Tom Lake by Ann Patchett

I've greatly enjoyed some of Ann Patchett's previous books such as “State of Wonder” and “The Dutch House”. She's won awards and maintains a lovely social media presence promoting books she's enjoyed reading through her Nashville bookstore Pernassus Books. Her latest novel “Tom Lake” has come with critical acclaim and the audiobook has the distinction of being read by Meryl Streep. However, my anticipation for the book was dampened when some readers told me how bland and cozy they found this novel. But I plunged into reading it and was pleasantly surprised to find myself falling for it. It's a story of quiet reflection, the pleasures of family life and how love develops different meanings as we mature.

I think part of the reason why this novel resonated so much with me is timing; it's the right book for me to read now. The main character and narrator is Lara who lives with her husband Joe on a Michigan cherry farm that's been in his family for generations. As the recent pandemic spreads across America their three daughters who are all in their 20s come to shelter with them and assist in the big job of bringing in the cherry harvest. While living together in isolation the daughters demand to know Lara's story about dating an actor named Peter Duke when she was younger. He wasn't famous at the time but he went on to become a big celebrity.

While in this state of lockdown limbo, Lara recounts her experiences in the 1980s becoming a promising young actress herself as well as her heated romance with Duke. They meet while performing in a Summer stock production of 'Our Town' at a location called Tom Lake. The question of why she didn't continue to pursue acting or her relationship with this rising star isn't simple wistful thinking about the road not taken. It's a confrontation with the past where revisiting it from a more mature point of view leads to realisations about what was really at stake and Lara's difficult process of growing into herself. Relating the story to her daughters and husband also requires selecting what to tell and what to leave out – not so much to conceal the truth but to preserve a tender part of her life.

I've seen criticism of this novel from readers bored by a lack of conflict and dramatic plot which is understandable and fair because it's not a showy book. There are certainly twists and revelations and part of the pleasure of this is when Lara realises the truth about something she didn't see at the time. Sometimes we can think back on the past or receive new information and suddenly there's clarity where there was once complete confusion. However, I also think there's a lot on the line for Lara even though she's genuinely content. She dearly loves her family, dog and life on the farm. So it's easy to think of this novel as just cozy fiction. But raking over the past forces her to consider how her story has been shaped by forces beyond her control as well as crucial decisions she's made. There's the very real risk of getting lost in longing.

Part of the pleasure I found in this novel is that it's so much about acting. I used to love acting and there's a lot of great scenes portraying the chaos and camaraderie of putting on a production. Also Patchett shows how the process of performing a character isn't just the portrayal of a role. It reveals different aspects of a person's personality. It can be like a stepping stone towards living more authentically and it's a process of becoming. Yes, it's a profession but it's also a more flamboyant example of how we all adopt personas to meet challenges and new developments in life. By inhabiting the role of Emily Webb in 'Our Town' that character becomes like a companion to Lara and someone she can play off from in the process of discovering what she truly wants. This novel is also a homage to 'Our Town' and if you know the play there will undoubtably be a lot of pleasure in the way Patchett incorporates it into the story. Personally, I've never read it or seen a production of Wilder's play though I'm aware of its plot and its place as a canonical piece of American theatre. So I don't think it's necessary to know the play to appreciate this book.

The main thing I loved about this novel is how it shows the way we shape the stories of our lives. And it doesn't resort to scandals and high drama to do that. In a way it feels more daring to portray contentment and the good fortune of achieving what one really desires rather than presenting anguish in one's lot in life. Ann Patchett is a very famous author and this book is very successful so it doesn't need defending from me. I can understand why it won't entertain or resonate with every reader, but I found it a very moving experience.

Nightcrawling by Leila Mottley

There's a geeky pleasure in discovering connections between authors so when Ruth Ozeki described in her speech after winning this year's Women's Prize for Fiction that her student Leila Mottley's “Nightcrawling” was just published, it made me even more eager to read this debut novel. It was a delight to find that it's a book worthy of all the buzz it's been getting as it is so moving, impactful and skilfully written – especially for an author who has only just turned twenty years old. It follows the story of Kiara who is seventeen at the start of the novel and lives with her brother Marcus in a run-down apartment complex in Oakland, California. They're in danger of being evicted because of rent increases and it entirely falls to Kiara to gather the money since her father is dead, her mother is absent and Marcus is more focused on trying to launch a music career rather than finding paid work. Since she didn't finish high school and doesn't have a resume, her options are extremely limited and she becomes a prostitute. However, when she's cornered by the police she's ensnared in a situation where she is frequently taken advantage of and abused. The narrative steeps us in Kiara's perspective and journey through this harrowing situation in a way which is so vivid and striking, but also artfully illuminates wider issues concerning the danger and violence experienced by many Black girls and Black women in America.

Part of what makes this such an arresting tale is that it is based on a real case from recent years and it's one that Mottley read about when she was Kiara's age. Being a character so close to her age and one who is from the same city gives a real authenticity to the voice of the character. She's entirely fictional but the way the author portrays her complex psychology and development makes her multi-dimensional. More than this it's written in a way which highlights the many issues at stake which could lead a young American girl to being the victim of such an atrocious crime. We are entirely locked in Kiara's point of view yet can see from what she witnesses how the police systematically abuse their power and the difficulty of making the perpetrators accountable. Through her struggle we're made aware why so many cases of abuse go unreported and aren't brought to justice and how there isn't enough support for the most vulnerable citizens in this country. Additionally, the story shows how the innate intelligence and artistic talent of many young people isn't developed because of the circumstances they struggle under and the concept that if something isn't profitable it isn't worth pursuing.

It's also a gripping story for many reasons beyond the shocking way in which its protagonist is a victim of sex trafficking. Kiara naturally feels resentment and anger towards her mother for making enormous mistakes. There is a confrontation later on in the book which is so heartbreaking and powerful in terms of how this daughter and mother gradually understand one another and connect over the awful decisions people have to make under desperate circumstances. There is also drama in the way Kiara must reckon with her brother, uncle and a trans woman named Camila who is also a prostitute. The novel dynamically conveys how their conflict with each other primarily stems from larger issues and pressure beyond their control, but they are also individuals with their own idiosyncrasies and flaws. Of course, it's also utterly compelling how the central drama of the story and the build up to a grand jury hearing plays out.

Mottley is also a poet and I think the way she portrays Kiara's psychological journey is enhanced by using a form of language which becomes somewhat abstract and ethereal at times. As her situation worsens, Kiara naturally begins to disassociate from her surroundings and retreat into herself. The narrative reflects this and there are some powerful passages where we feel both this girl's distress and her sense of mentally leaving her body in order to survive. However, it's important to note there is a specificity of detail and description so I never felt lost or confused as to what was happening from scene to scene. There is also a wonderful sense of humour and comradeship or rivalry amongst the characters so they feel fully rounded and real. Sections which could come across as overwhelming and crushingly serious are lightened by banter between friends, a neighbouring boy Kiara looks after and her lawyer. The love which Kiara continues to maintain for the world around her and the people she cares about makes this an uplifting story as well as one which has an urgent message.

Mischief Acts by Zoe Gilbert

Herne the Hunter is a figure from English folklore who is first mentioned in Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor. It's claimed he has antlers growing from his head, rides through forests on a horse and causes mischief. Zoe Gilbert reimagines his origin story in the first lengthy section of this wildly imaginative novel which playfully weaves this fantastical figure into local history. Throughout time he “permeates both reality and the imagination”. In the late 1300s Herne is a favoured huntsman of Richard II, but violent events lead to his downfall and resurrection as a spirit pursued by the vengeful magician Bearman. Their drama plays out over the course of many centuries and into the future. Along the way, Herne takes many different forms and enters into the individual stories of an array of distinct figures throughout many years. It's utterly bewitching how this novel reshapes myths and history into a riveting series of tales.

In a sense this book is like a collection of short stories which vary from accounts of nymphs in the woods to the fire which destroyed The Crystal Palace (a famous historic exhibition hall) to an ecological breakdown which fractures our society. Alongside reading the testimonies of a fascinating range of individuals throughout history there's a great pleasure in discovering what form Herne will take when entering this new era and the wicked ways he will interfere with the characters' lives. Gilbert playfully describes the way he shape shifts from one time period to the next alternately appearing as a man, woman or a flock of birds. The many sections of this novel take different forms as well including prose narratives, journals, poetry and song. It's clever how the styles of writing switch to suit particular eras and characters where the form of writing itself expresses something about the dominant ideologies concerning religion or science. I also alternated reading a physical copy of “Mischief Acts” with listening to the audiobook in which the lyrics and poetry are performed. This richly added to the experience of reading this novel.

There were some sections of “Mischief Acts” I enjoyed more than others. Some of my favourite parts included a sweetly pious man who tries and fails to uphold good morals within his community in the 1600s, a man determined to photograph woodland-dwelling homunculi that come to life in the late 1800s and a couple wrestling with issues to do with infidelity and sexuality in the early 2000s. Certain sections seemed to contain more lively inbuilt conflict than others and also included a more creative integration of the figure of Herne. Perhaps a second reading would make some other parts of the book more distinct and memorable. Nevertheless, this is a sweeping deliciously-creative novel which I thoroughly enjoyed. The author also bookends these tales with brief lectures which consider the role of myth in society. It interestingly builds on the impression that through the act of storytelling imagination can shape reality. Gilbert has created a novel that is utterly unique, thoroughly pleasurable and leaves the reader with a lot to ponder.

What You Can See From Here by Mariana Leky (translated by Tess Lewis)

It's been a while since a novel has consistently made me smile. “What You Can See From Here” has a wonderful lightness of touch to it while also being an emotional story which considers larger philosophical issues about the human condition. It follows Luisa who, at the start of the novel, is an adolescent girl and we follow her into adulthood. Moreover, it's the tale of the small West-German village Luisa has grown up in and the idiosyncratic members of this community as seen through her perspective. Luisa's grandmother Selma occasionally dreams of an okapi, an exotic African animal that's like a squashed-together version of several different animals. Whenever this creature features in her dreams someone in the area dies. So it's turned into an omen of death. At the beginning of the novel Selma has dreamed about an okapi again. Though they realise it's superstitious to believe a dream can signal such a tragedy, everyone in the village can't help fearing it and tensely wondering who will be next. Rumours of the dream spread like wildfire around the community leading everyone to take excessive precautions or prepare to meet their end. When someone eventually does die it has a devastating effect on Luisa and we follow her many years later as she and the village are still dealing with this tragic loss. 

Much of the delightful humour in this novel comes from the naturally amusing characters that populate it. Selma is a loving grandmother living in a slanted house. The local optician is secretly in love with Selma and begins many letters to her informing her of this but can't quite bring himself to complete or deliver them. Luisa's friend Martin dreams of being a champion weight-lifter and frequently picks Luisa up. Villagers flock to Luisa's eccentric great-aunt Elsbeth who makes homemade remedies for ailments or conditions. Luisa's mother is perpetually late for any crucial event and her father is constantly absent as he's travelling the world. Marlies is a grumpy woman who lives in the most remote corner of the village like a melancholy Eeyore. Even the family dog Alaska comes bounding in and out of scenes knocking things over and making its presence known. The way in which all these disparate individuals with all their foibles and peculiarities come together is handled in an endearing and loving way.

Another reason why this novel is so funny is from the clever and engaging way it portrays the absurdity of life. Though we may have grand ideals or try to follow the path of logic, we can't control our instinctive reactions to what we encounter. So the villagers allow themselves to grow fearful when Selma has her dream of an okapi though they know it's not rational. It's natural for our emotions to occasionally consume us and the novel shows how this especially occurs when it comes to love and death. In her adulthood Luisa has a chance encounter with a Buddhist monk named Frederik and develops a strong bond with him. Though it may seem like a very random thing to insert into the story, it makes sense how the principles of Buddhism are contrasted against human nature. Various concepts concerning the perception and natural of reality are raised between the characters – though Frederik is more concerned with eating French fries than he is with discussing Buddhist texts. The story isn't mocking the religion but showing how challenging it is to free oneself from disruptive desires and an attachment to a limited, subjective understanding of the world. Whether a person is a Buddhist or not, these are large issues we all grapple with in one form or another. The novel poignantly demonstrates how these aspects of our nature are the very things which make us so beautifully human and join us together as a society.

How High We Go In The Dark by Sequoia Nagamatsu

It's impossible to know how we'll react to losing a loved one until it happens. Similarly, it's difficult to predict how an ongoing pandemic and environmental crisis will shape our society's future. But these are issues which Sequoia Nagamatsu movingly examines on many different individual human levels within his imaginative and absorbing debut “How High We Go In The Dark”. The novel opens with the discovery of the preserved remains of a prehistoric girl who is found amidst the melting permafrost in the Arctic Circle and, with her, a deadly virus is reintroduced into human civilization. By following the many lives of a number of linked individuals across hundreds of years we see the way our society splits apart, comes back together and grieves for what is lost. 

In some ways, this book functions like a group of interconnected short stories. The different chapters focus on subjects as varied as a theme park for terminally ill children, a pig grown for organ transplants that develops an ability to talk, a mechanic that no longer has the parts to repair families' beloved mechanical dogs, a scientific breakthrough that's implanted in one man's mind and an artist who paints murals in the corridors of a spaceship that seeks a new planet for humans. Yet the ending of the book circles back to the beginning in an innovative and surprising way. With its emphasis on themes of technology, space travel and a dystopian future this novel might appear like standard science fiction from the outside, but the story's real world resonance and psychologically complex characters feels more resonant of inventive hybrid novels such as “Bewilderment” by Richard Powers, “Station Eleven” by Emily St John Mandel and “XX” by Rian Hughes.

This is a narrative driven by deeply human stories centred around love, the painful experience of letting go, the ways we memorialise each other and our ability to persist through challenging circumstances. Certainly there are some characters which I connected with than others, but I enjoyed the way some more peripheral characters come to the forefront in different sections while also letting us know about the fates of other characters we know well. This not only gradually gives the reader a deeper understanding of certain people but shows how these individuals exist in a rich network of various different experiences. It's alternately horrifying and inspiring following how Nagamatsu imagines the evolution of humanity amidst dramatic global changes. But, just as one character chooses to name her own constellations in the sky, this story ultimately demonstrates how we can each form our own destinies. 

Tenderness by Alison MacLeod

It's strange knowing the novel “Lady Chatterley's Lover” was subjected to obscenity trials in 1960 and became the focus of heated public debate. The language and subject matter used in this book is hardly considered shocking today which is probably part of the reason why D. H. Lawrence isn't a particularly fashionable or widely-read author anymore - that and the fact the book contains weirdly paranoid anti-Semitic and homophobic ideas expressed by the character of Mellors. Some people would probably argue that looking down on this novel originally published in 1928 for its outdated attitudes is censorship of a different kind but to me it feels like common sense to rigorously critique any book that makes such statements. Yet, the furore surrounding Lawrence's final novel in 1960 is even more bizarre than it first appears when you know what a special interest the FBI took in the trials. This stirred author Alison MacLeod's imagination as well and inspired her to write the novel “Tenderness” - the title which Lawrence originally contemplated calling what became “Lady Chatterley's Lover”. 

I love novels such as “Arctic Summer” by Damon Galgut and “The Master” by Colm Toibin which reimagine the lives of authors and consider how their writing was produced alongside events they experienced. It's irresistible to wonder about the personality behind a great book with all the intense passion and dedication which must have gone into writing it. MacLeod adds another dimension to this in her novel by inserting some lines by Lawrence within her story about his journey and the fate of his novel to show the interplay between life and text. The novel begins with the final part of Lawrence's life when he was suffering from tuberculosis, bickering with his wife Frieda and living in voluntary exile on the continent. It then moves onto the events surrounding the trials which take place 30 years after Lawrence's death including a FBI special agent who trails after Jackie Kennedy. He photographs the soon-to-be First Lady at a hearing for “Lady Chatterley's Lover”. We delve into Jackie's perspective and follow a young female literature student whose family was satirised in a short story by Lawrence. Amidst this, the novel frequently flashes back to moments in Lawrence's earlier life, his financial/artistic/romantic struggles and his interaction with other literary figures including E. M. Forester and Katherine Mansfield. The novel also includes a short sequel to “Lady Chatterley's Lover” imagining what events might have followed after the end of Lawrence's story.

So there is a lot going on in MacLeod's ambitious novel and it skilfully utilizes its 600 pages to fully integrate all these elements into a coherent and bewitchingly epic story. It's engaging and insightful how it does so with many tantalizing moments of conflict and camaraderie. The question of the morality of “Lady Chatterley's Lover” is swept up into the Cold War politics of the time and attempts made to derail John F. Kennedy's election. Novelist and literary critic Rebecca West emerges as a force to be reckoned with playing and informing on different sides to accumulate power and push her own agenda. There are delicious moments of discussion between Jackie and critic Lionel Trilling about the novel's meaning and importance. Though tempestuous Lawrence sharply critiques and fights with E. M. Forester, it speaks highly of Forester's character that he still expresses admiration for Lawrence's work rather than backbiting. All these elements mix together to say something much bigger about the importance of literature and how it tangibly integrates into our lives and culture. Great books are a reflection of the present moment but they also move us forward by enhancing our sensibilities. “Tenderness” expresses this while telling a complex and riveting story of its own.

The Other Black Girl by Zakiya Dalila Harris

I get nervous about genre fiction that makes pointed political statements because sometimes it feels like the integrity of the characters and situation is compromised for the sake of making a gripping plot. Probably the most prominent and well-publicised example of this I can think of is “American Dirt” whose social commentary often felt tacked onto a story which largely read like a conventional thriller. The issue is that certain twists and dramatic events need to occur within the story to adhere to generic conventions in a way which stretches belief and can often feel absurd. This runs the risk of undermining any political statements which are being made. However, I feel like debut novel “The Other Black Girl” by Zakiya Dalila Harris impressively manages to deliver a tense story which kept me wondering what was going to happen while also making a moving statement about the ongoing personal impact of being a minority in the workplace. Naturally, since Harris worked at a publisher herself and this tale is set in a publishing house, the bookish world has been intrigued to see how scathing the author's critique of this industry will be. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it turns out there are a lot of problematic issues at the heart of this rarefied and typically liberal-leaning work environment. 

The novel follows the story of Nella, a 26-year-old woman working at a prestigious publishing company in New York City as an editorial assistant. She's subject to microaggression from her predominantly white colleagues as she's the only black employee at her level. Schemes to diversify the publishing industry are launched with enthusiasm but quickly peter out. She receives manuscripts to give her opinion on but when she points out examples of stereotypical black characters the white authors and editors angrily deflect the critiques fearing that they are being called racist. She's made to feel like the token black employee and finds herself continuously passed over for promotion. But, when another black woman named Hazel also joins the company, Nella feels a mixture of sisterhood and competitiveness. While this charismatic new employee makes professional connections and amplifies the issues of diversity in publishing more quickly than Nella ever has, an unsettling conspiracy emerges showing just how far some people are willing to go to be accepted and what they're willing to sacrifice.

While reading the book I felt ambivalent about some dramatic reveals which occur within the story. The more bombastic and shocking the twist, the more I started to question how seriously I was meant to take Nella's frustrations. But, by the end of the novel, I felt like the outlandish turns the plot takes were necessary to say something which you can't get from a straightforwardly realistic tale. The book isn't exaggerating the genuine feelings of these characters, just their situation. The degree to which Nella is made to feel she must constantly keep her appearance and actions in check around her white coworkers can't be fully expressed through conventional fiction. Nor can it adequately show the residual effects of white employees' “good intentions” to diversify the office and the books they publish while treating their black employees like minorities rather than individuals. These are complex and layered issues whose impact and meaning the reader will viscerally feel while reading Harris' imaginative novel. This book has been frequently likened to the film 'Get Out' and it's an apt comparison because this is a mode of storytelling which bracingly conveys a deeper truth while also being wickedly entertaining. It also portrays a very touching portrait of an intelligent young woman inspired to follow in the footsteps of her pioneering literary forebearers.

No One is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood

As soon as I saw the online hype surrounding Patricia Lockwood's debut novel I knew I was out of touch with the internet. I wasn't even aware of Patricia Lockwood. *epic fail* Of course, whenever someone is trending who everyone seems to love but I've not heard of or couldn't recall I did the thing you're meant to do and googled her. The abbreviated biographical understanding I got from the succinct biography provided on wikipedia was that she first gained fame on twitter (having successfully baited publications like The Paris Review into joining in jokey banter), published two collections of poems as well as the poem “Rape Joke” which went viral in 2013 and the memoir “Priestdaddy” in 2017 which the Times included on its list “The 50 Best Memoirs of the Past 50 Years” and the Guardian named as one of its “100 Best Books of the 21st Century”. Oh, so I had heard of her! Or, at least, I saw mention of her on these lists and was intrigued but (like hundreds of other writers) haven't got around to reading her work yet. And so, I merrily plunged into reading Lockwood's “No One is Talking About This” because suddenly (at least within my online bubble) everyone seems to be talking about this debut novel. 

This is a story about an online personality who has become so famous on platforms like twitter for tweets such as “Can a dog be twins?” that she travels around the world giving talks and lectures. The text is divided into brief sections which give an impressionistic sense of her life and the people within it without ever providing a completely clear picture. It's an intriguing and surprisingly poignant style of narrative similar to Jenny Offill's novels. Here Lockwood uses it to show how the internet has modified her narrator's sense of self to become both individual and collective. It's also reflective of the distracted attention span that comes from scrolling online and how concepts can be compressed down into crystallised pithy thoughts before being quickly abandoned for a new idea or trending discussion. This is a clever way of commenting upon the effects of the internet in the very structure of the way Lockwood tells her tale. 

In the first section of the novel we get anecdotes and impressions about her travels and interactions from the virtual world to the real world as well as meditative asides about the meaning of our online lives versus our real lives. This amusingly expresses a lot of the existential angst and carnivalesque absurdity of our devotion to screens and the internet (which the narrator refers to as “the portal”). I loved how she captures the way this online existence has changed the way we use language as well as how it's reconfigured our psychology. Terms and phrases such as “shoot it in my veins”, “it me”, “toxic” and “normalize” have taken on specific meanings through their repeated use and become their own kinds of internet speak. Lockwood shows both the joy and frustration of this noting how if you don't keep up with this evolving speech you're quickly left out of the loop.

As someone who spends a lot of time online but doesn't feel like I fully understand what many people online take as collectively understood (such as who Patricia Lockwood is) I found it amusing and relatable how Lockwood describes the scramble to keep up with what's happening and what everyone is talking about. Sometimes her summary of the experience of online life movingly spills into the poetic: “Someone was dead, she had never met him, yet she had zoomed in on the texture of his injuries a dozen times, as she might squint at the pink of a sunset she was too lazy to meet outside. And that is what it was like.” This also shows how the tone of our experience is so chaotically jostled by what we witness while scrolling online. Our emotions can so rapidly veer from humour to grim fascination to heartfelt sympathy that we're left wondering what responsibility we possess to act or react. Lockwood richly expresses how the portal is an arena ripe with possibilities that can also feel like a hellish hamster wheel.

In the second section of the novel the narrator is called into action by her mother who summons her home. Her sister experiences complications with her pregnancy and gives birth to a girl with severe birth defects. The narrator undergoes a change in this section as her preoccupation with an online existence is often surrendered for her real world experiences with this uniquely beautiful girl. It's challenging to maintain a sardonic distance or distil meaning into glib humour when she's confronted with this luminous reality. Yet she still mediates much of her interactions through the filter of the curious ego that was formed within the portal and this creates a kind of crisis: “If all she was was funny, and none of this was funny, where did that leave her?” Though I hoped this second part of the novel would be an engaging reckoning with the narrator's struggle to recalibrate the value of herself and her actions I found it strangely flaccid. Perhaps Lockwood was trying to portray the difficulty of being caught in a habitual need to find the funny in framing every observation with cooly detached irony, but it mostly left me feeling unmoved. 

I wonder what readers who don't engage in social media and the raging debates online will make of this novel. There are many references to specific memes and online community trends which spark a feeling of fond recognition if you're aware of them or create a disgruntled feeling of alienation if you don't. I'm sure I missed a lot of specific references but I don't think that spoiled my understanding or appreciation of the book. Personally I laughed out loud at Lockwood's summary of the generic plot found in Hallmark movies and in the way her mother misunderstands the more sordid connotations of using certain emojis. In a way it feels worthy to capture in fiction fleeting online obsessions like the nannying demand that people wash their legs so we can ruefully muse at a future point why our collective willpower was steered toward this trivial issue, but like the question of the internet itself I wonder how much value there really is in it.

Lockwood is pondering this too especially when there is a looming threat of a political figure referred to as the dictator and she considers how much online activism can challenge this real world threat. These questions are framed in a more immediate and personal crisis when her sister must undergo difficult decisions and finds the state seeks to regulate her body. There's a poignant tragedy expressed when the narrator realizes the limitations of her influence when she often feels so empowered by having a substantial amount of followers within the portal. Though “No One is Talking About This” certainly gives a lot to enjoy and contemplate I didn't feel like the story fully followed through to portray the consequences of how the narrator grapples with the challenge of managing a healthy relationship with the portal. Or maybe this isn't possible and that's the point. Nevertheless, many nonfiction books and articles have written about the myriad ways our psychology and culture have been changed by the internet so I'm glad Lockwood has written a novel giving a creative and powerfully subjective take on these larger issues.

Asylum Road by Olivia Sudjic

I enjoy it when I'm wrong-footed as to what a novel is really about until I get into the heart of its story. “Asylum Road” is very cleverly structured in how it carefully reveals information in different sections as it carries you through the emotional journey of its protagonist Anya, a 20-something PhD student. The novel's opening line is “Sometimes it felt like the murders kept us together.” But rather than describing a couple who commit murders it goes on to detail their journey from London to France while listening to true crime dramas along the way. Anya is tense thinking her ecologically-minded boyfriend Luke might break up with her on this trip but it turns out he proposes to her with a diamond ring. It feels like this will become a typical modern-day story of the highs and lows of romance yet the ominous tone of that opening line remains and is carried through the story as we gradually learn that Anya was a survivor of the Seige of Sarajevo which occurred when she was a girl. But this isn't a historical account of the Bosnian War. Instead it shows the day to day experience of someone living with a deep trauma that other people are incapable of understanding. 

The tone of unreconciled violence in this story is perfectly encapsulated in an early scene where Anya refers to her Balkan heritage when making casual dinner conversation with an elderly woman at someone else's wedding. It's described how “She'd blinked at me kindly and said it must be sad when your country no longer exists, then returned to pulverising her asparagus.” Similarly, there seems no way to create a bridge in understanding between Anya and Luke regarding Anya's past. In the second section of the book they travel back to her homeland to reconnect with her family including her mother who is suffering from Alzheimer's. The awkwardness of this journey and the emotional tug of war which occurs in a day to day relationship is vividly described: “His moods would shift abruptly, and at times I would find myself having crossed an obscure boundary into a strange place, a territory which only minutes ago had not been there.” Not only does Anya still carry with her the constant threat she experienced in childhood, but there's also the ever-present danger of being exiled from this relationship which seems like it will be cemented in marriage but remains precariously fragile.

It's admirable how Sudjic draws us so close to the reality of Anya's experience yet there's a building tension as the reader grapples to understand her motives. Often she seems trapped in a kind of inertia when she doesn't respond to someone speaking to her or make progress with larger elements of her life like working on her PhD. Instead the past constantly threatens to drown her like an undertow and we feel an ominous panic suddenly surge up to make her experience a debilitating vertigo. I greatly sympathised with Anya who wants to achieve a comforting stasis yet finds the world is in a constant state of flux – both in her personal life and the larger society. There are references to Brexit and recent terrorist attacks in London which have resulted in the creation of both mental and physical barriers between people. Despite being informed and connected through the news, the novel signals how there will always be a tragic gap between living through a traumatic experience and viewing it from the outside. The way in which “Asylum Road” artfully conveys this makes it a powerful and haunting story.

Leave the World Behind by Rumaan Alam

“Leave the World Behind” begins like a delicate portrait of a typical family going on vacation to a rented home in a remote part of Long Island, but it soon turns into a much darker story filled with dread. At first it feels like an Anne Tyler novel and then slides into Cormac McCarthy. I think it's clever how Alam draws you into the lives of parents Amanda and Clay to fully understand the minutiae of their psychology and self-centredness. They are probably no more egotistical than most people, but definitely justify their attitudes and actions based on notions of inherent privilege. Therefore, they find it deeply challenging and frightening when, after settling into their accommodation, an older black couple named the Washingtons arrive on their doorstep late one night. Ruth and G.H. Washington assert that they are the owners and need to stay in their home because there's been a peculiar blackout in NYC. While they have no means of getting information through the news or internet, we follow the story of how this group is terrifyingly cut off from larger world events as the world descends into chaos. It's a kind of dystopian story as felt through the limited perspective of a group of characters but also says something larger about the flimsy magnanimity of white middle-upper class life. 

Recently I read Don DeLillo's most recent novel “The Silence” which has a very similar premise. A group of people find themselves isolated and ignorant about the larger cataclysmic events of the world when they are cut off from the media. It's a potent and timely situation as we increasingly find ourselves utterly dependant on understanding events and the shape of society as filtered through the internet. Yet, where DeLillo's book felt more like a studious exercise, Alam's story was much more successful as a satisfying novel that raises a number of compelling ideas while delivering a chilling, compulsively-readable tale. It's cleverly structured in how we're trapped in the limited perspective of the characters through much of the story, but later on we glimpse the devolving structures of the world. The reader fully understands how everything is going badly wrong but also feels the agonizing fear of the characters as they experience little signs which indicate that they're all in deep trouble. Deer flock past the house in unusually high numbers. Flamingoes unnaturally inhabit their area. Amanda and Clay's son becomes strangely ill. Their control and grasp of the world slowly seeps away and this results in a horrifying kind of derangement. It made this novel an effective, potent and unsettling read.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

When Susanna Clarke's great big immersive novel “Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell” came out way back in 2004, I was completely enraptured by this fantastical alternate history. Since then she's only published a book of short stories so I was thrilled to pick up her second novel “Piranesi”. Though it also heavily incorporates seemingly other-worldly elements, it's much more confined and solitary in its scope. This novel is certainly much shorter than her debut. Its narrator resides in a series of impressively grand maze-like halls filled with an infinite amount of beautiful sculptures. There's only one other person found here, but he seems mysteriously aloof and only meets with the narrator for regularly scheduled appointments. The narrator refers to him as “the Other” and “the Other” refers to the narrator as Piranesi (although he's aware that this is not his real name.) Here the tides flow in and out washing over the giant sculptures forcing the narrator and “the Other” to move carefully between the halls so as not to be trapped by the sea. Piranesi spends his days cataloguing in his notebooks the sculptures and mapping the rooms in between scavenging for something to eat amongst the fish and seafood from the sea. Is this place the remains of some fallen civilization or a mythical landscape? And the way Piranesi notes how there are the bones of several unknown people here makes it also feel like a sinister mausoleum. As far as Piranesi is concerned, he has always resided here and these halls are the entire world. It's a tantalizing setting whose darker meaning gradually becomes apparent over the course of the story. This novel completely swept me into its intriguing mysteries and the methodical mind of its protagonist who communes with the sculptures and birds found in the halls. 

What's so moving about this novel is the way Piranesi's life and endeavours seems to subtly mimic our own – especially now that many of us have been largely confined to our homes for the past year of this pandemic. Similarly, the halls in this book are like the museums which have been closed for months with their wonders poised and ready for someone to discover them. Like Piranesi, I spend my days moving between the same rooms, diligently working and reading book after book. There's a peaceful and melancholy grace to Piranesi's life, but it also feels so fragile. And, though this circumscribed world feels stable, there's an awareness that chaos and destruction might come rolling in any day. So I felt a strong connection to this narrator whose pursuit for knowledge won't allow him to remain oblivious to the broader meaning of his environment or his reason for being there. Clarke also makes this a suspenseful read in providing hints and signs about what's really going on in this strange place. Though the truth is fully revealed at the end and it's a satisfyingly complex conclusion, what I mainly got from this book was its mood of scholarly dedication in a state of utmost solitude. It's the same kind of feeling I get from reading Donna Tartt's fiction. Part of me wanted to remain in the halls of this novel discovering sculpture after sculpture. Clarke's way of describing these wonders as Piranesi patiently catalogues and considers his environment strangely mirrors our own world in all its deteriorating beauty.

A Saint from Texas by Edmund White

Edmund White has a writing style which instantly charms and bewitches me whenever I open his books. Though he's probably most famous for chronicling the gay experience in his invaluable series of autobiographical novels and memoirs, he's also very accomplished in writing great historical fiction such as “Fanny: A Fiction” and “Hotel de Dream”. He has a tremendous talent for intelligently dissecting social class and mores while delivering a gripping story. This is certainly true in his new novel “A Saint from Texas” which chronicles the lives of twins Yvette and Yvonne Crawford who are raised in rural Texas in the 1950s. Though they are identical their personalities couldn't be more opposite. Yvette is studious and pious where Yvonne is free-spirited and socially-ambitious. Yet they share an inseparable bond throughout the very different paths they take in life. Narrated from the perspective of Yvonne, we follow her ascent to the heights of Parisian society when she marries a Baron and takes a series of lovers. All the while she maintains a correspondence with Yvette who loses herself in charitable work with a religious organisation in Colombia. It's a brilliant study in duality and one of the most pleasurable stories I've read in a long time. 

There's a sympathetic tension at the heart of this tale. Most of us feel the tug between being “good” and “bad” throughout our lives and this novel entertainingly dramatises this struggle by following the stories of two individuals who take very different paths. But the way White delineates their stories abstains from assigning value judgements to their actions and natures. Yvonne unashamedly follows her desires whether it be sexually pursuing men or women she's attracted to or obtaining a noble title which will grant her the social position she craves. Yet, Yvette pursues her religious ambitions with equal determination as she desires to be utterly selfless and exceedingly holy. The seriousness with which White treats her piousness and belief in scripture shows an admirable broadmindedness. But the author is also careful to chronicle the pitfalls of both paths in life whether it be the shallow snobbery of high society or the way dogmatic systems of belief encourage people to dangerously repress their instincts. The novel shows there is certainly no “right” way to live. What shines through are these two high-spirited personalities who lift off from the page.

White excels at writing about sex in a way which recognizes its central position in both the imagination and in our social interactions. So Yvonne doesn't shrink from describing the physical details of the female friend she fondles under the cover of darkness or the submissive will of the man she confidently dominates. There's also an acknowledgement of the brash desires of young men who exhaustively try to make women comply and the taboo subject of incest. Yvonne observes how “In our family the worst things imaginable happened so fast they couldn't be understood. The horrors weren't unprecedented but were instantaneous.” So it's startling when their father violates his daughter by taking advantage of her naivety and piousness. It's also tragic and moving how a family secret like this remains buried and can persist throughout the women's lives. This shows how no matter what path the sisters take in life, the entitled and pernicious “righteousness” of the patriarchy is what trumps all behaviour.

Alongside these deeper issues, the intricate detail and living history of Parisian society is wonderfully described throughout the novel. No doubt White's own fascination and experience of this world which he brilliantly captured in his memoir “Inside a Pearl” informed Yvonne's education about the many layers of this milieu. I love how the novel simultaneously shows the strong allure and the hilarious absurdity of the strict rules and aristocratic levels of this society. For all Yvonne's earnest and skilled abilities to integrate into it, she remains an eternal outsider. The way that she ultimately conquers and triumphs over her adopted nation is thrilling and I was gripped throughout this lively novel. It's also poignant how White suggests that sainthood is not necessarily obtained through “good” acts but in the loyalty and love of true sisterhood.

Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid

There's been a lot of discussion recently about what makes a good ally to the Black Lives Matter movement. Certainly I and many other white people want to show support, get informed and help enact real change. But a troubling issue about this in our social media age is that such allyship can become performative and however well meaning allies can be it can come across as more concerned with image than the welfare of black individuals. These are issues that Kiley Reid's debut novel “Such a Fun Age” gets right to the heart of by dynamically portraying two white individuals who seek to support a young black woman who is racially profiled. 

Emira is an African American in her mid-20s who has the very sympathetic problem of properly “adulting” as she doesn't know what she wants to do with her life. Rather than seeking more substantial career advancements like her friends, she becomes a babysitter who is more or less stuck with meagre wages and no benefits. Her charge is three year old Briar, an endearingly panicky white girl who Emira grows to love. Briar's mother Alix is an upper-middle class blogger who revels in receiving free products and has launched a female empowerment brand with the message “Let Her Speak”. When a tense incident occurs in Alix's home late at night Alix calls Emira in to get Briar out of the house for a short period of time. When Emira takes the girl to a local market a white female customer and store security guard confront Emira implying that she's kidnapped this white girl. Kelley, another white customer intervenes and films the entire confrontation. Out of this incident, the novel's plot is set in motion as both Alix and Kelley seek justice on Emira's behalf.

Kelley encourages Emira to post the video publicly and get compensation while Alix seeks to befriend her babysitter by plying her with wine and creepily trying to gain her confidence. In both cases they are more concerned with an idea of Emira and exhibiting the right principles rather than respecting who Emira is as an individual. This makes for a very funny read as the author gently satirises the situation and tests out what's really meant by friendship/allyship. The novel skilfully gets at the subtle reasons discussing race and enacting true racial equality continues to be so problematic. What's even more impressive is that this is such an enjoyable, easy read that also makes many thoughtful, nuanced points. It's an excellent novel that encourages a lot of discussion and useful self-scrutiny.

Swimming in the Dark by Tomasz Jedrowski

It's a big challenge for a modern author to write a historical gay love story that don't end in tragedy. Given the many past and current instances of homosexuals being persecuted in almost every culture around the world there are few opportunities to plausibly invent examples of such relationships which aren't entirely secretive or don't end in betrayal/exposure/death. It can be so discouraging as a reader because, while I don't want to diminish the painful reality and struggle of homosexuals throughout the ages, I also want to believe there are stories from history where same sex couples could enjoy the same opportunities for both swoon-worthy passion and heartbreak that heterosexual couples possess. I think a couple of novels such as Sebastian Barry's “Days Without End” and Patrick Gale's “A Place Called Winter” manage to faithfully represent the past while also offering an uplifting message of hope. 

Tomasz Jedrowski takes an interesting approach in his debut novel “Swimming in the Dark” which depicts two young men over the course of the summer of 1980 in Soviet-governed Poland. Prior to starting university they meet at an agricultural camp while serving their compulsory labour requirement for the country and embark on a passionate affair while reading James Baldwin's “Giovanni's Room”. It's described in highly romantic terms where the pair are able to form a world of their own: “we lay facing each other, the tip of your nose on the bridge of mine. Nothing else mattered in the dark.” They discover their own paradise in a beautiful, remote rural location. But, at the same time, the threat of Party politics and the punishment dealt for homosexual acts creates an atmosphere of suspense. Their story could go either way.

The novel is told in the second person where Ludwik speaks directly to his lover Janusz recounting their past experiences. This adds to the heightened sense of romance as these are memories which have clearly been retreaded in the narrator's mind until they have a smooth, hard polish. But, while the eroticism feels amplified, so does his resentment for the disagreements which divided them. Both men realise the perilousness of their positions within the Communist regime which actively punished same sex acts, but they have differing ideologies on how to survive this environment. While Janusz is intent on working within the system to ensure his individual survival, Ludwik becomes increasingly outspoken on condemning a system which leads to the suffering of many different people who don't enjoy the protection of privilege. It leads him to take risky actions and valiantly declare: “No matter what happens in the world, however brutal or dystopian a thing, not all is lost if there are people out there risking themselves to document it. Little sparks cause fires too.”

This a very readable story which does a good job at dramatising a gay romance while depicting a specific historical time period. It also has some memorable, complex female characters that feel like much more than window dressing (as women in gave love stories can often be treated.) However, I found some of the shifts in time to be slightly awkward making it confusing to locate where exactly the characters were in the narrative. It also felt like the novel didn't delve deep enough into either the complexity of certain political issues or the emotional ramifications they'd have for certain characters. Nevertheless, I think this is a very enjoyable book which meaningfully explores a part of gay history I haven't seen depicted in fiction before.

The Offing by Benjamin Myers

With our current political preoccupations concerning citizenship, immigration and nationality there’s a lot of talk about borders. (What borders will be formed between the UK and Europe?) But in Benjamin Myers’ recent novel “The Offing” the borders directly referenced are invisible lines in the natural environment. The title refers to “That distant stretch of sea where sky and water merge. It’s called the offing.” These are borders that we only imagine exist because of our subjective point of view. And the novel begins with 16 year old Robert Appleyard stepping out of the borders of his small Northern coal mining town, the place where he’s been raised to believe he should spend his life working in the pits that men in his family have toiled in for generations. But he’s determined to see something of the world first. What he discovers is a point of view and way of seeing which is very different from what he’s known in his circumscribed existence. During his journey he meets and befriends Dulcie, a reclusive and highly-cultured older woman who doesn’t play by society’s rules. Myers presents in this beautiful tale conversations which cross borders of class, gender, sexuality and nationality to speak about the importance of preserving our individual voice and creative spirit – especially during times of political strife.

The novel begins like a fable or quest story where a young man embarks out into the unknown and this gives it a timeless feeling at first. I know from reading Myers’ brilliant novel “Beastings” that his prose frequently gives a sense that the story could have occurred in any time or place. But, as Robert encounters more people, he sees families who have lost sons in the war and there’s talk of fighting Hitler. It’s interesting getting a story set around WWII where the characters are so removed from it but still feel the reverberations of its impact. Robert is puffed up with nationalist spirit, but Dulcie cautions him against categorizing groups of people solely on their national identity. She explains how it leads to otherness and borders between people which leads to war: “Nationalism is an infection, Robert, a parasite, and after years of recession many were willing hosts.” Although this isn’t an overtly political novel, I found it really powerful how Myers describes ways of seeing beyond the rhetoric of government and social structures to show how these are illusions.

This point of view is embodied in the character of Dulcie who is so spirited and funny while having a sometimes spiky edge and a secret past. I felt really sympathetic to the narrator because I would have similarly gravitated to and been eager to learn from someone like Dulcie who casually refers to her close acquaintance with Noel Coward. I enjoy how their friendship develops in tentative steps as both Robert and Dulcie are guarded with their feelings and hesitant to admit they need other people. Myers is excellent in capturing the subtly of emotions in characters who aren’t very outwardly emotional. There’s also a dramatic tension which builds as the mystery surrounding Dulcie grows when an unpublished manuscript of poetry is unearthed.

Dulcie frequently makes Robert nettle tea.

Another great strength of this novel is in the evocative and poetic way it describes the natural world – which is another consistent characteristic of Myers’ writing. Not only is Robert’s journey through the English landscape beautifully described, but it’s a form of tunnelling into history and shows it to be a repository of the past: “the cliffs were in a perpetual state of reshaping, where chimneys and scarps and shelves periodically fell crumbling, and where time was marked not by years or decades or centuries, but by the re-emergence of those species trapped in the clay here: the ammonites, haematites and bracken fronds pressed flat between the pages of past epochs. Each was a bookmark placed in Britain’s ongoing story, and the land itself was a sculpture, a work in progress.” I admire how this positions the landscape not as a possession to be claimed and fenced off, but an artwork which is shaped by inhabiting it.

Reading “The Offing” I got that satisfying sensation where my curiosity gradually built to a rapt attention and I felt wholly enveloped and charmed by the story. It speaks poignantly about the importance of moving beyond the life which you’re assigned to discover who you really are and what you want. It’s also a tribute to the enduring power of poetry.