's ambition and their relationships to each other and power. However, if these were the things that the author was trying to convey it unfortunately sacrifices the theatrical impetus of a large section of the story. As a result I felt more intellectually involved with this novel rather than emotionally invested. Nevertheless, it's an interesting modern day tale that engages with many environmental and political issues. If Catton weren't an author I had read before I probably wouldn't have finished reading this novel, but this is a book that possesses a subtle power which means that it's worth sticking with till the end.

How Strange a Season by Megan Mayhew Bergman

I absolutely loved Megan Mayhew Bergman's stories in “Almost Famous Women” so I've been greatly anticipating this new collection. One of my bookish resolutions for this year was to read a short story at the very beginning of each morning. That's what I did for the past week with these eight tales and it's been one of the highlights of each day losing myself in Bergman's compelling fictional landscape. These stories focus on the lives of different female characters grappling with desire and dealing with fear. Many are caught between the burdens of the past and the uncertainty of the future because of issues to do with the changing environment, economic inequality and strained familial circumstances. It's extremely moving how Bergman shows how these characters struggle to deal with these larger issues while fulfilling their own ambitions. As a way of not feeling overwhelmed one character suggests “The trick was to believe in your choices.” The author has a wonderful ability to quickly immerse the reader in her characters' reality which meant I was immediately gripped by their dilemmas and emotionally invested in their outcomes.

Bergman builds environments in her stories with rich atmospheric descriptions from a glass-walled seafront property in California to the lazy heat and rotting fruit on a South Carolina farm. Some tales focus on quiet intermediary periods where characters contemplate big decisions which will affect the rest of their lives. Others maintain an immediate dramatic tension as in 'Peaches, 1979' where a serial killer “strangler” is in the area and the culprit might be a part of the protagonist's own family. There's biting inbuilt comedy in the story 'Heirloom' where a woman turns her inherited barren desert ranch into a business where wealthy men can work out their emotional blockages by operating heavy machinery. In 'Wife Days' a woman negotiates a degree of autonomy with her husband by declaring she will only play her role as wife on certain days of the week. However, her ritual of rejuvenation through swimming and washing her face becomes like a circular nightmare rather than a path towards physical/spiritual renewal.

The most sustained and ambitious tale in this collection is the novella 'Indigo Run' (which took me more than a morning to complete as I had to read it in between work demands throughout my day.) It's set on a Southern plantation and primarily involves the tempestuous marriage between Helena and Win and their daughter Skip. Here “The past felt uncomfortably close... as if it were being kept at bay but ready to rush in at any moment and take root again.” It's so compelling how the characters feel duty bound by expectations and the burden of history to play certain roles. However, this impedes their growth and potential for personal happiness. It feels like a metaphor for the larger country. As an extension of this novella there is the compelling final fable-like tale in this collection 'The Night Hag' which charts the life of a figure born from a fish egg who takes “the shape of a woman”. After being used and discarded by a man, she physically and mentally deteriorates until she takes on monstrous properties (both in appearance and her actions.) Aside from this intriguing flirtation with the fantastical, Bergman's stories exquisitely capture the realistic dilemmas of different individuals with great wisdom and psychologically insightful detail.