Playground by Richard Powers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The List of Suspicious Things by Jennie Godfrey

During the late 1970s a serial killer dubbed by the press as the Yorkshire Ripper was at large for years before finally being caught and identified as Peter Sutcliffe in 1981. This created an atmosphere of fear and suspicion in the area, especially amongst women who obviously didn't feel safe and that the killer could be living next door. Godfrey begins her debut novel with the surprising fact that her father knew Sutcliffe and the shock of this discovery is one of her most vivid memories. This adds an immediate emotional charge to the story of inquisitive 12 year-old protagonist Miv who resides in a Yorkshire community when the novel opens in 1979. Her father raises the possibility that they may move south which sends Miv into a panic that she'll have to leave her best friend Sharon. She reasons that if the killer is identified they won't have to move. Inspired by a favourite Enid Blyton adventure series, Miv and Sharon embark on a mission to make a list of suspects and slyly investigate them. This makes them aware that there are many more troublesome issues and unspoken crimes occurring in their community – even in Miv's own home because for some time her mother has been comatose and won't speak. There's a building dramatic tension as more mysteries are presented, but it's also a tender coming of age story that becomes increasingly emotional as it unfolds. Ultimately, there are many more twists and surprises than the discovery of the killer.

Part of the great joy of this book is its immersive atmosphere depicting the late 70s in Northern England as seen through an adolescent perspective. There's the heady smell of a delicious ginger cake named parkin and the pleasure of getting cans of dandelion and burdock from the corner shop. However, there's also an awareness of unemployment caused by the closure of local industries and the imposing presence of newly elected Margaret Thatcher. Though there is certainly a lot to criticise about Thatcher, one of the main focal points at the time as Britain's first female Prime Minister was the fact of her womanhood. It's apt that this novel opens with Miv's highly opinionated aunt saying that power hardens women and putting “a woman in charge of the country just isn't right.” This sets the tone for the kind of sexism which was so pervasive at the time and which cast a shadow over the investigation of the murders because Sutcliffe's initial targets were female prostitutes. The effects of this can be seen in many ways through attitudes and conversations depicted in the novel, but also how people turned a blind eye to domestic violence and pervy men inappropriately touching young girls. The insidious effects of larger concerns such as racism and mental health issues are also meaningful portrayed in the interactions Miv has with many people.

Godfrey creates a clever structure to humanize these matters in the lives of her characters. As Miv adds more and more suspect people to her list the narrative briefly switches to different individual perspectives. It's charming to get these outside points of view on diligent Miv making her not so subtle inquiries. It also depicts the emotional turmoil and fear gripping these people's lives from the inside. Though this device succeeds in presenting multiple perspectives and a deeper understanding of the issues at stake, it sometimes deals too briefly with certain characters. I wish it had lingered longer with some stories to better appreciate their full complexity. But overall it's an effective way of invoking the connections and drama of a community. Some of the most poignant interactions are between the adolescents themselves – especially Sharon's budding romance with Ishtiaq, a motherless boy with Pakistani heritage who is the target of almost daily racist attacks. The precious friendship between Miv and Sharon is also beautifully presented. It becomes strained as their innocent detective project turns increasingly serious. Godfrey is skilled at showing the all-consuming turmoil which can overwhelm young people leading to horrendous violence. There are many engrossing revelations in this novel and the climax is utterly thrilling. It's a big-hearted book filled with life and personality.

Land of Milk and Honey by C Pam Zhang

This story has all the hallmarks of a dystopian novel as it describes a period of environment collapse with widespread starvation and political turmoil. It's also a utopian story because it's about a dubious attempt to build a refuge to sustain the lives of select humans and animals. Zhang's potent descriptions successfully evoke both these genres, but it's more about highlighting the inequalities and moral conundrums which already exist in our society. The unnamed narrator describes a time in her life when the world was in turmoil while she was turning thirty. She's an American whose Chinese mother emigrated to the States, but found herself stuck in the United Kingdom after the borders closed when a crop killing smog covered the world. As a trained chef, she must work with dwindling ingredients and finds her chances of returning to the US are unlikely given the debt she's accrued. However, she finds an opportunity to work in a newly formed country for the elite on an Italian mountain top where the altitude allows rare access to the sun. As it turns out, her employment is less about her cooking skills and more about her profile. She's led into a scheme where the wealthy bargain to hoard/preserve what's left of the environment. This is an imaginative drama which challenges notions of hunger and nourishment in a world of hierarchies.

It's ironic that as soon as she arrives at this new country with access to a plentiful larder of ingredients she completely loses her appetite. So much so that it needs to be written into her contract that she needs to maintain a certain level of weight for her health. Being presented with a bounty of choice, she questions what she really desires. The narrator also engages in an affair with the sinister founder's entrepreneurial daughter whose appetite is voracious. Though it appears that this underdog has lucked out in landing somewhere that can sustain all her needs (including keeping wilful cat) this employment comes with many compromises. She ominously states at one point that “It has always been easy to disappear as an Asian woman.” Her experiences raise issues regarding how much we're willing to minimise ourselves and kowtow to power in order to survive when what really sustains us may be something very different.

Zhang has an evocative way of giving a sinister tone to what should be an idyllic setting. The narrator observes how “the sun mashed yellow against the edge of another relentlessly beautiful day”. Equally, the bountiful amount of fine and rare ingredients she works with comes to feel less delectable and more nauseating. It's a creative way to confound the senses and make the reader question what's really desirable. Sometimes the lyricism of Zhang's prose can obfuscate the action of the story so I'd feel confused about what's actually happening both in the immediate scene and in the wider world. However, the overall impression is impactful. When you step back it also appears less like fantasy and more like reality since the rich relish dining on rare ingredients or indulge in consuming the last of a certain breed. Equally, the less fortunate subsist on tasteless mass-manufactured staples. The narrator asserts that “Real food is whatever cooks are proud to make.” Surviving in a world of brash inequality with dignity is in some ways the greatest challenge and I enjoyed following this character's dramatic journey.

The Vaster Wilds by Lauren Groff

It's striking when the mere act of reading a vividly written novel can provoke a physical reaction. Groff's new book is so atmospheric in its depiction of a spirited girl gradually starving while seeking shelter and running through a snowy forest that I felt the urge to wrap myself in a blanket while hoarding a provision of food. It's set in 17th century Virginia and follows the unnamed protagonist as she flees an English settlement after committing murder. The story of her life and reason for making this perilous journey into the unknown are gradually revealed as we follow the daily struggles she encounters while being subjected to the harsh elements of winter. Moments of reprieve when shelter or a bit of food are found feel all the more precious because she's so intensely vulnerable. While it charts her rapid physical deterioration it also captures her process of self discovery as she's experiencing the first true independence of her life. Having been born into impoverished circumstances and worked as a servant, she gradually forms a sense of self separate from the religious and social strictures she had to endure up until this point. It's a historical tale that has the tone of a timeless fable. I found it thoroughly absorbing, moving and breathtaking.

There are many stunning descriptions of the natural world throughout the story. Groff conveys the feeling of waking up to snow covered scenery, the chill of a freezing stream and the taste pine tea, but also the terror of rural night time when predators lurk. This is a season of desperate survival for every creature in this forest and the tragedies experienced by an enraged squirrel and sleeping ducks are also evocatively described. The author doesn't shy from bodily descriptions when conveying what starvation does to the girl's digestion or how fleas plague her. Though conditions in her present circumstances are dire, her life growing up in England and experiences in the colony were also horrifically perilous. She survived through a plague in her youth and starvation in the settlement where residents resorted to cannibalism. Even the journey to North America was fraught with danger and her memory of that stormy sea voyage is one of the most powerful scenes in the novel.

Though the girl had one good romantic relationship which she recalls as a precious memory, Groff also meaningfully describes her protagonist's sense of peril as a woman and alludes to how men have taken sexual advantage of her. She conveys how this is an ongoing experience any woman can relate to when she writes “For what woman has not, walking in the dark of the street or along a path deep in the countryside, sensed the brutal imaginings of a man watching her from his hidden place, and felt the same chills chasing over her skin, and quickened her steps to get away.” Though this is a historically set story, elements such as this indicate how some of the issues she experiences are timeless. She was once preyed upon by her mistress' odious son and his friends. The minister her mistress marries is terrifyingly sadistic. Life cast out in the wilderness may be fraught with danger, but so is being a penniless young woman in a male dominated society. Additionally, the girl possesses a natural intelligence and determined manner so it's sobering to think how if she'd been born into a different time period and circumstances she might have flourished.

In interviews Groff has described how she wanted to write a female version of “Robinson Crusoe”. It's effective in paying homage to Defoe's book because it's not only an adventurous tale of survival, but a philosophical journey towards a new understanding of oneself. Spending so much time on her own she develops her own language for the world around her “Naming, she understood, made things more visible” and contemplates a name for herself as “She thought sadly of all her own many names, none of them had ever felt fully hers: Lamentations Callat, Girl, Wench, Zed.” It's impactful how she gradually claims a sense of independent identity. Being so intensely alone she also starts to hear a voice which might be god, nature or a conversation with herself. Through this dialogue she becomes attuned to how she can shrug off inherited notions of the social and cultural order to reclaim and recast the world around her. Yet, at the same time, there's the question of whether life is worth living if you're not part of a community and connected with other people.

Though the story is centred on her perspective, the narrative occasionally shifts to other points of view such as the native Powhatan tribe who observe her from afar or other individuals who form a hermit existence in this wilderness. This broadens the novel into a larger story of how history is made up of many people who fought for survival – some who thrived and some who faltered. It's effective how there are also brief flashes of an authorial viewpoint to describe circumstances the girl doesn't know about and supply some important context. This novel is the second in a proposed thematic trilogy about the uneasy progression of our society across centuries from different women's points of view. It's noted at one point in this novel that “empire has no pity and is never sated.” The first novel in this group was “Matrix” which similarly charted a woman's process of self discovery and sense of community, but in a very different context and different conclusions. I'm so intrigued to see how Groff continues this project, but her immersive and powerful writing is always such a pleasure to read.

This Other Eden by Paul Harding

It's curious to discover in this novel details about the true history of an island off the Maine coast which isn't far from where I grew up. Previously, I knew nothing about its tragic story. The opening of the book quotes from the Maine Coast Heritage Trust that in 1912 the state evicted a group of 47 mixed-race residents from the homes they'd inhabited for generations on Malaga Island. The subsequent story fictionalises an account of these residents through the time of that eviction as well as the cold-hearted and bigoted government process of expelling this group of people. Harding presents poetic descriptions of the islanders' everyday life and reflections on the families' history at this location which they'd inhabited since the Civil War as a haven isolated from the larger country. Passages about the residents are juxtaposed with formal accounts of events leading to the eviction and institutionalisation of some of the residents to emphasize the lack of consideration for the individuals and families whose lives were judged and displaced. It's ironically noted at one point that it's “Terrible how terribly good intentions turn out almost every time.” In this way the novel evokes a tremendous story of a community of unique individuals that forged its own path, but couldn't escape the morals and standards that the larger society imposed upon it.

Though the island community was viscously mistreated by the state, Harding doesn't idealise their lives or history. Any isolated group of people who try to subsist on their own especially on a relatively spare Northern island will encounter a hard life with limited shelter and meagre amounts of food. But there is also no outside help available for residents who experience debilitating illnesses or abuse from within the community. It's a complex situation and I admire how Harding simply presents this story in a way to allow readers to make up their own minds. I grew to care deeply about these characters – especially grandmother Esther Honey with her feisty spirit, the mysterious Zachary Hand To God Proverbs who dedicatedly carves the inside of an oak tree and her grandson Ethan who possesses natural artistic talent. Matthew Diamond is also an interestingly conflicted character. He teaches the children on the island, helps support the residents by delivering charitable donations and advocates on their behalf to the government. But he's also an acknowledged racist. The way he grapples with his own prejudices and religious feelings while interacting with the residents makes him a compelling intermediary between the state and the islanders.

Harding's prose flow beautifully in a way which fully embedded me in the sensory experience of their island life, relationships with each other and memories of the past. There's a gentle dignity to the narrative which makes the dictates of the state and “scientific” experts evicting them feel all the more cruel and hateful. It also makes occasional instances of horrific violence breathtakingly shocking. Being so isolated, the people on the island have also developed their own singular culture and way of communicating. The influence of their mixed European and African heritage through songs, stories, practices and legends is so unique. I enjoyed how this was integrated into their daily lives and dialogue. It left me feeling not only angry about the injustice carried out, but a sense that something very precious and special has been coldly decimated. I really appreciated this quietly dramatic story which says so much about belonging, family, spirituality and prejudice.

Matrix by Lauren Groff

I was in the middle of reading a much-acclaimed new novel recently and the experience was dragging because I wasn't gripped by it so I decided to put it aside and pick up Lauren Groff's new novel “Matrix” instead. French lesbian nuns in the 12th century! This is what I need! That's not to say that it's appealing just for the subject matter. The story delves into the mind and heart of its heroine Marie de France in such a compelling and complex way that I'm still pondering the larger meaning of this tale. On the surface it's very different from “Fates and Furies” which is the only other novel I've read by Groff. Yet, it's a continuation in the way this author so cleverly and sympathetically elevates the stories of women who mostly appear in the margins of storytelling. 

The novel begins with Marie, an illegitimate child of the royal court being written out of history as she's sent to permanently live and work as a prioress in a dilapidated and impoverished abbey in Angleterre. In this foreign land and in circumstances much more humble than the life she lived before she's meant to quietly reside out of sight from larger society. But Marie is a large woman - both in body and spirit and she's going to make her presence known. As we follow the story of her long life we see how she not only reinvigorates this rundown countryside abbey but establishes a sisterhood among the nuns who live there. It's a vividly told and dramatic tale which takes the richness of its protagonist's inner life as a given because she has so much more to offer than the opportunities she's given. Yet, the novel also really excels in how it interrogates the way Marie might unknowingly contribute society's rocky evolution.

It did take me a bit of time to get into the rhythm of this story because it moves swiftly through the years and there's a large cast of women to keep up with. Given the time period the average lifespan wasn't too long so often newly introduced figures don't last long while others continue to appear in the background. As soon as Marie becomes really established at the abbey and makes it into a profitable enterprise the novel leaps forward to much later in her life when she's going through menopause. This felt jarring at first but I suppose so much of her life is made up of routines which are only punctuated by some dramatic events such as an attempted siege of the abbey by a gang of resentful locals and the holy visions which occasionally overcome Marie. These inspire her to make dramatic changes, but are they really decreed by the mother of God or are they driven by Marie's own ambition and ego? This question is dynamically explored as the abbey comes to take a prominent place in an increasingly capitalist society. I really appreciate how this book presents the way economic changes on local levels gradually spread to affect civilization as a whole in a way similarly referred to in the novel “Cathedral” by Ben Hopkins.

Rather than living humbly the nuns find themselves with better garments and more to eat than the locals. Marie's decisions and authority start to feel more tyrannical than being concerned with the welfare of the community or even her sisters. She's also motivated by a wish to impress queen Eleanor who she's been (romantically?) infatuated with since she was a teenager participating in the crusades. The way both Marie and some of the other nuns psychologically and spiritually rationalize and act upon their romantic and sexual needs is handled in a really fascinating way. The majority of women at the abbey are people who don't fit in anywhere else because of how they look or their personalities or their position in society, yet they find bonds here which are mutually fulfilling: “in this enclosure there is love enough here even for the most unlovable women.” Of course, there are still petty arguments, disagreements and long-held grievances as there would be amongst any group of people. But the way Groff writes about the complexity of their inner and outer lives shows that these women weren't simply a benign presence in the wings of history.

Before My Actual Heart Breaks by Tish Delaney

On the outside it feels baffling that two people who marry and spend their lives together can be virtual strangers to each other, yet this is the reality of many arranged relationships. Tish Delaney movingly depicts the life of one such Northern Irish woman in her debut novel “Before My Actual Heart Breaks”. Mary Rattigan once dreamed of moving far away and being with her sweetheart, but those aspirations were dashed by the reality of her circumstances. When we meet her at the beginning of this novel it's 2007. She's estranged from her husband and her five children have gone away. Now there's nothing to bind her to the rural farm she's been confined to since she was sixteen but she finds herself questioning the heady plans she made in her youth and finds it difficult to articulate what she now desires. Over the course of the novel we discover the story of how she got to this point as well as a vivid depiction of The Troubles as experienced by a Catholic girl growing up in the 1970s who felt the alarming proximity of this long-term and bloody conflict. It's a story that powerfully represents the tension between the life you wanted and the life you've lived. 

As much as it feels like the Irish immigration novel is its own category, there's also been a rise in novels about Northern Irish women who never leave the place of their birth. Books such as “Milkman” and “Big Girl, Small Town” explore the interior lives of young women whose voices are often ignored by the larger community. Though Delaney's novel fits neatly alongside these others it's also very much its own piece as it poignantly presents the perspective of a married woman who comes to learn the habits and nature of her husband over many years but tragically fails to understand his heart. It's also a captivating coming of age tale as we follow the painful abuse she suffers at her mother's hand and how her sexual awakening becomes a form of rebellion because the worst thing she could ever become is a T.R.A.M.P. Though she finds it liberating to transgress the moral expectations placed upon her she soon finds the enormous longterm consequences of this brief pleasure which is over in “less time than baking a sponge cake”. It's heart wrenching when she realises that her parents would honestly prefer her to be blown up by a bomb rather than be “in the family way” as an unwed teen.

While the novel meaningfully portrays the suffocating effects of the religious and familial strictures in her life, it also shows the intelligence and humour of her wry perspective. Mary makes deliciously cutting observations about the tragic waste of sectarian conflicts and the way emotions aren't discussed in family life. At one point she describes how the Irish substitute for love is tea. She also forms some tender connections with certain individuals who inspire her and provide a steady source of comfort. The spectre of her grandmother is at times glimpsed in the distance as well as a good-natured soul named Birdie who becomes a kind of substitute mother for her. However, most of her relationships often include gaps of understanding so she comes to understanding the painful irony in how “No one knew us better than each other and we didn't know each other at all.” I enjoyed the way the story creates a building sense of tension concerning what Mary will do now that she's on her own and truly knows what she wants. Delaney's powerful novel shows the precarious bonds that exist between people who've had to abandon their dreams and the unexpected love that can be found when honest connections are made.

Educated by Tara Westover

When I put out a call for what 2018 books I should read before the end of the year, one of the most popular suggestions people made was “Educated” by Tara Westover. This was listed on many people’s books of the year lists – not only book bloggers and booktubers, but everyone from Michelle Obama to Bill Gates. So expectations were high, but I wasn’t let down. This is an extraordinary story and an artfully composed memoir. Westover relates her tale of growing up in an extremely religious Mormon fundamentalist family with a domineering survivalist father in rural Idaho. Her childhood is so removed from the larger world she doesn’t go to school and her birth was never even registered. But in her teenage years she takes her first steps to starting formal education and integrating into society. The conflict of this break from her family and establishing her individuality is so heartrending, but it’s also inspiring in the way it shows how a person’s innate intelligence and resiliency can help them grow into the person they are meant to be.

I’ve previously read some impactful novels (notably Claire Fuller’s “Our Endless Numbered Days” and Gabriel Tallent’s “My Absolute Darling”) about unstable fathers who try to live in a self sufficient way because they are convinced society is coming to an end and they force their daughters to live in a sheltered way with them. But reading a real account of someone who really grew up in an atmosphere of paranoia and fear was so striking. It really shows the danger both physically and mentally of tearing people away from larger society. For most of Tara’s childhood, her father scrapes a living together collecting and selling metal from a junkyard and he forces his children to work alongside him. He often actively dissuades his children from wearing protective gear which leads to many gruesome injuries. Just as shocking is her mother’s work as a midwife where she uses only natural, home-brewed medicine and faith practices.

Reading about the real physical danger that children born in these situations are exposed to is terrifying enough, but what’s worse is how badly Tara and other children are prepared for dealing with the outside world. It’s a form of abuse that can’t be measured because the debilitating effects aren’t always immediately apparent. Only when Tara goes to college does she understand how sheltered her life has been. Her father believes “College is extra school for people too dumb to learn the first time around” but Tara quickly understands how having no schooling gives her no frame of reference for things which are obvious to other people. For instance, she naively asks in class what the Holocaust was when it comes up in a discussion.

Tara and some of her siblings are naturally drawn to escaping the circumstances of their childhood to connect with the larger world while others stay in place. The defectors of the family not only discover more about society, but about how harmful some of the practices they lived under were. Tara and some of her siblings learned to live with the frequent physical abuse they suffered from an older brother. Consciously or not, her family built a narrative about his pattern of violent behaviour to normalise it and it’s only when Tara gets outside of it that she can see how abhorrent it really is. It’s harrowing reading about her journey towards being able to tell her own story: “My life was narrated for me by others. Their voices were forceful, emphatic, absolute. It had never occurred to me that my voice might be as strong as theirs.” But this memoir is ultimately hopeful in testifying how individuals can rise above their circumstances and learn to speak for themselves – even if it means they must leave everything they’ve known and believed behind.

Swan Song by Kelleigh Greenberg-Jephcott

I’ve always had very conflicted feelings about Truman Capote. This is the author who wrote the achingly beautiful autobiographical short story ‘A Christmas Memory’ which my cousin read to an enraptured audience every year at his annual Christmas party. And, of course, he penned the novella ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ whose whiff of glamour surrounding Holly Golightly’s tale of self-creation made the teenage me desperate to move to a city. But Capote was also the man who spat venom about countless figures I admire from my favourite author Joyce Carol Oates who he called “a joke monster who ought to be beheaded in a public auditorium” to Meryl Streep who he called “the Creep. Ooh, God, she looks like a chicken.” Many years later, Oates had the last word and proved who really succeeded and endured by tweeting on October 14th 2013: “Ironic that I am a judge for the Truman Capote award when Capote in a druggy interview said he hated me & that I should be executed. LOL.” So I’ve never made the effort to read some of Capote’s most enduring works like “In Cold Blood” and “Music for Chameleons” and certainly not his notorious unfinished novel “Answered Prayers”. But I was thrilled to better come to understand an interpretation and look at Capote’s complex, spirited and ultimately tragic life through reading Kelleigh Greenberg-Jephcott’s novel “Swan Song” about the high-society heroines Capote befriended and shockingly betrayed.

In 1975, Capote published excerpts from his unfinished novel “Answered Prayers” in Esquire which presented thinly veiled portraits of several wealthy, powerful trend-setters and their husbands. He spilled all the tea about their romantic trysts and dirty laundry. These women such as Babe Paley (a style icon), Slim Keith (a socialite credited with discovering Lauren Bacall), Gloria Guinness (a beauty rumoured to have once been a Nazi spy) and Lee Radziwill (Jackie Kennedy’s younger sister) had confided in Capote over the years and made him a firm fixture of their elite circle. He had a charisma, wit and talent for giving people what they needed. Capote sought to immortalize their stories in literature and reveal the sordid truth about their husbands by writing his new novel which he envisioned as a 20th century version of “Remembrance of Things Past”. The women didn’t see it this way and expelled him from their group, turning him into a social outcast. Capote sought to turn these flesh and blood women who he referred to as his “swans” into characters, but Greenberg-Jephcott endeavours to give them their voices and identities back in her novel. It’s narrated from their collective perspective as they observe Capote’s downfall as well as devoting sections to their individual stories. Fascinatingly, the author also includes multiple versions of Capote’s life tailored to appeal to the different women’s personalities. It builds to a complex portrait that raises questions about the difference between fact and fiction, the boundaries between self-creation and self-delusion and the real meaning of love/friendship.

These are all themes threaded throughout Capote’s own work so it’s fascinating the way Greenberg-Jephcott posits how he grappled with these problems within his own life. It also asks what the difference is between drawing upon real life for the sake of art and the degree to which an author exploits those closest to him. Of course, decades after all the dust has settled, almost no one cares about the particulars of these women’s affairs which were once tabloid headlines. If Capote was able to capture something about universal concepts of ambition and betrayal while also describing the particulars of a bygone age of American history his writing would have lasting value. But what responsibility should he have had to respecting his friends’ privacy? And how much was he motivated to write these things as an elaborate revenge upon the high society which shunned his mother and drove her to suicide? Greenberg-Jephcott weaves ideas into her narrative about Capote’s lowly upbringing, the community and family who rejected him and his intense longing for his mother’s approval. It’s fascinating how the author shows Capote to be at once a fragile boy and a vindictive genius in one alcohol/drug-fuelled gluttonous man.

All this is such rich material that it’s almost easy to forget the admirable writing skills Greenberg-Jephcott deploys in bringing this complex story to life. The novel bursts with details about some of the most important figures of the age that these women mingled with – everyone from the Kennedys to Hollywood bigwigs to Diego Rivera to macho blowhards like Ernst Hemingway and Gore Vidal – as well as honouring the admirable accomplishments of the women themselves. There are such evocative descriptions of place from the rural landscape of Capote’s Louisiana upbringing to sun-bleached afternoons on the Italian Riviera to glitzy parties in New York City. The author captures inflections of speech from Southern drawls to society slang. It makes for vivid and mesmerising reading. I was particularly interested in the descriptions of Capote’s relationship to his childhood friend Harper Lee who mostly existed on the periphery of his life but played an important part. In a way, it seems a shame that he didn’t value and cultivate this continuous friendship over the course of his life rather than seek to gain favour with the high society he aspired to join. If he’d sought favour with his intellectual equals rather than needlessly trashing them out of what I can only suppose was jealousy he might have established more stable and enduring friendships. But his example shows how even a genius with great psychological insight can be toppled by the mechanisms of his own ego. He was also the product of a part of American culture that’s relentlessly aspirational and wealth-driven in a way that often leads to bloated excess and dissolution.

The wonderful thing is that “Swan Song” doesn’t read like a tragic tale, but a celebration of beauty and art and intimacy. There is peril, loss and a price to pay, but there’s also an infectious spirit to the many scintillating personalities the author brilliantly portrays that made me want to lean in and listen.

The Museum of You by Carys Bray

It’s easy to be drawn into the lives of the characters in Carys Bray’s novel “The Museum of You”. Twelve-year-old Clover is filled with joy as it’s the beginning of the summer holidays so she has time to work in an allotment garden. She lives in North West England with her single father Darren who is a bus driver and next door to Mrs Mackerel, a comical older woman who is a bit deaf: “She has two settings: loud, for normal words, and extra loud, for the words she wants to be certain have been heard.” They have endearing routines where time in front of the television watching a baking show or a movie (rather than isolating them as individuals) creates opportunities when these characters can connect in genuine and realistic ways. Clover herself has a unique perspective of the world as well as a nerdish interest in museums. But there is a striking absence in Clover’s house where her mother Becky’s former room is filled with objects from her life which are understood to be off limits. This is a woman Clover has never known so in secret she goes about collecting and curating an exhibit about her mother’s life as a form of dedication and an act of discovery to understand what happened to her. It’s difficult to find a strategy to write about absence and grief in a way which isn’t maudlin. Yet Bray has created a story which fills your imagination with simple objects that become laden with an enormous amount of emotional meaning. It leads the reader on a path of discovery as Darren must confront painful memories and adjust how he relates to his growing daughter.

It’s quite original to read a story whose story revolves so strongly around a father and daughter. Their relationship is really sensitively drawn. It is obviously very loving, but there are certain kinds of silence which have grown around the missing mother and it is understood between them that it’s a subject not to be broached: “When you grow up in the saddest chapter of someone else’s story, you’re forever skating on the thin ice of their memories.” This is a beautiful way of describing how children are affected by painful emotional issues in their parents’ lives. Because Clover is developing into a woman Becky’s absence is felt all the more crucially as Darren fumbles around trying to buy books about womanhood to fill the educational gap a mother could provide.

Clover and Darren particularly like watching The Great British Bakeoff: "This week, it's a 3D biscuit scene. He is gobsmacked by their creations: a train, a sea monster, even a bloody carousel!"

There are also a group of other fascinating peripheral characters – some of whom played a part in the absent mother’s life and deal with their own forms of trauma. Becky’s brother Jim suffers from mental health problems and when he’s having a bad episode the characters tactfully say that he is “not himself.” Darren’s father is also dealing with the loss of his wife, but he has different strategies for coping with her absence. A Czech immigrant girl Dagmar who goes to Clover’s school is bullied because of her foreignness and she forms a bond with Clover partially as a way of escaping an abusive household. Darren’s closest friend Colin has been separated from his partner Mark because he works abroad making Colin fill his time working hard as a highly skilled self employed handyman. The story delicately weaves together different ways that these diverse individuals deal with feelings surrounding beloved people who have been lost through circumstances beyond their control.

By the end of this novel I felt really emotionally involved with the characters and strongly compelled to understand what happened to Becky. For this reason, this novel reminded me of James Hannah’s “The A to Z of You and Me” in the way it slowly builds a picture of tragic events that led to a central character’s absence. I was also reminded of Stella Duffy’s novel “The Room of Lost Things” for the way in which the novel fills your imagination with lists of objects which carry crucial personal significance to their former owners, but might be seen as worthless to others. “The Museum of You” makes you re-evaluate the sentimental value of the things which fill your home and contemplate how our relationships with others can only really grow and thrive when there is emotional honesty. This is a tenderly written novel filled with lots of comic and meaningful moments.