The Prophets by Robert Jones Jr

When I was learning about history in high school I never thought to question where I could find out about the lives of gay people from the past. It strikes me as strange that I didn't question this even though I was out as a teenager and craved to learn more about gay life. But I think the way our received knowledge about the past is framed contributes to why it doesn't even occur to us to ask about marginalized individuals whose stories aren't included amidst the grander narrative. I've deeply appreciated how some recent novels such as “A Place Called Winter” by Patrick Gale and “Days Without End” by Sebastian Barry introduced gay lives and gay love stories into specific historical settings. These are periods of time in which we know little or nothing about the lives of queer individuals because any records of these identities and relationships were either too dangerous to keep or were purposefully erased. But (of course) gay men existed and loved each other in these times from the past! Since we can't recover what's been lost the only way to reintroduce these lives into the narrative of history is by fictionally imagining them there. 

In school I certainly had a lot of lessons about the history of slavery in America and the Civil War (although a lot of the shamefully grim reality of what happened was no doubt withheld.) But, again, I didn't think to question where gay lives fitted into these historical accounts. Some might consider it crass or redundant to ask this when so much about the lives of America's African American ancestry was maliciously and purposefully destroyed. Some might even feel exhausted by the prospect of reading another slave narrative when so many books have already covered this heinous but vitally important era of US history. But, as Robert Jones Jr said in a wonderful interview he gave with Brit Bennett: “If there were 20 million enslaved people there are 20 million stories to tell and not every story is told.” So, yes, there is both a desire and need for a fictional story of two enslaved black men who are in love with each other to be told and I'm grateful Jones has done this in his artful and extremely moving debut novel “The Prophets”.

The main story literally begins with a roll in the hay as Samuel and Isaiah, two slaves on a remote Mississippi plantation primarily work and reside in relative solitude within the property's barn. If this seems romanticised we're soon made aware of the cruel reality of this hellish place. What it vitally establishes is that there is an intense desire and love between these two men which would otherwise blossom naturally if it weren't for their enslavement. Their relationship is made all the more precarious as the white masters and other enslaved people on the plantation become aware of their romantic and sexual connection. Their reactions to this knowledge vary and Jones conveys in a fascinating way how the judgements made upon them aren't simply moral or religious, but also have to do with the commercial loss of two strong and healthy black men who won't produce babies in the breeding programme designed by the plantation owner. The physicality of their relationship also inspires feelings of admiration, confusion, kinship, desire and envy among the many inhabitants which further complicates the ways these men are alternately befriended, betrayed, used and punished. Equally, Samuel and Isaiah themselves have different ways of admitting, denying or suppressing their desire for each other in these dire circumstances. This story delves deeply into the full complexity of the issues at stake and the emotional snags that would have resulted from a same sex relationship such as this.

At first I felt dismayed the narrative didn't stick solely with Samuel and Isaiah's perspectives because I wanted to feel and know more about the dynamic of their relationship. Yet the lives of the other black inhabitants of the plantation are written in such a compelling and vivid way I was so drawn into their individual stories as well as how their actions impacted upon the male couple. I was also concerned about going into the point of views of the white plantation owners and overseer (or toubab men and women) because I was concerned Jones would feel the need to portray them somewhat sympathetically as most novelists feel it's a necessary part of the fiction writing process that you must have empathy with all your characters whether they are good or villainous. I didn’t want to feel sympathy for them because American history is too often dominated by white perspectives. The author approaches this dilemma in a compelling way showing how they would logically justify their dominance over fellow human beings, but also shows their wilful ignorance and despicable abuse of power. I came to feel it was necessary to allocate space for their viewpoints because otherwise it'd be too easy to dismiss them as simply evil. In doing so, Jones creatively shows the way the religious, political and economic ideologies of the time reinforced and perpetuated this system of exploitation.

The novel also ambitiously reaches back in time to portray the ancestry of Samuel and Isaiah which they are unaware of because no records were kept. Patriarch Paul's book which logged the slaves’ arrival at the plantation is presented in the story in a way which is so memorable because its details are so thin. The story depicts the inventive way in which the community of the Kosongo people in Africa was organized to show the markedly different frames of mind from a non-Western perspective. Voices of the prophets also emerge from beyond the grave to advise and comment upon Samuel and Isaiah's bond. This beautifully gives the sense that these men who love each other are cherished and held in a way they aren't in real life. It's another aspect of the narrative which felt somewhat distracting at first but then came to be necessary as it gives some welcome relief from the more difficult aspects of this story. The novel is not difficult in terms of readability. The language is not overly-complicated and though the plot is filled with many characters and layers it's relatively easy to follow. What's difficult to read are the scenes of horrific violence and the surprisingly insidious degrees of malice exhibited by different characters. Yet, that I was unaware of the many specific ways enslaved people in America were systematically abused and kept in bondage is another reason why this book feels necessary. Because it was so harrowing also meant I felt intimately involved in the story. The final sections of this novel are startlingly dramatic and I was thoroughly gripped wanting to know what the fate of the many individual characters would be. The conclusion is both surprising and very moving.

I can only imagine what impact reading this novel would have had upon me as a teenager in my burgeoning understanding of our lost gay history and how valuably it'd have contributed to the formation of my own gay identity. I'm glad “The Prophets” exists now to inspire a newer generation and hope that it's taught alongside texts about the history of slavery in America. I know this makes it sound like I'm recommending this book because reading it is a worthy experience, but its characters are so compelling I felt intimately involved in their lives and stories. Reading this impressive novel is an absolutely absorbing and enlightening experience.

Tyll by Daniel Kehlmann (translated by Ross Benjamin)

I sometimes find it challenging to read historical novels which concern particular wars or political movements when I don’t have much knowledge of these past events. I like to get fully immersed in a story and it’s hard to do that if I feel like I frequently have to check Wikipedia to understand a historical context or situation. This is why it took me so many years to get into “Wolf Hall”. Daniel Kehlmann’s novel “Tyll” concerns The Thirty Years War, German folklore and other subjects from 1600s central Europe that I have even less knowledge about than the Tudor period! But I didn’t mind that so much because the characters (many of whom are compelled by superstitious beliefs) are so engaging and its story of witch trials and the power struggles of self-entitled monarchs is so compelling. It meant I was completely charmed by the book even if I didn’t fully understand the intricacies of several sections. Also, while this novel begins like a biographical account of Tyll Ulenspiegel, a prankster from numerous German folk tales, it is Elizabeth Stuart, an English noblewoman who was briefly Queen of Bohemia and popularly known as the “Winter Queen”, who emerges as the true hero of the novel.

Tyll is raised in tragic circumstances. He's the son of a miller who is put on trial for being a warlock where a string of witnesses are forced to testify against him under intimidation and torture. From this Tyll comes through as a canny individual who has the ability to survive deadly circumstances. But also, as a prototypical trickster and professional jester, Tyll imbues this novel with a wicked sense of humour. He harbours grudges against those who abuse their power and subverts that by mocking them to their faces like a comedy roasting using satirical or even scatological jokes. It was probably the only way to speak truth to power at the time without getting your head chopped off. 

So he's an interesting character who avoids the fate of many who died at the time because of plague, war or religious persecution. But, just as Tyll evades being captured or killed in several situations, he also slyly slips out of the narrative for much of the later parts of this novel and only pops back into the story occasionally to disrupt or comment on the proceedings. The novel comes to focus more on Frederick V and Elizabeth Stuart, two high ranking figures of European nobility and royal blood who briefly ruled as King and Queen of Bohemia, but they were forced to abdicate these roles after only one Winter. The politics surrounding this are quite complex and it's something I did have to do a lot of extra reading on just to grasp the circumstances. That's definitely not a bad thing because it is really interesting, but it did pull me out of the story a bit and means a rereading would probably make the experience of this novel more pleasurable.

The main point is that Elizabeth Stuart is such a fascinating historical figure who I hadn't known about before reading this novel. She was the daughter of James VI and Anne of Denmark, highly educated, spoke several languages and had a special passion for reading and literature. I enjoyed how the novel depicts her tricky political status and the personal difficulties this caused for her as she realised she was in a position where she could dramatically alter the fate of history. She comes across as an astute figure who cleverly knows how to survive difficult circumstances just as Tyll does. Whereas some of the main rulers at the time such as her husband Frederick V and Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden come across more as bumbling or blowhard potentates playing with power. But Elizabeth is quite strategic in her movements during her extended exile after she and her husband are deposed. I'll be keen to read more about her and it appears several biographies and books about her exist.

With the shifts in focus and leaps in time throughout the novel it did come across as somewhat uneven to me. But overall I was enraptured by the story and writing which is moving, richly evocative and deeply thoughtful all at once. This novel is a strong contender from this year’s Booker International prize list and I'll be keen to read Kehlmann's previous novels.

Friday Black by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah

The short stories contained in Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah debut collection “Friday Black” have a startling way of mixing everyday realism with the fantastic. Many characters are working class individuals struggling to keep their families going while labouring in retail or the night shift at a warehouse. But at the same time they can also be imbued with powers from a Twelve-tongued God, become a spirit who knows how to quell the murderous impulses of bullied boys or a 14 year old female super killer who survives daily nuclear explosions. Violence abounds throughout the stories. There are crazed shoppers who kill everyone in their way to get to sale items and there are groups who commit bloody acts of violence in retaliation for racially-motivated murders. The author amplifies some of the most contentious social issues of today in scenarios which are sadly not far from the truth. Everything from gun control to racism to abortion to genetic engineering are integrated into warped versions of reality giving a new view on these hot topics. The stories are powerfully imaginative while being darkly funny as well as heartbreakingly emotionally honest.  

Some of these tales worked better than others for me. I admire how in 'The Finkelstein 5' the story switches back and forth between two narratives. One half portrays a court trial where a white man is exonerated for beheading five black children with a chainsaw. The other half is from the perspective of a narrator who becomes part of a “Naming” gang that tortures random white people while calling out the names of the slayed black children. It felt really effective how this dual story describes a society where facts and truth have become so twisted up in the willpower of belief. The defence lawyer says at one point “if you believe something, anything then that's what matters most. Believing. In America we have the freedom to believe.” In a justice system that has allowed so many rank instances of injustice to go unpunished, it’s tragically unsurprising that some feel vigilante justice is the only option available. But this story gets at the ambivalence of such a path while delivering a riveting tale that’s a cross between an episode of Black Mirror and The Purge film series.

Not all of the stories conjure up wild fantasies or show instances of extreme violence. Another story ‘The Lion & The Spider’ also uses an alternating dual narrative where in one half a father tells his children stories based in Caribbean folklore. The other half shows a young man left to care for his ailing mother while finishing school and working a job after the father unexpectedly leaves for a long period of time. This creates an emotionally-charged atmosphere within the story as feelings of youthful innocence are paired against the onerous responsibilities of a premature adulthood when a father shirks his duty. Some of the most touching moments in this collection come when well-meaning children are forced into being carers for their parents such as a young man who takes his father to a labyrinthine hospital in 'The Hospital Where' or a young man who wants to win a jacket for his mother in a sales-driven retail competition.

The violent chaos of a Black Friday sale.

Sometimes the creative slant the author takes on certain issues doesn’t work quite as smoothly. 'Lark Street' describes a man who comes under the accusatory gaze of his girlfriend’s aborted twin foetuses. While the story takes seriously this emotionally harrowing dilemma it felt like it revelled a little too freely in the grotesque nature of such a scenario. Equally 'Light Spitter' which describes an instance of a campus gun slaying relies a little too heavily on conventional ideas of angelic influence – even with the twist that even the “irredeemable” has a moral core. Still other stories have a surprising degree of repetitive elements like the diligent mall employees in both 'How to Sell a Jacket as Told by IceKing' and ‘Friday Black’. But the later title story felt much more successful in hilariously playing up what’s become the most ridiculous post-Thanksgiving annual retail tradition.

One of the most striking things about this book is the consistent feeling that working class young people are frequently forced to compromise their values and education in order to make a living. Sometimes individuals must play into racial stereotypes or swallow their pride in the face of blatant racism in order to maintain their jobs. There are also asides which testify to being made to feel otherness: “A nurse called out sounds that we understood as her attempt to pronounce our last name.” Such feelings are most dramatically described in the story 'Zimmer Land' where an employee submits to being the continuous victim in violent role playing scenarios that are purportedly about “interactive justice engagement”. This story cleverly portrays the hypocrisy of profit-driven initiatives that claim to teach morality but actually perpetuate stereotypes and bigotry. I’m impressed how daring and forceful the author is in creatively describing instances of painful injustice and social inequality. He’s certainly an impressive new author well worth paying attention to.

The Lonely Hearts Hotel by Heather O’Neill

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt as conflicted about a novel as I am about “The Lonely Hearts Hotel” by Heather O’Neill. This is a book which arrestingly portrays the brutal abuse of women and orphans with the fantastical touch of a fairy tale. It creatively shows how children’s imaginations can colour their world as a defence against the horrors of their reality. The narrative is strewn with fascinating concepts and imagery that made me frequently pause to think about their meaning. Yet, as compelling as I found the writing in this book I felt at times deeply uncomfortable with the way issues such as physical/sexual abuse, prostitution and drug abuse sat within the humorous/whimsical style of the novel. I have no doubt the author takes these issues very seriously and I could feel behind the magical flair a lot of anger for the injustice experienced by vulnerable children, women and the poor. However, I continuously questioned throughout my reading whether this is the most appropriate way to portray traumatic experiences. I think the point was to raise questions and it certainly did that for me. At its heart, this novel is as deeply provocative and unsettling as the highly intelligent fiction of Angela Carter.

“The Lonely Hearts Hotel” begins in the early 1900s with the unfortunate stories of two young mothers whose boy and girl wind up in a Montreal orphanage. The majority of the book follows the development of these children Rose and Joseph (who everyone calls Pierrot). Although boys and girls in the orphanage are kept separate by the strict nuns who oversee them, Rose and Pierrot develop a deep bond and form a curious kind of double-act with acrobatics, dancing and improvised piano playing. The jealousy of a manipulative third party creates a split between the pair and they are finally physically separated when Pierrot is adopted by an encouraging elderly wealthy man and Rose is employed as an indulgent governess to the children of a notorious gangster leader. Their stories spiral into bizarre and surprising adventures that take them through the Great Depression, but are always tinged with the sorrow of their lost burgeoning romance.

It’s so intriguing how O’Neill writes about the experience of childhood. It’s particularly striking how she describes the way adolescents develop their use of language and claim it as their own. She observes how “Although the two had only known harsh terms and words of discipline, they had managed to transform them into words of love.” The way in which the children use words with each other redefines that language as something empowering rather than something used as a weapon to diminish them. They also possess the innate powers of creativity, talent and imagination to build themselves out of the desultory circumstances they were born into.

Throughout Rose’s upbringing she imagines a large bear who dances with her. This image is just as innocently charming as it is alarming suggesting that danger continuously orbits around the girl. This is reinforced by the statement that “A young girl’s body is the most dangerous place in the world, as it is the spot where violence is most likely to be enacted.” Just as girls are in danger of being violated, the author also shows the way a young boy’s developing body is vulnerable to the predatory control and manipulation of those who are older and in a position of power. The author shows how a boy’s early experiences of sexual abuse continue to affect him throughout his life leading to difficulties with intimacy and drug abuse. I was particularly struck by how she describes his continuous craving for drugs even after he sobers up like a taxidermist’s reanimated wolf corpse which stalks him. It’s no wonder that Rose surmises at one point that “Childhood is such a perverse injustice, I don’t know how anyone survives it without going crazy.” Interestingly, Eimear McBride also considers the long-lasting trauma after a young man’s sexual abuse in an entirely different style within her novel “The Lesser Bohemians” (which is also longlisted for this year’s Baileys Prize).

Along with the stories of Rose and Pierrot's eccentric behaviour, there are scenes where flowers complain to one another and a timid rat expresses his nervousness about moving to the big city. By invoking fantasy, O’Neill appears to be be saying that a childish sense of wonder and ambiguity are essential elements in maintaining a morally just world. People who dominate and attempt to control others believe they are justified in doing so because they are fixed in their own certain reality. She writes: “Perhaps the most dangerous people in the world are the ones who believe in right and wrong but what they ascribe to ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ is completely insane. They are bad with a conviction that they are good. It is that idea that is the impetus behind evil.” Even though Rose and Pierrot experience the most brutally harsh realities of life, they retain their faith in the power of a youthful creativity which gradually morphs as they grow into sophisticated artistic expressions in music and performance.

Something I have difficulty with in novels that describe ambitious forms of artistic expression are overzealous reactions to those performances. That’s something which happens frequently in this novel which includes children’s acrobatics, avant-garde performances by clowns, an eccentric clown and dance revue and an intricately composed song. They all enthral anyone who experiences them. Although large crowds can certainly be enraptured by great art, it becomes slightly irksome reading about the success rate for every kind of performance in this novel which elicits over-enthused reactions. This doesn't take into account the grounding factors of artistic failure and the general indifference of the general public - which is sadly more often the result of creative endeavours.

Rose is such a compellingly forthright character. She explores what intrigues her, exudes a large amount of charm and shows an intellectual savviness. Not only does she fearless do what's necessary to survive enormous difficulties but maintains her principles at the same time. Then there is a prostitute who is (appropriately) named Poppy who is a habitual drug user and continuously takes the wrap for other prostitutes. She exhibits a masochism where “She wanted the ugly rage and depravity that came with love.” O’Neill writes in a really fascinating way about women's relationships with their bodies, sex and rivalry with other women.

I have a feeling I'm going to be puzzling over this novel for a lot longer. I felt delighted by how bizarre it was at points, but also unsettled by how casually it could draw in very dark themes. It certainly goes to show me that I shouldn't judge a book by it's cover. Since I hadn't read this author before or anything about this novel when I'd previously seen “The Lonely Hearts Hotel” I thought by the name and the cover that it'd be a frivolously sentimental novel, but it has a lot of deep twisted depths to it. The Baileys Women's Prize longlist invariably introduces me to a book I wouldn't have read otherwise, but gives me a lot to think about. I'll be particularly interested to hear what other people who have read this novel think.