Treacle Walker by Alan Garner

This slender fable-like novel was a bit of a head scratcher. Having seen the baffled responses from a number of readers I was prepared for a cryptic tale going into this book and I think it's fair to be warned that it's not a standard narrative. At its centre is a boy with a lazy eye named Joseph Coppock who lives on his own reading comics, collecting odd bits from nature and playing with marbles. One day the eponymous Treacle Walker, a rag-and-bone man (someone who travels around a certain area collecting unwanted household items and clothing) approaches his house. Joseph barters with this pungent man exchanging a literal rag (old pyjamas) and bone for some mysterious items that provoke magical occurrences. The boy enters into a journey through time, the imagination and possibly beyond the boundaries of life. Along the way he interacts with some odd figures from a time guardian who dwells in a bog to characters from his Knockout comic to a summoned cuckoo to a double of himself. Though the primary drive for this story is Joseph's shift in seeing and a quest to prevent magical elements from entering into his dimension, the overall meaning of this fantastical story remains open to interpretation.

In a way I admire how Garner excavates elements from English folklore to entirely refashion them in a tale that seems to literally exist out of time. The novel is unapologetically strewn with antiquated terms, references to items specific to Cheshire, elements from Garner's previous books and entirely invented words. However, those not familiar with any of these things will be quite disorientated throughout much of the novel. Fiction shouldn't necessarily define its terminology and it can be a pleasure using stories as a springboard to learn more about a particular culture and locale. Looking up colloquialisms and vernacular language such as a donkey stone and terms like “shufti” yields a bit more understanding, but I doubt this book will be comprehensible to anyone who doesn't originate from this area of England and hasn't grown up reading Garner's children books. So it's no wonder that some readers have been impatient with it.

This novel certainly has charm. The sections I found most striking were when characters from the comic break out from the boundaries of their black boxes and Joseph races through multiple mirrors. This sort of captivating imagery makes me feel a childish wonder again. I can imagine being completely compelled by this novel if I'd read it as an adolescent. Larger themes to do with local history/mythology and questions to do with the boundaries of the imagination and the way our brains organize time make the story intellectually engaging. It's a fable whose meaning would morph if it were read and reread over the course of a lifetime. However, my initial impression is more of curious amusement like experiencing a disorientating dream that makes little obvious sense. Maybe it'll haunt me over time and I'm sure the next time I hear the sound of a cuckoo I'll feel a shiver down my spine.

The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida by Shehan Karunatilaka

How could I not fall for a novel whose plot superficially resembles the movie 'Ghost'? That's not to say this book was inspired by that film as its use of ghosts caught “In-Between” is rooted in Sri Lankan folklore, but it's the reference which immediately came to my mind when reading this tremendous story. There may not be any Oda Mae Brown, but there is a more sinister self-interested sort of medium called The Crow Man. Thankfully the protagonist is also much more interesting than the blandly good, pretty boy Sam Wheat. Maali Almeida documents atrocities of war and wants tyrants to be held accountable but he is not virtuous. From page one it states that if he had a business card it'd say: “Maali Almeida: Photographer. Gambler. Slut.” He accepts work from shady organizations, loses a lot of his money at a casino and sleeps around with many men behind his (secret) partner DD's back. What's more he's disillusioned with the government and doesn't attach himself to any particular political organization in Sri Lanka which is heavily embroiled in a deadly civil war during the late 80s when this novel is set. Because of all his complexity and so-called “flaws”, I fell in love with this character.

At the start of the book Maali wakes to find himself in the liminal space between life and the great beyond. Just like we can't recall birth, he can't recall his death. He's instructed by an official that he has seven moons to decide whether he wants to enter the light or remain as a spectre amongst the living. A countdown begins during which he wants to discover his killer, reconnect with those he loves and reveal to the public shocking evidence of a national scandal. It's satisfying reading a novel built around a certain structure that moves towards a definite ending and the suspenseful way in which this story unravels makes it thrilling to reach the conclusion. We gradually discover details of his life through people he “haunts”, but he also encounters many of the dead victims he got paid for photographing. In addition to those who were actively killed there are the ghosts of those who found life in Sri Lanka untenable and committed suicide. These spirits are raging. There is a tension between those who want to get their revenge and the desire to leave all the pain of life behind.

This is dramatically played out over the course of the novel as Maali becomes familiar with Sena, a deceased man who is hatching a terrorist plot aided by a dangerous, demonic spirit. Underlying these tense and fantastical events are deeply pressing questions about our degree of involvement to enact change and our motivations in life. Maali has seen enough deception, hypocrisy and double-crossing coupled with egregious acts of oppression and mass murder to know that no leader, political organization or band of people can be trusted with consistently safeguarding the welfare for everyone in his country. A brief list of the primary political groups involved in Sri Lanka's conflict is given towards the beginning of the novel. This not only slyly tips off Western readers to who the main stakeholders are and the general motivations of these groups but also shows how none of these opposing forces are purely “good” or “right”. Not aligning himself with any of them makes him an outsider, but he also feels like an outcast because he's a closeted homosexual. Experience has taught him it's safer to adamantly deny being gay even when it's clear he's not straight. His infidelity and many furtive sexual encounters are partly caused by this social pressure but also his puerile justification that it's man's nature as shown in this funny exchange: “You tell him the pecker is proof that man has no free will. There is a pause and, then, DD snorts: 'That is the lamest excuse ever.'”

The story is narrated in the second person which makes sense for a protagonist who has been separated from his physical body. It also grounds the reader in Maali's immediate experience as he struggles to navigate the laws and rules of this peculiar afterlife. The means by which he travels through wind and the degree to which the dead can whisper to the living or physically interact with them are bound by certain constraints. This is handled quite playfully with evocative details such as what it feels like to walk through a wall. It's also amusing how the transitory space which is meant to encourage him into the light resembles an overworked bureaucratic waiting room and ghosts do prankish things like make a scientist's bum itch. So the story doesn't often feel too hampered by logistics and there were only a couple of scenes where it felt like the author was heavy handedly whipping Maali's ghost to a particular place to advance the plot. However, the way in which the afterlife is layered over the realistic world is also presented in a genuinely creepy and atmospheric way. At one point this is even made personal to the reader when it's observed: “There are at least five spirits wandering the space you're in now. One may be reading over your shoulder.” Terrifying and twisted spirits frequently appear to Maali and that initial horror is deepened by the tragic backstories that accompany many of these pitiable souls.

Maali still has the impulse to document what he witnesses and the novel frequently refers to how he continues trying to take pictures with the camera around his neck even though the device is muddied and broken. There's a poignant tragedy to this and the race to allow incriminating photos he took to be seen by the general public. These aspects of the story challenges the general sense that if we can witness any wrongdoing in the world it will be corrected. It's revolutionary how images and video filmed by ordinary people which become viral inspire protest and movement towards change. However, there's also a danger that we can become numb to such violent imagery because of our distance from it and a sense of hopelessness. Can an overwhelming amount of individual tragedy be met with anything but inertia? This novel intelligently probes these issues while not allowing the central suspenseful plot to be drowned by them.

My affection for the central character was also formed because of the love triangle at the centre of this novel. Maali doesn't only live with the equally closeted politician's son and golden boy DD who is described as a “former swimmer, athlete and ruggerite” but also DD's cousin Jaki who has a misplaced attraction towards Maali until they settle down to become good friends. The dynamic of this trio is presented in a compelling and charming way. There's a persistent tragic sense that Maali and DD's dreams of moving to San Francisco to live freely and openly will never be realised. This is underpinned by recollections of endearing moments such as how they had “a hall lined with books that you and DD have gifted each other for misremembered birthdays. Neither of you have read the books received as presents, only the ones you bought for the other.” All these elements combine to produce a big emotional impact. I admire how this novel manages to be mischievous, thrilling, unsettling, insightful, moving and so much fun to read. It's also interesting how the book was originally published in India in 2020 with the title “Chats with the Dead”. Now that it's been published in the UK and has been longlisted for this year's Booker Prize the novel is getting a second life – which feels pleasingly appropriate given the nature of its story.

Booth by Karen Joy Fowler

In an author's note at the end of this novel Karen Joy Fowler expresses her feelings of ambiguity about fictionally recreating the life of John Wilkes Booth, one of the most notorious figures in US history. He was famed for being a handsome and talented actor until the age of 26 when he became infamous for assassinating President Abraham Lincoln in Ford's Theatre on April 15, 1865. Why give more attention to a fanatic and egotist? This was a defining moment in American history which forever reshaped the country so it's only natural to wonder how it came about. Fowler was interested in the way it affected the rest of Booth's family. She's also haunted by Lincoln's warnings about tyrants and mobs in this country and how this still resonates today. The impetus for this novel which recreates the story of the Booth family also presents a conundrum for the reader who will most likely only know of John Wilkes Booth for a single defining action. Therefore, following the story of his life from birth we're naturally attentive to any action which indicates a propensity for mental instability, extreme views or violence. Fowler peppers the text with such signs and we can only warily witness an emboldened John who states at one point: “It's a wonderful thing... to be right in the middle of something so momentous. To feel that you've touched history and history has touched you.” Unlike the author's previous novel “We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves” which contains a famous twist, there's never any doubt about how “Booth” will end but that makes this story no less gripping.

The thing about significant historical events is that they can come to feel inevitable, but obviously in the present moment we're faced with an infinite number of possibilities. We also cannot know the many repercussions of our actions. Though Fowler describes John as having certain propensities, his family definitely didn't view him as having the potential to be a monster. This novel primarily focuses on the point of view of John's surviving siblings and the dramatic story of their challenging family life leading up to John's murderous action. Their father Junius was a famous Shakespearean actor and a complicated tyrannical larger-than-life figure. On one hand, he was an intelligent artist who respected all life as sacred. On the other, he was bigamist who abandoned his first wife, frequently neglected his family and occasionally drunkenly terrorized his mistress and children. Naturally living under his shadow his children grew to both revere and hate him. It's fascinating reading how they change over time and wrestle with their identities as the offspring of Booth. Crucially, their interactions with John feel like any complicated sibling relationship. There's closeness and distance as well as moments of tenderness and frustration.

In between following the family's development we're also given shorter snippets about Lincoln's personal and political life. This serves as an interesting counterpoint because, just as things could have turned out differently for John, the same is true of Lincoln who was a politically moderate figure in the right place at the right time to become a presidential candidate. Only through his astute reasoning did he decide that the country could not continue and progress while slavery was legal. However, he wasn't certain about whether Whites and African Americans could co-exist in America. Of course, the Emancipation Proclamation was met with a lot of opposition and the issue of slavery embroiled the country in a deadly civil war. But in the novel we see how things could have so easily turned out differently. Additionally the narrative follows the story of an African American family acquainted with the Booths who endeavour over a period of many many years to buy freedom for each of its members. This is only a peripheral strand of the novel but it crucially shows that whatever struggles the Booths encountered, the struggle of many black people in the country was dire. The questions being debated weren't merely political but very personal.

The novel illuminates a number of compelling historical details about the nature of life at the time from conditions in the home to the difficulty of travel before a better infrastructure was in place. Because of Julius and many of his sons' involvement in the theatre there is also an interesting look at the position of theatres within American society at the time. Equally, there was as much drama back stage and in the audience as on the stage itself. I enjoyed the inclusion of Adam, a gay theatre critic who becomes acquainted with the family, and the odd tension which arises between him and Edwin Booth. The novel also illuminates a number of larger historical facts which I wasn't previously aware of such as the distinction between owning and leasing slaves, the harrowing events/tragedy of The Dakota War and the fact that Maryland's state song included derogatory lyrics about Lincoln. It took more than ten attempts over forty years for both houses of the General Assembly to finally vote to abandon this song in 2021.

Does this novel give the definitive reason for John's extremism? Like most shocking occurrences, it shows how there is no one single cause but a multitude of influences and factors which led to this tragedy. Just like his elder sister Rosalie we're left asking “what if” and wonder how events might have turned out very differently. There's no way to control the past or its consequences. Instead, Fowler shows the hidden complexities of the past and the nuance of personalities who could easily be flattened into certain types. Like all great historical fiction, this story breathes life into the past and imaginatively fills in the gaps between known facts to show we're not disconnected from history. John Wilkes Booth might be anyone's brother and the violence which occurred following a monumental readjustment of power in the US will likely happen again.

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.

Glory by NoViolet Bulawayo

It's quite a challenge for a new book to use a device from a classic novel in a way which feels both relevant and entirely fresh. George Orwell's “Animal Farm” brilliantly satirised the Russian Revolution of 1917 and Stalinism in the Soviet Union by anthropomorphizing barnyard animals who fight to free themselves from the tyranny of their human farmer only to find themselves ensnared in an equally oppressive system. At first I felt skeptical that NoViolet Bulawayo used this same format by applying it to the 2017 Zimbabwean coup d'etat, but as I continued reading I discovered how this is a forceful and heartfelt way to update and expand upon Orwell's allegorical novella.

In Bulawayo's story Old Horse has been ruling the country of Jidada for forty years until he is suddenly ousted from power and a new regime takes control. Though the general population is presented with a simulacrum of a #freefairncredibleelection not much has changed where those in power rule with an iron fist, the economy deteriorates and many ordinary citizens continue to suffer. In doing so she captures the way language and political rhetoric can be weaponized to control a population and shore up power in our modern era. It's a book that succeeds in how it refers to specific historical events and describes the way all systems of government can abuse their power. It's a sweeping epic that evokes the plight of a nation and an intensely personal story about an expatriate's return to the chaos of her country. It brings to the centre the lives of women and girls who struggle under an oppressive patriarchal system. Moreover, it's a funny, heartbreaking, horrifying and utterly bewitching tale that I fell in love with.

There are many innovative elements in this novel which creatively convey clear points and complex ideas. Bulawayo skilfully utilizes repetition in a number of ways. In the name of the country itself it's frequently emphasized how it's called “Jidada with a -da and another -da” which expresses the idea of national pride, an emphasis on the patriarchy and a defiant stance to the international community about the way the country's name is pronounced. Certain idioms and figurative language such as the phrase “tholukuthi” and “those who really know about things said...” create a sense of collective identity and common ways of speaking as the characters try to clarify their situation. There are also a few instances of pages which are dominated by certain words or phrases being repeated such as “I can't breathe” when the citizens witness the video of George Floyd's murder and the word “take” flows across a page in an incessant stream as an outcry about how leaders have repeatedly stollen from the country. Sometimes the text is crossed out to show how certain characters manipulate language or how the country is regressing such as the chapter heading “PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE, PAST”. Also, the image of red butterflies recurs throughout the novel as things of beauty which also appear to be dangerous and/or bloody and they eventually come to represent something specific on the nation's new flag.

I've always been doubtful about novels whose primary mode is satire because it feels like if you take an ironic stance to ridicule something it's very difficult to also express any kind of emotional sincerity other than disdain. However, “Glory” maintains a fine balance between hilariously skewering the leaders of this nation (including the “liberator” who pettily stresses about the amount of followers he has on social media and falls in love with his Siri) and expressing the earnest concerns of those suffering under a tyrannical leadership. It does so through the speeches delivered by particular individuals and political parties as well as the online discussion which rages while the country physically deteriorates. There's a large cast of vibrant characters who take the forms of different animals that are at turns hilarious, cunning in their doublespeak and sympathetic in their struggle. Together they express a palpable anger at clear acts of greed and abuses of power as well as the fragmentation which prevents the general population from overturning a corrupt system.

I was a big fan of Bulawayo's debut novel “We Need New Names” and it's so impressive how she's crafted an ambitious second novel which is very different from that first book, but stays true to the heart of her subject matter. Both books speak from the stance of a distinct individual while also voicing the concerns of the collective. In “Glory” there's the well-timed introduction of a character named Destiny who abruptly left Jidada a decade ago and has returned to reconnect with her mother and discover the truth about her family's past. She gives a much-needed moral centre to the novel as well as expressing the tension between an individual's drive for self preservation and a sense of obligation to her family and community. Through her we feel the emotional immediacy of this tale which tears off the mask concealing political hypocrisy and how every nation struggles to come together for the collective good.

The Trees by Percival Everett

This novel is so pleasurable to read while also making a big impact! Percival Everett's “The Trees” has the structure of pulp crime fiction and a biting sense of humour that comes from sharply drawn characters. But it also seriously engages with the legacy of racially-driven lynching in American history and the persistence of racism in the country today. The authorities of Money, Mississippi are flummoxed when the bodies of a badly-beaten black man and a mutilated/castrated white man are discovered together. Shortly after another white man's body is found alongside the same corpse of the black man from the first murder scene. Special detectives Jim and Ed arrive to investigate though they are looked upon with suspicion as black men in an overtly racist community. What at first appears to be bizarre supernatural acts of revenge gradually shade into the surreal as the plot thickens and similarly violent crimes spring up around the country. The story is so well paced with short, punchy chapters and a vibrant cast that kept me enthralled until the ending. It also builds in meaning as a commentary on contemporary American life where “The image of the boy in his open casket awakened the nation to the horror of lynching. At least the White nation. The horror that was lynching was called life by Black America.”

Many sections of the novel include a heavy amount of dialogue which vibrantly brings the characters to life and evokes a lot of humour. Though many of these figures might feel over-the-top and satirical their blatant prejudice or weariness at having to navigate racism is also frighteningly realistic. There are multiple occasions where some white characters stop themselves from verbalizing racial epithets as they are aware of how they'll be perceived. This culminates in a hilariously accurate fictional speech by Trump commenting on the violence sweeping across the country. In a way the verbal exchanges almost feel like a documentary film where the characters reveal more about themselves than they intend to. There's also a warm sense of camaraderie amongst characters such as the two special detectives and other black/Asian authorities that investigate these crimes as they are all too aware about the unequal system they inhabit. However, this also serves as a basis for conflict as there are wildly divergent views about how to disrupt the legacy of racism which is an endemic part of American life.

One of the most crucial characters in this story is the spirited Mama Z who is 105 years old and has been building a list of every black individual who has been lynched ever since her father was hung in a racist attack. Part of this list (which numbers in the thousands) is reproduced in the text of the novel and builds upon the “say their names” declarations most recently promulgated by the Black Lives Matter movement. It's a testimony to the loss of each individual amidst numbers which could be reduced to statistics. This also highlights how this is an issue which has persisted throughout American history. A canny individual named Gertrude observes: “Everybody talks about genocides around the world, but when the killing is slow and spread over a hundred years, no one notices. When there are no mass graves, no one notices. American outrage is always for show. It has a shelf life.” This novel makes a powerful statement that these issues will persist outside of isolated bouts of protest. It conveys this not simply through the book's themes but in how Everett so skilfully balances an atmosphere of comedy and horror in the structure of the novel itself. I was so impressed by this book's gripping story as well as its serious message.

The Colony by Audrey Magee

On a small, sparsely-populated and remote Irish island there is an ageing population that still speaks their native Irish language, but they are steadily dying out. One of the remaining youngest island residents is James who prefers to speak English and be addressed by his English name rather than his Irish name Seamus. Two foreigners separately travel to this island for their own purposes. There is irascible London artist Lloyd who wants to create paintings that capture the island's beauty and its inhabitants. He hopes to produce great works that will establish him as the “Gauguin of the North”. There's also Frenchman Jean-Pierre, a linguist who has been making excursions to the island for many years to record how the “purity” of this spoken language is slowly changing with the increasing influence of English. He wants to write an account of whether true Irishness can be preserved and Lloyd's presence is mucking up his plans. The two bicker and clash over their right to be on this island. The actual residents of the island grudgingly tolerate both of them as they are paying guests who bring in much needed capital as the native fishing industry has also been dying out – quite literally as both James' father and grandfather died at sea. 

This is a slow burning drama that builds to say something much bigger about notions of national purity and colonialism. I admire how Magee approaches this on a very human level – as she did in a very different set of circumstances in her powerful debut novel “The Undertaking”. This new novel opens with a very funny scene where Lloyd insists on being ferried out to the island via an outmoded form of boat transport that's so rocky he's frequently sea sick. However, the heart of the novel is with the character of James who is caught between two worlds and whose opportunities are very narrow. He desperately wants to avoid following the family tradition of becoming a fisherman and finds a new passion in painting from his interactions with Lloyd. It's so moving how he develops an affinity for the spiky gentleman and what he can offer him as Lloyd suggests the boy's natural talent might go down well in the London art scene. Conversely, James is repulsed by the attention of Jean-Pierre who tries to get James to use his Irish name and preserve his native language. This all raises such strong questions about the meaning of national identity and who decides the fate of individuals and a distinct group of people.

Interspersed with the narrative about life on this island are short - almost journalistic - accounts of victims of The Troubles. These brief glimpses into lives that have been destroyed have the sobering effect of showing how ordinary individuals and families suffer while issues to do with Irishness and colonization are being more violently fought over. Even on the remote outpost of this island this longstanding war touches its citizens. Though Lloyd and Jean-Pierre believe their presence is benign or altruistic, they have a pernicious impact on James who finds himself left in as hopeless a position as before they arrived. The same is true for James' mother who (against the wishes of her family and the community) models for Lloyd and expresses her desire for a sense of permanence in Molly Bloom-esque soliloquies. The effect of this story is haunting. Its writing is so finely tuned with dialogue which fully brings to life these characters and their points of difference. Magee conjures a sense of tragedy that is very moving and impactful. 

Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan

What makes a classic Christmas story? When I think about some of the most well-known Christmas tales such as “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens or the short story 'The Greatest Gift' by Philip Van Doren Stern (which inspired the film 'It's a Wonderful Life') or the Christmas sections of “Little Women” by Louisa May Alcott, the predominant festive themes concern homecoming and a spirit of generosity. 

Claire Keegan's new novella “Small Things Like These” fits right into this tradition while also providing a stealthy dose of powerful social commentary. It's 1985 in a small Irish town and in the lead up to Christmas, Bill Furlong, a coal and timber merchant is very busy making deliveries to members of the community. Life is hard with the demands of work and family, but he and his wife have a strong partnership raising their five daughters. On Bill's rounds to the local convent - which is one of his best customers - he discovers something extremely distressing about the “training school for girls” which the nuns run there. It leaves him questioning whether he should intervene and how much he's personally willing to risk in order to do what he feels is right.

For such a brief book, this story says so much. It's filled with perfectly-pitched descriptions of physical details and dialogue which bring this humble community to life. There are evocative scenes of preparing a Christmas cake and a festive celebration. At first it feels like a highly supportive environment, but gradually we become aware of the sinister meaning behind what is not said. There's a conversation Bill has with his colleague Mrs Kehoe where she states “Tis no affair of mine, you understand, but you know you'd want to watch over what you'd say about what's there? Keep the enemy close, the bad dog with you and the good dog will not bite. You know yourself.” Though it feels like Bill has a clear moral choice to make there are social and financial pressures which make his decisions much harder.

It's clever how Bill's personal history as an orphan is weaved into the story of the present. He feels extremely fortunate to have had a benefactor who supported him. But there are aspects to his identity which have been hidden from him or not spoken about until an encounter he has while out for a visit. This makes him reflect: “Why were the things that were closest so often the hardest to see?” Keegan brilliantly portrays the way in which we create a narrative about our lives that is strongly influenced by the ideas and values of people around us so that sometimes the truth can remain obscured. But there are moments when it is revealed and this creates startling moments of realisation and ruptures in our reality. This novella dramatises an example of this on both a personal and wider community level.

Keegan's novella does that rare thing of facing the cruel facts of the world and creating a heartwarming story which is in no way sentimental but perfectly justified in its conclusion. It's what makes this novella a genuine Christmas story alongside the fact that it is set around the festive season. “A Christmas Carol” even plays a funny part in the story where Bill remembers the disappointment of being given a copy of the book (which smelled of must.) At the end of the book a note on the text provides some sobering context and information about Magdalene Laundries. Though the facts are shocking, it's even more startling to imagine how many communities must have been quietly complicit with what was happening in these institutions. It's powerful how this story reminds us to be vigilant and care for everyone around us – especially the most vulnerable.

Oh William! by Elizabeth Strout

Some literary writers create a character who they continuously return to in a series of books and (because that character is an author) seem to be an obvious foil for the writer themselves. “Oh William!” is the third book in a series after “My Name is Lucy Barton” and “Anything is Possible”. I'm not trying to suggest Lucy is directly based on Strout's own personality and past – I think it's more that she's become a way for the author to chart feelings of what ageing and experience do to a person over time. Since it's been five years since we readers were first introduced to Lucy we're also older and more experienced (if we've been following her story since the beginning). In this new novel Lucy becomes an even more more dynamic and rounded character as we learn more about her history, her point of view and her continuing quest to understand her position in the world. 

This book picks up with Lucy later in her life after the death of her beloved second husband. When her first husband William discovers he has a half-sister Lois whom he's never met he invites Lucy to join him on a journey to Maine where Lois lives and where his mother Catherine had an early first marriage which she ran away from. It's a road trip novel, but it's also about the complex evolution of Lucy's relationship with William over time. This isn't about will they or won't they get back together. It's more about the meaning they have in each other's lives and how the people who know us the best can both support and stultify us. In some ways, it's also about the contrast between Lucy and her mother-in-law Catherine's lives. Both women came from very impoverished families but grew to succeed and inhabit respectable positions in the world yet they inhabit adulthood with very different levels of confidence.

Strout is a master at describing great subtlety of feeling using language and a style of writing that's very approachable and enjoyable to read. A large part of the pleasure of this book derives from having read the first two novels so I'm not sure I'd recommend reading this new book without having read the previous books. However, for me, it's a joy returning to Lucy's voice and disconcertingly existential point of view. She describes how “I have always thought that if there was a big corkboard and on that board was a pin for every person who ever lived, there would be no pin for me. I feel invisible, is what I mean.” Yet her understanding and sense of self grows over the course of this story and ultimately leads her to admit “I am not invisible no matter how deeply I feel that I am.” William sometimes has an abrasive demeanour and this journey reminds her of that and why they separated, but they also share a history and a heightened sense of intimacy. For instance, they still use pet names with each other. It's these interactions and the sense of a longstanding bond with William, her daughters and others which cement her place in the world rather than the accomplishments which come from being a successful author.

This is also a story about the process of memory. Although Lucy is sincere and open we're made to wonder if her memories are entirely true when she makes statements such as “It is easy to recall this now, but in my memory it is true.” There are emotionally painful subjects she often prefers to avoid and self consciously states she doesn't want to talk about or discuss anymore since they were already covered in the first two books by Strout (and the memoirs Barton has written within the story.) But there are moments and experiences she naturally circles back to as they were pivotal aspects of her life which have influenced and haunt her. These can be small details such as Catherine's tangerine coloured couch which takes such a presence in her recollections of her mother-in-law. Or she alights upon striking metaphors for encapsulating more universal experiences of the past. I love how she describes the feeling of “the curtain of childhood” around her when recalling the terror and frustrations of youth. This so accurately captures that feeling of being shrouded in naivety when we're young.

However, despite there being many poignant moments and this being such a pleasurable book to read I don't think it's Strout's best. The story itself is quite meandering and leisurely so it doesn't feel as focused as the previous novels. This is partly due to the style of narrative where we so closely follow Lucy's thought process and reasoning. Some sections end too wistfully with lines such as “But who ever really knows the experience of another?” Nevertheless, I personally enjoyed the experience of reading this book so much because it felt tremendously comforting and contains some poignant reflections. There are also points of reference and in-jokes about the experience of being in Maine such as the fact Mainers eat their meals so early which makes Lucy wonder: “When does anybody in this state eat?” But primarily I appreciate the thoughtful distinction this story makes between inhabiting somewhere and feeling like you belong. I know it will be enjoyable to go back to the previous two books and read this series in order to pick up on more clues and follow Lucy's gradual transformation. So, while this new novel might not be among the best books I've read this year, it is one of the most pleasing.