The Empusium by Olga Tokarczuk (translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones)

I've had mixed experiences reading Tokarczuk's work in the past. I didn't get on with “Flights” but loved “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead”. So I was curious to see what I'd make of “The Empusium”, especially just after reading “The Magic Mountain” as the bones of this story heavily inspired Tokarczuk's novel. This follows 24 year-old Mieczysław Wojnicz who is suffering from TB and another initially mysterious condition as he journeys to a “health resort” in the Silesian mountain range. There he encounters a number of highly opinionated men who take him on rambles through the countryside, drink a hallucinogenic alcohol named Schwärmerei and engage in conversations on a range of topics from politics to religion to the nature of reality, but most of these discussions devolve into horrifically misogynistic statements. The narrative follows Wojnicz's increasingly unsettling experiences as rumours of ritual killings in the forest and witches abound alongside persistent unsettling noises around the property. However, we also get frequent memories from Wojnicz's past as he lived under his imposing father (who is also a massive misogynist.) The story leads to a scene of intense crisis and an opportunity for new possibilities for Wojnicz.

The title of the book comes from Empusa or Empousa (who was a shape-shifting female from Greek mythology who seduced and fed on young men) but the name is combined with the word symposium. I enjoyed the chilling atmosphere of this novel where we're almost immediately presented with a body on a dining table! Threats abound from devils, the town's working class, women and even the landscape (according to his friend Thilo.) There's the question of who Wojnicz should really trust – the doctors, the gentlemen residents, terminally-ill Thilo with his cryptic warnings, the local women or the strange noises/voices that surround him. There's some gore especially surrounding food (there's a duck soup scene which is utterly stomach-churning) and the novel considers the cruelty towards/consumption of animals which is strongly reminiscent of Tokarczuk's “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead”. One of the most unsettling images are some creepy dolls (tuntschi) which are made from natural material by locals and used for sex before being left in the forest. Though the novel is subtitled as a “horror story” it's not so much about nail-biting terror, but it's fairly effective at creating a persistent eerie sensation.

It gradually becomes clear that the true horror comes from prevailing attitudes and systems of thought concerning a hatred towards women. Not only that but Wojnicz is frequently under pressure to conform to stereotypical notions of masculinity. I grew up in rural Maine where I was forced to spend time amongst groups of men on camping and hunting trips. Though they weren't outwardly misogynistic there was pressure to fit into this high-testosterone atmosphere, rise to physical challenges and submit to men's need to be “right” in whatever argument they were making (whether I agreed with them or not.) So I definitely felt for the pressures Wojnicz experienced among such men.

Interestingly, the narrative switches between a past-tense 3rd person following Wojnicz and a collective first person account in the present from some undefined entities (labelled in the opening cast list of the novel as “Nameless inhabitants of the walls, floors and ceilings”.) I liked how this later narrative voice added to the creepiness of the story as it felt like I was travelling amongst ghosts, spirits, nature or some other unknown entity. It adds to the sense that although misogynistic men control the social order of this location there's a perspective outside of this judging, undermining and wryly commenting on the proceedings. But it was also such a curious way of shifting focus from the larger action to the micro: the chinks between the slate roof tiles, droplets of water, clumps of grass, etc. To me this felt very cinematic like in David Lynch's Blue Velvet where the view of a seemingly idyllic neighbourhood narrows down to creepy undergrowth.

The novel’s story has a superficial relationship to Thomas Mann's “The Magic Mountain” with its hero newly arrived at a sanatorium, plot structure centred around conversations between gentlemen and setting prior to WWI. Tokarczuk has commented that she rereads Mann's novel every few years so it's in some ways a homage and in some ways a corrective or, as she describes, a way of “sparring” with that classic. Having just read Mann's novel, I was immensely relieved that the diatribes from different gentlemen were greatly condensed since there were so many long essayistic chapters in “The Magic Mountain”. Nevertheless, there was a meandering sense which remained in Tokarczuk's story which meant the plot felt a little lethargic in places: another day, another stroll that descends into misogynistic nonsense. However, I enjoyed how Tokarczuk explored issues surrounding Polish nationality/independence and a new take on time/space by considering both a 2 and 4 dimensional reality. I also liked that Tokarczuk reproduced the odd homoerotic imagery of pencils being stroked in adolescence which was also in Mann's novel. There are several other parallels in imagery/ideas between the two books. I certainly don't feel it was necessary to have read “The Magic Mountain” as Tokarczuk's text doesn't play off from that original in the same way that the recent novel “James” worked in parallel to “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”, but I'm still glad I read Mann's book because it is its own strange beast.

There's a surprising twist in the story and the final sections of the novel are quite thrilling. These reinforce Tokarczuk's message that reality doesn't exist in simple absolutes but in different perceptions and in-between spaces. Overall I think this was a fascinating and through-provoking read. Though I definitely wouldn't want to harken back to this time of more rudimentary medicine/treatment I did like the idea of champagne being prescribed as a cure. There are certain odd images which will stick with me such as a toad sitting on a pile of potatoes. Though the finale is gripping I felt it played out a little too quickly with the narrative summing up afterwards for all the characters. In this case I kind of preferred how Mann concluded his novel in a way which was haunting and ominous regarding the advent of WWI. The really bracing thing to me was the author's afterward where she states how the misogynistic views expressed by her characters were paraphrased from texts by some of the foremost Western thinkers/writers from the past including Charles Darwin, Sigmund Freud, Shakespeare, Yeats, etc. It shines a light on how the core of our culture is threaded through with misogynistic ideas and thus calls into question our very foundations.

The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann (translated by John E Woods)

I was encouraged to finally read this great big German classic after stopping in Davos during a holiday. We tried to visit the hotel and former sanatorium which apparently inspired Mann's novel. However, we nearly died as Google maps mistakenly directed us to drive on what turned to be a mountain footpath which became increasingly narrow as it perilously curved around the cliffside and over a fragile wooden bridge. Since we barely survived and never made it to the location of the Waldsanatorium where Mann's wife once stayed while recovering from a respiratory disease, I've decided it's best to only fictionally visit this location through Mann's sprawling tale. The story centres around Hans Castorp a young man who is about to embark on an engineering career. However, he first visits his cousin Joachim who is attempting to cure his tuberculosis by staying at this sanatorium high up in the Swiss Alps. Hans only plans to stay there a few short weeks but his stay is continuously extended and lasts for several years. During this time he becomes entrenched in the routines and insular nature of this specialised hospital while engaging in many discussions with its European residents. This all takes place in the decade leading up to WWI and the looming spectre of this upcoming conflict casts a shadow over the entire narrative.

I found this novel both challenging and fascinating as it includes humorous encounters, beautiful descriptions, an artful structure and deep philosophical diatribes about life, illness, sexuality, society, time and war. It's a kind of stalled coming of age tale as Hans Castorp is about to launch into his adulthood when he's diverted to this location. He does grow as he falls in love with the elusive Madame Chauchat, learns about a range of subjects such as science and music and considers intellectual ideas from men who seek to mentor him. However, after consulting the sanatorium's doctors he also becomes overly preoccupied with his health, obsessively takes his temperature and becomes ensconced in the sedentary life in this place far removed from everyday reality. Though he has a somewhat priggish and conservative nature, I felt endeared and protective of Hans as he was orphaned during his adolescence and he's an impressionable youth who falls under the sway of this persuasive society in miniature. Yet there's something ominous about its lure where the theoretical is valued over the practical and all tangible progress is halted. Patients who die are furtively taken away while the remaining residents engage in a ceaseless cycle of rest cures and lavish meals. Only occasionally does an objective point of view outside the sanatorium's boundaries shine through. One example is when Hans' uncle visits to enquire when Hans will complete what he perceives to be a holiday in this place and the uncle nearly gets sucked into the same extended stay which Hans is trapped within.

Amongst the sanatorium's residents, Hans primarily falls under the tutelage of the humanist Lodovico Settembrini and the Jewish Jesuit Leo Naphta. The narrative relates their extended speeches about a wide range of subjects including social ideals, totalitarianism, the nature of war, morality, romance/sexuality and the triumph of mind/reason over the body. These essayistic passages certainly tried my patience as they often felt removed from the flow of the story. They also often represent outmoded concepts which can be easily dismissed such as attitudes towards women. At one point it's questioned why women would present themselves in a desirable way when they can no longer bear children and in another section it's stated “A woman primarily regards herself as an object.” There's little about these sections which feels edifying, but instead they give an insight into prevailing European attitudes of the time. Seeing these theories being bandied about gives insight into the many pressures which led up to the widespread conflict of WWI. Within the story it also leads to a shocking physical altercation between Settembrini and Naphta. Though Hans tries to reason that the gentlemen's disagreement is merely intellectual abstraction rather than a personal attack, the older men resort to their base natures where points of contention can only be settled through violence. I think that's what gives the inclusion of these speeches a continuing relevance as they represent how spirited conceptual positions can bleed into reality and lead to civilisation's conflagration rather than its advancement.

Outside of these lengthy speeches I enjoyed many scenes and characters such as Hans' first x-ray by the doctors where an examination of the inner workings of the body raises questions about the relationship between emotions and the physical being. Hans also carries with him an x-ray of Madame Chauchat's chest in a way which he intends to be romantic but it's actually creepy. At one point Chauchat leaves the sanatorium for a time but returns with Mynheer Peeperkorn, a new lover who is one of the novel's most lively and entertaining characters. Peeperkorn entices many of the residents to engage in extended bouts of drinking and gambling. His presence also creates a curious love triangle with Hans and Chauchat. I also heartily enjoyed the imposing character of a nurse who sells Hans a thermometer and dismisses any pursuits outside the realm of convalesce as mere twiddle twaddle. A mysterious Danish teenager named Elly Brand is introduced late in the novel who possesses mystical abilities and conducts a number of seances with the residents. This leads to a curious supernatural interlude during which someone who has died reappears and foreshadows the death of soldiers in the upcoming war. It's an eerie and utterly compelling chapter.

My favourite section of the book is merely titled 'Snow'. Here Hans goes skiing by himself in what turns out to be a disorientating snow storm. It's contemplative and sublimely beautiful how the author describes Hans' solitary journey. He adopts a position of individual defiance amidst the elements of nature and the social trappings of the sanatorium. On the snowy mountainside he experiences “one solitude opening onto the next” but also becomes completely lost and lapses into an unconscious state filled with terrifying nightmares. It shows how Hans experiences a respite out of space and time lost in the flurry of a blank canvas, but the course of humanity and inevitable progression towards death still resides within him. This is a portion of the novel I know I'll want to return to and re-read on its own because its so exquisite, thoughtful and hypnotically surreal.

I was thoroughly engaged by the way Mann considers the nature of time within passages of dialogue and in the book's very structure. Since the sanatorium is physically removed from larger civilisation time seems to function in a different way here. Its high elevation also means that the seasons of the year aren't experienced in a typical way as the weather changes rapidly and doesn't adhere to the temperatures of Winter or Summer. Months and years can pass by in what feels like a relatively short amount of time. The narrative considers the way in which time is subjective in this way because routines make it pass quickly. It's clever how the first year of Hans' stay is described in lengthy detail because this simulates how his new experiences in this place makes time initially pass more slowly for him. However, as he becomes caught up in the habits of daily life years skip by at a more rapid pace. An authorial voice occasionally interjects as well so one section presents a fascinating consideration of the representation of time in novels.

The ending of the novel is extremely poignant. Though Hans naturally comes to feel abstracted from larger society and the progression of time, he is still trapped within it as the reality of war imposes itself throughout Europe. I finished the book feeling melancholy about leaving this boy who didn't get to live life to its fullest even though he got to enjoy a rarified existence outside of the normal obligations of work and integrating into larger society. It left me wondering about what equates to a fulfilling life: one which is spent in contemplative abstraction amidst monotonous stability or one which is experienced through the challenges of a constantly shifting social landscape. Though this book utilizes the formalistic elements of realism, I was delightfully surprised at how strangely surreal and fantastical it becomes in certain sections. It's one I'll continue to contemplate and feels like a literary hurdle that I'm glad to have experienced.

Sweet Vidalia by Lisa Sandlin

It's terrifying to consider how a person can lose everything in an instant. Not only that but the people closest to us might be hiding terrible secrets. No one should live in paranoia, but it's sobering to contemplate how resilient you might be if the worst were to happen. “Sweet Vidalia” begins with an arresting moment of crisis for Eliza, a middle-aged woman in 1960s Texas. She's been married for three decades and has two adult children. Her world isn't only turned upside down but inside out as she suddenly finds herself on the brink of destitution and must start over again at this unusual stage of life. Eliza seeks to get a business education and job while moving into a motel called Sweet Vidalia with her old dog. There she encounters a number of curious individuals and forms new connections. The grinding indignity and humility of her situation is tempered by a tonally-light and humour-leaning narrative. However, this book doesn't shy away from the emotional shock or physical challenges of Eliza's situation. There's a serious impediment preventing her from accessing the few assets she still possesses, she suffers from arthritis in her hands and her children don't have enough resources to support her. Nevertheless, she discovers opportunities in the most unexpected places.

The wide range of characters that Eliza meets are interesting, but the novel comes to feel a little too cluttered with all their stories. Many of them have their own idiosyncrasies which are touched upon such as a man who feels closer to dogs than people, a strong-willed artistically-gifted classmate and a gay man who struggles to find employment in clerical roles usually taken by women. However, many of their lives never come to feel entirely filled out. But Eliza herself is a sensitive and empathetic character whose complexity beautifully deepens over the course of the story as she discovers an inner strength and talents that she never previously knew she possessed. At one point she reflects “Nobody now on earth, including my children, knows who I am. Not a wife, a mother whose kids are grown, with no neighborhood friend, no job to tell me what I am. Just a kind of in-between person who lives in a temporary place with people who live near her temporarily.” This sudden sense of anonymity may crush some people. But it's heartening how in this desperate situation Eliza learns to envision a new sense of self that's free from the expectations of those she's lived amongst for her entire life and establish her autonomy. I also found it touching how she recalls her own parents' economic struggles when she was young and feels a new connection with them because of her own plight. These factors mean that the novel comes to feel hopeful even amidst such a dire situation caused by a terrible betrayal.

Lisa Sandlin's writing has understandably been compared to that of Anne Tyler and Elizabeth Strout. Like these wonderful authors, her fiction is a pleasure to read with its naturally flowing prose which are layered with great depths of emotion.

The Edges by Angelo Tijssens (translated by Michele Hutchison)

A physically and emotionally scarred man returns to his hometown after many years of having lived away in the city. His mother has died and he's there to clean out her home. He also reunites with his first lover, a man who has stagnated rather than thrived in this town. There is so much tender feeling packed into this slim melancholy novella which describes the actions of his days. The tenderness is primarily sore, but it's also warm and sensual. How is it possible to describe the rollicking mixture of emotions for someone who escaped a violent childhood and has now returned to this location packed with personal significance? How can someone feel nostalgic and long to return to somewhere that was the wellspring of fathomless hurt? The narrative moves between his second and first person account as memories invade his present day experiences. There's a moving familiarity he shares with his old lover but also the strangeness of time that has passed while separated and the acknowledgement that their sexual reunion won't lead to a renewed relationship. Tijssens admirably lets the reality of the situation speak for itself and the bittersweet truth of life gradually emerges. The author is also a filmmaker and I great admired the movie 'Close' which he co-wrote. His narratives resist the impulse for confession and instead subtly present ambiguous relationships and conflicted human experiences.

Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima (translated by Meredith Weatherby)

This month marks the centenary of Mishima's birth so it felt like a good time to read his gay coming-of-age modern classic first published in 1949. Reading anything by this controversial author feels tricky when knowing about his extreme political views and dramatic death committing ritual suicide after engaging in a failed coup. That certainly cast a shadow over my experience of this book as the draw towards death is often openly discussed “I somehow looked forward to death impatiently, with sweet expectation.” Yet, I also tried to read this autobiographical novel on its own terms as the author wrote it while he was still in his early twenties. In some ways its shockingly confessional in its male protagonist's raw desire for other men and in other ways he comes across as oddly lacking in self-awareness.

The book presents the tortured musings and philosophical reflections of a young man named Kochan. He feels increasingly alienated and isolated from the society around him to the point where his entire life becomes a performance. Throughout his youth he both desires muscular men and wishes to become them. However, as a boy frequently beset by illness who lives in a society where homosexuality isn't publicly acceptable his desire morphs into violent fantasies and repression. So he learns to present an artificial front to other people: “what people regarded as a pose on my part was actually an expression of my need to assert my true nature, and that it was precisely what people regarded as my true self which was a masquerade.” It's moving how the author describes the process of suppressing same-sex desire and a naturally flamboyant personality which is something many gay people feel pressured to do from an early age. Instead of embracing his nature Kochan becomes fixated on trying to desire and love women. The later part of the novel concerns his relationship with a friend's sister named Sonoko. Unsurprisingly, this doesn't result in a fulfilling romance.

Perhaps if I read this novel when I was younger I would have been more drawn to its often circular thought patterns, convoluted logic and relentless self-absorption. It's only natural that this young man should be so focused on his own preoccupations and desperate desire to understand himself. But a lot of his thought process came to feel repetitive and tiring. Since he's coming of age in Japan during WWII this naturally looms large yet it's something that's infrequently commented upon. Perhaps because he was living through it he wasn't compelled to describe it and life just carried on as normal until points of crisis. Nevertheless, his almost complete lack of interest for these larger events or the welfare of his schoolmates and family comes across as irritatingly callous. At one point it's mentions that his sister dies but this only prompts him to melodramatically reflect “I derived a superficial peace-of-mind from the discovery that even I could shed tears.” I longed to get more insight into his family and the precarious position of Sonoko after she goes on to get married. But, since the narrative doesn't extend any empathy outside the concerns of its protagonist, it was difficult for me to get past the growing frustration I felt towards this inward-gazing conflicted young man.

The Lion's Den by Iris Mwanza

This is a gripping legal drama set in the early 1990s as a young lawyer named Grace takes on a pro-bono case for her law firm in Zambia concerning a young individual named Bessy who is persecuted for his homosexuality and wearing women's clothing. Bessy is beaten by the police, his family visits the station every day but aren't allowed to see him and the police don't follow the proper procedures for processing Bessy's case making it impossible for Grace to help him. Nevertheless, she's determinedly seeks justice. Bessy himself appears only briefly in the story. However, through Grace's investigation and interviews with people who know him, there's a strong sense of his life as a sensitive and romantic individual who longs for love and wishes to move somewhere he can live openly.

Grace also emerges as a spirited and determined individual born into very humble circumstances and whose mother who tried to sell her into marriage. Instead of capitulating she flees her village in order to earn a law degree and live independently. Though she's ambitious she has a strong sense of justice – especially for those who are marginalised because she's very close to her late father's gay best friend. I appreciated how the story contrasts the sharp division between the rich and poor. Grace encounters some privileged individuals at her university and through her law firm who are accustomed to plentiful amounts of fine food. But Grace grew up literally starving at some points so has a persistent appetite and grateful appreciation for any food available. Equally she must become accustomed to the dress and manners of a society far from the village she grew up in. I also found it moving how Grace retains a strong connection to the spirits of her ancestors and how her religious identity works alongside widespread Christian practices.

At this time in the 90s and still today in Zambia, same-sex sexual activity is illegal for men and women. More than the laws there's a terrible social stigma for anyone who is LGBT. These notions are partly the result of legal and religious systems of belief which arrived with colonization. Of course, this means that many gay or trans individuals feel compelled to conceal their identity and risk being blackmailed. Anyone who bravely lives openly faces alienation, threats, longterm imprisonment or death. I'm glad this story encouraged me to read more about the historic and current state of queer life in Zambia to make me more aware of this ongoing struggle. Though it wasn't easy growing up gay in a relatively rural area of America in the 1990s, it would have been much more challenging to have grown up in Zambia at this time.

The novel had a powerful impact for this reason but it was also gripping to follow the developments of this case and Grace's journey. This story is a testament to the bravery of people who stand up for what's right against nearly insurmountable odds. But it also shows the complexity of trying to enact substantial change and achieve justice for marginalised individuals when causes gets swept up into party politics.

My Top Books of 2024

Here are my 10 favourite books I read in 2024! I've had a great reading year – although I've somehow fallen out of the habit of blogging so much here in the past several months. Between regularly discussing what I'm reading with my online bookclub and making videos on my BookTube channel, I've had less time for writing longer reviews. I continue to enjoy following a number of book prizes including the Booker, the Women's Prize, the National Book Award, the Nobel Prize and others. I've written multiple articles for the Booker website this year including 'novels perfect for book clubs', 'heartbreaking books' and 'the best page-turners'. It's been a special pleasure reading the entire longlist of the 2024 Wilbur Smith Adventure Writing Prize for the first time as its winner is a new favourite. As always, it's been wonderful discussing great books with so many readers online.

The best books I've read this year include a classic told from a revelatory new angle, a protagonist who leaves her everyday life to radically reconsider how to exist purposefully, a Caribbean novel about the desires and schemes of four women connected to a notorious gangster, the discovery of an artistic and quiet recluse with a mysterious past, the story of an actor whose been both an insider and outsider in English society, a sailor and pirate who reinvents herself many times, a man who walks across London reflecting on a life in exile from his homeland, the intertwined stories of Irish immigrants who witness a city changing around them over decades, an epic which spans many lives and periods of time focused through the perspective of a drop of water and a fascinating man who journeys between twin versions of our planet searching for a safe home.

I've read many more fantastic books this year but these ten novels are all ones which I keep recommending to people and wanting to discuss with other readers. What have been some of your best reading experiences and favourite books from the past year? I'd love to hear about them and if you've also read or are interested in reading any of my picks listed here.

Animal Life by Audur Ava Olafsdottir (translated by Brian Fitzgibbon)

I really enjoyed this thoughtful story which follows an Icelandic narrator who works as a midwife, sorting through her grandaunt's manuscripts, renovating the cluttered apartment she's inherited – all in the lead up to Christmas. It's a great thing to read at this time of year and it's got me into the festive mood – not because it directly portrays much celebration-wise (she's originally supposed to work in the maternity ward over Christmas but instead fills in a Northern Lights tour-guide shift for her friend.) But I think this is a very reflective time of the year and it especially gets me thinking about family who I don't see much outside of the holiday season. So I found it very poignant as she relates stories about her lovably eccentric grandaunt's life and considers the scattered musings she left behind. There are some older women in my family who died long ago but who were very dear to me so this book stirred memories of them.

The novel is written in a very conversational mode as it follows the narrator's observations and memories. It all seemed a bit random in the beginning but I felt it came together to say something much bigger about the cycle of life and our place within the lineage of human history. The first half is more concerned with relating the emotional impact of both her family's professions: the toll upon midwives when there are complications and how her mother who works in the funeral business sometimes locked herself away after a difficult event. It must be taxing working in either job as it puts you in such close proximity to significant life events. There's also a lot of interesting information about the mechanics of these jobs – especially midwifery – and how it's changed over time. I liked how she observes that women giving birth find it soothing to listen to David Attenborough programmes (I frequently listen to his shows when I wake up in the night and want to be lulled back to sleep.) It's a melancholy thing to consider but I've never thought before about how there must be certain rules surrounding births when there are complications and tragedies. For instance, it was sobering reading the detail about the difference between a miscarriage and still birth (length of gestation and weight.) Although people can try to prepare there are no certainties when it comes to either birth or death. So it was moving following how different people dealt with this reality when it actually occurs.

The second half of the novel is more concerned with the physical items her grandaunt left behind when she died four years ago, but also her memories and the grandaunt's systems of thought which have impacted the narrator's life. Other than the clutter of furniture, there are three manuscripts which the narrator has spent a lot of time reading and attempting to put in chronological order while trying to make sense of them. I found it quite funny when she thinks “One possibility was to send all of them in and allow the editor to pick out the best nuggets.” What poor editor would want that enormous job?!? But I understood the emotional impact of her mission reading them as it's a connection to the things which preoccupied this beloved lost family member. It was also so interesting how she tried to piece together the real meaning of these manuscripts by also considering the letters between her grandaunt and her Welsh penpal. Perhaps a cohesive message can't be taken from all these musings about human behaviour, light and coincidence. However, it does create a sense of what it's like to be a small part of the story of humankind. Any individual will only be remembered by a handful of people and one day probably won't be remembered at all. Nevertheless, each person is a part of life's continuity. So the grandaunt lives on in the narrator through the knowledge, professional expertise and objects she's left behind. Not to mention all those births she helped usher into the world accompanied by her verbal messages she gives to the babies and knitted garments. Maybe these things are soon forgotten or lost, but they added to the beginning of each new person's existence.

We're not given too many personal details about the narrator herself other than her dedication to her job. However, there are mentions of big life events such as the narrator losing a child at birth. Surely there's a bigger story here but we understand that there is a deep pain within her because this occurred. We also get small details such as the oddness of her seeing a former boyfriend arrive at the hospital with his wife in labour. The novel touches upon the lives of a number of characters who are experiencing emotional difficulties such as the depression of the electrician's wife and Margret (a woman in labour she meets while finishing her shift) losing her baby. I felt these tragedies were all the more potent and felt more true to life as they are mentioned only fleetingly.

There's a steady accumulation of detail about the atmosphere of living in Iceland. Most prominently there's the fact that the sun only appears for a few hours a day at this time of year. I enjoyed how there are frequent passages about the brief appearance of the Winter sun and her observations about the sky in the lead up to a big storm. There's also a mention of traditional foodstuff when she recalls going on a visit with her grandaunt: “blood pudding with sugar and mashed potatoes”. Sounds stomach-turning to me! But this all adds to the sense of life in Iceland and made me feel a little bit like the tourist renting the apartment above her and who she develops a bit of a connection with. I've only visited Iceland once when I toured around the country for a week. It's such a beautiful and strange landscape with all its volcanic rock and waterfalls. Sadly, I didn't get to see the Northern lights.

So overall I really enjoyed this novel – it's like a small slice of life story which meditates on the cycle of living and dying.

Our Evenings by Alan Hollinghurst

Hollinghurst's great big epic spans decades touching upon key moments in the life of English actor Dave Win who narrates this novel. He's an English bi-racial gay man who recalls his early life attending a boarding school from the age of 13. His single mother is a working class seamstress and he's never met his Burmese father. In some ways he's a familiar Hollinghurst character in that he's both an insider and outsider as he receives a scholarship which grants him access to an elite education and the social sphere of the middle/upper class. A crucial early scene recounts a visit with the Hadlows, a wealthy liberal family who have sponsored him. But they also have a bullying and detestably snobbish son named Giles who is Dave's contemporary. We follow Dave's progression through school up until his major exams as he gets involved in acting, experiences desire for other boys and navigates various social spheres between family, schoolmates and older men.

This is not a novel which is heavily driven by plot but is more about leisurely following Dave's observations and the social dynamics of the situations he encounters. I think we're encouraged to read between the lines as the characters interact but also as Dave detects the emotional mood/social dynamics of every room he enters. Hollinghurst elegantly describes not only the setting but the complexity of this atmosphere steeped in class sensibility and certain conventions. I heard the author describe in an interview at the Southbank how he intentionally made the first half of this novel slow to mimic the feeling of actually being at school where any developments seem to occur over a long period of time. It is effective in conveying that feeling but it also means there isn't much immediate suspense. It's more about the subtle tensions of Dave's yearning to understand/fulfil his sexual desires (especially amidst this time when homosexuality was being decriminalised in England), engage with culture at the school between music and the theatre and adapt to his mother's changing domestic situation.

Given that Dave is mixed race one of the immediate challenges he continually faces in 1960s Britain is dealing with various levels of racism from passive to aggressively overt. It's shown how exhausting it is that Dave must frequently declare his origins and heritage when he meets someone new. Of course merely replying he's from a particular English county isn't enough because the English people he encounters demand to know where he's “really” from. It's like he must perform being Burmese though he knows little about the country. There's a bitter and humiliating early memory of being told to wear a gaung baung in front of his class. I was also struck by a scene where Dave reads up on Burma from a Western perspective/looking at a map to understand the land where he's partly descended from. One way he deals with pressure concerning his race is to utilize his talent for doing impressions by pretending to be Jeeves, a quintessentially English P.G. Woodhouse character. Making people laugh is an effective strategy used to deflate the tension regarding his racial difference.

Dave's mother Avril is also a fascinating figure and she has an increasingly close relationship to Esme, her benefactor, business partner and lover. The moments of real 'couple' behaviour he oversees/overhears has a sweetly tender quality to it, but there's also a sense of melancholy dismay that they are hesitant to be openly loving in front of Dave. Conversely, Dave does declare his own sexuality though he and his mother share such a loving and mutually-supportive relationship. It's moving following how the women take it in stages towards more openly living as a couple – though some extended family reject them. There's an especially enjoyable section where the trio go to the seaside and Dave becomes attentive to the hidden gay world: the graffiti in the toilet and a local experience at his home where he overhears men arranging a rendezvous from a party line phone call. The connection between mother and son is one of the most compelling aspects of the first half of this novel and I really appreciated the way in which Hollinghurst portrayed Avril's quiet conflicts with great subtlety.

Though it's interesting following the development of Dave's acting career and a number of romantic relationships he becomes involved in over the years, what I found most poignant about the second part of the novel is when he revisits locations from the first part. Hollinghurst captures so well the strange sense of returning to a place that was significant in one's youth. Dave almost seems like a ghost returning to his old neighbourhood, school and home as they retain an emotional charge, but he's become something of an outsider. Taking a boyfriend to his mothers' home and the area he grew up is a bittersweet experience because he's aware that any strangers who view them must assume that Dave is the newcomer to this area and not his white partner. As the years roll by when he returns again to some of these locations the environment itself has changed with many newly opened shops or trees which have grown taller. In addition to piecing together what's occurred in Dave's life as time leaps forward there are also small glimpses into changes in the lives of peripheral characters. The fates and tragedies of these barely glimpsed figures is all the more poignant because of the precision of Hollinghurst's dialogue and how these characters' awkwardly acknowledge loss.

This isn't a criticism of the novel, but it's a bit of a shame that as Dave becomes an adult and moves away to make his own life it means Avril and Esme naturally become less present in the narrative. I wanted to know more about their lives and stories but we're mostly cut off from seeing further developments in their relationship until much later. Instead we only get updates when there are major changes which are nonetheless still poignant to read about. While it makes sense that we continue to follow Dave's narrative I would have liked an additional section giving Avril's perspective to recount the events from her point of view (though this would have made it a very different novel.) Nevertheless, there are several scenes with Avril and separate interactions with characters close to her which provide glimpses into the complexities of her life and position.

Throughout the decades there are also fleeting but persistent encounters with Giles. He seems to represent a kind of foil to Dave's life. Temperamentally Dave would have been more naturally suited to being Mark and Cara's child, but instead they bred conservative twit Giles. I like how the novel quietly interrogates where family is really found – is it with those we're genetically connected to or the family we create? There's a touching moment where Dave finds a photo of his father from 1945 and learns a bit more about his parentage. Though he's been entirely shaped by being raised in England he's indelibly tied to this heritage because it impacts how he's socially accepted in this country and dictates the roles he can play in his profession.

The story also meditates on what drives a politician with grand political ambitions. There's no easy answer for why Giles would be so reactionary (becoming a leading voice in the campaign for the UK to leave the European Union) except that he has an inborn sense of entitlement and selfishness. Though some were motivated to vote Leave for economic reasons, Giles and some of his supporters were driven by a desire to 'take back the UK' and keep immigrants out. We see some characters who feel emboldened by his example to voice their beliefs more vociferously. This, in turn, leads to a rise in racism and xenophobia. Although Giles' presence felt a little confusing in the first part of the novel it makes more sense considering the full arc of the book. It's interesting to consider people we've known for the majority of our lives but who we don't necessarily like – yet there is this connection to them and even if we encounter them only sporadically they have this longstanding presence.

I greatly admired the way this novel represents the complexities, contradictions and questions which can be contained in one person's life. It also presents a complex view of transformations in English life over a long stretch of time. I especially liked how the overarching narrative traces connections between different generations and Dave's gradual movement from receptive youth to experienced elder. I'd be eager to reread this novel at some point to tease out answers to certain questions the narrative presents, but I'm sure it will also feel poignant re-experiencing Dave's early years while knowing how the lives of all the major and minor characters play out.

Playground by Richard Powers

At the centre of this story is Makatea, an extremely remote atoll in the Pacific Ocean. The mayor and its residents (who total less than a hundred people) are presented with a proposition that their island can become a base for a large company's seasteading plans. The novel begins with Powers' short reworking of the French Polynesian myth of Ta'aroa, the supreme creator god. I assume this is a myth which is known to the people of Makatea since it is a real island. This myth comes to have a new relevance to the present day – especially because of the reference to how humans multiplied so much that they came to inhabit all 7 levels of the world that Ta'aroa created – thus connecting to the novel's overarching story about civilisation's expansion into floating islands through seasteading.

However, there's much more going on in this novel and the connections between all the elements Powers presents aren't immediately obvious. It primarily follows four characters: Evie, a French Canadian oceanographer who prefers dwelling under water; Rafi, a black lover of literature from the south side of Chicago; Todd, a white tech geek from a once privileged background who has now made his own fortune; and Ina, an artist who resides on Makatea while raising her children. The narrative slides back and forth in time. There's the immediate concerns of Makatea as they come to a democratic decision about the island's future. However, Todd is also preoccupied with the knowledge that he's suffering from a degenerative illness and might not see his ambitious designs play out having amassed an enormous fortune creating a social media platform similar to Facebook called Playground.

It's notable that at one point during her underwater exploration Evie also thinks of the ocean floor as a playground because of the colour and variety of life found in this eco-system whose workings are little known or considered. The back stories of all these characters are explored alongside scenes set in the present. I loved the passages where Evie observes the wondrous workings and interactions of sea creatures. It's one of my favourite pastimes to watch nature programs – especially about ocean life – and to snorkel myself in the less colourful waters of the Mediterranean. So I also felt enraptured by the mystery and beauty with this vast area of the world that we have little access to. There's a wonderful moment when a huge manta ray passes over her and she engages in a kind of play with it. It's impactful how she experiences first hand the large scale damage to the environment because of pollution and individual suffering, but also how sea life builds itself around the detritus and wreckages left on the ocean floor.

My favourite sections of the novel concern Evie who struggles to establish her desire to work in oceanography because of the sexism she encounters but is able to get a break when an all-female team of scientists embark on an ocean expedition. Her desires are gradually revealed, not just for wanting to spend as much time in the ocean as possible but also for other women. It's moving how she and her husband come to reconcile their marriage more as a partnership where they each find fulfilment in their individual work and their love for their children so it's a much more complex portrayal of a relationship which isn't necessarily romantic. I also appreciated the way in which Ina comes to express herself as an artist and the emotional section where she presents a piece to Todd and Rafi thus revealing her perspective/inner life. Some analogies and descriptions came across as somewhat laboured to me such as a line where Ina's eyes are likened to the Pacific and a poem by Rafi is reproduced. The competitive nature and friendship break between Todd and Rafi comes to feel like the key to the whole novel.

The geeky side of me also enjoyed following the development of Rafi and Todd's friendship – primarily through playing games. I think Powers makes veiled references to the games Risk and Civilisation which I enjoy playing. I've never played the game Go which originated in China but I'm now curious to. It also tickled me realising that the satirical trading cards which Rafi witnessed becoming a fad at school must have been Garbage Pail Kids cards because I remember how popular they were at school when I was growing up. One of my most vivid memories is when I was around 9 years old opening a fresh pack during recess one day, accidentally dropping all my cards and watching in sorrow as a swarm of children grabbed them from beneath me and ran away. Anyway, I liked how Rafi doesn't just see the games he plays with Todd as a pastime but as a way of playing out life's drama similar to what he admires in novels. It's moving how Rafi develops a passion for the humanities in general and reading literature. He follows this despite the expectations placed upon him by his father in particular. The moment where he first visits a library and can't believe that he's able to take a book out for free is so touching. I was also very moved by the section which describes how his progress was impeded before everyone realised that he needs glasses.

As the members of the island come together to make a decision about proposals for its future development and use we see the various central characters coming together with Rafi as a teacher on the island and a now elderly Evie as a resident. Though I feel sympathy with Todd whose personality means he's a kind of outsider, I was less engaged by his sections. It's interesting how Powers describes in this interview with Barnes & Noble that he wanted to establish empathy for Todd despite this character being a tech bro. I was glad to hear what Powers has to say about the various things which inspired and informed him in writing this book. The layered meaning of the title and the novel's themes about playing to win vs playing to keep playing really come through as he discusses it. Also interesting that he thinks of “Overstory”, “Bewilderment” and “playground” as a kind of trilogy.

It's extremely compelling how the final sections of the novel seem to turn the entire story on its head. I had to read it a few times to wrap my head around what it means. It forces the reader to think back and question what has come before. I discuss more of my thoughts about the ending with spoilers in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSM4VZA7Fv0 Overall, I appreciated how Powers complexly develops the concepts of games and playing as something integral to life/development, but also as something where this upping of the stakes comes to be destructive to our welfare and the environment. It's an important message for today where a small group of tycoons and powerful companies seem to be steering the future of both our planet and society. However, I didn't find this novel quite as impactful as “Bewilderment” though I think it's very original. Even though the way he develops characters is somewhat similar to “The Overstory” these individuals are varied and unique. And I do appreciate books that end with a surprise twist!

British Academy Book Prize for Global Cultural Understanding 2024

Although I primarily read fiction I also like to explore quality non-fiction. I've followed The British Academy Book Prize for Global Cultural Understanding for years and through it I've discovered many fascinating and enjoyable books about history, culture, science, language and technology. I appreciate how these knowledgable non-fiction authors are able to present their thorough research and knowledge in a way which builds an engaging story. The shortlist for this year's prize was revealed a few weeks ago and the winner will be announced on October 22nd.

The first book I've read from this list is Amitav Ghosh's “Smoke and Ashes” which gives an account of how the opium trade was closely connected to colonialism. Crucially he shows how the patterns of behaviour around this trade and the rhetoric which arrises from it repeat throughout history. This discourse surrounding it continues into the modern day opioid crisis and opportunistic pharmaceutical companies. By focusing on the plant itself as an agent which will inevitably lead to addiction and social disruption, Ghosh shows that regulation is crucial and an emphasis has to be placed on social welfare over profit. Ghosh also meaningfully shows his own familial connections to the history of this trade and discusses the issue in relation to novels he's written which are set immediately before The First Opium War.

The rest of the diverse group of books on the shortlist encompass topics including racism in healthcare/medicine, an exploration of endangered languages through examples of the few remaining speakers of different languages, a new history of colonialism which focuses on humans relationships with animals in the Americas vs Europe, the story of six crucial substances and the increasing expense of mining them and a history of mathematics which focuses on innovators who have often been overlooked due to their race, gender or nationality. I'm looking forward to reading more of these books and the online shortlist event which will explore these books more in depth. This will take place on October 21st and it's free to register to watch it here: https://www.thebritishacademy.ac.uk/events/we-are-the-british-academy/british-academy-book-prize-2024-shortlist-event/

Have you read any of these books? Are you interested in reading them? Who do you hope will win the prize? Are there any other great books of non-fiction that you've read recently?

Creation Lake by Rachel Kushner

I was initially thrown by the description of this book as a spy novel. Instead of the moody suspenseful tale I was expecting I was surprised to find large portions of the book concern a philosophical treatise pondering the early years of Homo Sapiens and Neanderthals. The novel is told from the point of view of a very confident and cooly guarded woman who uses the undercover name Sadie. We follow how she gradually infiltrates an anti-capitalist eco commune through the old friend of its leader and her movements around an agricultural area of France. Presumably the year is 2013 since the sounds of Daft Punk’s song ‘Get Lucky’ can be heard everywhere Sadie travels. A large portion of the narrative concerns her reading and commenting upon the emails of Bruno Lacombe, a reclusive mentor to the commune who lives in a cave and believes he hears voices. His musings are curious to read about but initially I found the overall mode and conceit of this novel disorientating and overly ponderous. Nevertheless, I steadily got into its deliberation about our origins as humans and where our motivations come from. It's also fun to follow Sadie who is supremely judgemental but also a fallible individual who gets tipsy on wine and meets a new gay bestie named Vito.

The reader doesn't know much about this narrator since her profession requires that she remain anonymous. However, she refers to her jobs from the past and why she had to stop working undercover for a US government body after romantically entrapping a young man by convincing him to commit acts of eco-terrorism. Even before the examples were specifically referenced in the novel I recalled the UK undercover policing relationship scandals from the past couple of decades. It's outrageous that there have been numerous cases such as this where officers used a false identity and became romantically involved with the subjects they were spying on and, in some cases, had children with them. So it's logical that Sadie must be a steely individual only concerned with executing her job even if this includes emotional manipulation and morally bankrupt behaviour.

She indicates at one point that she doesn't even have an opinion about the issues at stake because she is simply performing her duty. Sadie believes this justifies her actions but I get the sense that she enjoys feeling superior to those around her. Additionally, Kushner has fun with inhabiting such a judgemental voice as Sadie freely makes catty comments about other people's appearance and French life. At one point she likens terrines to cat food and observes that the older/more rural the Frenchman the higher his pants will be belted. She also points out that only in France will you find talk shows with famous writers as guests because it's the only place where people think writers are interesting. These sly observations provide some levity amidst the more ponderous passages of the novel. Sadie is also extremely confident about her appearance as being attractive but not having any especially remarkable features which will make her stand out and thus she can remain relatively anonymous. However, she does have artificially enhanced breasts which she refers to multiple times and takes pride in and which I assume she had done to aide her in seducing the subjects she's spying on.

Bruno can be a bit of a windbag in his messages and he has eccentric ideas, but I found some of his diatribes pondering the origin of humans and our motivations interesting. Though she's reading these messages looking for clues about potential acts of sabotage, it seems like it's also forcing Sadie to think more in depth about deeper issues. Kushner repeatedly refers to the image of lines of poplar trees as it seems to connect with this long view of history or successive generations of humans stretching back to our most primal form. Bruno's earnestness is also endearing as he's desperately seeking an alternative for the path our civilization has taken. I also have a natural sympathy for people who form intentional communities and different ways of organising themselves. In my early adulthood I even visited a number of communes and considered joining one. However, I eventually realised that it's incredibly difficult to successfully organise a community along new lines without repeating the same mistakes as mainstream society. This certainly seems to be the case with Le Moulin, the commune Sadie enters into where there is a lot of talk and ideals but little practical action. Sadie joins them under the pretence of translating the group's co-written book opposing Capitalism. However, she is really there to report on and monitor their activities in the lead up to a planned demonstration at an agricultural fair and try to provoke one member to take the protest to even further extremes.

Sadie expresses the view that people's belief systems are merely a superficial way to “shore up their own identity.” She goes on to say “The truth of a person, under all the layers and guises, the significations of group and type, the quiet truth, underneath the noise of opinions and 'beliefs,' is a substance that is pure and stubborn and consistent. It is hard, white salt.” This image of the salt at the core of our being becomes quite significant to her and recurs especially towards the end of the novel. Is this a cynical view by an embittered person who has chosen a profession of necessary loneliness with no fixed identity? Are the beliefs that people hold so dearly really only superficial and fleeting? Or does our unique make up and system of beliefs form who we are? I think Kushner is raising all these questions with no certain answers but offers them through the lens of an individual who positions herself outside both mainstream society and the counterculture of this commune.

It's endearing that Sadie comes to feel so fond of Bruno and protective towards him – even remarking that the commune doesn't deserve him. I think she recognizes a kinship with him in his extreme isolation and rejection of society. They seem to have come to the same conclusions but have different approaches to navigating life. They're also both keen on considering deep time by staring into a dark cave of great depth or gazing into the stars in the night sky. This touchstone with history draws them out of the present moment, the present circumstances of our civilization and the (to their minds) tragic trajectory of Homo sapiens. Sadie also seems to want to take the place of Bruno's deceased daughter – however, he doesn't know her and has no idea that she's been reading his messages. So the only connection she can have with him is to engage with his system of beliefs and look to the stars (even if they aren't really stars but satellites.)

As you can see, this novel's spy story is somewhat secondary to the larger questions it raises regarding humanity, individual motivation and the trajectory of our civilization. Those looking for a plot which adheres to the genre conventions of spy novels might be disappointed by this. However, I heartily enjoyed Kushner's creative take on this sleuth's tale as its increasingly dramatic story ponders many prescient issues from a unique point of view. It's also a fascinating character study about an individual with no regard for the people she deceives. Yet cracks begin to show as she is prone to drinking, popping pills and ocular migraines. Kushner also incorporates a good deal of humour in how she presents Sadie's perspective. Additionally, there's an increasing complexity to this spy whose self-interested stance is muddled by the missives of a mysterious guru. There is a slow build up in the story as the first half of the novel is top heavy with Bruno's emails, but “Creation Lake” develops a good momentum as it leads up to the dramatic resolution and a potential reckoning for Sadie.

The Booker Prize 2024 Shortlist

Here are the 6 novels shortlisted for the 2024 Booker Prize! Some I was really hoping to see and others are... a surprise! A new video is up on my YouTube channel reacting to the list as it's revealed alongside summaries, thoughts and feelings on each book: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmHZojDMnpI

Overall I'm happy with this group as it includes an interesting mixture of narrative techniques and subject matter. Some books are deeply meditative and poetic in style. Others have a more thrilling plot while also reflecting about the past and humanity. All of them are innovative in their approach to storytelling.

It's great to see five female authors included. Especially exciting that there's an Australian author given there's not been representation from Down Under on the Booker list in recent years. Only one English author which I'm sure some will take issue with but I think it's perfectly fine.

In my opinion “James” is a new classic in how it both honours and re-envisions a classic American novel. It's satirical and sharp in relating a truly adventurous tale while deftly steering between humour and heartbreak. I was mesmerised by “Stone Yard Devotional” as its protagonist retreats from the world giving a deeply thoughtful meditation on choices, guilt and the intention to do good in a world fraught with problems. I'm currently reading “Creation Lake” with my online book club. It took me a bit to get into this unique mixture of spy story/essay but I'm now really enjoying its overly-confident narrative and meditation on our human motivation.

I read “The Safekeep” with my online book club last month and this suspenseful story contains great twists and turns while also giving a new view of the longterm repercussions of WWII. It's also great to see some queer representation on the list! I got totally swept up into “Orbital” reflective poetic style following six astronauts circling our planet. It veers between meditations on the beauty/fragility of our world and the curious details about everyday life on a space shuttle. As for “Held” which I gave up on reading... I'm going to try it again but I was initially put off on its lack of character development and overly ponderous philosophical passages. Who knows? Maybe I'll feel differently revisiting it like with “Study for Obedience” last year. We shall see...

Also, I'm truly shocked “My Friends” isn't on the shortlist. I LOVED Matar's novel and it's definitely one of my top reads of the year. Such a poignant story about belonging, friendship and a love of literature. However, it's not short of award attention as it won this year's Orwell Prize for Fiction and was recently listed for the National Book Award in Fiction.

I've really enjoyed reading and discussing all the books listed for this year's list and I'm looking forward to even more chat about them in the lead up to the winner being announced on November 12.

What do you think of the shortlist? Any you are eager to read? Let me know all your thoughts!

The SafeKeep by Yael Van Der Wouden

What “Call Me By Your Name” did for peaches, “The Safekeep” does for pears. I do love a good historically set novel with lots of twists and turns in its plot. So I found this very pleasurable and moving to read as it's a story that has multiple levels. It's a creepy tale with almost gothic “Rebecca”-esque undertones about the claustrophobia of being stuck in a house with someone you resent and feel a growing animosity towards. It's about sexual repression and the transformative experience of all that pent up desire being released. And it's about the weight of history, the calamitous after-effects of war and how to reconcile what has been lost and displaced.

There are a number of reveals in this story so I'll do my best to avoid spoilers. The novel initially centres around Isabel who seemingly has little motivation other than maintaining her deceased mother's house and its contents. It's the 1960s and Isabel lives a severely self-contained existence in a rural Dutch province. Isabel is a real piece of work. She's nasty and rude to almost everyone she meets. There is a special kind of humour and pleasure in reading about a character who so unapologetically brushes aside social conventions because she's someone I'd never want to meet but it's fun to read about her dismissive attitude towards everyone. I did feel this became repetitive at times in this first section of the novel, but overall she's a compellingly unlikeable character. Isabel fiercely guards both the house and its contents and finds it hard to keep a maid because she continuously lashes out at them with judgements and accusations. However, Isabel is little more than a caretaker for this building which belongs to her uncle and it will be passed on to Isabel's older brother Louis when their uncle passes. I enjoyed how small details about both her family life and the contents of the house are dropped into this early section of the novel hinting at a larger story and adding to the complexity of her character.

Other than the maid the most human contact she has is with her younger brother Hendrik who has a teasing rapport with his uptight sister. Hendrik has lived away from this location since coming out to their mother who is now deceased. But Isabel studiously ignored the reality and reasons behind his leaving. It describes how “she could sometimes blur her eyes when looking at something – decide not to see it in full focus, decide to disengage.” This explains a lot about Isabel who uses self-denial when it comes to things that are emotionally difficult – both external and internal. Near the beginning there's a scene which sets this novel's plot into motion. Isabel's older brother Louis arranges a dinner for both Isabel and Hendrik to meet his new girlfriend Eva. (Interestingly in interviews the author has described initially writing this scene as a short story.) There's all the tension of the new girlfriend wanting to make a good impression and trying to get to know her partner's adult siblings, but in return the brother and sister are dismissive towards her because they see her as merely their brother's latest squeeze since he is a notorious womanizer. But there is a difference with Eva because Louis needs to travel for work and he informs Isabel that Eva will be staying with her in her carefully guarded house. Of course, Isabel is vehemently against this plan but she's not given a choice. So when rambunctious Eva moves into the family home it's like she is entering a powder keg ready to explode.

The house itself is like the central character in this novel. It is the safe keep which contains many possessions which are filled with meaning and it has witnessed many people and events passing through it over the years. I do like novels such as “North Woods” by Daniel Mason or “The Dutch House” by Anne Patchett or, indeed, “Rebecca”, where a house is itself a protagonist that possesses emotion. We're shown how The Safekeep has persisted throughout WWII and maintains a lot of secrets from both the personal lives of these characters and larger historical events. Isabel is a fascinating character who possesses a fierce determination to remain independent. There are small glimpses of her early family life and details strewn throughout her abode which I found intriguing as I wondered what the real story is behind Isabel and this house. It also builds a highly-pressured and stifling atmosphere where something eventually needs to break. But I never got a full sense of why Isabel is so fiercely attached to this house and its objects. I know she was following the direction of her deceased mother to maintain the house and she's extremely repressed so this was all she had, but as the full story of the novel is revealed this came to feel more like a plot device rather than something which would naturally occur.

Many readers have been debated about the very end of the novel is too saccharine. I guessed very early on where the novel was going. Part of why I had a strong sense about this is because I knew the author is a big fan of Sarah Waters' “Fingersmith”. I'm sure anyone who has read that novel can see the strong influence it's had upon “The Safekeep”. The books are obviously set in very different time periods and contexts, but I couldn't help feeling like Van Der Wouden's novel is somewhat slighter compared to Waters' impressive yarn. The ending certainly didn't surprise me, but I think the author did a good job at showing how the conclusion for these characters is hard won. There was naturally a lot of mistrust and animosity because of their respective pasts and the lack of transparency between them. I don't think the ending is the main point of this novel as it's more about the tension of the story and what goes unspoken in our personal lives and the political workings/social attitudes of a nation in the aftermath of war.

I really appreciated Hendrik as a character and enjoyed the section where he and his partner Sebastian come to stay at the house. This loosened Isabel up which felt like a relief since her life with Eva was so stifling up to this point. I found it really moving learning of the conflict of Hendrik's early affair with the teacher and how he left the family home to be able to live honestly as a gay man. I wish there had been more about Hendrik and Sebastian's story, but I appreciate that the novel was necessarily centred on Isabel and Eva. If you've not seen this already, I'd strongly recommend reading Van Der Wouden's essay from several years ago 'On (Not) Reading Anne Frank'. It's really fascinating to discover she was never a natural reader and, even more so, her family history when she was an adolescent moving from Israel to the Netherlands and the anti-semitism she experienced there throughout her teens. It's interesting how this personal history could be interpreted as feeding into the underlying conflicts and simmering tension of “The Safekeep”. Overall, I really enjoyed this often gripping and atmospheric novel.

Caledonian Road by Andrew O'Hagan

“Caledonian Road” is a dramatic and epic novel about modern London. It presents snapshots of many different levels of society which mostly circle around this area of the city to the northeast of King's Cross. It gradually forms a grand portrait about how people and the issues they face are interconnected. There's a sense that the economic disparity in this particular area persists despite decades of reforms and that this is representative of imbalances throughout the nation as a whole. From the plight of immigrants, the dangers of criminal gangs, the workings of the media/politics and the immorality of the elite/super-wealthy, Andrew O'Hagan utilizes his journalistic experience to harness many of the most pressing news stories of our day and distills them into a Dickensian tale replete with virtuous and comically repulsive characters.

Though the point of view often switches between many different individuals the most central figure is art historian Campbell Flynn. He's undergoing an artistic and financial crisis having published a respectable biography on Vermeer but now he's written a self help book about men which is projected to be a huge bestseller. He comes from a humble Scottish background but now inhabits the upper echelons of society. Various dealings have left him desperate for money and led him to compromise his integrity and talents to take lucrative jobs ranging from fashion industry write-ups to an inspiring podcast series. He's also an academic that has recently formed a strong connection to his student Milo whose vociferous cultural critiques tap Campbell into something real and modern. However, Milo has his own designs to utilize his skills as a hacker to become a whistle blower reminiscent of Julian Assange (O'Hagan once attempted to ghost write an autobiography for this activist.)

Despite his privilege, Campbell is surrounded by a number of people who regard him with contempt from some of his academic colleagues to the sitting tenant in the apartment of his building. Campbell's good friend Sir William is also going through a crisis as his financial and sexual affairs come under scrutiny. His prosecution and some other dramatic events unravel the secrets and corruption underpinning many of the lives of this large cast of characters – so large that there is a list of the dramatis personae at the start of the novel (a handy reference I frequently flipped back to keep track of who is who.) Although many of the characters are arrogant, corrupt and distasteful (especially amongst the upper set) I enjoyed how O'Hagan reveals their flaws through scenes where they demonstrate how self-justified they feel in their opinions and positions. They're well aware what others think of them but they stick to their guns as they believe they are in the right. A lot of humour emerges from this and keeps the story rollicking along as Campbell moves between the cast. I'm impressed with O'Hagan's ambition to not only present many levels of society and a broad social landscape of contemporary London but to actually inhabit a number of these different characters' voices through dialogue and their mental process. It's brave of him and I couldn't testify to the authenticity of the many different people he portrays but it's handled with confidence. Sometimes it does feel like characters embody certain issues and communities that O'Hagan wants to discuss in a way which makes them feel more representative than authentic. Nevertheless, there are scenes where a psychological complexity and emotional levels develop with certain characters so that I grew to care about several of them and I was intrigued to follow their storylines.

I know some readers have felt somewhat alienated from the book when they're not as intimately familiar with London as a city or British politics, but O'Hagan's evocative descriptions give a strong sense of the environment, people and issues at stake. It's difficult for me to judge how effective this is since I have lived in the city for over twenty years so I've observed how it's changed and I'm more familiar with what's being portrayed. I've even met some people who feel very reminiscent of some of the novel's characters. There's also a pleasure for me recognizing certain aspects of the cityscape in the narrative even when it's something as casual as Byron Burger (a once large food chain which diminished considerably after the pandemic) or Google's enormous new building which is still being build in King's Cross. Many of the characters' routes can be physically traced and followed through the city. I also appreciated how O'Hagan links some characters' experience of the capitol through different imagery (such as swans) and their individual interpretation of these reference points.

The many individual stories of these characters feed into a larger entangled tale of criminal activity, exploitation and economic disparity. It makes sense that “Caledonian Road” is frequently described as a state of the nation novel since so much of the story questions how the country's character and politics is being dictated by greed and a desire to maintain the appearance of power/dominance/being a first world nation. A character comments at one point that the English will do anything for £1million and it's been well reported how much London property is being held as an investment by international tycoons making the city more into a shell rather than a living metropolis. It feels effective how the overarching story is gesturing towards these larger issues and their complexities.

Overall, the story felt consistently engaging to me although I was interested in some characters more than others (Elizabeth, Moira, Jakub being amongst the most sympathetic to me.) However, other characters were intriguingly monstrous such as Yuri, Jake and Antonia. Still others were fascinating in their denial of the truth about what's happening because they are so fixated on their version of reality like Mrs Krupa, Candy and Mrs Voyles. Milo is one of the most contentious characters in the novel. For much of it he feels simply like a counterpoint to Campbell. As a computer wiz who is morally righteous and driven by the loss of his mother/friends, he's intent on disrupting the system and exposing corruption. Rather than feeling invested in his storyline itself I was more interested in how he is one of the few characters not willing to compromise his values in any way. Many characters (gang members, truck drivers, models, pot growers, politicians, writers) set aside their moral sense for the time being as they expect to soon be financially independent enough or socially powerful enough to live by their own code, but the day where that happens keeps getting extended into the future until their actions catch up with them. Campbell seems to be the supreme example of this as his underlying financial crisis/reliance on substance abuse means the more he tries to get himself out of this mess the more he becomes entangled in it until it reaches an absolute crisis point.

I think O'Hagan is effective in demonstrating how difficult it is in this day and age to wholly live by certain moral standards because we're often shielded from how we're involved in a much larger system. The characters' actions show how many of us want to retain our own personal comfort as a priority. Maintaining the status quo is also very appealing. There are certain characters such as a Russian oligarch whose status and actions come across like something directly extracted from a news story - as do many of this novel's plot lines. That's not bad necessarily as the novel uses satire to paint a large canvas with what concerns the English sensibility at this period of time. However, it does add to the sense that some characters come across more like symbols or stereotypes and this feels more problematic for those individuals that come from other nations: the wealthy/criminal Russians, the Polish immigrants, the Irish drivers. Nevertheless, there are moments where I felt emotionally involved with them so I keep going back and forth about how I feel about this novel as a whole. It's one I'd like to return to at some point as I think I'll be able to pick up on the nuances better now that I'm familiar with the characters and overall plot as a whole.