Love, Leda by Mark Hyatt

It's always fascinating to read a re-discovered piece of queer writing. Though Mark Hyatt actively brought out poetry in the English bohemian scene of the 1960s, his novel “Love, Leda” has only been published posthumously this year. It's a fascinating snapshot of gay London life from that period in the time leading up to the Sexual Offences Act of 1967. The book's eponymous hero Leda has no fixed abode and bounces between male and female lovers while earning a bit of cash from low paid jobs in metal work and kitchens. He's estranged from his family and for good reason – when he feels obliged to visit with his parents and siblings there's a horrifically violent encounter with his disapproving father. The narrative veers from moments of raw emotional confession “Sometimes I find that I am humiliated by myself, and my thoughts get out of hand, becoming absolutely evil, and immediately I am nothing” to frivolous fantasies “during the long time of waiting for the train I appoint myself as Jesse James in full drag waiting for this very train and about to steal all the cash belonging to the G.P.O.” Moreover, it's fascinating following him as he navigates the back streets of Soho putting flowers in his hair and dabbing perfume behind his ears while dipping into the lives of outcast artists, dissidents and bored housewives. All the while he consumes countless cups of coffee and frequently lapses into poetic reverie.

There's something refreshing about reading a novel that's so organic and unpolished. That's not to say the book isn't sophisticated because it contains some absolutely beautiful lines, vivid descriptions and thoughtful commentary. But I can imagine the narrative would receive a complete overhaul in a contemporary creative writing class because it's quite chaotic. Some of the passages and lines of dialogue feel disorientating with their convoluted logic. Perhaps if Hyatt had the chance to work with an editor these would have more clarity. But, on the whole, I think it's better that the text has been preserved in its raw emotional form. The fascinating forward and afterward explain how Hyatt came from a working class background and received very little formal education. Learning how drawn the author was to suicide, it's hard not to read the story as autobiographical. There are frank passages describing his sense of alienation. He laments at one point that “I am far too feminine to be living in a man's world.” In another section he reflects how “My own experience tells me that more love goes into the thought of homosexuality than the practice.” Though he may have heated and powerful hookups, none lead to a loving connection.

This leaves him adrift and while he certainly possesses a melancholy streak, he also emits catty asides and biting humour along his journey. He even emanates a pissy arrogance when walking down the street and when someone bumps into him he indignantly muses “Why don't people look where I'm going? Walking into me like that.” There's a wonderful extended tragi-comic scene towards the end of the book when he's charged with looking after two little boys on a seaside trip. It's hilarious how indifferently he tends to them while they consume enormous amounts of sugar and cause havoc. But there's also a sadness to this as he's feeling so estranged from life: “I think I live without knowing myself and I laugh at the world to kill my pain. I cry because I can't understand it and I am constantly in dreams that somehow I hope time will not cure.” It's extremely touching reading such insights from a man so frankly discussing his queer experience from decades in the past and it's wonderful being immersed in this bygone urban landscape of Lyons' tea shops.

The Fraud by Zadie Smith

Zadie Smith's new book “The Fraud” is many things. It's a historical novel primarily set in 19th century London and Jamaica; it's a courtroom drama; it's about an unusual love triangle; it's about the ambition of novelists with some delicious appearances by Charles Dickens who makes bad jokes; it's about the end of slavery in Jamaica; and it's about what happens to truth when viewed through the lens of politics, the media, public debate and the craft of fiction. The story concerns a now semi-obscure historical novelist William Harrison Ainsworth (some of his titles outsold Dickens at the time) and The Tichborne Case, a famous trial that ran from the 1860s to the 1870s concerning a man who claimed to be a missing heir. Though this legal battle captivated the public at the time it's also now nearly forgotten. Between the author and the trial there is this novel's central character Eliza, a widow who is in some ways financially dependent upon Ainsworth. She is his housekeeper and reader. She's an abolitionist who forms a bond with Andrew Bogle, a man born into slavery who is one of the trial's key witnesses. Also, Eliza is fond of a long walk during which she observes Victorian London in tantalizing detail.

Eliza is a shrewd observer sitting in on discussions amongst prominent literary circles and watching the statements made in the courtroom by men whose demeanour often says more than their words. In this way we get a sly view beyond the surface of these interactions and the male dominated society surrounding her. However, as the novel progresses Eliza becomes a figure of intrigue herself. Between her intimate bond with William's deceased first wife Frances, a one-time intimacy with William himself and her late husband's illegitimate family, we get flashes of the truth Eliza either can't or won't openly accept. As the novel moves backwards and forwards in time we follow her journey towards acknowledging the reality of her personal life as well as the larger politics of her society. However, it's challenging to do this when there is so much unconscious misunderstanding and wilful deception surrounding her. She observes how “We mistake each other. Our whole social arrangement a series of mistakes and compromises. Shorthand for a mystery too large to be seen.” With so much confusion concerning what's true about other people's lives, acting in an ethical way can be extremely difficult.

In part, the novel is about how fiction comes to eclipse reality and how public consensus can eclipse truth. William writes historical novels which are based more in his imagination and stereotypes than facts. In this way readers come to know figures from the past through his distortion of the truth. Equally, “The Claimant” at the centre of The Tichborne Case achieves a large following that believes and partly funds his legal defence. Their faith in his claim is partly supported by Andrew Bogle's staunch conviction that “the Claimant” is the heir who went missing at sea. But how can Andrew's understanding of the truth be comprehended without knowing his own backstory or the legacy of slavery that was part of the British colonial empire? Eliza becomes the lynchpin towards seeing through the sensationalism of the case – partly because she has empathy enough to try to get to know Andrew himself. As his fascinating backstory is divulged, Smith shows the more complex personal realities at play within the more prominent public debates.

I had the pleasure of interviewing Smith about her new novel at a pre-publication event.

It's intriguing how this is a historical novel which seems to be critiquing historical novels themselves, the profession of writing and literary circles in general. At the beginning of one chapter, Eliza hilariously reflects: “God preserve me from novel-writing, thought Mrs Touchet, God preserve me from that tragic indulgence, that useless vanity, that blindness!” She sees how William's ambition to write removed him from being more fully involved with his family life (his first wife and his daughters) and his romanticisation of historical events distorts many people's understanding of history. Sitting in on their literary salons she's also privy to the pretensions and backstabbing which occurs amongst authors. In particular, Dickens is shown in quite a critical light. Smith seems highly attentive to the shortcomings of her profession and colleagues while also attempting to show in this novel what the best kind of fiction can do: expand readers' empathy and broaden their point of view to see the larger complexity of things. It's a tricky tightrope to walk and, for the most part, she gets the right balance.

Though Eliza is a highly sympathetic character who exhibits a lot of goodness, by the end of the novel it's shown she has her own shortcomings and areas of blindness. I enjoyed the way the story even gives a rounded view of such side characters as Sarah (the second Mrs Ainsworth) and Henry (Andrew Bogle's son). Their lives are fully fleshed out in many different scenes with witty dialogue and sharp observations. However, the structure of the novel is perhaps a bit too ambitious as it covers a lot of ground over a long period of time. It comes to feel a little unwieldy as the reader is continuously pulled into the past while the narrative also tries to delineate the complex events of the present. However, overall the story contains many moments of pleasure and it's a tale which leaves the reader with a lot to ponder. Like all the best historical fiction, it sparks a curiosity to want to read and understand more about some forgotten corners of the past.

Zero-Sum by Joyce Carol Oates

I'm continuously impressed by the creative flair of Oates' writing which fearlessly treads into forbidden areas of our psychological reality. She dares to reveal what we don't want to look at and asks questions which won't permit polite answers. Her new collection moves through three distinct sections from intimate stories of family life and young adulthood to a novella about the collapsing mental health of a modern literary “genius” to dark dystopian tales. There is a group of teenage girls who set a wicked trap for lascivious men, a mother who becomes intent on taking her baby off-grid and a privileged teacher secure in his home while the world outside literally goes to hell. These stories present a sense of uneasy progression where fulfilment seems just out of reach and unspeakable horror may wait around the corner. Oates has a mesmerising way of drawing the reader into her stories and deep into her characters' point of view to show an entirely new perspective. This is fiction which delves into the dynamics of love and personality with courageous intensity.

One story explains “In game theory, a zero-sum game is one in which there is a winner and there is a loser and the spoils go to the winner and nothing to the loser.” Throughout the book this sense of competition plays out between men and women as well as different individuals, friends and spouses. It's expressed as a particularly American sentiment which frequently leads to terrible violence. In some stories the characters recognize a double who might supercede them as only one can be victorious. For instance, in the title story a philosophy student who longs for the favour of her esteemed teacher envies his physically disabled daughter and in 'Monstersister' a growth on an adolescent girl's head develops into a feeble twin who becomes the focus of her family's attention. Yet, throughout these tales there are also hints that contentment can be found when equality is truly achieved and egoless love is offered. An ill-fated academic remarks that “To G___, life was not a game of who might win. Love was certainly not a game.” This suggests that the secret to real success might be in striving for mutual support rather than domination.

In the longest story within this collection the famous writer at the centre is simply referred to as “The Suicide” rather than being given a character name. His draw towards self-immolation as a kind of sacrifice to higher art becomes the defining characteristic of his identity. He struggles with mental illness, bouts of medical treatment and increasing paranoia. In following his manic logic we become increasingly aware of how his supportive wife's identity and health becomes completely subsumed to his own. Oates is scathing in portraying his selfish behaviour but also expresses sympathy for the author's dilemma. His longstanding plan for suicide is wrapped up in his egotism about his reputation as a great writer. This is a veiled portrait of the later part of David Foster Wallace's life. In her previous work, Oates has demonstrated a talent for fictionally paying tribute to revered writers such as Edgar Allan Poe, Mark Twain, Robert Frost, Henry James, Ernest Hemingway and H.P. Lovecraft by simultaneously recognizing their accomplishments as artists while severely critiquing them as fallible men. It seems apt there's reference to Hitchcock within “The Suicide” because the masculine drive of certain artists is also scrutinized by a character much like the actress Tippi Hedren in Oates' story 'Fat Man My Love' from her collection “High Lonesome”.

As well as interpersonal conflicts, these stories also focus on the heartrending internal dilemmas of characters who struggle with a sense of belonging and being wanted. In the very short tale 'Take Me, I Am Free' a child is literally left by the curbside with other unwanted items to be taken by anyone. Alternatively, in 'Sparrow' a woman learns from her mother who suffers from memory loss that she might have been adopted to replace a deceased child. The highly imaginative 'M A R T H E: A Referendum' contemplates a dominant race of computers that debate whether to keep alive the last remaining homo sapien whose life has been artificially extended. It's powerful how these different situations contemplate whether an individual's inherent value can be quantified and the ways that this becomes measured through their relationships with others in the world. Such vibrant storytelling pulses with life and has the ability to haunt the reader with urgent dilemmas that feel all too real.

You can watch me discuss “Zero-Sum” with Joyce Carol Oates here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hL1BB1hKPq4

A Fairly Honourable Defeat by Iris Murdoch

The more I read of Iris Murdoch the more impressed I am by her keen attention to the complexities of friendships and love affairs. In fact, she dynamically shows that these two states can naturally blend into one another. The definition of this closeness comes to feel immaterial against the evolving feelings people have for each other as long as they lead with kindness and honesty. This was true in her novel “The Bell” and it's explored with even more tenacity in her 1970 novel “A Fairly Honourable Defeat” where several friends and family members uncertainly step over the line into romantic love. They are ushered into unfamiliar territory by a mischievous character named Julius King who acts as an agent of chaos meddling in the relationships of several people. These include happily married Rupert and Hilda with their wayward son Peter, Rupert's gay brother Simon and his longterm older lover Axel and Hilda's sister Morgan who is estranged from her husband Tallis. Inspired by A Midsummer Night's Dream, Julius tests their commitment to one another by sending false messages to suggest hidden desire. This provokes a betrayal of trust and jealousy which rattles the harmony of their relationships and inspires deep introspection. The result is a moving tale full of vibrant exchanges and an entertaining plot set in modern London.

Even if it strains credulity, the story functions like a contemporary piece of Shakespearean theatre where big philosophical concepts are tested in real working relationships. One of the central notions explored is that plain goodness is dull and evil actions make life exciting. Certainly Julius could be dismissed as a villain, but Morgan's glib handling of his feelings and other hidden aspects of his life make him into a much more complex character. Conversely a more conscientious figure such as Rupert has untapped desires and insecurities which rise to the surface when his core beliefs waver. An issue such as the characters' uneasy relationships to capitalism are demonstrated in Morgan's compulsive buying habits and Peter's shop lifting. Then there is the relentless bullying and hate spewed from Tallis' father Leonard. The personality and detail Murdoch imbues within each character made me believe and care about them while giving a compelling perspective on a range of weighty issues.

One of the most intriguing bonds which comes under strain is that between Simon and Axel. Murdoch always sympathetically included gay characters in her novels, but the nuance and care she showed towards this couple make them one of the most compelling examples of a long-term homosexual relationship I've ever read. Between younger Simon's promiscuous past and conservative Axel's uneasy sense of inhabiting his queerness, these tensions play out in their dialogue and manner towards each other in an entirely convincing way. What perhaps isn't as persuasive is when Simon's lust for a male Greek statue reaches such a feverish pitch he not only strokes the marble but licks it! It's an image so over the top I can only assume Murdoch meant it to be comic. There's also a frank discussion between Rupert and Hilda at the beginning of the novel which engages with many stereotypes surrounding homosexuals with Rupert's welcome assertions that essentially there's little difference between gay and straight relationships. There's complexity in Simon and Axel's bond which is influenced by either embracing or rejecting a gay identity, but their relationship is also troubled by things which would impact any other couple.

Overall, this is a satisfying and pleasurable read. The relative power imbalance between different couples and the question of how much honesty a relationship can take is teasingly played out in the story. Probably the most sympathetic character is Tallis who is coldly rejected by Morgan, taken advantage of by Peter and continuously scorned by his father Leonard. All the while he diligently tries to earn a living teaching and writing his own work. It makes for quite a contrast with the easy privilege and wealth of Rupert and Hilda. So it's especially interesting how he sounds through as the voice of reason and his interactions with Julius add an interesting layer to this tale. I think this is only the fifth novel I've read by Murdoch so I'm glad there are still many more of her novels for me to discover.

The Vivisector by Patrick White

I've always been curious to read Australian author Patrick White so plunged into his epic “The Vivisector”, the longest of his novels. A few years after it was published White won the Nobel Prize for Literature and this novel was posthumously chosen as one of the six books shortlisted for the “Lost Man Booker Prize” of 1970. It describes the life and creative journey of Hurtle Duffield who is born to a poor Australian household, adopted by a wealthy family and rises to become a highly successful artist. The title refers to his often cruel ability to artistically dissect his subjects and his general emotional distance from people in general. Though he is an often cold and contemplative individual, he encounters a range of charismatic personalities who are vibrantly detailed throughout the story. Some of his most crucial connections are with his adoptive sister Rhoda who has a physical deformity and, later in his life, Kathy Volkov, a musical child prodigy. The story poignantly considers whether it's possible to dedicate oneself to an artistic life while also living as a fully rounded human. In doing so, White captures the perilous loneliness which is endemic amongst those who devote themselves with fervour to a meaning beyond their own circumscribed existence.

It's intriguing how the story initially feels akin to “Great Expectations” as the boy finds an opportunity to make his fortune and rise out of the meagre circumstances he's born into. Though Dickens' protagonist is eminently likeable and “good”, Hurtle is much spikier and I believe the reader is intentionally meant to criticise his demeanour as he ages and establishes himself as an artist. His aloof and haughty attitude is understandably hurtful to many around him who only want to enhance his life and wellbeing. It's as if Hurtle believes that he can't maintain his objectivity and artistic integrity if he allows himself to become emotionally close to anyone (especially those he's most drawn to.) In doing so, he refuses to engage in the common practice of kindly looking past the less savoury aspects of human nature. Instead he lays them mercilessly bare in his artwork. Is this a radical way of confronting the truth of existence or a brutal inability to love people with all their so-called flaws? I don't think the novel seeks to give an answer but offers a sustained meditation on this question. It also poignantly considers the meaning of success since Hurtle takes little satisfaction in his monetary gain or heightened reputation.

One of the most poignant images the novel offers early on is the chandelier Hurtle discovers in the Courtney's grand house. He comes to feel this form of glass and light within himself like an expression of the spirit. Some of the more comedic and enjoyable aspects of the novel come with the wealthy couple who adopt him. Mr Courtney makes him read out smut to test his literacy and despite Mrs Courtney's heartfelt concern for the downtrodden of the world she's unable to take much practical action so frequently feigns busyness. There are some particularly wonderful scenes involving a Planchette which Mrs Courtney believes connects them to the spirit world. While being frequently funny, this couple and their feisty daughter also come across as very sympathetic. The same is true for a prostitute named Nance whose diatribes express her emotionally volatile sensibility. Though he has a longterm affair with her and she serves as an important muse to Hurtle, he's incapable of valuing her beyond this purpose. As his life progresses, the author increasingly keys us into commentary about Hurtle from those around him adding to his sense of isolation. While following this artist's long life I kept recalling Mrs Courtney's remark that “There’s nothing so inhuman as a human being”. It's a chilling sentiment which this novel explores with a hard-edged and sustained dedication.

Mrs S by K Patrick

This novel is awash with so much sexual anticipation and sensuality it perfectly encapsulates the heady experience of falling in love. It's that feeling when passion becomes all consuming it infuses everything and time is measured by encounters with the desired individual. At the beginning of K Patrick's debut novel its Australian narrator has just arrived in England to work as a matron at a rural girls' boarding school. As she gradually acclimates to the environment and traditions of this old institution, she develops a deep attraction for the Headmaster's wife known simply as Mrs S. The story follows their interactions while building tantalizing suspense with the question of “Will they or won't they?” But it's also an excellent invocation of this emotionally charged environment with the budding egos of the girls and cloistered routines. As more is revealed about the narrator's difficult history with her family and her own discomfort within her own body, her yearning becomes movingly layered with a rich level of psychological complexity. Desire is truly shown in a new light which is both very specific and universal.

The writing in this novel shines with straightforward prose which are so precise and perfectly encapsulate the emotion and personality of the narrator. It's also satisfying how classic the story appears in its texture but how revelatory and new it feels in its meaning. The setting of the boarding school is filled with so many antiquated procedures it's groaning with centuries of routine. Details such as radiators which can't be turned off even when it's hot outside and soggy breakfast toast add to the all-consuming atmosphere of this place. There are also uptight figures such as the Nurse and the local Vicar as well as the doddering Headmaster. Everywhere are the tender personalities of the schoolgirls who sometimes cluster into antagonistic groups and other times drift in melancholy isolation. Their fiery energy is directed at boys, each other and sometimes the narrator: “The girls know about humiliation. They trade in it.” Other than Mrs S, perhaps the narrator's only true point of connection is with the Headmistress who becomes an ally in being a confirmed lesbian. However, their friendship is tinged with the resignation of knowing they only really have each other to rely upon being the most outwardly queer people at the school. Rising above all these other figures is Mrs S whose canny wisdom and prestige allows her to freely move throughout this environment. But she also has a mystery and air of dissatisfaction about her circumstances which adds to the total charm she casts over the narrator.

The narrator's infatuation with Mrs S becomes clear not only through the focus placed upon her, but in the way she describes her relationship with time. She details encounters with Mrs S and how she knows she will compulsively mull over them while mourning for any small detail of that experience which has been lost. This reminded me of Annie Ernaux's book “Simple Passion” in which the author recounts being so swept up in the heat of romance she is thrown out of the present. The mind becomes consumed with memories of past meetings and the anticipation of when they might meet next. Also, certain objects become laced with significance. At one point the narrator furtively conceals a portion of a smashed stained glass window depicting the figure of a woman which she makes a gift to Mrs S. This is filled with unspoken meaning about giving someone's independence back to themselves which may be misjudged by the narrator or misunderstood by Mrs S. Throughout the school there are also reminders of a deceased famous author who once attended this institution. Her strong presence is everywhere but she's essentially unattainable.

Though the novel functions as a romance, its deeper impact is about the question of how fully someone can inhabit themselves in such a location. It's a place which is intended to allow individuals to grow but only within the confines of certain borders. Though there's little opportunity for the kind of self expression which would allow the narrator to test out different ways of being she nevertheless finds opportunities to transcend the limitations of how she might be seen. When Mrs S takes her swimming at one point she remarks “If I could choose a different body, I choose this water”. Her expression of self is indelibly linked to her sincere desire and wish to completely envelop Mrs S. Many other characters such as the Headmistress, the girls and Mrs S struggle to find any such outlet so rebel in small and large ways against the constraints of their circumstances. It's a conflict which is thrillingly teased out in this story which is so compelling that reading it becomes its own kind of obsession.

The Story of the Forest by Linda Grant

One of the most excitingly unforeseen results of starting this book blog was being invited to travel to Riga and discover more about current Latvian literature. My great grandfather was born in Latvia and moved to the US to avoid being conscripted into the army during WWI. My family has always been proud of that Latvian heritage and traveling there was a longterm goal so it was a thrill to finally experience life in Riga and connect with a cousin I've never met. I made a video about that experience which you can watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5HHP5AfG1k

All this preamble is to say I instantly felt a strong connection to Linda Grant's new novel which follows the life of Mina Mendel, a girl born in Latvia who emigrates to England in the early 20th century. She's separated from the majority of her Jewish family because of the war and the narrative traces the experiences of the Mendels – the ultimate fates of whom are not all known. In part, it's framed like a fairy tale: a girl goes to pick mushrooms in the forest and her life is irrevocably changed. However, it's clever how the novel is more about the ways in which this family forms a personal mythology. As we follow them through the years and different generations we see the ways in which storytelling is part of what binds this group together no matter how much the stories stray from history and the truth. The novel traces how the family's past intersects with larger socio-political events so their fates are more often influenced by happenstance than by their own free will. From a tight-knit working class Jewish community in Merseyside to the machinations of the film industry, their lives are portrayed in vivid, humorous and loving detail.

At first I wasn't sure about the nature of the story which initially centres around Mina and her brother Jossel's attempt to emigrate to America. It's compelling following how larger events disrupt their plans and cause them to grow new roots in a place where they hadn't planned to settle. Yet I found it initially disorientating reading occasional flashes into the future where we learn about the fates of future generations before the narrative has caught up to them. But gradually this structure developed a poignancy as the story becomes more splintered by the dispersement of family and the uncertainty about the truth of their origins. Names are changed. Connections are lost. History is forgotten. Eventually all the descendants are left with is speculation about their family past and an inherited object which takes the form of a somewhat ugly coffee pot. This feels very true to life and will resonate with anyone who has attended a family reunion where pieces of stories are recounted whilst studying obscure items that have been passed down through the generations.

There was another surprising personal connection I felt with the story when at one point the family receives an anonymous anti-Semitic note through the door. This naturally leads to a sense of anxiety that some of their neighbours harbour resentment towards them and they take measures to try to assimilate. It's no wonder that part of the reason aspects of family history are lost because details are suppressed or altered in different periods for the sake of survival. This also showed how little changes because several years ago my boyfriend and I temporarily moved to an area of North London. Soon after settling in we received an anonymous note through the letterbox urging us to change our homosexual lifestyle and warned that our friends were laughing behind our backs. (We failed to see how many of our gay friends would be laughing at our lifestyle.) Though we tried to laugh this off, it was also unsettling being made to feel like some anonymous individual or few people who lived around us in this new environment were secretly disapproving and hostile towards us.

Grant's novel shows that there will always be intolerant individuals who feel they own certain communities and everyone who inhabits that space should be a mere reflection of them. It's also clever in how it demonstrates the fragile value of ideologies when tested against the full spectrum of society. When Mina is a naïve girl the men she meets in the forest impress her with their Bolshevik ideas and these beliefs ferment in her mind over the course of her life. But she discovers the relative impact of these ideas when discussing them with women in a munitions factory during the war as well as learning about the deadly consequences the Soviet Union has upon her native Latvia. Though this novel is largely set in Britain, it's interesting to compare the historical events portrayed within Latvia in the novel “Soviet Milk” - my review of this book is what eventually led to the invitation to visit Riga. It shows how things come full circle. So I was very glad to read Grant's new novel which comes with a touching author's note explaining her own personal relationship to this tale. Overall, as well as being a poignant meditation on family and the flow of time, “The Story of the Forest” is also a highly entertaining story.

My Favourite Books of 2023 (so far)

Here are the 10 best novels I've read this year! What are your top reads from 2023 so far?

Somehow we're already halfway through the year so I've browsed through the 50+ books I've read so far and picked out my favourites. A new video has just gone up on my YouTube channel discussing all of these titles: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qnOm_GDlyB8

Some of these books I read at the beginning of January and one I only just finished last week. They range from historical tales (“The New Life”) to fiction set in the recent past (“Wandering Souls”), a sci-fi novel (“In Ascension”) and a surreal inward adventure (“Solenoid”). In one story an author creates a powerful fictionalised account of her friend's violent experience (“Vista Chinesa”) and another gives a fascinatingly revised version of history while examining a fictional artist's life (“Biography of X”). Some are more contemplative (“Boulder”) and some have plots that are so gripping I had to keep reading late at night to find out what was going to happen (“The Birthday Party”). And, coincidentally, two of these novels (“The Worlds and All That It Holds” and “In Memoriam”) are gay love stories about soldiers in WWI but they take such different approaches to telling their stories and use very different styles of writing.

It's been great that some of these titles have been listed for different book prizes including the International Booker Prize and the Women's Prize for Fiction. Just recently “The New Life” won the 2023 Orwell Prize for Political Fiction. Hopefully all these novels will get even more prize attention and a wider readership!

I'd love to hear about the best books you've read so far this year. Let me know what I need to catch up on reading and what you're looking forward to reading next!

August Blue by Deborah Levy

Though I enjoyed this novel it confirms my personal preference for Levy's “living autobiography” over her fiction. “August Blue” follows the story of famed classical pianist Elsa M. Anderson during a period of time when the disruptions caused by the recent pandemic are gradually winding down. She was a child prodigy raised by a gay teacher who is now old and frail. She longs for a connection with her lost mother. After dying her hair blue and scandalously flubbing an important concert, she bounces around Europe giving private lessons to troubled privileged children and having glancing encounters with a woman she views as her double. She imagines clipped exchanges of dialogue with her and their relationship is teasingly antagonistic. This novel is definitely interesting and fun, but I didn't love it. I think this is because there's often a strong conceptual aspect to Levy's fiction which makes it like an intellectual puzzle. It feels satisfying to complete. However, it doesn't have enough of an emotional pull for me to feel as involved as I'd ideally like to because the characters are more like pieces of that puzzle rather than real people.

Maybe it's inevitable with a writer who moves between autobiographical books and fiction, but there is a blending between the two forms. Levy might or might not be cognizant of this. Fans who read “Real Estate” will recall Levy had great trouble remembering the code to get into her Paris apartment and in “August Blue” there's a scene where Elsa struggles to remember the correct sequence of numbers to get through the front door of her temporary accommodation in Paris. I could cite more examples and there's no problem with reusing details such as this, but it makes me more conscious that the character of Elsa is like classical pianist cosplay for Levy. Elsa has a slightly bohemian, shabby glamour to her with her penchant for chic cocktails, scented hand cream and casual sex. Her characteristics and attitude feel so strongly aligned with the spirit of Levy as described in her memoirs. Again, this isn't necessarily an issue especially if the reader of this novel hasn't also read her autobiographical trilogy. But personally reading it makes me constantly aware I'm sitting in a theatre watching Levy's actors rather than feeling so immersed I forget the artifice.

Despite all this, there is truly a lot to enjoy in this novel. Levy creates delicious imagery such as scene where a man removes the spines of a sea urchin from Elsa’s fingers while she can feel that man's erection through his shorts. There's a vivid sense of atmosphere created of what life was like during this period of the pandemic as mask wearing became sporadic and the after effects of getting the vaccine shot created a worry that the recipient had caught the virus. Levy exhibits a wonderful sense of humour in several scenes with near slapstick-like situations such as when Elsa loudly discusses her potential sexual relationship with a man while they meet at a noisy brasserie or when a man sarcastically misquotes Walt Whitman at someone over FaceTime. The author is also highly adept at satisfying putdowns towards particularly unsavoury figures such as a sexist bigot Elsa and a Rastafarian encounter in a London park where she observes “The white man's head was so infected with anger and self-pity it made his eyes stupid and small.” Conversely, there's a sweet affection shown towards the adolescents she teaches.

Overall, I grew to really like Elsa as a character. There's a cumulative poignancy to the brief conversations in her head with her doppelgänger who questions and chides Elsa about her insecurities and fears. Forms of doubling are shown in other aspects of the story as well but the symbolism didn't add up to saying anything that meaningful. I reckon these issues would feel more powerful if Levy discussed them frankly in memoir form rather than mediating them through the cipher of this character. I fully respect Elsa is a fiction and that her history and preoccupations probably differ from Levy's own. Maybe it's an unfortunate byproduct for an author who slides between two forms of writing that there will be a confusion between the two. But I feel the blending of autobiography and fiction in “August Blue” doesn't have the same expansive imaginative power as it does in recent novels such as “Solenoid” or “Still Born”.

Solenoid by Mircea Cartarescu (translated by Sean Cotter)

If I had to sum up “Solenoid” in a one line review I'd say: this book makes reality wonderfully weird. It is one of the most brilliant pieces of fiction I've ever read. Though it's very long and dense with complicated passages that require a lot of attention, every line feels as if it's written with great urgency and as such I was completely gripped. The writing is also frequently surprising and beautiful. It made me want to read it slowly and savour its poetic nature and the odd imagery which made me think about life from a new angle. For instance, the narrator writes that when we dream we “sink into our visions' cistern of melted gold.” I copied out many many quotes while reading. At another point a man named Virgil asks “What are we doing inside this filthy, soft machine?” It's this kind of turn of phrase which is so refreshing and humorous as it gives a different way of considering what it's like to inhabit a body.

The narrator's obsessively-written notebook is mesmerising as it explorers his preoccupations in meticulous and fabulous detail. The text is rooted in life's big questions concerning the meaning of existence, the nature of being and the metaphysical. However, all this self-conscious lofty subject matter never feels too ponderous because it's presented with sincere emotion, creative verve and a sly sense of humour. It peels back the mundane surface of reality to reveal all the fears and wonder lurking underneath. If this book could be dismissed as naval-gazing, then it seems to meet this criticism by literally beginning with its unnamed narrator gazing at his naval and his account continues with vigorous self-scrutiny. By looking inward with such intensity and dedication all the unwieldy beasts of the unconscious are released and life's essential purpose is reasserted.

The book takes the form of day to day notes which the narrator compulsively records – not to produce an account to be read by others but “to try to understand what is happening to me, what labyrinth I am in, whose test I am subject to, and how I can answer to get out whole.” He sifts through his humble past, work as a reluctant teacher in Bucharest and his haunting dreams. Yet he also veers off to speculate on the infinite possible alternative paths his life might have taken and how he might break free from the confines of reality. He describes a formative event when he read an extended poem aloud at a literary salon. He'd poured all his life force into this poem and dreamed it'd be recognized as a work of genius. Hilariously, he dresses for the event in a certain way because his idea of being a writer came from watching Breakfast at Tiffany's as “the author in that film wore a turtleneck, a little frayed around the neck.” However, the group's reaction to his poem is devastating. It's ruthlessly criticised and he is utterly humiliated. This leads him to abandon his hope of becoming a writer and causes him to lose faith in the power of literature.

The nature of this book is itself a contradiction. It's both a novel and an anti-novel, auto-fiction and wild fantasy, dedicated disquisition and an ephemeral project. Equally, his very identity contains a lot of uncertainty especially when he recalls his youth. He might have had a twin brother who functions as a kind of doppelgänger. There's a curious exploration of gender where his mother sometimes dressed him as a girl and he asserts at one point: “Today, it feels as though I had been a girl in a previous life, as though the girl left a hole shaped like her body in the petrified ash of my mind”. Tantalizing lines such as this left me with so much to ponder concerning how our sense of self is constantly shifting and layered. There's also a lot of excruciating detail which recurs like a nightmare and body horror concerning his physical existence. As a caution: this is definitely not a book to be read before going to the dentist or getting a shot from a doctor! Yet, this adds to the sense of his being trapped in a particular physical form though he feels himself to be much more expansive and malleable.

There's also a sense of the larger society which weighs down his potential to grow. The absurd reality and spurious demands of the oppressive Communist government is described where “Each child must bring fifteen kilograms per month of paper and one hundred kilos of empty bottles and jars, all well washed, ready to reenter production.” There seem to be few possibilities for the future of these children who are forced to perform in nonsensical shows so it's not surprising they sneak off to a disused factory for some kind of arcane ritual. The larger adult population is also discontent and there is a group called the Picketists who not only protest against the government but against our mortality and natural phenomena such as “the swarms of diseases, fears, and horrors located in human flesh”. There are some quite vivid descriptions of other figures such as the head of the school, his fellow teachers and certain students, but the focal point is fairly constantly upon the narrator himself.

His monotonous existence consists of traveling between his home and work. This forms “The sad insanity of my life.” This is definitely a melancholic novel but the creative flair of its storytelling never makes it feel too weighty. At one point he comments: “Melancholy is also exciting, but in a different way than the stringent drunkenness of sex.” Though he's solitary by nature he isn't always entirely alone because he connects with a physics teacher who he has sex with. They discover a button next to his bed which allows them to levitate while having conjugal relations. However, their pairing isn't so much emotional as convenient like his job. Hilariously, he often can't even remember which classroom he teaches in or who his students are until he looks in his notebook. Yet, alongside the everydayness of this world there are portals into other labyrinthine spaces. From a disused factory with strange cavernous areas to a proliferation of endless rooms in his boat-shaped house to the micro world of dust mites.

This is where the novel's title comes into play. A solenoid is a metal coil which becomes surrounded with a magnetic field when an electric current is introduced. There are solenoids buried in the foundations of certain buildings around Bucharest and these form sorts of gateways which allow him to traverse the fourth dimension. I don't understand the science behind all this but the book possesses an internal logic which makes it convincing and also adds such fascinating mystery as it breaks the limits of reality and leads this story into some outlandish situations. It's so entertaining and it becomes almost hypnotic as the narrator leads the reader into such curious realms. There's also a kind of tragedy to it as his concentrated endeavour of recording all this must inevitably fail. The book explores the limitations of literature: “What I am writing here, evening after evening, in my house in the centre of my city, of my universe, of my world, is an anti-book, the forever obscure work of an anti-author. I am no one and I will stay that way, I am alone and there's no cure for being alone”. Yet, at the same time it's his only method for processing his life and asserting he exists. “My writing is a reflex of my dignity, it is my need to search for the world promised by my own mind, just as perfume is the promise of the many-layered rose.”

There are lines in here I also connect with so strongly as a reader because like the narrator I return to books again and again looking for worlds beyond my own experience. I know there's no definite answers which can be found in books and reading can sometimes feel addictive. He states at one point: “I love literature, I still love it, it's a vice I can't put down, a vice that will destroy me.” And there are some very tender moments when this book becomes almost confrontational. “After you've read tens of thousands of books, you can't help but ask yourself: while I was doing that, where did my life go?” What a way to induce panic in a reader like me surrounded by books which I've spent countless hours of my life reading! It forces me to consider all the actual living I've missed out on while inhabiting an imaginative life sparked by reading. It's intense, but it doesn't change my instinctual desire to read more and transcend the limitations of my own experience. And this novel reminds me of how the individual expands to encompass all of reality: “My mind dressed in flesh, my flesh dressed in the cosmos.”

So this book is extraordinary. It is one of the most brilliant books I've ever read. But it's not perfect. There are some sections which I didn't think worked quite as well. The parts about his ex-wife felt oddly truncated and undeveloped. There are extended sequences where he recounts dreams which felt overlong. In some parts he over-emphasised questions asking: what is reality? It's also all very rooted in a masculine point of view with all the trappings of that: he describes his sperm as “a liquid as sacred as blood” and in one section “at this moment I looked at her vulva with a kind of indifference, the way you look at a painting on the wall in your own room that you know so well you don't even notice it.” But I fully accept that all this is part of the parcel that is this narrator and he can't extract himself from his own individual point of view with all his failings and prejudices. Which really only made him feel more human – even when he inhabits the consciousness of a dust mite. There is so much more to say about this book and so many more quotes I could list. So maybe it's enough to say that reading “Solenoid” has been an enriching experience I will never forget.

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.