Whale by Cheon Myeong-Kwan (translated by Chi-Young Kim)

It's not often that I finish reading a novel and I'm so uncertain how I feel about it. You might think that such ambivalence might be an indication of great artfulness, but I'm not so sure. It might just mean this is a really messy book.

It's puzzling what to make of this carnivalesque, multi-generational fable. It's something like a mash up of the novels “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, “Orlando”, “Norwegian Wood” and “A Little Life”. It's at once fantastical and rooted in a specific period of South Korean history. It places women at the centre of the story showing their resilience and struggles in a male-dominated society, but it also sexually objectifies them. Its playful narrative voice is both charming and aggravating. It philosophically explores aspects of society and human nature, yet it's also sometimes simplistic in its observations. It's about alienation, love, greed, loneliness, revenge and large penises.

So it's difficult to know how to respond to this highly imaginative tale which primarily centres around Geumbok, a woman from humble origins whose business acumen leads her to achieve great success, and her mute daughter Chunhui whose imposing body possesses supernatural strength. The picaresque story presents their lives in a series of episodes which loop back on themselves with plenty of digressions and side characters who frequently return whether they are living or dead. It's a wild adventure which is both wondrous and frustrating.

There are many disturbing scenes of abuse, mutilation and rape. It's not the depiction of these actions which is objectionable but they are presented in a way which almost feels cartoonish because there are few physical or psychological consequences. This is probably because the mode of storytelling is like a fairy tale which isn't concerned with realistic repercussions. But then, it's a novel that's also rooted in history because it refers to the war between the north and south, the battle against communist sentiment and the popularity of John Wayne movies. So it's confusing to know whether the narrator is taking these scenes of brutality seriously or just using violence as a way to embellish the plot.

The story also casts long lingering indulgent looks at the female body describing breasts, women's genitals and large asses. This isn't simply reflecting the way they are objectified by male characters. These are often juvenile representations which don't really serve a purpose except to titillate or repulse. Equally when men are physically described it frequently focuses on characteristics such as imposing muscles or a pitiful lack of muscle or a sexual organ so large no woman could possibly resist it. Later on in the novel there is also a gender transformation which occurs or an apparent transformation. This could have been interesting but it occurs in a point in the character's life when it's not about their inability to achieve success as a woman, but about meeting a young woman so desirable the only way this character can be with her is to present herself as a man. Yes, it mentions how this character found it easier to no longer be sexually objectified as a woman but really she was progressing fine on her own. Moreover, when this character switches genders their personality also instantly changes from caring and empathetic to greedy and unkind. So rather than this being a method of exploring nuance it feels like it's simply reinforcing the gender binary.

To be honest, as discomfiting and off putting as many of these things were I could have tolerated them more if I didn't find the narration so irritating. The authorial voice guides us through this tale and frequently speaks to the reader in a casual and direct manner. At times this is quite playful, but it often questions the validity of the story being told. There are wistful speculations on possible reasons for characters' motivations and reasoning. A rhythm is built whereby the consequences of a scene are described as happening because “This is the law of... ideology, habit or gambling.” This comes to feel more simplistic than profound or rueful. It also calls into question the truth about the story being presented. For instance, in one scene a character drowns. The narrator questions whether this was really a suicide as it was initially presented but then goes on to describe in detail how this suicide actually occurred. So what's the point of the narrator raising uncertainty or claiming that certain things are unknown? The story almost always shows and makes it very clear what actually happened and why. Yes, there are many things about history which can't be known because we have no tangible evidence. But if a story is presented in a way which is definitive and allows no room for ambiguity why are you questioning it – especially as the reader is never given anything about the identity or motivations of the authorial voice? It comes across as very muddled.

Despite all these troubling aspects of the novel there's a lot about this story which is fun and surprising. I'm not trying to contradict all the points I just made, but it's definitely an engaging tale in terms of spectacle. So I was often compelled to continue reading it just to see what would happen next and its final sections are quite moving in how the story comes together. This is especially true in the disconnection between mother and daughter. The mother's drive for autonomy leads her to emotionally distance herself from her imposing daughter while maintaining a deep sentimental attachment for a gigantic sea creature leading her to build a movie theatre shaped like a whale. Equally, the daughter who has suffered tremendous abuse because of her simple and straightforward relationship with the world longs terribly for an emotional connection which can only be found with the spirit of an elephant. Rather than being able to forge honest human relationships their feelings are projected onto these giant animals in a way which I found deeply poignant.

So how do I ultimately feel about this novel? I'm really not sure: I felt frustrated and even irritated by some aspects. At other times I was absorbed by the sheer bombastic nature of it. However, a lot of that comes down to spectacle. Clearly it contains a lot of creativity and imagination, but is there a deeper meaning? I'm not convinced.

Ghost Town by Kevin Chen (translated by Darryl Sterk)

“Ghost Town” is the story of Keith, a young gay man from Taiwan who moves to Germany but eventually goes back to the hometown and family he vowed never to returned to. He's just been released from prison and there is an ongoing mystery as to the circumstances surrounding his incarceration. It also follows the lives of his siblings and parents who've all experienced big disappointments in life because of the repressive conditions and limited opportunities of their provincial Taiwanese village. The premise of this novel had a lot of potential, but I found the structure of the narrative very jarring with its shifting points of view and time lines that constantly jump back and forth. This meant that it was both repetitious and confusing. There are a lot of characters so it's challenging to keep track of them all. There's also too many plot lines to adequately do justice to the complexity and nuance of the subjects raised including domestic abuse, suicide, mental health issues and public shaming. As such, I found it difficult to feel emotionally invested in this book. It was perhaps too ambitious of the author to try to present such a panoramic account of this family and it might have worked better if he'd focused on a single point of view.

Though Keith seems to be at the heart of the story he's strangely absent for most of the novel as we only get brief glimpses of his life and cryptic clues as to the traumatic events he's experienced. It's only toward the end that he comes to the forefront and by this point the story rushes through an explanation of violent events which could have filled up the entire book. Keith is a writer who has been published and achieved some success. The explicit details about gay life within his work has shocked some people from his native village and further ostracised him. So it's almost paradoxical that there are so few overt gay experiences shown in “Ghost Town”. There's a lack of descriptive power in his cruising and first sexual encounter with T, a man Keith meets and marries in Germany. It's noted how “they caused the little bed to quake” but while having sex Keith also gets a new idea for a novel and bizarrely muses on the sound of termites. Because the events he survives are rushed through they also often lacked plausibility.

The most effective scenes were when all the siblings were reunited. Here the dialogue between them felt authentic because it was often awkward and infused with a deep familiarity for each other's personalities. I liked that the narrative points of view varied between the living and the dead. However, I felt this could have been developed further to add more poignancy and it reverted too frequently to banal statements from the deceased such as “Is it good to be a ghost? I say it's great.” There were interesting side characters such as a gay couple who operated a bookshop and got arrested after a betrayal. As the case with most threads of this novel, their storyline could have been expanded upon more. Overall I think this book tries to contain too much so, in the end, it adds up to too little.

Cathedral by Ben Hopkins

When going on holidays to foreign European cities I'll sometimes visit cathedrals as this seems like the thing tourists should do. I remember walking through a cathedral in Portugal and passing an Irishman who impatiently sighed to his friend “I don't wanna visit another feckin church.” I too wander around their cool-aired interiors staring up in befuddled wonder, gazing at the majesty of it all but uncertain why I'm visiting a centuries-old monument. Even if I'm impressed by its beauty and stature I can't help thinking how such solemn grandeur must have demanded considerable sacrifice and been built with untold backbreaking labour. 

The impetus for Ben Hopkins' novel “Cathedral” is the construction of a principle church for the diocese in the fictional German town of Hagenburg. Taking place over the 1200s & 1300s, it follows the lives of several characters from many different levels of society whose fortunes rise and fall over time. Even after a century as bishops and popes come and go, the cathedral still hasn't been completed because of frequent societal tumult, a lack of funds and the complexity of building such a structure. Its place at the centre of the novel is more symbolic because the real focus of this impressive and immersive historical novel is a shift in society as capitalist opportunities disrupt the feudal system which governed Europe during that time. Enterprising peasants ascend in power to challenge the nobility and feckless noblemen find themselves ousted by opportunists. However, religious and political instability means that no one's status is secure and it's thrilling to follow the fates of the many fascinating characters who we encounter.

The novel is organized into four parts with chapters switching focus between a number of individuals. Some characters are revisited at a later date and others meet an untimely end. Given the pervasive violence of the time it's not surprising many lives are cut short. It's touching how a character who dies is memorialised by the author at the end of a chapter with the dates of their birth and death. Chance and circumstance play into who makes it or doesn't so it's tense seeing who survives and who perishes over the years. Initially I struggled to follow some of the storylines and keep track of the many characters as it's quite an epic and complicated tale. At one point I went back to reread several chapters to straighten out some factors and the dramatic consequences of certain events, but it was well worth doing this as it builds to an extremely worthwhile and wondrous story. I only wish a character list with brief descriptions had been included at the beginning of the book as this would have been a useful reference while reading the novel.

Three primary characters emerge from a serf family to ascend to different levels of wealth and achievement. Two brothers and a sister use their cunning and intelligence to establish themselves in different parts of this community. Following their progress we get a glimpse into various factions of society which alternately bargain, betray and fight with one another. We also come to see the personal expense and compromises which must be made as these characters encounter the pervasive sexist, homophobic and anti-Semitic attitudes. It's particularly fascinating to read how Christian and Jewish communities who couldn't openly do business with each other found ways around the restrictions by using intermediaries. Other sections describe how defending religion is used as an excuse to legally pillage wealthy groups of people to fund the expense of constructing the cathedral. The intimidating bishop's treasurer Eugenius von Zabern ominously remarks “God forgive me, but there could be good revenue in this heresy hunt.” Whether the persecuted are heretics or not is often beside the point because the religious powers see the potential financial and political gains from the accused.

I grew attached to many of the vibrant personalities in this novel whether they were villainous or virtuous, but I was particularly impressed with the way in which the author sympathetically portrays the life of a gay man who manages to maintain a same sex relationship for a period of time. Ben Hopkins stays true to how each character is a complex individual with many different parts to their identity while also showing how their sensibilities are shaped by the circumstances and ideologies of this time period. It's what makes reading this historical novel such an immersive experience. There are also small enticing mysteries scattered throughout the book such as a missing intricate drawing for a grand window and the unknown identity of a bandit leader. As well as telling a thrilling story this is also a contemplative book which raises deeper questions about how politics came to be so driven by capitalism and how the complexity of history can be smoothed out by the dominant narrative. The cathedral comes to symbolize so much more than an achievement of construction built for religious glory. It's also the product of political manoeuvring and the remnant of a powerful leader's ego. At one point Eugenius wonders 'What is this new cathedral but the product of vanity?' I doubt I'll regard any cathedral I visit in the future with the same bland passivity because there must be countless stories attached to ever block of stone that went into it. “Cathedral” is a truly wondrous, entertaining and clever novel that's given me a new perspective.

Interior Chinatown by Charles Yu

When I was growing up one of my favourite parts of visiting a big city was going to that city's Chinatown. I don't think I ever necessarily felt I was getting an “authentic” Chinese experience but I enjoyed the food, confectionary and atmosphere. It wasn't until I read the author Madeline Thien's article 'Farewell to the fairy palace: are Chinatowns obsolete?' that I started thinking more complexly about these physical locations and how their “deliberately exoticised” architecture is more for tourists rather than its residents. Also, Chinatowns' “alleyways and buildings are the physical evidence of a discriminatory history”. The development, appearance and history of these locations is something the journalist Bonnie Tsui has written about extensively. Thien refers to Tsui's writing in that article and Charles Yu repeatedly quotes her in his novel “Interior Chinatown”. The story creatively and entertainingly lifts the lid not only on a location, but the hearts and minds of its characters whose sense of self is often occluded by stereotypes and (literally) the roles they are forced to play. 

The novel takes the form of a script for a TV drama cop show called “Black and White” that's set in the Golden Palace restaurant in Chinatown. Our hero is Willis Wu, but he is not the hero of this show. Rather he's an extra often relegated to being the “Generic Asian Man” in the background. He has a clear idea of the series of roles he hopes to obtain as a stepladder to achieving what he sees as the supreme part of “Kung Fu Guy”. That this is the ultimate he can aspire to says a lot about the limited ways a Western audience is prepared to see Asian actors in their TV shows and, by extension, in Western society itself. But this doesn't come across in a didactic way. Rather, Willis' aspirations are so sincere that he's an extremely endearing character who becomes more conflicted, layered and complex as we follow his journey and bungled attempts to become the lead in a show whose inherent structure won't ever allow him this status.

Although it doesn't use a conventional form of narrative this novel is very easy to read because it plays upon generic notions we're all familiar with from watching films and television. It's very funny because we can anticipate the characters' scripted response to a situation, but as the story progresses this humour becomes laced with the melancholy and frustration of individuals who are locked into playing certain roles. There's almost a sci-fi quality to the novel's structure in that reality melds into this TV drama so that it almost feels like Willis is a character in a video game repeatedly playing out set scenarios in the valiant hope of becoming the victor. At the same time we get the backstories of various other people in Willis' life. Even if these individuals have achieved the ultimate roles available to them age soon relegates them to debased parts. Distinctions are also made between the discriminatory experiences felt by different minority groups. Gradually figures emerge who help Willis understand that he shouldn't limit his expectations for who he can become.

The overall tone of this novel is humorous and clever, but the author doesn't shirk from listing historical incidents where legislature in the US excluded Asian people from immigrating to and owning property in the country. It not only makes the reader reassess their understanding of American history but also their personal experience of how Asian culture and identity has been packaged for Western consumption. It definitely made me think about the television and movies I watched growing up where Asian actors were more often cast to play stereotypes rather than fully rounded characters. I'm glad this novel recently won the National Book Award as its clear concept is so expertly built into a fully engaging story, but the nuance and complexity of what it really says has a moving and haunting effect.

The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree by Shokoofeh Azar (translated by Anonymous)

When I want to learn about world events and political revolutions there's a reason why I don't only read newspaper articles and history books. There's so much more to a country, its people and their culture than can be found in facts. “The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree” describes an Iranian family splintered apart by the country's 1979 Islamic Revolution. They flee their home in Tehran and settle in a small village with the hope of continuing their lives in relative peace but find the new regime imposes changes which hinder or end their lives. The novel doesn't shrink from the brutality of what happens to people who are imprisoned, murdered or suffer wider violence because their beliefs and opinions run counter to the new order. But it also fills these stories with fantastic occurrences including encounters with jinns and a girl who morphs into a mermaid. These tales which draw upon Persian mythology are a way for the characters to process what's happening to them but they also keep their culture alive when it's being quashed by an enforced monotheistic government. A character named Beeta comments “when life is so deficient and mundane why shouldn't imagination supplement reality to liven it up?” So this novel's method of telling also produces an enthralling and beautifully inventive story. 

It's noted how many people in the country simply want to get used to the new ruling order but by situating their personal stories within the full breadth of their community's folklore the family commit a passionate act of defiance. Similarly, they seek to defend what is being censored or erased. They are great readers whose books include many titles from Western literature as well as Persian poetry. One of the most vivid and striking scenes comes when their library is being burned in a cruelly slapdash fashion. Bahar, the narrator of this novel witnesses its destruction and while it is perishing she recalls many characters and lines from the books going up in flames. It feels as if holding them in her thoughts will make them continue past the physical pages' destruction. Indeed, the father encourages the family to write down as much as they can remember from the books which have been lost.

Much later, a harrowing moment occurs when the imprisoned father is ordered to write a confession by the morality police and instead recreates the fantastical tales of his family life. It seems just as difficult for his captors to believe in the tragic losses he's suffered as a result of the regime change as it is for them to believe in vengeful spirits. It's powerful how Azar implies it's just as dangerous to be unaware of the full consequences of wider political changes as it is to blindly follow the dictates of a new order.

When revolutionary guards check the family's car for forbidden items they discover a copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's “One Hundred Years of Solitude”. The framework for “The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree” is somewhat influenced by that novel's style but, as Azar has noted, it's also based in magical realism that can be found in Persian literature. Since I read this novel as part of the Booker International Prize shortlist, it's an interesting coincidence that another book on the list “Hurricane Season” was also directly influenced by another Marquez novel. An enjoyable part of following prize lists is noticing small parallels like this between very different books.

Overall, I felt this is a stunning novel which is full of passion and romance. It's also very effective in giving voice to those whose stories aren't accounted for in most history books. It makes me want to know more about the country's history as well as its culture and literature.

Farewell, My Orange by Iwaki Kei (translated by Meredith McKinney)

There’s perhaps no greater challenge to one’s sense of self than travelling to a foreign country where you don’t speak the language. This experience is so instantly disorientating and isolating that you’re forced back into a state of infantilism struggling to communicate what you mean with those around you. It also provokes self-reflection making you consider assumptions about the meaning of culture and language. Whenever I’ve spent time in a foreign country I’ve felt simultaneously energised with curiosity and very vulnerable as I pondered these issues. This experience is powerfully conveyed in Iwaki Kei’s novella “Farewell, My Orange”. The story primarily focuses on the experience of two women who move to Australia: Salimah from Nigeria and Sayuri from Japan. They meet in an English language class. Gradually they form a bond amidst their different feelings of estrangement and establish a more robust sense of independence. It’s a poignant tale of friendship that considers the ways in which meaning is filtered through language.

Having left Nigeria with her family under strained circumstances, Salimah’s husband abruptly leaves her. Suddenly she’s the sole provider for her two sons so finds work in the meat department of a grocery store. Along with this enormous responsibility, she takes steps to learn English. Accounts of her experience are interspersed with letters that Sayuri writes to a teacher back in her native Japan. She moved to Australia because of her husband’s work and although she was an advanced student in her native country, she’s forced to enrol in a basic English class to learn the language. When tragedy strikes she must reckon with the direction she wants her life to take. Fascinatingly, the beginning of Salimah and Sayuri’s friendship starts before they can even communicate with each other. Their connection is formed not so much through speaking to each other but an awareness of each other – through gestures and presence. I think this is so interesting because it highlights how our sense of other people is mostly formed from observation rather than what people directly say to us.  

Sayuri’s accounts written in letter form are more naturally self-reflective as she ponders the various ways living somewhere that she doesn’t speak the language is disorientating and sharpens her senses. She observes how “While one lives in a foreign country, language's main function is as a means of self-protection and a weapon in one's fight with the world. You can't fight without a weapon.” It’s curious how language is something that feels second-nature to us most of the time but when we don’t have the right words we’re left defenceless and unable to express our needs. This applies to both basic physical needs and emotions whose subtlety can become completely lost when we can only gesture or speak in broad terms. Therefore, the connection between Salimah, Sayuri and other individuals in their class is formed more from an intuitive understanding of each other’s needs as women and mothers in a country that is foreign to all of them.

Although so many things about the environment and culture are different for Salimah, the one consistency she clings to is the colour of the setting sun which was the same in Nigeria. It’s really poignant how Kei describes Salimah’s story as the meaning of home slowly shifts for her and this change allows a more expansive potential to grow in ways she never considered before. It’s also shown how expression through language is both communal and highly individual: “the cultivation of the written word, the language that sustains thought, is an individual matter, a thing that endlessly changes as it's propagated inside each person's head.” We instinctively revise what we want to say and write in our minds before putting it out into the world. This is done as we reach for the right words which will better express our feelings and ideas. These women’s stories capture this sense in an absolutely fascinating way and I was greatly moved by their journeys.

The Revolution of the Moon by Andrea Camilleri (translated by Stephen Sartarelli)

Recently I was discussing with someone what makes good historical fiction. The kind of historical novels I love most are those that build stories out of footnotes in history to give you a different perspective on a particular time period. There are often little intriguing details you come across in historical accounts which obviously have larger stories to tell. It provides such a tempting jumping off point for an author to fictionally fill in the gaps within history books. Pursuing the question of why these gaps exist is itself an interesting question that can also be explored in the telling. So it’s not surprising that Andrea Camilleri was intrigued by the fact that the widow donna Eleanora became the viceroy of Sicily in 1677 for only twenty seven days after her husband’s death and how there are only a few references to the radical progressive reforms she tried to enact in that short time. He’s built out of this a wonderfully gripping, comic and fascinating tale of a cunning woman who took a position of great power and her struggles amidst the reigning corrupt patriarchy of the time.

Camilleri mostly focuses on the perspectives of the male officials of the court rather than Eleanora herself. For the majority of the novel she exists in the background as a spectral figure and is even described as hovering. It’s as if, like the moon, she rises as a powerful presence in the night to illuminate the reigning darkness. The cycle of the moon lasts exactly as long as Eleanora held her position as viceroy – hence the novel’s title “The Revolution of the Moon.” The way in which we read about the lives of these corrupt officials scrambling to shore up their power and maintain their wealth/positions amidst Eleanora’s changes makes much of this novel satirical in tone. It’s a comedy that exposes the arrogance and pettiness of these princes, rich merchants and members of the clergy who are suddenly put into a tailspin as they might finally be persecuted. But, like the best satire, this tone of narration comes from a place of real anger as Camilleri depicts the way these men’s actions exploit the working class and abuse vulnerable women and children.

The plot intriguingly follows the difficulties in persecuting these entitled men and a great tension arises as to whether they will slyly evade punishment before Eleanora is removed from power. It was also interesting learning about how the governing of Sicily functioned at this time of history. There was a complicated arrangement by which the king of Spain ruled over the country, but never had direct involvement in its politics which were all handled by viceroy. That viceroy’s position was also partly controlled by the pope. It meant that Eleanora had to be very careful negotiating between the powers, the influential patriarchy and the will of the Sicilian people. Camilleri depicts the strategies of the opposing sides like a tense game where each is trying to outwit the other. It’s amazing Eleanora was able to enact humanitarian changes and weed out some of the blatantly corrupt as she did in such a relatively short time period! I can’t help thinking her story is somewhat reminiscent of that of Lady Jane Grey who almost a century earlier ruled as Queen of England for only nine days. It’s a sad fact that many progressive women in history who would have made excellent leaders were swiftly removed from office by ruling powers more interested in maintaining the status quo. 

Last month I started reading Boccaccio’s “The Decameron” but I was put off by what felt like an overriding misogynistic humour throughout many of the stories. (I made a whole video here asking how we ought to read problematic classics.) Part of what made me love reading “The Revolution of the Moon” so much was the way Camilleri similarly depicted the cruel reality for many women and working class at this time of history and how their subjugation was tied in with the laws of the nation. I felt Boccaccio made their downtrodden condition into the basis for humour without exploring these characters’ humanity. But Camilleri shows the plight of the disenfranchised and how many were eager for social change. He also makes the arrogant patriarchy into the butt of the joke rather than those who are their victims. It makes this novel into an inspiring, heartrending and thoroughly enjoyable read. 

Guapa by Saleem Haddad

It’s important for any oppressed minority group to have a physical location where people can come together to socialize, organize and form a sense of identity together. In Saleem Haddad’s striking debut novel that place is a bar called Guapa with its bustling mixed clientele on one level and a more radically charged groups who watch cabaret performances on a lower level. It's interesting how the descriptions of this place feel very recognizable to read about as if it were any gay-friendly bar in Berlin or New York City, but the bar's patrons and the issues they raise when speaking to narrator Rasa are specific to the location. This is within an unnamed Middle Eastern city undergoing extreme political turmoil. The novel follows a day in the life of Rasa, a young gay man who lives with his grandmother and has been working to found a new media company after a period studying in America. As the city teeters on revolt against the authoritarian military regime, closeted Rasa's personal life undergoes its own upheaval having been discovered in bed with his boyfriend/habibi Taymour by his grandmother. This highly engaging story describes with great passion and intelligence how Rasa feels isolated within a society which is divided by Eastern/Western values and straight/gay culture.

Rasa realizes that he's gay during his adolescence and after his first sexual encounter he experiences a divided sense of self which comes from being homosexual in a repressive heterosexual culture: “I was two people now, in two separate realities, where the rules in one were suspended and different from those in the other.” After his father dies from terminal cancer and his mother disappears he's left alone with his loving but conservative grandmother. He goes to university in America where he thinks he'll find the freedom to be himself and hangs a poster of George Michael above his bed. But interestingly he experiences a more intense level of aloneness here - especially because he's in America when the planes crash into the twin towers and he's made more aware of his “otherness”. He describes this with great feeling “I was no longer someone with thoughts and dreams and secrets. I was the by-product of an oppressive culture, an ambassador of a people at war with civilization.” While he struggles to connect with people socially and romantically in America, he does discover authors such as Amin Maalouf, Karl Marx, Partha Chatterjee and Edward Said. Their books introduce him to systems of thought which help give him perspective and better understand the world around him.

Rasa listen's to Oum Kalthoum's sing 'The Ruins' whose lyrics seem especially relevant to his troubled love affair with Taymour

When Rasa moves back to his grandmother's apartment in the Middle East he's determined to help facilitate change within society alongside his friend Maj who stages subversive drag acts. But they encounter many unique problems which make any progress extremely challenging. Maj in particular is frequently beaten and arrested because he's an effeminate man who is vociferous about his political opinions. When Rasa falls for Taymour he wishes to create a secret shared space where they can love in the way they naturally desire. It's moving when he describes how his feelings for Taymour are bound up with feelings for his homeland: “I loved Taymour because he was from here, because everything in him reminded me of everything here, because to love him was to love this city and its history. And yet I couldn’t love him because he was from here and so held ideas of how to be and how to love, which would never fit in with the love that we shared.” The contradictions and divisions in the society around them follow them into the privacy of the bedroom. This is what makes it a tragic love story.

“Guapa” is ultimately an inspiring novel written in a vigorous and convincing voice. Rasa forcefully asserts his individuality outside of any stereotypes or expectations of how any society wants him to conform. It was an immense joy and pleasure to read this book.

Sergio Y by Alexandre Vidal Porto (translated by Alex Ladd)

Sometimes real happiness can only be found through a radical process of self reinvention. It takes a considerable amount of courage to move to a new country on your own, leave behind everything that’s been familiar or change your name to become another person. “Sergio Y” is powerful novel about how some people aren’t able to really be themselves or fulfil their potential within the family, community or even the body that they were born into. It’s about the extensive lengths some must go to and the hardships they must endure to fully inhabit the life they were meant to live. This novel is also a compelling mystery whose story becomes more and more intriguing with every new bit of information its obsessive narrator tracks down. 

There can be something really powerful in a good tale told in a simple direct prose style. “Sergio Y” is narrated in short sections by a seventy year old therapist named Armando about incidents surrounding his client Sergio Yacoubian. Armando boasts that he is one of the most respected doctors in São Paulo, but Sergio's case haunted him for many years and became something of an obsession. Sergio came to see him as a teenager troubled by a sadness he didn't understand. After months of sessions in which they discussed his life, particularly his great-grandfather's emigration to Brazil where he escaped the massacres which occurred during the Turkish war in the early 20th century, Sergio alighted upon a path towards happiness. He moved to New York City and went through the process of transitioning from male to female. However, Armando wasn’t aware of the fact Sergio was transgendered when he treated him. Consumed with guilt about a case he didn’t fully understand, Armando investigates what happened to Sandra by speaking to her family, American therapist and her troubled neighbour. Gradually he comes to a better understanding of what it means to seek real happiness in life.

Although this novel has a deeply tragic element to it, it’s admirable how Porto makes of the story something ultimately hopeful. He shows that strength of will and determination can triumph over circumstance. Here he movingly describes the state of mind required to initiate radical change: "Many manage to improve on the first drafts of the lives they are given. But for that they need the courage to jump off a diving board fifty meters high, blindfolded, not knowing if it is water or asphalt that awaits them below." This novel is also a sympathetic and refreshing portrait a transgender individual. Even though I read about an equally compelling transgender character in Jenni Fagan’s recent novel "The Sunlight Pilgrims" it still feels as if dynamic and interesting characters that were born with the wrong gender don’t often appear in many books. I would love to see more novels where transgender characters appear where their transition isn't necessarily treated as an "issue" but a simple fact. This is something I believe "Sergio Y" somewhat achieves because Sandra herself doesn't struggle with her transition process; it's the doctor who must come to terms with it. It was a great pleasure reading this emotional and fascinating new novel.

Mayumi and the Sea of Happiness by Jennifer Tseng

“Mayumi and the Sea of Happiness” was recommended to me by Poppy in one of the comments on my June post about the best books of 2015 so far. The premise of this novel instantly grabbed me. A middle aged librarian falls for a young man who enters her library and they engage in an intense affair. For me libraries have always been spaces of sexual discovery as well locations for intellectual engagement and community support. Surely many pre-internet bookish teens first found out about sex and romance in the pages of library books. However, it’s also a physical meeting point where you might unexpectedly encounter someone with the possibility of romance. I discussed this at the launch of Ali Smith’s recent book "Public Library" and many people in the audience nodded sympathetically. Librarian Mayumi Saito has read countless novels about illicit affairs from “The Lover” to “Lolita.” Therefore she’s unusually aware about the pitfalls of giving into temptation. Yet she can’t resist the passion she feels for the seventeen-year-old boy she meets making this novel a moving and knowledgeable meditation on love in all its varieties.

Mayumi lives on a small island off the coast of Massachusetts with her husband Var and their young daughter Maria. Her marriage has become loveless leaving Mayumi feeling very lonely. When the young man (who she refuses to name throughout the novel) enters her library he gives her the imaginary possibility of romance that soon becomes an obsession. At first, reading about this is somewhat tedious like listening to a friend describing a continuous romantic fixation. As she acknowledges: “I alone felt the thrill” making it feel of little interest to anyone but herself. Where this novel really picks up is when the physical realization of this love affair sends her careening off into dangerous emotional territory.

There are frequent references to islands throughout this novel – both inhabiting a physical island and an island state of mind. Tseng brilliantly describes the transforming emotional state of Mayumi throughout the book. At first she finds “by reaching out to the young man, I had made myself an island.” This is a place of physical, emotional and sexual satisfaction like none she’s felt in years. But this is an affair with many layers of complexity because of the fact of her current marriage and the extreme age difference between the couple; she knows it must eventually end. This terrifies her in a way she aptly describes here: “The image of my small life without the young man was one of a library with its doors locked, or, simpler and more terrifying, that of a book with half its pages missing.” Her emotions are complicated by fear and guilt. Soon “the island of my mind was such a horror.” She has been irrevocably changed. Her reality is filled with the fear of discovery, the guilt of wronging both her lover and husband and the terror of losing this emotionally vital new part of her life. The novel continues into areas of experience which are unexpected and gripping.

An obvious parallel for this book is Zoe Heller’s “Notes on a Scandal” which follows the affair of a much younger man by a mature woman through a third party. Mayumi doesn’t shy from facing the reality of taking advantage of a man so young blithely acknowledging “In the end, I didn’t mind being a rapist so much as I expected.” There are very real potential legal complications of having sex with a seventeen year old. Added to this are even further levels of emotional complexity when Mayumi becomes friends with the boy’s mother Violet, a solitary individual struggling with her own feelings of dislocation.

I felt a nice twinge of recognition early on in the novel when Mayumi makes a reference to “the Mishima novel about a boy who spies on his mother’s lovemaking.” Having read “The Sailor Who Fell From Grace with the Sea” earlier this year I instantly knew this was the novel she was referring to. Don’t you love it when you instantly know the text being referred to by an author? This will no doubt happen to many people reading this novel as many classic books are referred to throughout the book. In addition to adding to the plot by drawing in a multitude of references to literary love affairs, this also gives pleasure to the reader who knows the central character is such a keen reader herself.

“Mayumi and the Sea of Happiness” is an intense and intimate novel which captures layers of emotion not often covered in the innumerable libraries of novels about tragic love affairs.