Biography of X by Catherine Lacey

There are some novels that feel perfectly aimed at me. “Biography of X” is absolutely one of them because its story and central subject matter are the sort I most enjoy reading. Like in Hustvedt's “The Blazing World”, Lacey's new novel considers the phantasmagoric life of a fictional female artist. It's an intelligent exploration of the meaning of identity considering whether this is formed through inherent characteristics, self-creation or projections from other people. This is clearly a preoccupation for the author as her novel “Pew” explored this meaningful question from a different angle. Yet the premise of this new novel is in some ways more ambitious and expansive as it's a very playful mixture of fact and fiction which also pursues a central intimate mystery. Ultimately, this tale is also about the dilemma of how much we can truly know the people we love the most because no matter how close we feel to them there will always be aspects of their lives which will remain hidden and unknown.

A complex artist named X has died. Her widow CM embarks on researching X's life and interviewing people from her past in order to write an account to set the record straight and learn more about her own puzzling wife. In the process she describes how X's life intersected with a fascinating array of real historical and current artists, writers and cultural figures. It's so fun to see how personalities such as Susan Sontag, Andy Warhol and Max Porter enter the story. However, the more CW learns about her deceased wife the more she realises how little she understood her. X's elusiveness was part of her work as a shapeshifting figure in the manner of artists such as Sophie Calle or Cindy Sherman. Her process of radical reinvention from country life to cosmopolitan “it girl” is also akin to the character of Holly Golightly – if Capote's character were a radical artist. Additionally, X needed to escape her past as this novel presents a revisionist history where America became politically divided in a way even more outwardly extreme than what exists today. Like in the first section of “To Paradise”, in this version of America same sex marriage has been legal for much longer than it has been in reality. Gradually we come to understand the various ways in which X's artistic mission was both personally and politically motivated.

Alongside Lacey's text there are a number of photographs throughout the novel which further blend fact and fiction as well as illuminating the biographical detail of X's life. It's so creative how Lacey explores the way events in history might have differently played out and how certain figures such as Emma Goldman could have had a key political role if circumstances had been slightly different. As with many biographies, the text can reveal more about the biographer than the subject. CW must gradually separate what she wanted X to be from the person she actually was. As she's confronted with the versions of X that existed for the subjects she interviews a blurry understanding of the real woman appears. But how much can you truly know such a human changeling and how much can you really understand someone when, as the philosopher William James described, we have as many personalities as the people we know? These universal questions are poignantly applied to a wildly entertaining story that's like a masterful puzzle and an exposé of a sumptuous hidden history.

Men I Trust by Tommi Parrish

It can be difficult to allow someone into your life when you've been badly betrayed – especially when it happens again and again. In Tommi Parrish's graphic novel “Men I Trust” we're introduced to Eliza and Sasha, two women who have been differently used and abused by men. Eliza is a single mother, a recovering alcoholic and a poet who reads her writing aloud at open mic nights in a near-empty bar. Sasha is an occasional sex worker who has recently moved back in with her parents. She struggles with neediness and sometimes dips into her mother's prescription medicine. The two form an unlikely connection discussing their insecurities and the struggle to affect positive change in their lives. It's an intimacy full of all the awkwardness and hesitancy involved with early friendship or potential romance. By following their private moments of conflict and how their daily lives occasionally intersect, we see the challenges of real companionship and how difficult it can be to truly trust someone.

The drawings which accompany Parrish's poignant text develop a real emotional power as the story progresses. The characters' bulky forms contrast with their undersized heads in a way that emphasizes the uneasiness of inhabiting their bodies. Facial expressions are portrayed in minimalist detail in a way which is simple but effective. At times of high emotional tension the environment around them seems to bleed out into solid colours. It adds to the sense of isolation these women experience at different times. Though it feels like they should naturally find solace in their bond with each other, I enjoy how the story teases out whether this is a healthy relationship as boundaries are trodden over. The men these women are closest to may be toxic, but there isn't necessarily any more respite to be found in sisterhood. It's impressive when a story can subvert the reader's expectations to present a conclusion which is so thought-provoking and new.

In Memoriam by Alice Winn

This novel grabbed hold of my heart! It's so emotional but also so well crafted and intelligent. What a special debut novel! The story and plot are so gripping. It contains many surprises and I want to keep this as spoiler free as possible because there are twists that had my heart racing: moments of tragedy, moments of kindness, moments of horror and moments of absolutely beautiful tenderness. This is embodied by an array of well observed and totally believable characters. Many are privileged English schoolboys but within that sphere they are so diverse and fascinating – not least of all the two young men at the centre of this book. And what I think makes this novel so special is not just the historical subject matter of WWI and the people tragically caught in these circumstances, but the way Alice Winn has structured this book. It's so clever and adds so much to the story.

The novel begins in 1914 at an English boarding school in the countryside. We meet seventeen year old boys: Henry Gaunt and Sidney Ellwood. Gaunt has part German heritage and is more reserved, awkward and anti-war. Ellwood is part Jewish and is very popular and enthused to fight in the war. Neither of them are technically old enough to enlist, but, as with many young men back then, this did not stop them. They both love poetry (especially Ellwood who writes and recites it) and they've been harbouring a secret desire and love for one another. We follow as they separately go to war and the consequences of being at the centre of a conflict where millions and millions of lives were lost.

I was somewhat nervous going into this because I thought: do I want to read about war especially focusing on the point of view of privileged English schoolboys? But once I got into the story and got to know these characters I was completely enthralled. Part of what Winn shows so well is the way youth were manipulated into wanting to be remembered and glorified. This is what governments do to get the manpower for war and make young men enlist. At that tender age so many boys can be easily convinced to die for their country in order to be remembered forever. Part of this is national arrogance and believing they'd win the war right away. But there was also pressure from an organisation called The White Feather Movement which I hadn't heard of before this novel. These were groups of women that went around in public and any young man who looked fit enough to fight was handed a white feather to shame him into wanting to enlist. This was controversial even at the time – not least of all because sometimes feathers were given to soldiers on leave or veterans who were seriously wounded. So I was glad to learn about this element and strategy of war. And reading this book has made me want to read and discover more about this period of time.

Winn makes the characters of Gaunt and Ellwood feel so alive with their hesitancy around intimacy, their confused dreams about the future and what is possible for boys in their position with restrictions about what was socially allowed at the time. It was okay as long as the boys were popular and kept it behind closed doors, but they could not love each other openly. It feels so important for gay love tales to be inserted back into history through novels like these because these relationships did happen but they weren't often recorded or allowed to flourish because of social stigma. I won't reveal what happens between them or how their story together develops but it is so beautifully done. There are also many other really fascinating characters. Some are naively gun ho about fighting, some are understandably crippled by fear and the horror of what war looks like. There are bullies, there are hopelessly foolish boys, there are highly intelligent lads, there's a really interesting character with Indian heritage, there's a man from a working class background which contrasts sharply to most of the young men in this book and there is Gaunt's sister who is extremely intelligent and progressive but can't effect change because of the restricted possibilities for women at that time. All these characters are so convincing in their dialogue and actions while also showing the influence that classism, racism, sexism and homophobia has on their lives. The story depicts how these things still have an effect even on the battlefield where soldiers struggle to survive from moment to moment. The novel also demonstrates the tragic gulf in understanding between those who know what it's like at the front verses people who've remained in England. But also, even before the scenes at war the story shows the sinister bullying culture in English boarding schools where young boys are literally tortured in a perverse cycle which is believed to build character.

Something so unique about this novel is how Winn structures the story because it is not just a straightforward narrative but it's also composed of letters, articles and issues of the boarding school's published journal. And this is another reason why I was initially hesitant to read this book because I wasn't sure how these fictional newspaper articles could add to the story. But they definitely do and create such a powerful sense of the brutal consequences of war as some characters that the reader has grown to love or despise or even just know casually are listed under the casualties over time. To see them suddenly removed in black and white like this gives such a strong sense of what it must have been like at the time. But also, the gruelling task of soldiers writing letters to families to inform them of their husband's or sons' deaths while trying to make it personal. It is heart wrenching and so effective.

Running through this novel is the power of poetry. Not just in its creation and the ways it can encapsulate experience like no other but what effect war has upon the creative imagination. It's made me keen to read more by and about great gay poets of WWI such as Siegfried Sassoon. It's also made me keen to read George Eliot's novel Adam Bede. I've read a number of books by Eliot but not that one. And I won't explain how that novel has a role in this novel, but just read this novel and see. There's a really interesting prisoner of war camp section – again, no spoilers, but it's so suspenseful and vivid. And it's so compelling how it elicits sympathy for the German soldiers in this section who were technically overseeing the prisoners but many of these guards were less well fed and less experienced than their prisoners who relentlessly bullied them. Because no matter which side of the conflict these young men (who were still boys really) were on, they were led by their countries into perilous conflict and thousands were slaughtered. There's also a fascinating narrative shift at one point showing the other side of the battlefield and the other boys caught up in this hellish conflict.

It all comes together to create a war story and a love story like no other. And I loved it. There's so much more to say about this novel, but it's a masterful accomplishment. So impressive for a first novel – although, from what I gather from interviews Winn has been writing for a long time. I think it shows that this is a writer who has honed her craft and told a story she feels so passionately about. I don't want to make any assumptions, but I know Winn is married to a man so for a presumably heterosexual woman to write so beautifully about such complex gay characters with depth and understanding and to write about their sexual and emotional relationships so convincingly is stunning. I'd also recommend reading “The World and All That It Holds” by Aleksander Hemon which, coincidentally, is also a story of WWI about two soldiers in love with each other, but it's in a very different setting and it also has a very different style and approach. It's also excellently done. However, “In Memoriam” is a novel that completely captured my heart and I know I'll remember it for a long time.

Children of Paradise by Camilla Grudova

In an era that's often dominated by confessional “tell all” fiction it's refreshing, in a way, to read a novel that makes a dilapidated cinema the protagonist of the story and the journey we follow is this dying movie house's last hurrah. Each chapter is headed by the title of a different film and the subsequent events frequently play upon the style or subject matter of these movies. We know little of the narrator at all. She calls herself Holly after a character from 'Badlands' and just arrived in the country, but beyond that we know nothing of her past or future plans. She happens to see a movie house advertising “We're hiring” and quickly gets the job. After orientating herself around its strange interior and working there long enough, she's gradually drawn into the sub-culture of film enthusiasts who are her stand-offish colleagues.

This group doesn't just work in the cinema; they stay after hours drinking the dregs left by customers in glasses of alcohol, taking any drugs which customers drop on the floor or stash in the toilets and screw each other on the stained seats of the movie hall. However, they could hardly be called a collective or a united clique as their tastes in films vary wildly and their piling together to share unhealthy snacks while watching countless movies is more a convenience. Instead, it's the actual film house which has more of a body than any of these people with “the building's gaping mouth, a sparkling marquee teeth grin” and a lit chandelier “like a skeleton hanging there”. The single scratched screen plays mostly old films while a river of sewage runs in the concealed depths underneath. There's rumoured to be a mysterious secret screen which reveals itself in surreal moments to the curious narrator.

The Paradise cinema is the oldest in the city and it's definitely seen better days, yet the employees are devoted to it as a living artefact and beacon of culture. I related to this scenario as in my teenage years I worked at a haunted house in an amusement park. The employees had a cultish devotion to the place and often spent time there even when they were off the clock. It's endearing how a group of people who could be classified as misfits find solace in gathering around a place of employment whose days are clearly numbered. Equally, the bizarre owner of The Paradise and its patrons continuously return with religious devotion. This endows the cinema with a strong personality and Grudova relates in great detail the remnants of its glory days as well as the excruciating way it is steadily falling apart. Although I can understand why some readers are put off by the way it almost revels in the grotesque, there's a perverse pleasure in following the farcical events of this novel as it veers into absolute absurdity. For me, the story unraveled somewhat towards the very end as enforced changes to make this old independent cinema conform to a large cinema chain's designs go badly wrong. The narrative dwindles and feels less significant as all we're left with is the insubstantial narrator gazing in wonder at another lost institution.

Women's Prize Winner 2023

We've come to the end of another season of The Women's Prize for Fiction and what a fantastic ride it's been! I think the 2023 shortlist has some of the best overall quality we've seen in recent years. Such a great balance between two highly accomplished previous winners, really exciting debut novels and one very contentious book. But, of course, there could only be one champion. It was a thrill to be invited to the ceremony to see the winner being announced and I was overjoyed to have the opportunity to meet and chat with Barbara Kingsolver. She was so gracious and nice! We discussed how the opioid epidemic has also hit hard in my home state of Maine as well as the plot connections between her novel and Dickens' classic. Interestingly, she noted the character of Matt Peggot (known as “Maggot”) doesn't have an equivalent in “David Copperfield” because Dickens didn't know any boys like Maggot but she felt he should have a presence in her story. Well, the spirit of Dickens must have been cheering her on from the sidelines because Kingsolver was declared the winner and it was so exciting to be standing right in front of the stage to see it happen. She delivered such a heartfelt speech. Kingsolver is the first author to have won the Women's Prize twice! You can watch my vlog about going to the ceremony and party here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wA1A0bBXtYs

This is another win for “Demon Copperhead” which was already declared the co-recipient of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction (alongside Hernan Diaz's “Trust”) and it's also been shortlisted for this year's Orwell Prize for Political Fiction. I fully understand the sentiment (rumoured to be shared by Kingsolver herself) that it would have been more beneficial for the prize to have gone to one of the debut authors on the list as their books and careers would be more enhanced by the attention. Kingsolver’s novel has already sold very well because the author is so well established and it was an Oprah’s book club choice. Certainly “Black Butterflies”, “Fire Rush” and “Trespasses” all contain such unique voices and present such vivid senses of place. I loved reading them and I hope more people will continue to read them. But the criteria for this book prize isn't to award the most promising new writer of the year. It's for the best novel written by a woman published in the past year. In my opinion, “Demon Copperhead” is the most skilful and powerful book on the shortlist so I'm absolutely delighted it's taken the prize!

Of course, I also can't help taking a little smug satisfaction in the fact that I've been advocating for this novel to win the Women's Prize even before the longlist was announced – as you can see in my predictions video with Anna. I made a video earlier this year explaining why I think “Demon Copperhead” should win every prize it's eligible for. And it looks like the novel is doing just that as it's sweeping all the book awards. It may take the surprise out of any book contest this year, but it's also a very worthy winner. I've heard from some readers who haven't been as moved by this novel as I was, but I know it's also touched many readers' hearts and minds. I'm grateful we have a great diversity of literature and points of view. But excellence is excellence. “Demon Copperhead” isn't just a modern retelling of a classic; it is a modern classic.

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?