I'm a Fan by Sheena Patel

The unnamed protagonist of “I'm a Fan” isn't really the protagonist of her own life as she spends much of her time following online (and borderline stalking) two individuals. There is “the man I want to be with” and “the woman I am obsessed with” who is also having an affair with this man. Both the narrator and the man she wants to be with are in longterm relationships with other people that are pushed to the periphery of this toxic love triangle. It's a messy state of affairs and the narrator relates her (seemingly) unfiltered thoughts and feelings about this situation while commenting on the nature of social media/the internet as well as issues to do with class and race dynamics. In many ways the frankness of her voice discussing these subjects in short punchy chapters is very refreshing. The dedicated documentation of such a doomed love affair reminded me somewhat of Annie Ernaux’s “Simple Passion”. It’s also tantalising to observe how a private obsession can be poisonously fostered by the act of online following as small details are seized upon as clues to be scrutinized in detail. This is partly because Instagram updates from “the woman I am obsessed with” aren't so much capturing fleeting aspects of her daily life as they are glib public pronouncements of her values, aesthetics and commercial products since she is an influencer. While the narrator severely critiques and abhors this woman she also covets her status and following. It's compelling and challenging how Patel describes this modern conflict.

My issue with the novel isn't, as some readers have complained, that all the characters are “horrible” people – the most likeable people being the man's neglected wife, the narrator's neglected boyfriend and the narrator's mother whose marriage is a compromise. Rather, I became frustrated that in the narrator's rigorous analysis of power dynamics no room is left for genuine human interactions. Every in real life (IRL) meeting with both the woman and man are part of a ploy towards some goal of simulated closeness or strategy for achieving an advantage in this dynamic. This is partly because of the narrator's fragile self esteem which is partly the product of all these larger historical and social issues. It's meaningful how the novel shows this isn't just theoretical: part of the reason the man desires the narrator is because of the colour of her skin and the woman she's obsessed with blithely lives in luxury while the narrator struggles to buy a home. But there's no growth in her character which allows her to progress in her own life or establish any sort of meaningful connection with these figures she obsessively fangirls.

Perhaps Patel is saying in this story that the state of our society and the poisonous effect of social media mean that no true interaction is possible. But such pessimism is stultifyingly glum and not true to life where such borders between very different individuals can disintegrate when moments of honest connection form. Certainly such a relationship might not be possible with the figures that the narrator is fixated upon, but the story would have felt more radical if she could have found someone who she could establish a bond with that wasn't defined by division. It's a sad effect of relationships that are mediated through social media that so much is left unsaid (even though it's a medium which is all about making pronouncements.) I appreciate how this tale looks through the screen to focus on someone who is viewing and calling out virtue signalling. She also finds herself haplessly playing into a system that grants more advantage to those who are already advantaged. Instead of being able to progress she instead finds herself circulating in the vacuum. It's a position which will hopefully become quickly dated as more and more people eschew platforms that are all about hollow interactions. I'm (obviously) not against social media or the internet in general, but I hope there's a future where the major fallibilities of these platforms can be changed and more honest interactions can occur to bridge our differences.

Small Worlds by Caleb Azumah Nelson

Nelson's much-anticipated follow up to his debut novel “Open Water” follows a few formative summers in the life of Stephen, a young man making the uneasy transition from being a teenager to an adult. He leaves his beloved community in London for the first time to move to university and harbours complicated romantic feelings for a longtime female friend. He also has a knotty relationship with his parents. His father naturally wants a stable future for Stephen even if this runs contrary to his passions and this creates a lot of conflict between them. Meanwhile, he and his mother share a more straightforward free-flowing love exchanging memories while cooking together. It's highly relatable how the author describes the stumbling nature of this period of life where we struggle to understand who we are and what we really desire while testing the limits of our own agency. Nelson has a wonderful style of portraying the emotions wrapped up in this confusion and relating the interior process of his central character with such sensitivity. There are many heartbreaking and tender moments in the story informing Stephen's journey to more comfortably inhabiting his selfhood.

The novel's central metaphor of the sense of connectedness between groups of individuals is especially potent when considering the wider context of being black in modern day Britain. It's stated in the story that “we might build a small world, where we might feel beautiful, might feel free... outside of these spaces, we are rarely safe... the world was not built with us in mind, and that someone, at any time, might intrude upon our homes, crumbling our walls, making dust of our foundations. It's days like these which remind us that we don't have space, that the city feels like it's closing in, trying to magic us away, encouraging our disappearance.” Though they find comfort and security in their tight-knit community, Stephen and his friends are deeply affected by Mark Duggan's murder by the police in 2011. This historical incident makes them recall the extreme perilousness of their situation and sense of painful self-consciousness living in a largely white-dominated society. I was lucky enough to hear Nelson speak about this novel at Brixton Library and when discussing his earnest desire for his community to have safe spaces he was brought to tears. It's extremely moving how this desire is built into the story showing the pleasures and pains of creating such circles.

One of the most powerful aspects of the novel is how it relates Stephen's feelings of ambiguity about his faith, heritage and family. Though he's uncertain in his beliefs he finds such strength in attending church: “it doesn't feel like I'm playing but taking part in something spiritual, something I didn't know I needed.” Equally, he's drawn to visit his parents' birthplace of Ghana reconnecting with family there and his heritage. In these scenes Nelson conveys a wide-eyed wonder for the surprises his character discovers there as well as a sense of connectedness to aspects of the culture. It's especially effective how Ghanaian words are incorporated into the novel as it reflects how he and his family speak to one another but also Stephen's discomfort with the limitations of language: “I came to both languages through violence: the Ga I speak was warped and muted, many years ago, after British invasions, the same invasions which are the reason I speak English. Language, then, has always struck me as less tool than burden. It's always caught between somewhere, something always lost between expression and emotion.” Returning to his family's homeland also inspires a new sense of empathy for his father who he fell out with. The way the narrative voice shifts in the later part of the novel to reflect this understanding is very moving.

This novel is imbued with a lyrical quality with certain phrases and images which refrain throughout the story. It makes sense that the narrative would be structured like this because music and dance is such an integral part of Stephen's life. He's an aspiring musician and it's something which connects him with his community, family and heritage. However, the recurrence of some lines can at times seem like the author is stretching for profundity. The feeling which accompanies reading a novel is different from listening to music so it's not easy to fit this sensation into a narrative. Also, Nelson has a tendency to over-explain and psychoanalyse his characters in a way which isn't always necessary when physical detail and dialogue would feel more impactful. Certain scenes stand out in my memory more for the straightforward exchange taking place when all the attendant feelings are implicit within the situation. Nevertheless, there's a beauty and power to Nelson's use of language which is so original and moving. It's exciting how fiercely artistic he is in his photographic and filmmaking pursuits alongside writing fiction showing how these forms of expression can blend into and inform each other. I'm a committed fan.

In Ascension by Martin MacInnes

There have been very few reading experiences I've had where I finished a book and immediately turned back to the first page to read it all again. But this novel has such compelling subject matter and central characters that I wanted to experience the story a second time to see how it all fit together. There's still a lot about it which feels mysterious and which I'm thinking about, but it's left a lasting impression and really compelled me to re-view the world around me. Not to get too grandiose about it, but I feel like we naturally get so caught in focusing on our immediate environment and our daily lives that we can easily forget how enormous the universe is around us and how infinitesimally small life can be. It's usually only when we suddenly see the starry night sky when it's not obscured by light pollution or notice tiny creatures thriving in a rock pool that we remember the relative scale of the world around us. For me this happened late one evening while driving with the top down in Death Valley and I saw the glowing immensity of the stars in the sky. Reading “In Ascension” gave me a similar sense of awe. It pulled me out of myself to think about the depths of time and space. It shows how an individual is relatively small amidst this vastness, but also that everyone is an integral part of it.

This novel could definitely be called science fiction, but I think of it more as an environmental novel and a psychological investigation into the meaning of life. The story centres around Leigh, a scientist who studies the marine world and cultivates a strain of algae as a sustainable food source. When technological advances mean that deep space travel is possible her discovery is used for an important application. However, this is more than a professional interest for Leigh because she's always felt a deep connection with the scope of life on Earth. She survived an extremely difficult childhood. During this time she wasn't necessarily drawn to suicide, but took respite in the knowledge that her own existence was the result of chance and there's a powerful section when her life hangs in the balance. This is one of those instances in my reading where the scene and all the emotion wrapped up in it are etched in my memory. It's such a moving moment where her own life feels intensely precarious and she realises how dynamically alive the world is around her. This also inspires a sense of wonder which leads her to exploring the furthest depths of the ocean and the farthest reaches of outer space. I've always been entranced by documentaries about these remote regions of our world and the universe so I found this to be utterly compelling. It's an imaginative journey of discovery that's about the origins of life and the reason for our existence. It's also about the fragility of our environment. It's about the price paid when the progress of our civilization is driven by capitalist enterprises.

Even though this book is about such big issues and questions, it's also such a personal story. Leigh is a complex character who is intensely dedicated to her work and is really driven by curiosity. It's so interesting following her transformation and what she finds venturing so deeply into the unknown. She's in many ways quite straightforward in her desires, but she also bears an immense hurt which distances her from others. She's very solitary and prone to isolation. This creates tension between her and her family especially as her ageing mother is in need. But she also feels a strong connection to all life. In some ways she's utterly anonymous while also possibly possessing immense importance. I won't give any spoilers but the novel takes a surprising turn later on when the narrative shifts to another character and suddenly we're given an entirely new perspective on both Leigh and events surrounding her. I began to question how reliable Leigh really is as a narrator and how much I could trust the reality of what is being shown. This is partly what inspired me to go right back to the beginning of this novel. The story has a circular quality as well which comes to feel so profound and made me want to float around in it for longer. That's what reading this novel is like. It's like being suspended in this character's consciousness as the immensity of life and time and the world unfurls.

So this book made a big impression on me. Martin MacInnes is such a fascinating writer in how he pursues ambiguities surrounding life's big mysteries, but in a way which is continuously compelling and unpretentious. His debut novel “Infinite Ground” similarly delved into questions to do with the nature of being and our connection to one another. I feel like “In Ascension” explores these questions in a much grander way with not only excellent detail (this novel clearly required a great deal of technical research) but it also shows a wider scope of imagination. It provides answers and a definite conclusion, but also instills a sense of wonder which has left me so much to ponder. It's a book that I know will be well worth reading again and again. I'm sometimes asked what makes me permanently keep a book on my shelves and this is a great example of a novel I know I'll really enjoy returning to. It makes me want to buy a cabin in some remote location where I can clearly see the stars at night and spend all day reading this and my other favourite books over and over.

Black Butterflies by Priscilla Morris

One of the things I love about following book prizes is that they sometimes highlight books which weren't on my radar that I probably wouldn't have read otherwise. When the Women's Prize for Fiction 2023 longlist was announced it was the first I'd heard about “Black Butterflies” but this debut novel certainly packs an emotional punch and I was enthralled by its harrowing story. It begins in the Spring of 1992 as tensions are rising in the city of Sarajevo. Zora is a teacher and respected artist whose elderly mother is poorly. When she asks her older husband to accompany her mother to the English countryside to stay with their daughter, Zora plans to eventually join them. She's reluctant to leave this diverse and beautiful city she loves. However, when the Bosnian War escalates and conditions turn dire she and her friends and neighbours find themselves trapped in a metropolis which is continuously bombed while essential utilities cease and resources dwindle. This personal tale shows the first year of the Siege of Sarajevo from the inside. It contains heartfelt moments of humanity and instances of vicious cruelty as the resilience of these survivors is severely tested in brutal circumstances.

Though its narrated in the third person, this novel presents the world fully through Zora's perspective. So the city is shown to be full of superb architecture, surrounded by a gorgeous environment and rich with delicious food. As a historic crossroad and European centre it's also filled with people from many different cultures and backgrounds. But dramatic political changes mean that distinctions in nationality and religion which didn't matter before now mean everything. Nearly every ordinary citizen is either a target or under suspicion. It's horrifying how conditions deteriorate so quickly as the city turns into a war zone. The novel powerfully captures the way this creates a surprising juxtaposition of normalcy and desolation. It also produces odd intimacies with strangers on the street and neighbours. Sometimes this sudden closeness is fleeting as people shelter from an attack and other times it forms bonds which last. We witness how communities can come together and how strangers often argue about possible misinformation while waiting in long lines for water. I felt so drawn into Zora's experiences it made these conditions feel increasingly palpable and frighteningly real.

Amidst so much death and destruction, it's very moving how the novel presents art as not just a frivolous respite but an essential testament. Zora became famed for her paintings of bridges not only as a symbol which connects people to each other but as magnificent objects. The story traces how her attitude toward her art and its practice are changed by larger events. While she continues to teach her remaining students, she takes a neighbour girl under her tutelage and they create pictures with what materials are available. This relationship and the desire for people to still experience beauty comes to feel so precious especially as the assault reaches the city's most sacred landmarks and the meaning of the novel's title becomes clear. A community art show which might seem quaint in other circumstances here feels like a last string of humanity which people desperately cling to and it becomes a poignant celebration.

I don't know a lot about the Bosnian War and reading this powerful story has prompted me to want to learn more. But it also shows how even many of the civilians caught in the crossfire or forced into military service didn't understand what the fight was about which adds to an understanding of the absurdity and senselessness of war. It's a timely reminder that even the most robust civilizations become terrifyingly fragile when fear and hatred are allowed to create divisions. So I became thoroughly emotionally invested in Zora's struggle. The book grows increasingly tense in a way which kept me gripped but also woke me up to the reality of how such assaults on ordinary citizens has happened and continues to happen in other parts of the world today. It's an accomplished work of fiction and I'll be eager to read anything Priscilla Morris publishes next.

The Death of a Soldier Told by His Sister by Olesya Khromeychuk

Since the escalation of Russia's war on Ukraine in February 2022 the media has widely reported on the battles and unjustified aggression of Putin's forces. However, the killing started many years before this as Olesya Khromeychuk clearly lays out in her memoir about her brother Volodya who died on the frontline in eastern Ukraine in 2017 while defending his country against Russian soldiers. As a historian of war and a Ukrainian, Khromeychuk is well situated to give a contextual understanding about why this occurred from both a personal and political perspective. It's a tender account of her brother's fragmented life and the grief that she and her family experienced after his death. It's also an excoriating look at Western attitudes towards this war, the Ukrainian government's bureaucracy, selective reporting by the media and the fallacy of Russian's advancement into a sovereign nation. Her views are well-reasoned and informed, but if Khromeychuk's frustration about these groups and systems seems harsh it feels fully justified – not from the personal loss she's experienced but the horrifying fact that this brutal war still continues.

It's touching how Khromeychuk's brother is shown to have been an artistic, complicated, brave and sometimes difficult person. An account of such personal loss and the fact he died in battle might easily have lead to a romanticised version of this individual's life. But the author consciously works against this exploring the complexities of her brother's life from her experiences with him before his death and what she discovered after he was killed. This makes him feel all the more real. It's especially affecting how Khromeychuk also created a theatrical play about his death incorporating photos and videos found on his phone. The description of her process doing this and the effect the production had on her family is very moving. It adds to the sense that creative methods are needed to inspire a sense of understanding and change. This book is certainly unique in the method Khromeychuk has created to combine her analytical understanding of larger events with very personal details and a relevant invocation of folklore. Statistics about deaths caused by war will always reduce people who were lost into numbers so it's important to always remind ourselves that these figures include so many individual losses. I'm glad to have read this informative, frank and urgent memoir.

Still Born by Guadalupe Nettel (translated by Rosalind Harvey)

I enjoyed taking my time reading this thoughtful and emotional novel while on a long train journey through the Alps. Although “Still Born” primarily alternates between the stories of two women's lives as they grapple with the question of parenting, it gradually expands to become a nuanced exploration of mothering amongst a number of other characters as well. At the centre are Alina and Laura who are in their 30s. When Alina and her husband decide to do whatever it takes to have a child, her longtime friend Laura is initially confused because they'd previously resolved not to have children. So much so that Laura had herself sterilized. But when she hears her neighbour's troubled child Nico having severe outbursts through the walls of her apartment she becomes increasingly involved in his and his single mother's lives. Though it meditates a lot on parenting, the novel also dynamically addresses issues to do with female friendship, careers and relationships – as well as feminism, sexuality, economic disparity and political unrest.

I think it was partly an effect of lockdown and the timing of when my neighbours had two young children but that long period at home made me hyper aware of the struggle of parenting – just like Laura experiences. I've heard fights and long extended tantrums through the walls I share with my neighbours. Reading this novel I felt slightly guilty because I don't have Laura's altruistic impulse to help care for these children though the mother and child in this story are clearly in much more desperate need. There's the tricky thing of not respecting a neighbour's privacy and what's the line between showing concern and being an imposition. These dilemmas are definitely dealt with in Laura's story too. It's really meaningful how the novel approaches this issue and asks whose responsibility it is to take on parenting roles. Is it all down to the parents or extended family and friends or anyone who witnesses children in need of caring? What happens when the bond between parent and child is transferred to another party and powerful emotional connections are formed?

The story explores this through the involvement Laura takes in Nico's development, but also pigeons which nest on her balcony and a nanny who becomes instrumental in caring for a extremely ill infant. I found it really moving how the story gradually builds the meaning of what it is to be a parent and how this is more expansive and porous than our traditional ideas about this role. It also shows how parenting changes over a long period of time with the way Laura's relationship to her mother transforms. An adult child's relationship to their mother or father is very different from how it was when they were younger and it's touching how the story traces the way mother and daughter come to understand each other as fully rounded individuals – rather than only as parent and child.

Another thing I loved about this novel and it's almost eerie when this occurs, but Laura is reading a novel I just recently read and loved which is “Solenoid” by Romanian writer Mircea Cartarescu. I read this several weeks ago, partly because I figured it had a good chance of being listed for this year's International Booker Prize, but then I realised it wasn't actually eligible and I kept on reading its many hundreds of pages anyway because this novel is absolutely brilliant and fascinating and wild. However, what are the chances? Out of all the books that could be referenced in this novel it's one I also read recently and have been thinking a lot about. So whenever this happens in a book I'm reading it feels like a wonder synchronicity is happening or a dialogue between books in a way which makes reading feel like a larger conversation.

There is also Alina's side of the tale. When she finally does become pregnant there are severe complications. I don't want to give any spoilers if you've not yet read this book, but don't let the title of the novel make you think you know what's going to happen. It is heartrending following her and her husband's journey as they go through this process. And it contrasts in such an interesting way with Laura's experiences where the role of being a parent becomes something Alina desires so much while also not wanting it. This tension must be something all parents feel no matter the health and welfare of their child, but definitely if a child's development is impeded by such difficult restrictions. It's so so moving how her side of the story plays out. But it's also interesting because the author chose to narrate Alina's story in the third person but Laura's sections are all in the first person. I know some readers have expressed how this division didn't work so well for them. I did feel it was clunky at some points because the sections about Alina seem to be from Laura's perspective but then they go into such detail that even though these friends are very close it seemed like there are scenes and dialogue which Laura couldn't know. And this created an unnecessary level of confusion in the narrative. But I can see why Nettle chose to relate the story in this way and it creates another contrast between a deeply interior account and viewing the experiences of someone going through the challenging process of parenting from the outside.

Overall, I think “Still Born” is excellent. Though it raises a lot of meaningful and eternally pertinent questions it's also a gripping story. As it went on I became increasingly tense and I couldn't stop reading. It's the first book I've read by her but it's Nettel's fourth novel and I believe her previous books have been translated into English as well so I'm looking forward to exploring those. I can see why it's the most highly rated novel from the International Booker Prize longlist according to GoodReads as I discussed in a video I made recently comparing all the books' star ratings. It is also on the official International Booker shortlist. It'll be exciting to see if it wins, but regardless I'm so glad to have read this novel which is written in such an engaging style while dealing with parenting issues from a beautifully humane and new angle.

Whale by Cheon Myeong-Kwan (translated by Chi-Young Kim)

It's not often that I finish reading a novel and I'm so uncertain how I feel about it. You might think that such ambivalence might be an indication of great artfulness, but I'm not so sure. It might just mean this is a really messy book.

It's puzzling what to make of this carnivalesque, multi-generational fable. It's something like a mash up of the novels “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, “Orlando”, “Norwegian Wood” and “A Little Life”. It's at once fantastical and rooted in a specific period of South Korean history. It places women at the centre of the story showing their resilience and struggles in a male-dominated society, but it also sexually objectifies them. Its playful narrative voice is both charming and aggravating. It philosophically explores aspects of society and human nature, yet it's also sometimes simplistic in its observations. It's about alienation, love, greed, loneliness, revenge and large penises.

So it's difficult to know how to respond to this highly imaginative tale which primarily centres around Geumbok, a woman from humble origins whose business acumen leads her to achieve great success, and her mute daughter Chunhui whose imposing body possesses supernatural strength. The picaresque story presents their lives in a series of episodes which loop back on themselves with plenty of digressions and side characters who frequently return whether they are living or dead. It's a wild adventure which is both wondrous and frustrating.

There are many disturbing scenes of abuse, mutilation and rape. It's not the depiction of these actions which is objectionable but they are presented in a way which almost feels cartoonish because there are few physical or psychological consequences. This is probably because the mode of storytelling is like a fairy tale which isn't concerned with realistic repercussions. But then, it's a novel that's also rooted in history because it refers to the war between the north and south, the battle against communist sentiment and the popularity of John Wayne movies. So it's confusing to know whether the narrator is taking these scenes of brutality seriously or just using violence as a way to embellish the plot.

The story also casts long lingering indulgent looks at the female body describing breasts, women's genitals and large asses. This isn't simply reflecting the way they are objectified by male characters. These are often juvenile representations which don't really serve a purpose except to titillate or repulse. Equally when men are physically described it frequently focuses on characteristics such as imposing muscles or a pitiful lack of muscle or a sexual organ so large no woman could possibly resist it. Later on in the novel there is also a gender transformation which occurs or an apparent transformation. This could have been interesting but it occurs in a point in the character's life when it's not about their inability to achieve success as a woman, but about meeting a young woman so desirable the only way this character can be with her is to present herself as a man. Yes, it mentions how this character found it easier to no longer be sexually objectified as a woman but really she was progressing fine on her own. Moreover, when this character switches genders their personality also instantly changes from caring and empathetic to greedy and unkind. So rather than this being a method of exploring nuance it feels like it's simply reinforcing the gender binary.

To be honest, as discomfiting and off putting as many of these things were I could have tolerated them more if I didn't find the narration so irritating. The authorial voice guides us through this tale and frequently speaks to the reader in a casual and direct manner. At times this is quite playful, but it often questions the validity of the story being told. There are wistful speculations on possible reasons for characters' motivations and reasoning. A rhythm is built whereby the consequences of a scene are described as happening because “This is the law of... ideology, habit or gambling.” This comes to feel more simplistic than profound or rueful. It also calls into question the truth about the story being presented. For instance, in one scene a character drowns. The narrator questions whether this was really a suicide as it was initially presented but then goes on to describe in detail how this suicide actually occurred. So what's the point of the narrator raising uncertainty or claiming that certain things are unknown? The story almost always shows and makes it very clear what actually happened and why. Yes, there are many things about history which can't be known because we have no tangible evidence. But if a story is presented in a way which is definitive and allows no room for ambiguity why are you questioning it – especially as the reader is never given anything about the identity or motivations of the authorial voice? It comes across as very muddled.

Despite all these troubling aspects of the novel there's a lot about this story which is fun and surprising. I'm not trying to contradict all the points I just made, but it's definitely an engaging tale in terms of spectacle. So I was often compelled to continue reading it just to see what would happen next and its final sections are quite moving in how the story comes together. This is especially true in the disconnection between mother and daughter. The mother's drive for autonomy leads her to emotionally distance herself from her imposing daughter while maintaining a deep sentimental attachment for a gigantic sea creature leading her to build a movie theatre shaped like a whale. Equally, the daughter who has suffered tremendous abuse because of her simple and straightforward relationship with the world longs terribly for an emotional connection which can only be found with the spirit of an elephant. Rather than being able to forge honest human relationships their feelings are projected onto these giant animals in a way which I found deeply poignant.

So how do I ultimately feel about this novel? I'm really not sure: I felt frustrated and even irritated by some aspects. At other times I was absorbed by the sheer bombastic nature of it. However, a lot of that comes down to spectacle. Clearly it contains a lot of creativity and imagination, but is there a deeper meaning? I'm not convinced.

Nevada by Imogen Binnie

When I was in my late teens I got a temporary job in a bookstore. I've often thought I could have spent my life at this retail gig that I wasn't particularly skilled at simply because I like to be near books. This is the employment Maria, the protagonist of Imogen Binnie's “Nevada”, has settled into. She describes in brilliant tragi-comic scenes how she's settled into working at a large old bookstore in New York City. Most of her days are spent lingering around the most obscure shelves of books and occasionally sneaking out to buy a bagel. She observes how “Her job exhausts her and her girlfriend exasperates her.” Her only real passions beside reading are riding her bicycle around the city and blogging about what it's really like to be a trans woman. She's both trying to understand her own experience and demystify what it means to be trans because “Maria is transsexual and she is so meek she might disappear.” Though she's extremely forthright in her opinions concerning this, she's so emotionally inhibited her girlfriend is fed up. A confrontation with her and taking one too many liberties at her job propels Maria out of her static existence. She spontaneously journeys across the country in her girlfriend's “borrowed” car and meets an individual she views as a younger version of herself who she hopes to inspire.

This novel was originally published in 2013, but it was reprinted last year as a trans fiction cult classic replete with endorsements from leading queer writers such as Torrey Peters, Andrea Lawlor and Brontez Purnell. There's a real charm to the narrative voice which uses a vernacular that is both self-deprecating and self-assured as it honestly describes the perspective of its heroine. She's completely aware that she's caught in a rut, but can barely muster the energy to take her scheduled estrogen injection – let alone build a more fulfilling life for herself. This is partly because her thoughts are so consumed with issues around her trans identity it exhausts her. As we learn about her development and her challenges of achieving self acceptance, this preoccupation seems totally justified. But, on the other hand, she allows it to overwhelm her to a degree where she perpetually feels on the brink of tipping over into chaos and losing her hard-won autonomy. Amidst this struggle she lays out and clarifies so many commonly misunderstood notions about what it's like to be a trans woman it's wonderfully refreshing reading her frank account.

Though this book presents itself on the surface as a road trip novel it subverts this concept by barely showing the actual trip and doesn't aspire to any neat notions of self discovery or inspiring connections. It's quite surprising how the narrative perspective shifts to the younger and equally inert figure of James in the later part of the book and the novel's ending is daring in how resolutely it avoids a tidy conclusion. But this made it feels all the more realistic and poignant for me. Maria and James aren't individuals who can find direction in their lives based on clear goals. Instead their meandering paths are more often steered by chance in a world that is largely mystified by their complex true identities and cruelly unconcerned with their well being. The information and sense of community they glean is mostly found online as there are so few points of physical connection available to them. Naturally, the internet is a behemoth of unsubstantiated knowledge and conflicting opinions. Maria's own closest in-real-life friend Piranha is wonderfully supportive but has her own serious issues to contend with and guidance can't be foisted upon Maria. So I grew to dearly care for these characters in their precarious situations and greatly appreciated receiving Maria's forthright and funny point of view.

Standing Heavy – GauZ' (translated by Frank Wynne)

Have you ever worked at a terrible, low-paid job and the only thing which got you through every gruelling hour was thinking 'One day I'll write a novel about this and then you'll see!' I've had several menial positions in my life from fast food to dressing as a ghoul in an amusement park's haunted house but I've never managed to write a successful book about them to get that sweet revenge. However, journalist and screenwriter GauZ' is living the dream. He grew up in the African country of Cote d'ivoire before moving to Paris where he became an undocumented student and security guard before returning to his native country. His debut novel “Standing Heavy” was first published in French in 2014 and won a prestigious award. It was recently translated into English and it's now been shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2023. The uniquely structured story moves between different decades describing the experiences of several black men from Cote d'ivoire employed in Paris as security guards. Their observations about the people around them, the consumerist institutions and the country itself are so satisfyingly cutting and humorous this book is a pleasure to read. It also gives an eye opening view and valuable new perspective on the long lasting effects of colonialism, capitalism and shifts in society over the past several decades.

It also clearly shows what should have already been glaringly obvious: that black men are favoured in the profession of security because of the stereotype that they are strong and intimidating. There are so many contradictions wrapped up in this state of being because the guard is both powerful and powerless. He is visible to those who want to shoplift and are deterred from stealing after seeing him. However, he's also invisible to many of the shoppers except as a source of amusement and to the larger society and the institutions who employs him. Therefore it's pleasing to see the tables turned and get the point of view of the guard as he's engaged in the tedious and soul crushing job of standing all day watching frivolous shoppers purchasing expensive things they don't need and adding to the wealth of organizations who only pay him a pittance. The maddening effects of this kind of work is intensely felt in the story. For instance, it's observed how “a security guard can expect to be exposed to 120 musical horrors in the space of a six-hour shift.” His only respite is relying on his imagination to fill the repetitive hours.

Many of the guard's observations focus on the habits of shoppers with their silly and cringe-worthy behaviour. However, they also point to how this consumerism is inextricably tied to movements between nations and the commodification of culture. It describes how what's known as The African Print is “The preposterous gaudy culmination of the infernal cycle of humiliations inflicted upon the Negro peoples since slavery.” Many of our material desires and habits go unquestioned but this narrative highlights how they are linked to power structures and history in a very real and immediate way. Unsurprisingly many of the points also have a mocking tone and express different levels of humour from the more juvenile to sophisticated social critiques. And some of these observations fall back on semi-sexist and racist stereotypes. This can make for uncomfortable reading at some points but the author acknowledges in the book “When we do not understand 'the other', we invent it, usually with racist cliches.” These sections are a part of being so thoroughly rooted in the guard's perspective shown in this story.

Yet the quips which recount the guard's thoughts and reflections while he's engaged in surveillance only make up part of this book. Other sections move between periods of time as different men learn to settle in Paris and find work. They capture periods of political and ideological change as these immigrants at first find hope of upward social mobility and education only to have these aspirations dashed. An individual named Joseph observes after 9/11 “The whole planet has been plunged into the age of paranoia... an era of law and order.” The demand for security and also the regulation of security inhibits these men's ability to progress as people are gripped by fear. At first I didn't really see how the different sections of the book came together, but towards the end it became extremely moving how they link up to give a wider view of this changing society and the fate of these individuals. The tone changes between parts so it's like a series of anecdotes (some of which work better than others) mixed with longer detailed observations about the men's living conditions. This forces the reader to adjust how they read from section to section. There's also a poignancy to how the guard whose observations we get in the 2010s is faceless and nameless even though we are so steeped in his innermost thoughts. It's a strikingly original piece of fiction and it's so heartening to see this author achieving even more success with this novel.

Women's Prize Shortlist 2023

Here are the 6 novels shortlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction! A new video is up on my YouTube channel where I react to each title as it's revealed and discuss all the books. I’m chuffed 4 out of my 6 predictions made the cut!

I am thrilled (and relieved) that “Demon Copperhead” made it! I've been rooting for this novel to win since before the longlist was announced so it's so exciting that it's a finalist. But you never know which way the judges will go! “The Marriage Portrait” is also such an accomplished historical novel that I loved reading. And if Kingsolver or O'Farrell win they'll be the first authors to have won the award twice!

There are also such impressive debut novels on the list. “Fire Rush” has the most striking voice and it's a story with a powerful message. It's enthralling how the psychological detail of “Trespasses” brings the reality of one woman's experience to life amidst The Troubles. I've not read “Black Butterflies” yet but I've heard such good things about it.

Then there are the dolphins! I've also not read “Pod” yet but I've seen such different opinions I'm so curious to see what I make of it. I was a fan of her previous novel “The Bees”. So we will see!

What do you think about the shortlist? Are there any you hope will win or any you're excited to read?

A System So Magnificent It Is Blinding by Amanda Svensson (translated by Nichola Smalley)

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.

The Dog of the North by Elizabeth McKenzie

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.

International Booker Prize Shortlist 2023

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!

Wandering Souls by Cecile Pin

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.

Time Shelter by Georgi Gospodinov (translated by Angela Rodel)

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.