Adult triplets Sebastian, Matilda and Clara are leading very different lives in different parts of the world. But when they get a call from their mother with the news that one child was accidentally switched at birth it makes each of them fearfully wonder who is the odd one out. The story isn't so much about finding the answer to this as it's more concerned with the meaning of familial bonds and potential hidden patterns which govern our existence. A diabolical game or an elaborate conspiracy might be at play. Or it might just be that life is messy and we're desperately looking for a grand design to make sense of it all. While each sibling is grappling with their own problems they gradually reconnect with each other. Hijinks and absurdities ensue. The novel is advertised as a joyful family saga but it comes across more like an unsuccessful mashup of a “Mamma Mia!” type comic family mystery and a philosophical investigation into the structure of reality.

Many of the central characters have conditions which make them experience the world in a way very different from most people. Matilda has manic episodes, Sebastian's patient/lover Laura increasingly only sees the world in two dimensions and scientist Jennifer Travis doesn't believe she has a soul. It's somewhat interesting reading about how these circumstances alter their perception about life and there were elements of many characters' stories I found engaging. But the way they all come together felt forced and unbelievable. I was eager to read about Clara's experiences travelling to Easter Island, but her connection to the characters she meets there was so unconvincing. Jordan, the inadvertent leader of a group of environmental pessimists, and adrift actress Elif both inexplicably latch onto Clara even though she's completely uncharismatic. Sebastian's affair with a married woman and Matilda's struggle with mothering her step daughter were more compelling. But as the novel steadily ushers the siblings back together for the zany conclusion any emotional involvement I had with their individual stories dwindled.

The central concern of this book is about the desire to make sense of life. Some characters and the mysterious scientific institute Sebastian works for follow a Cartesian method whereby they think the whole of life can be understood by looking at its individual parts and how they fit together. Jennifer Travis postulates that “the brain... it's logical, structured... it's an equation... That's what a human is. A puzzle with a limited number of pieces. They fit together with no need for a sticky soul to glue them together... There's a system in the madness... A system so magnificent it blinds us.” However, most of us instinctually understand that life is much more complex than this with innumerable mysteries inherent to its nature. So, unsurprisingly, she eventually “learned to live with being merely a big – admittedly rather complicated – equation swathed in biodegradable wrapping paper. But if you can experience love, Jennifer thought, feeling her heart rate quicken, you are experiencing something that really is completely and utterly illogical, that can't be explained as anything less rational than the wingbeats of the soul.” Though this is very elegantly put, it's a sentimental and uninspired revelation which takes too long to arrive at in a story which enjoys humorously meandering through its characters' experiences. So, while I didn't have a bad time reading this overlong novel, I ultimately grew impatient and found the ending dully simplistic.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
CategoriesAmanda Svensson
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What better way to avoid the mess your life has become than by trying to clean up everyone else's messy life? Penny is in her mid-30s with a broken marriage and without anywhere to live. She's unemployed and her small amount of savings is swiftly dwindling. However, her irascible hoarder grandmother Dr Pincer is in an even more perilous situation. Adult Protective Services have warned that they'll step in if something isn't done about her filthy house and the possible weapon she uses to threaten strangers. As Penny journeys to help she becomes embroiled in other people's troubles including Dr Pincer's sickly accountant, her bullying biological father and her grandfather Arlo whose second wife can't stand to live with him any longer. Added to that is the fact that Penny's mother and stepfather disappeared in the Australian Outback five years ago and she can't accept that they're really gone.

We follow her journey stumbling through misadventures and desperate situations. She gets caught in hijinks such as washing a sticky toupee in an office bathroom, looking after a cute Pomeranian dog and retrieving her lost phone from the sinkhole her vehicle collapsed into. Her good intentions often only lead her into more trouble. In witnessing these eccentric characters and outlandish dilemmas through Penny's eyes we gradually become aware of just how little her own emotional and physical needs are being attended to. I appreciate the way Elizabeth McKenzie approaches the complexity of family entanglements with absurdist humour as demonstrated in her novel “The Portable Veblen”.

It was a pleasure reading this wacky story as it zips through farcical encounters and veers around unpredictable corners. Being so steeped in Penny's consciousness and questionable logic it's easy to forget just how perilous her own situation is becoming until she's practically broken and destitute. Equally her self-effacing and eager to please manner mean her voice is almost drowned out by the strong-willed and colourful personalities that surround her. I found it moving how towards the end of the book we get a deeper understanding of her own deprivations. Though the idiosyncratic figures and madcap circumstances come perilously close to outright silliness, there's a warm heart to this story which makes it ultimately endearing.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
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The International Booker 2023 shortlist has been announced! Here are the 6 novels and there are some surprises I didn't expect to see. A new video is up on my YouTube channel discussing each book and my thoughts on the list.

I've read 3 of these so far and I'm looking forward to reading the rest. I'm thrilled that “Boulder” has been listed. This story of an independent soul's struggle with settling down and having a child raises so many meaningful questions about whether building a family necessitates subsuming your own identity. I'm not surprised “Time Shelter” has been listed as its perspective on memory and nostalgia is so unique. While I found the overall meaning of the book to be very powerful, I wish the characters and plot had more emotional impact.

I'm glad to see “Standing Heavy” and “Still Born” listed as well as I've heard great things and I'm glad to have an excuse to prioritise reading them. I'm curious about “Whale” but slightly cautious since I've heard such mixed things about it. But often it's the books which receive the most varied reviews that make the most interesting reading experiences. “The Gospel According to the New World” felt like it was more focused on the concept of a modern messiah than building an engaging story so it's a curious choice by the judges.

Now... where is “The Birthday Party”? It was my favourite from the longlist. A slow-build thrill with a deeper meaning. But that's the way it goes with book prizes. I'm sure there will be a lot more debate about what's listed and the content of all these varied and fascinating translated books of fiction.

What do you think of the shortlist? Are you planning on reading them all? Do you have any favourites so far? Let me know your thoughts!

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson

In the past several years there have been many nuanced novels describing instances of displacement and migration. Some examples of moving stories about families in transit I've read include “America is Not the Heart”, “Kololo Hill” and “The Hungry Ghosts”. However, especially after the heated public debate about the novel “American Dirt”, there's a heightened awareness concerning the sensitivity needed when portraying the lives of people forced to leave their country of birth. This is an issue author Cecile Pin is conscious of in her exquisite debut novel “Wandering Souls” which describes the fates of a Vietnamese family who embark on a perilous journey to flee persecution. The most central character is Anh, the eldest sibling who must suddenly take on a great deal of responsibility. Although it's a relatively short book there are different narratives which are all deftly handled and combine to form an affecting complex tale. One strand is an authorial voice who struggles to decide how such a chronicle should be told and declares “I am trying to carve out a story between the macabre and the fairy tale, so that a glimmer of truth can appear.” What emerges is a unique form of fiction which is both joyous and tragic and it shines with heartfelt sincerity.

The novel is so carefully calibrated to include historical and political accounts ranging from the tragedy of The Koh Kra massacre to Thatcher's policies to American military tactics. However, this doesn't distract from the emotional power of this being a story about family life. I think the balance works so well because of the evocative details used which leave a memorable impression. There are moments of pure happiness such as the siblings sledging during their first English snowfall and the lingering taste of caramelized braised pork which the family shared on their final meal together before departing Vietnam. And there are feelings of fear, grief and trauma which emerge in different ways through the distinct personalities of the siblings. Alongside the story of the children who survive and find a new country to call home there's also the voice of their sensitive younger brother Dao who died in transit. His charismatic spectral presence is very touching while also being a reminder of how fate is so cruelly fickle. The lives that the survivors build for themselves is hard won with a melancholy awareness of the family they've lost.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
CategoriesCecile Pin

When I was younger I loved stories such as H.G. Wells' “The Time Machine” which not only imagined a fantastic scenario where a person could travel through different periods of time, but poignantly described how civilisation continuously strives towards utopian ideals (and inevitably fails.) In the novel “Time Shelter” Georgi Gospodinov asserts “There is no time machine except the h uman being.” However, the narrator befriends a mysterious person named Guastine who seemingly inhabits different periods of time simultaneously. The story introduces a scenario where individuals stricken with dementia find comfort in Guastine's clinic which meticulously reproduces environments from the past. As the idea catches on the general public seek refuge in living as if the past were the present. Eventually most of Europe holds referendums to revert to a specific decade from history. Alongside this outlandish tale, the book seriously ponders matters to do with mortality, memory, the nature of reality and the power of nostalgia.

As the narrator gets involved in the clinic and recreating the past, he's struck by certain sensations which inspire a trip down his own memory lane. It was moving how even though these recollections were obviously specific to him I was equally swept into the narrator's longing for the past. I feel like nostalgia is something so many people experienced more intensely during the pandemic since lockdowns meant we weren't allowed to see familiar people and places in real life. During this time I once passed by a fountain near a grocery store and the smell of its chlorinated recycled water evoked strong childhood memories of being taken to Disney World with its elaborate fountains. This resulted in some shameful hours I spent watching POV videos of Disney rides and old park vlogs on YouTube. There's an undeniable power to how certain sensations (especially scents) can instantly transport us to the past. Even if it's not a happy recollection, we can suddenly feel like we're re-experiencing all those emotions from a bygone era with a mixture of memory and the imagination. The novel describes both the pleasures and dangers of harnessing this effect in the lives of individuals and nations.

Guastine's ambition grows from wanting to reproduce different decades on different floors of his clinic to wanting to recreate whole cities from different times. Similarly, as nations engage in public debates about what eras they want to revert back to there are disagreements and issues which make such plans practically impossible. Of course, this is an absurdist story but the value of indulging in such concepts is that it offers a more clearsighted view of the influence that history and nostalgia has upon us. Gospodinov artfully shows how it's easier and more comfortable for people to harken back to the past than look to the future which is unknown. This is something that politicians and marketers are aware of and they use this to manipulate the public. We can easily see evidence in this from political campaigns to commercials. And quite frequently it works. Ironically, we can even feel nostalgia for the ads we were constantly fed in early life: “But what is going on with the ads? The ones we passed over with annoyance back then have now taken on a new value. Suddenly the ads have become the true news about that time. The entrance into it. A memory of everyday life”. These ads from the past have become testaments to the ideals and styles which were fed to us in a particular time period.

In recent years populist leaders have proclaimed that they'll make a country great again and that they want to take a country back. By taking such notions of reverting to past times literally this novel creatively shows how this isn't only a fallacy but a dangerous impossibility. Inequity has always existed so no one would be able to agree what period of time was best in a nation's history. Also, this nostalgia for a purer better era is more about our fantasies of how things used to be rather than the reality of history. Gospodinov states: “The past is not just that which happened to you. Sometimes it is that which you just imagined.” Alongside expressing universal ideas about the function of the past and memory, it feels like this novel is making a timely statement because we can so often be swayed into making decisions about the future based on nostalgia rather than recognizing the reality of the present.

As much as I appreciated the overall message of this novel, there were some elements of the book I struggled with. It has so many interesting ideas to chew over and it really helped me re-frame my understanding of history and the effects of nostalgia. However, I felt it was a bit of a slog getting through this story as I struggled to emotionally connect to it. The nebulous figure of Guastine flits in and out of the novel making statements and providing quotes which sometimes felt too self conscious. Though the narrator gradually reveals elements of his life I never felt like I could fully grasp who he was as a character. He also sometimes goes off on tangents such as a chapter which feels like a one-sided polemic against euthanasia and in another section he seems to dismiss all recent literature: “if nations go back to the '70s and '80s, what will happen to the poetry and books that are not yet written and which are forthcoming? Then I tried to recall what great things I had read from the past few years. I didn't think I would have regrets about any of it.” In my opinion, these sassy simplistic asides detract from the larger meaning of the book. So, while I admire the larger meaning of this novel, the experience of reading it was both enlightening and frustrating.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson

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.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
CategoriesVigdis Hjorth

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.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
CategoriesEva Baltasar
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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.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
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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.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson

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” 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.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
CategoriesKevin Chen

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?

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
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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.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson

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.

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson
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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!

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AuthorEric Karl Anderson