The SafeKeep by Yael Van Der Wouden

What “Call Me By Your Name” did for peaches, “The Safekeep” does for pears. I do love a good historically set novel with lots of twists and turns in its plot. So I found this very pleasurable and moving to read as it's a story that has multiple levels. It's a creepy tale with almost gothic “Rebecca”-esque undertones about the claustrophobia of being stuck in a house with someone you resent and feel a growing animosity towards. It's about sexual repression and the transformative experience of all that pent up desire being released. And it's about the weight of history, the calamitous after-effects of war and how to reconcile what has been lost and displaced.

There are a number of reveals in this story so I'll do my best to avoid spoilers. The novel initially centres around Isabel who seemingly has little motivation other than maintaining her deceased mother's house and its contents. It's the 1960s and Isabel lives a severely self-contained existence in a rural Dutch province. Isabel is a real piece of work. She's nasty and rude to almost everyone she meets. There is a special kind of humour and pleasure in reading about a character who so unapologetically brushes aside social conventions because she's someone I'd never want to meet but it's fun to read about her dismissive attitude towards everyone. I did feel this became repetitive at times in this first section of the novel, but overall she's a compellingly unlikeable character. Isabel fiercely guards both the house and its contents and finds it hard to keep a maid because she continuously lashes out at them with judgements and accusations. However, Isabel is little more than a caretaker for this building which belongs to her uncle and it will be passed on to Isabel's older brother Louis when their uncle passes. I enjoyed how small details about both her family life and the contents of the house are dropped into this early section of the novel hinting at a larger story and adding to the complexity of her character.

Other than the maid the most human contact she has is with her younger brother Hendrik who has a teasing rapport with his uptight sister. Hendrik has lived away from this location since coming out to their mother who is now deceased. But Isabel studiously ignored the reality and reasons behind his leaving. It describes how “she could sometimes blur her eyes when looking at something – decide not to see it in full focus, decide to disengage.” This explains a lot about Isabel who uses self-denial when it comes to things that are emotionally difficult – both external and internal. Near the beginning there's a scene which sets this novel's plot into motion. Isabel's older brother Louis arranges a dinner for both Isabel and Hendrik to meet his new girlfriend Eva. (Interestingly in interviews the author has described initially writing this scene as a short story.) There's all the tension of the new girlfriend wanting to make a good impression and trying to get to know her partner's adult siblings, but in return the brother and sister are dismissive towards her because they see her as merely their brother's latest squeeze since he is a notorious womanizer. But there is a difference with Eva because Louis needs to travel for work and he informs Isabel that Eva will be staying with her in her carefully guarded house. Of course, Isabel is vehemently against this plan but she's not given a choice. So when rambunctious Eva moves into the family home it's like she is entering a powder keg ready to explode.

The house itself is like the central character in this novel. It is the safe keep which contains many possessions which are filled with meaning and it has witnessed many people and events passing through it over the years. I do like novels such as “North Woods” by Daniel Mason or “The Dutch House” by Anne Patchett or, indeed, “Rebecca”, where a house is itself a protagonist that possesses emotion. We're shown how The Safekeep has persisted throughout WWII and maintains a lot of secrets from both the personal lives of these characters and larger historical events. Isabel is a fascinating character who possesses a fierce determination to remain independent. There are small glimpses of her early family life and details strewn throughout her abode which I found intriguing as I wondered what the real story is behind Isabel and this house. It also builds a highly-pressured and stifling atmosphere where something eventually needs to break. But I never got a full sense of why Isabel is so fiercely attached to this house and its objects. I know she was following the direction of her deceased mother to maintain the house and she's extremely repressed so this was all she had, but as the full story of the novel is revealed this came to feel more like a plot device rather than something which would naturally occur.

Many readers have been debated about the very end of the novel is too saccharine. I guessed very early on where the novel was going. Part of why I had a strong sense about this is because I knew the author is a big fan of Sarah Waters' “Fingersmith”. I'm sure anyone who has read that novel can see the strong influence it's had upon “The Safekeep”. The books are obviously set in very different time periods and contexts, but I couldn't help feeling like Van Der Wouden's novel is somewhat slighter compared to Waters' impressive yarn. The ending certainly didn't surprise me, but I think the author did a good job at showing how the conclusion for these characters is hard won. There was naturally a lot of mistrust and animosity because of their respective pasts and the lack of transparency between them. I don't think the ending is the main point of this novel as it's more about the tension of the story and what goes unspoken in our personal lives and the political workings/social attitudes of a nation in the aftermath of war.

I really appreciated Hendrik as a character and enjoyed the section where he and his partner Sebastian come to stay at the house. This loosened Isabel up which felt like a relief since her life with Eva was so stifling up to this point. I found it really moving learning of the conflict of Hendrik's early affair with the teacher and how he left the family home to be able to live honestly as a gay man. I wish there had been more about Hendrik and Sebastian's story, but I appreciate that the novel was necessarily centred on Isabel and Eva. If you've not seen this already, I'd strongly recommend reading Van Der Wouden's essay from several years ago 'On (Not) Reading Anne Frank'. It's really fascinating to discover she was never a natural reader and, even more so, her family history when she was an adolescent moving from Israel to the Netherlands and the anti-semitism she experienced there throughout her teens. It's interesting how this personal history could be interpreted as feeding into the underlying conflicts and simmering tension of “The Safekeep”. Overall, I really enjoyed this often gripping and atmospheric novel.

My Friends by Hisham Matar

“My Friends” is the story of a man named Khaled who grew up in Libya and moved to the UK to go to university. Here he and his friend Mustafa get involved in a London protest about Gaddafi's government and things become terrifyingly violent. This radically upends his life and cuts him off from his homeland. This novel keyed me into so many startling historical incidents that I previously knew little about. This prompted me to look up and learn more about these particular conflicts. It involves assassinations, tense political standoffs and revolutions. Though this all effects the main character in an extremely personal way, he's reflecting on it and usually distanced from it. So there's a melancholy and meditative tone to the book. It's also filled with so many heartfelt insights and brilliantly composed sentences – the kind that give such a unique perspective I often had to stop and mull them over.

It's a story of exile, trauma and friendship. It's about finding a home in literature and the text is peppered with so many great reading recommendations – especially the affinity Khaled develops for the great (equally melancholy) writer Jean Rhys. But it also shows how Khaled creates a sense of home and family with a precious few people who he connects with on a deep level. It's about a specific conflict in history, the oppression and terror of living under the spectre of a military dictatorship and how this can cruelly warp people's relationships to each other and destroy any sense of hope. This also speaks to the universal struggle of people trying to live their lives amidst “unreasonable men”. And it's about the persistence of love in Khaled's biological family even when they've been physically separated for many years.

It's also the story of a city and how London becomes Khaled's unintended home for decades. The present day action occurs only over a couple of hours in 2016 as Khaled walks through the city. In this way the novel enters in a tradition of London literature such as “Oliver Twist”, Virgina Woolf's “Mrs Dalloway”, Sam Selvon's “The Lonely Londoners”, Monica Ali's “Brick Lane” or Caleb Azumah Nelson's “Open Water”. These stories contain routes that can be physically traced on a map or in person. Since I'm lucky enough to live in London it really brought this novel alive for me to travel to some of these places to view streets, buildings, statues, memorials and artworks mentioned in the book. There's also a wonderful section where Khaled's friend Hosam takes him to view some London locations where writers lived and worked. In this way the book shows how a cityscape can be overlaid with real lives and fiction.

I was deeply moved by this poignant and beautifully written novel's meditations on life, friendships and a sense of place (especially in exile.) The story made me contemplate what action we're prepared to take when living under an oppressive system. It explores a number of options including writing fiction, speaking publicly, protesting or living in silent opposition. I find it especially poignant thinking of Khaled's father who chose taking a humble teaching position (compared to the career he might have had but which would have made him more a political target.) Though his contribution appears to be humble he's having an effect (as we know from people Khaled meets that highly respect his father) and his continued presence in Libya (rather than moving abroad) is a statement in itself. The struggle Khaled has maintaining a connection to his family especially under the paranoia of government surveillance is harrowing.

Khaled's friends become like his family in London so the fact that we know they have left him at the beginning of the novel amplifies his sense of aloneness and estrangement from his native land. Perhaps if they had remained instead of returning to Libya and moving to America he might feel more grounded in this life. So, given the events that unfold, it adds to the poignancy of how this novel is framed around his saying a permanent goodbye to his friend Hosam. Although I feel like there's a note of hope at the story's end there's a melancholy sense that Libya is not a place he'll ever be able to call home again: “It is a myth that you can return, and a myth also that being uprooted once makes you better at doing it again.”

Overall, I think this novel is excellent as a meditation on exile, the meaning of friendship over time and the longterm effects of trauma. It gives a personal take from the inside about a specific period of history and political conflict. This intersection between fiction and historical events which might not be widely known can be really rewarding and Matar has done an excellent job framing this story. The novel also raises more universal issues concerning how we think about nationality and our relationship to homeland. It's a celebration of literature and the deep connection we can feel to authors. It's a stunning achievement and I hope it gets some award attention this year.

You can listen to me discuss this novel more and show some of the locations mentioned in the story while reading passages aloud here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPwu3keS-UI

In Memoriam by Alice Winn

This novel grabbed hold of my heart! It's so emotional but also so well crafted and intelligent. What a special debut novel! The story and plot are so gripping. It contains many surprises and I want to keep this as spoiler free as possible because there are twists that had my heart racing: moments of tragedy, moments of kindness, moments of horror and moments of absolutely beautiful tenderness. This is embodied by an array of well observed and totally believable characters. Many are privileged English schoolboys but within that sphere they are so diverse and fascinating – not least of all the two young men at the centre of this book. And what I think makes this novel so special is not just the historical subject matter of WWI and the people tragically caught in these circumstances, but the way Alice Winn has structured this book. It's so clever and adds so much to the story.

The novel begins in 1914 at an English boarding school in the countryside. We meet seventeen year old boys: Henry Gaunt and Sidney Ellwood. Gaunt has part German heritage and is more reserved, awkward and anti-war. Ellwood is part Jewish and is very popular and enthused to fight in the war. Neither of them are technically old enough to enlist, but, as with many young men back then, this did not stop them. They both love poetry (especially Ellwood who writes and recites it) and they've been harbouring a secret desire and love for one another. We follow as they separately go to war and the consequences of being at the centre of a conflict where millions and millions of lives were lost.

I was somewhat nervous going into this because I thought: do I want to read about war especially focusing on the point of view of privileged English schoolboys? But once I got into the story and got to know these characters I was completely enthralled. Part of what Winn shows so well is the way youth were manipulated into wanting to be remembered and glorified. This is what governments do to get the manpower for war and make young men enlist. At that tender age so many boys can be easily convinced to die for their country in order to be remembered forever. Part of this is national arrogance and believing they'd win the war right away. But there was also pressure from an organisation called The White Feather Movement which I hadn't heard of before this novel. These were groups of women that went around in public and any young man who looked fit enough to fight was handed a white feather to shame him into wanting to enlist. This was controversial even at the time – not least of all because sometimes feathers were given to soldiers on leave or veterans who were seriously wounded. So I was glad to learn about this element and strategy of war. And reading this book has made me want to read and discover more about this period of time.

Winn makes the characters of Gaunt and Ellwood feel so alive with their hesitancy around intimacy, their confused dreams about the future and what is possible for boys in their position with restrictions about what was socially allowed at the time. It was okay as long as the boys were popular and kept it behind closed doors, but they could not love each other openly. It feels so important for gay love tales to be inserted back into history through novels like these because these relationships did happen but they weren't often recorded or allowed to flourish because of social stigma. I won't reveal what happens between them or how their story together develops but it is so beautifully done. There are also many other really fascinating characters. Some are naively gun ho about fighting, some are understandably crippled by fear and the horror of what war looks like. There are bullies, there are hopelessly foolish boys, there are highly intelligent lads, there's a really interesting character with Indian heritage, there's a man from a working class background which contrasts sharply to most of the young men in this book and there is Gaunt's sister who is extremely intelligent and progressive but can't effect change because of the restricted possibilities for women at that time. All these characters are so convincing in their dialogue and actions while also showing the influence that classism, racism, sexism and homophobia has on their lives. The story depicts how these things still have an effect even on the battlefield where soldiers struggle to survive from moment to moment. The novel also demonstrates the tragic gulf in understanding between those who know what it's like at the front verses people who've remained in England. But also, even before the scenes at war the story shows the sinister bullying culture in English boarding schools where young boys are literally tortured in a perverse cycle which is believed to build character.

Something so unique about this novel is how Winn structures the story because it is not just a straightforward narrative but it's also composed of letters, articles and issues of the boarding school's published journal. And this is another reason why I was initially hesitant to read this book because I wasn't sure how these fictional newspaper articles could add to the story. But they definitely do and create such a powerful sense of the brutal consequences of war as some characters that the reader has grown to love or despise or even just know casually are listed under the casualties over time. To see them suddenly removed in black and white like this gives such a strong sense of what it must have been like at the time. But also, the gruelling task of soldiers writing letters to families to inform them of their husband's or sons' deaths while trying to make it personal. It is heart wrenching and so effective.

Running through this novel is the power of poetry. Not just in its creation and the ways it can encapsulate experience like no other but what effect war has upon the creative imagination. It's made me keen to read more by and about great gay poets of WWI such as Siegfried Sassoon. It's also made me keen to read George Eliot's novel Adam Bede. I've read a number of books by Eliot but not that one. And I won't explain how that novel has a role in this novel, but just read this novel and see. There's a really interesting prisoner of war camp section – again, no spoilers, but it's so suspenseful and vivid. And it's so compelling how it elicits sympathy for the German soldiers in this section who were technically overseeing the prisoners but many of these guards were less well fed and less experienced than their prisoners who relentlessly bullied them. Because no matter which side of the conflict these young men (who were still boys really) were on, they were led by their countries into perilous conflict and thousands were slaughtered. There's also a fascinating narrative shift at one point showing the other side of the battlefield and the other boys caught up in this hellish conflict.

It all comes together to create a war story and a love story like no other. And I loved it. There's so much more to say about this novel, but it's a masterful accomplishment. So impressive for a first novel – although, from what I gather from interviews Winn has been writing for a long time. I think it shows that this is a writer who has honed her craft and told a story she feels so passionately about. I don't want to make any assumptions, but I know Winn is married to a man so for a presumably heterosexual woman to write so beautifully about such complex gay characters with depth and understanding and to write about their sexual and emotional relationships so convincingly is stunning. I'd also recommend reading “The World and All That It Holds” by Aleksander Hemon which, coincidentally, is also a story of WWI about two soldiers in love with each other, but it's in a very different setting and it also has a very different style and approach. It's also excellently done. However, “In Memoriam” is a novel that completely captured my heart and I know I'll remember it for a long time.

Small Worlds by Caleb Azumah Nelson

Nelson's much-anticipated follow up to his debut novel “Open Water” follows a few formative summers in the life of Stephen, a young man making the uneasy transition from being a teenager to an adult. He leaves his beloved community in London for the first time to move to university and harbours complicated romantic feelings for a longtime female friend. He also has a knotty relationship with his parents. His father naturally wants a stable future for Stephen even if this runs contrary to his passions and this creates a lot of conflict between them. Meanwhile, he and his mother share a more straightforward free-flowing love exchanging memories while cooking together. It's highly relatable how the author describes the stumbling nature of this period of life where we struggle to understand who we are and what we really desire while testing the limits of our own agency. Nelson has a wonderful style of portraying the emotions wrapped up in this confusion and relating the interior process of his central character with such sensitivity. There are many heartbreaking and tender moments in the story informing Stephen's journey to more comfortably inhabiting his selfhood.

The novel's central metaphor of the sense of connectedness between groups of individuals is especially potent when considering the wider context of being black in modern day Britain. It's stated in the story that “we might build a small world, where we might feel beautiful, might feel free... outside of these spaces, we are rarely safe... the world was not built with us in mind, and that someone, at any time, might intrude upon our homes, crumbling our walls, making dust of our foundations. It's days like these which remind us that we don't have space, that the city feels like it's closing in, trying to magic us away, encouraging our disappearance.” Though they find comfort and security in their tight-knit community, Stephen and his friends are deeply affected by Mark Duggan's murder by the police in 2011. This historical incident makes them recall the extreme perilousness of their situation and sense of painful self-consciousness living in a largely white-dominated society. I was lucky enough to hear Nelson speak about this novel at Brixton Library and when discussing his earnest desire for his community to have safe spaces he was brought to tears. It's extremely moving how this desire is built into the story showing the pleasures and pains of creating such circles.

One of the most powerful aspects of the novel is how it relates Stephen's feelings of ambiguity about his faith, heritage and family. Though he's uncertain in his beliefs he finds such strength in attending church: “it doesn't feel like I'm playing but taking part in something spiritual, something I didn't know I needed.” Equally, he's drawn to visit his parents' birthplace of Ghana reconnecting with family there and his heritage. In these scenes Nelson conveys a wide-eyed wonder for the surprises his character discovers there as well as a sense of connectedness to aspects of the culture. It's especially effective how Ghanaian words are incorporated into the novel as it reflects how he and his family speak to one another but also Stephen's discomfort with the limitations of language: “I came to both languages through violence: the Ga I speak was warped and muted, many years ago, after British invasions, the same invasions which are the reason I speak English. Language, then, has always struck me as less tool than burden. It's always caught between somewhere, something always lost between expression and emotion.” Returning to his family's homeland also inspires a new sense of empathy for his father who he fell out with. The way the narrative voice shifts in the later part of the novel to reflect this understanding is very moving.

This novel is imbued with a lyrical quality with certain phrases and images which refrain throughout the story. It makes sense that the narrative would be structured like this because music and dance is such an integral part of Stephen's life. He's an aspiring musician and it's something which connects him with his community, family and heritage. However, the recurrence of some lines can at times seem like the author is stretching for profundity. The feeling which accompanies reading a novel is different from listening to music so it's not easy to fit this sensation into a narrative. Also, Nelson has a tendency to over-explain and psychoanalyse his characters in a way which isn't always necessary when physical detail and dialogue would feel more impactful. Certain scenes stand out in my memory more for the straightforward exchange taking place when all the attendant feelings are implicit within the situation. Nevertheless, there's a beauty and power to Nelson's use of language which is so original and moving. It's exciting how fiercely artistic he is in his photographic and filmmaking pursuits alongside writing fiction showing how these forms of expression can blend into and inform each other. I'm a committed fan.

Lucy by the Sea by Elizabeth Strout

It's been several years since Strout first started writing about this particular reflective heroine beginning with “My Name is Lucy Barton” and continuing aspects of her story through the books “Anything is Possible” and “Oh William!” - though I'd say this new novel is the most straightforward sequel yet as events follow directly on from the end of that third novel. Lucy's later life becomes even more entangled with her first husband William as the recent pandemic hits America and they go into lockdown together in a borrowed coastal house in Maine. Lucy recounts her difficulty navigating this intense period of time and describes new discoveries regarding her personal history and events to do with her family life.

By now Lucy has come to feel like an old friend. I have a deep affection towards her but I also find her slightly irritating. She has a particular idiosyncratic way in which she sifts through the past alighting upon significant moments she remembers with great clarity while other aspects of her personal history and life seem mysterious to her. Of course, this is very relatable and it's what gives Strout's stories great humanity. But Lucy's ponderousness and low self-esteem can also be trying. This is certainly deliberate as William and her adult daughters occasionally express their impatience with her. However, as we come to understand the continuing impact her impoverished and difficult familial relationships have had upon her life these aspects of her personality make much more sense.

My experience of this novel was influenced by reading the entire book aloud to my husband while we were on a recent long road trip. It really brought the story to life as we laughed or gasped at certain parts and discussed it in between sections. As always I'm delighted at affectionate jibes Strout makes about life in Maine such as how fiercely cold it gets, but there's also a particular reason why Lucy intensely hates being cold. Strout also doesn't shrink from revealing darker aspects of Maine life such as the insular nature of some of its citizens who are hostile to outsiders. Since Lucy's narrative is quite straightforward and chatty it made reading it aloud particularly pleasurable. I think there's also a deceptive simplicity to Strout's writing which touches upon really profound subject matter from the evolving nature of love to deep political divisions in America while also representing the foibles and peculiar details which make us human.

Barton drops in plenty of “catch up” information throughout this novel in case readers haven't read or have forgotten details from the previous books. So it can certainly be read as a stand-alone book. However, I can't imagine coming to this novel without having read the previous books and my appreciation and understanding of it was certainly enhanced since I've travelled the entirely of this extensive journey with Lucy. A knowledge of Barton's entire oeuvre is also handy as characters from her previous books such as “The Burgess Boys”, “Olive Kitteridge” and “Olive, Again” make appearances in this new novel. Knowing something of these additional characters gives Lucy's interactions with them an added poignancy and also gave me a feeling of being fully immersed in the fictional alternate universe which Barton has created.

Many dramatic things occur in this novel and shocking secrets are revealed. There's an acknowledge irony to this since it's also about a period of time stuck in a house where circular routines are established and nothing of significance seems to occur for many months. It's an ideal time for mulling things over and Lucy also develops some strong connections with a few local individuals. The story builds to quite a moving conclusion where Lucy arrives at certain revelations. At the same time, she knows the future is always unclear and she becomes equally sure that she knows nothing. This really embodies the quiet genius of this character and it's no doubt why Strout has a continuing preoccupation with Lucy's story. One of Lucy's mortal fears is how we never know when we might see someone for the last time. I don't know if this will be the last book to feature Lucy Barton, but I'm certainly glad to have encountered her again and this latest novel has given me an even deeper appreciation for the previous books.

Oh William! by Elizabeth Strout

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

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

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

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

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

The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak

This is the third novel I've read by Elif Shafak and I love the sheer heart and humanity of her fiction. Her work does what the best writing should which is to give a voice to the voiceless and start a conversation about divisive social issues which affect us all while telling an engaging story about characters I grew to really care about. “The Island of Missing Trees” is part love story and part history of recent deadly conflicts in Cyprus. Greek Cypriot Kostas and Turkish Cypriot Defne are teenagers who form a strong romantic relationship in a taverna. When war breaks out their world is torn apart. Many years later in England their teenage daughter Ada struggles to come to terms with her parents' past and she's also dealing with the fact that a video of her experiencing an emotional outburst/breakdown has gone viral. This may sound like an obvious device for exploring the personal ramification of national discord, but like Ada who claims she understand the division which ravaged her parents' lives there is much more to the story and intricacies which require deeper consideration. Gradually we get the full tale of Kostas and Defne's past which is especially heartrending because it also involves another tragic love story about the gay proprietors of the taverna they meet in. It's a vibrant and sweeping saga that I got fully wrapped up in with all its moments of humour and sorrow. 

One of the most surprising and delightful aspects of this novel is that it's partly narrated from the point of view of a fig tree. And she has lots of opinions! It's very playful the way the tree comes to comment upon the story of these characters' lives as a silent witness while also giving a wholly new view on the situation. Since her conception of time and the interrelationship between all living creatures and the natural world is very different from humans she is able to stand somewhat outside the emotional and political drama of these characters (although she has her own love interest). At the same time she's been physically at this story's centre since she grew in the middle of the taverna and a cutting from her branches was taken to England to flourish in a new form. In this way Shafak meaningfully weaves in commentary about environmental issues which have affected Cyprus over the years on top of the human casualties sustained because of the war. Another point of view given by the narrative I really appreciated was that of Ada's aunt Meryem who comes to stay with the family in England and becomes involved in her niece's life (despite the teen's resistance). She maintains her superstitious belief despite Ada's judgemental attitude and the two come to establish a touching bond. It enforces the fact that Shafak's stories are at heart a celebration of family, love and individuality in all its beautifully varied forms.

The Fortune Men by Nadifa Mohamed

How do we deal with the knowledge that an innocent man was executed by the state because of the colour of his skin? The response from many people in Britain would most likely be that this was a form of institutionalised racism which isn't found here today. Or you might find this fact sadly unsurprising given the way non-white men are still profiled and marginalized in this society – as depicted in “Open Water” by Caleb Azumah Nelson. In her novel “The Fortune Men” Nadifa Mohamed fictionalizes the case of Mahmood Mattan, a Somali-born merchant seaman who was arrested and executed for the murder of a shopkeeper in 1952 despite overwhelming evidence proving his innocence. With emotive detail she depicts the diverse community of Cardiff's Tiger Bay with its West Indian sailors, Maltese businessmen and Jewish families. Mahmood is a petty thief and a gambler who is far from saintly, but he's not a murderer. The question which drives this story isn't so much whether or not Mahmood can get a fair trial, but why was he persecuted and how are immigrants and non-white individuals still persecuted today? 

What's so powerful about Mohamed's style of writing is the intense way she depicts how Mahmood's perspective and state of being is shaped by the social attitudes around him. He has learned to physically shrink himself in different ways such as making himself invisible to avoid racist abuse or how his stomach has shrunk so that he won't feel hunger so acutely. At any moment he's aware that he might be the victim of vicious malice by a passing stranger because of his appearance and that there will be no recourse for the abuse which is inflicted upon him. He consciously avoids witnessing certain things because he knows “It doesn't pay to see something you're not meant to.” Mohamed also gives considerable space in this story to the perspective of a Jewish family who experience a tragic and violent loss which occurs while they're at home. The agonizing pain of their situation and the hard-won freedom they've found in this Welsh community after emigrating from Eastern Europe is sympathetically shown. The author evokes how these different factions of Tiger Bay live and work within the constrained limits of a larger power structure.

I think it's important how Mohamed chose to highlight and write a novel about this case from history rather than create a fictional character who is purely virtuous. Mahmood gambles with money he gets from benefits. He shoplifts items to give to the people he loves. He's capable of invoking the same racial slurs which are inflicted upon him. His marriage deteriorated and he doesn't always support his children as much as he should. The challenges and tribulations of his childhood and young adulthood are dynamically recreated in the middle of this novel so we get an understanding of how this is a man that's learned to ride the wave of chance and do what he has to in order to survive. He is not perfect, but, like all of us, he strives to be a better person and likes to imagine he's a more upright citizen than he is. Since he intrinsically knows this Mahmood believes the justice system of this country will see it too and doesn't see the need to defend himself against charges which are patently false. But the police need a culprit, the courts have found a scapegoat and the community is willing to lie in order to get a reward. This is the tragedy which leads to his execution and no one would accept such an injustice if it happened to their own son, husband or father. So why do we accept that it happened to Mahmood?

The Paper Palace by Miranda Cowley Heller

Recently I was sorely disappointed by the novel “The Hummingbird” which tells the story of a married man who has never been able to be with the true love of his life. I was reminded how much the structure of a novel can really impact how successfully it conveys its subject when reading Miranda Cowley Heller's emotionally-intelligent first novel “The Paper Palace” because the central story is the same as Veroensi's but much more effective. Elle Bishop is a happily married wife and mother staying at her family's summer camp in Cape Cod. On the evening before the book's opening chapter, she finally had sex with Jonas, a man she's been in love with since she was a teenager but who she's not been able to be with for complicated reasons. We follow the fallout of this over a 24 hour period while getting the story of her difficult family life and events leading up to this disarming experience. We also come to understand the dark secret which simultaneously binds her to Jonas and keeps them physically apart. It's an absorbing and evocative story that realistically details the foibles and frailties of its characters in a way that made me fall for them and deeply care about the testing dilemmas that they face. 

Each chapter feels perfectly measured to show how the small details happening in the present day are impacted by the past. It's compelling how we come to understand the dynamics of Elle's relationship to her mother, her husband Peter and Jonas as the novel progresses. Though the story is told in Elle's voice, I understood all the characters' points of view and felt sympathetic towards them even if I didn't necessarily agree with the choices they make. This gradually builds upon the meaning of the intense encounter which proceeds the novel's opening and creates a tension concerning what Elle will do now that she and Jonas have turned their intense feelings for each other into a physical expression. I was particularly taken with Elle's mother who is such a complex, opinionated and peevish individual. It's totally understandable that Elle would find her difficult and irritating, but she's the kind of forthright individual who is wonderfully entertaining to read about. Although I was a little skeptical about some of British dialogue from Englishman Peter, it felt realistic how he has an easy and affable relationship with his mother-in-law which Elle can never achieve.

Being from New England, I particularly appreciated the way the author beautifully writes about the natural environment of this summer camp and how the structure of this rural community changes over time. There's something endearing about Elle's deep affection for this location despite the painful memories associated with it. The novel also movingly describes the twisted structures of sexual abuse and the poisonous way these occurrences can become secretly weaved into a family's life. It feels like this story offers a new point of view about this difficult subject matter so it's a thought provoking as well as a heartfelt book. I was also completely absorbed by its humour, sensuality and well-judged narrative tension. Given that the author works on different TV Drama Series and that this debut has been snapped up as a Reese Witherspoon choice, it seems likely that this novel will get a screen adaptation. Often reviewers can be snippy about how novels can sometimes feel like they were written only for this purpose, but I think the innovative structure of this book which is perfectly suited to its story makes it an utterly compelling read.

Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi

I loved reading Yaa Gyasi's debut “Homegoing” so much that I felt a slight sense of trepidation picking up her second novel “Transcendent Kingdom”. Could it live up to the quality of the first book? The answer is yes, but it also surprised me because it's a very different novel and a more self contained story of family life. Instead of creating an expansive saga about multiple generations as she did in her debut, this new novel is about the collapse of one particular family until only the narrator is left. We know this from the beginning and it's riveting and moving to gradually learn how this promising young woman comes to be left all alone. It's also a story that gives an impactful personal take on larger issues. There have been many books about the tensions between religion and science, but “Transcendent Kingdom” eloquently ponders it from a unique perspective asserting “this tension, this idea that one must necessarily choose between science and religion, is false.” Narrator Gifty had a strict Christian upbringing and now studies neuroscience. Using lab mice she researches the mysterious workings of the brain and whether hard-wired behaviour can be altered within all that grey matter. Her work is primarily motivated by a need to find answers about why she lost members of her family to drug addiction and depression. Of course, there's no easy answers but she also meaningfully considers the psychological and sociological factors at play. It's a tremendously meaningful story that completely gripped me. 

The question of faith can't be so easily dismissed when someone is raised to whole-heartedly believe in a certain religion. Gifty certainly sees through the hypocrisy and frequent misinterpretations of the Bible as practiced in the Alabaman community she was raised in. However, Christian practice and belief is a deeply encoded part of her personality so that she feels “'I believe in God, I do not believe in God.' Neither of these sentiments felt true to what I actually felt.” She's experienced the brutal way that some people use religion to justify their own prejudices (whether that's Christians in Alabama or Christians in Ghana) as well as the intolerant attitudes of budding young students who dismiss any notion of religious belief. It frequently leaves Gifty feeling painfully isolated as her distinctive sensibility doesn't allow her to feel like a part of either of these groups. These attitudes also don't reflect the way religion was practiced by her family in their home – especially in times of crisis. It leads her to the complex notion that “My soul is still my soul, even if I rarely call it that.”

It's moving how the narrative becomes a reckoning with the self as the story is interspersed with pieces from a diary Gifty kept growing up. These are her conversations with God where she desperately asks unanswerable questions but they're also a thoughtful attempt to understand the world around her. The tenderness of this child self paired alongside the more hardened solitary scientist she is today creates a heartbreaking picture of a sympathetically lonely woman. Therefore the defensive, withholding way she conducts her personal and romantic relationships (with men and women) makes sense and I felt for her stance. The circumstances she grew up in and her self consciousness about society's superficial assumptions also means that she ardently wants to be viewed as an individual freed from identity labels: “I didn't want to be thought of as a woman in science, a black woman in science. I wanted to be thought of as a scientist, full stop”. 

I was very struck by the tense relationship with her brother Nana who becomes addicted to opioids after he sustains a sports injury. The story portrays the agonizing pain of trying and failing to help a loved one overcome addiction. But it also confronts the attitudes surrounding drug addiction and how it's often connected in the US with racial prejudice. Gyasi is quite rightly excoriating about the behaviour of the community that celebrates Nana's athletic achievements and coldly turns their back on him when he becomes entangled in addiction and can no longer play basketball. This judgemental attitude is something Gifty wrestles with herself reflecting how “I would look at his face and think, What a pity, what a waste. But the waste was my own, the waste was what I missed out on whenever I looked at him and saw just his addiction.” This reminded me of the continuing stigmas fostered by America's “war on drugs” as described in “Chasing the Scream” by Johann Hari. Gifty comes to understand the suffocating social factors which encourage Nana's addiction and contribute his tragic downward spiral. The legacy of shame she feels from this is powerfully depicted. 

This is a brilliantly accomplished novel which is captivating in the way it shows the methodical way its narrator searches for answers to complex, deeply-felt questions.

Open Water by Caleb Azumah Nelson

I love a good love story. So few novels about love get the right balance between poetic feeling and poignantly rendered realistic detail. But Caleb Azumah Nelson confidently combines these elements to produce a debut that's beautifully distilled yet expansive in what it's saying. It's about two young black British people who meet in a pub in South East London. Their relationship starts as a friendship and tenderly eases into romance. They're in their early-mid twenties and trying to maintain their artistic aspirations while earning money. He's a photographer and she's a dancer. Nelson narrates the story in the second person to focus on his perspective. This gives the compelling effect of being at a distance at the same time as being privy to his innermost being. It's like the act of being photographed itself where you feel curiously both inside and outside yourself at once. There's a lot in this book about the act of seeing which develops in nuance and meaning with the impactful refrain: “It's one thing to be looked at, and another to be seen.” There's a freedom in truly being yourself but there are consequences that come from such vulnerability. “Open Water” powerfully captures the longterm effects of two specific people who really see each other as uniquely beautiful and endearingly flawed individuals. 

The story references and pays tribute to the influence of current writers like Zadie Smith and Teju Cole – in the case of Smith through a literal meeting with her at a book signing. As well as giving a sweet nod to these figures it makes complete sense that the male protagonist is guided by these writers' words as he ponders what it really means to inhabit a black body. It's powerful how his story shows the complicated formation of his masculinity as he's expected to be both tough and sensitive, grateful for his opportunities as well as resigned to the knowledge that he's undeservedly feared. Momentary respite from these pressures is elegantly captured in fleeting encounters with other individuals at Carnival Sunday or in a barbershop where there's a shared understanding of this ever-present burden. There's a swirl of experiences described in brief, emotionally charged chapters from getting a takeaway after a night out to a joint being shared with a near stranger to tearfully watching the film of ‘If Beale Street Could Talk’ to the sobering intrusion of being stopped and searched by the police. And there's also the heat and romance of this young man and woman alternately finding and losing one another. This is such a short book but I feel the resonance of all these moments and sensations like memories.

The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman

I've never been someone who has enjoyed reading murder mystery or detective novels, but “The Thursday Murder Club” surprised and delighted me as it was such a pleasurable and rewarding experience. Four charismatic individuals who are in their seventies live in a retirement village where once a week they gather together to mull over old police cases that have gone cold to see if they can solve them. But one day when someone is murdered in their own back yard they plunge into vigorously investigating this new case. Between them they have a wealth of experience, knowledge and connections – especially the high-spirited and persistent character of Elizabeth. They've also each lived distinct and fascinating lives. What's so compelling about this novel is that on top of the mystery surrounding the murders which occur in the story the reader is led to wonder about the mystery of these characters' pasts. Many of the younger people around them including police officers and characters from the local community overlook and dismiss them. Richard Osman shows there is much more to these septuagenarians than meets the eye. 

Usually when I read a novel that's divided into different characters' perspectives I tend to prefer one point of view over another so find myself almost racing through the pages to get back to the character whose story I prefer. But Elizabeth, Joyce, Ibrahim and Ron are all such endearing and funny characters that I never tired of being dropped into one of their perspectives. Their conversations pleasingly flip between speculations concerning the murder cases, trivial matters like homemade vs supermarket cake and reflections about larger life issues. In a way, this novel reminded me of Muriel Spark's novel “Momento Mori” in its humorously rich portrayal of a series of characters in their later years. But even though I found the characters so engaging and fun, I did get somewhat weary from waiting to find out how these murders would be solved. I know it's in the nature of a whodunit for information to be withheld and slowly parcelled out to draw the reader along but I find this structure so self-conscious I'm not really interested in who did it or how.

What I loved most about this story was how Osman captures the idiosyncrasies and strengths of his characters as well as their faults. He sympathetically describes the longing, regrets, petty grievances and resentments which they've clearly held onto for so many years as well as their infinite sense of curiosity and fun to want to pursue the mystery of these murders. But I was also moved by the heartbreaking decisions they have to make as they lose loved ones and find their options limited because of their circumstances. It's a wonderfully cozy read, but one which also has some bite and conveys a heartfelt sympathy for the struggles of its characters.

The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins

I was first drawn to reading “The Confessions of Frannie Langton” after watching the author Sara Collins discuss it in such a compelling way on the first episode of The Big Scottish Book Club which aired on BBC Scotland last year. And I felt drawn to it again when it was recently listed for the Costa Book Awards (and won the First Novel category.) I'm so glad I finally got to it because it's an utterly captivating historical novel with a feisty and intelligent protagonist who has many secrets and an enthralling story to tell. 

The novel begins in the early 1800s where Frannie is on trial for the murder of Mr and Mrs Benham. As she waits in her prison cell she writes her account of what happened and describes her journey from being born a slave on a Jamaican plantation to working as a maid for the couple she's eventually accused of murdering. She describes horrifying scientific experiments that were performed on humans, the effects of laudanum addiction, the taboo of same-sex love and takes us into the seedy underworld of London's brothels. These elements result in a story that feels somewhere between the novels “Washington Black” and “Fingersmith” which, as far as I’m concerned, is very high praise! What draws all this together and makes this novel utterly unique is Frannie's distinct and convincing point of view. She makes shrewd observations about attitudes towards class and race as well as the nature of being, the meaning of literature and the complications of love.

Early in her life Frannie was taught to read and write for reasons that eventually become clear, but it wasn't for her own personal development. However, it awoke within her a love for literature and she craves the company of books whenever she has access to them. Naturally this makes her a sympathetic character and being well educated gives her the ability to record her own story where many people from her background could not. Yet, we also get the perspectives of numerous other characters through dialogue, the testimonies given in court and occasional accounts from various individuals which are inserted into the text. It's clever the way this shows how Frannie could sometimes use people's assumptions about her to her own advantage, but it's also heartrending in the way it reveals how many underestimated her or used her as a pawn in their own schemes.

Frannie tells a captivating and meaningful tale with a viewpoint that still has a lot of relevance today. I also can't think of another character I'd rather take for a drink and exchange books with so we can have long discussions about what we've read. This is such an impressive and memorable debut novel. I hope Sara Collins writes more in the future.

Olive, Again by Elizabeth Strout

Without a doubt “Olive, Again” is one of the books I’ve been most anticipating this year. Elizabeth Strout is a favourite author of mine not only because she writes so beautifully and movingly about the lives of ordinary people, but I often feel a special personal connection to her fiction which is so often set in Maine - where I also grew up. This means her characters and their culture feel so immediately recognizable and familiar to me. However, such inside knowledge isn’t needed to appreciate the drama, comedy and astute insight found in Strout’s enthralling fiction. Certainly one of the author’s most beloved characters is Olive Kitteridge who first appeared in the 2008 “novel in stories” named after her. Olive is loveable in spite of or maybe because of being such an irascible, strong-willed individual. She’s the sort of character I love to read about but would be terrified to meet in real life.

Strout’s new novel picks up with Olive in her later years when she takes a new husband, makes an uneasy reconciliation with her son and transitions into old age. But, as is typical in Strout’s books and because this is another novel which also functions as a series of interconnected short stories, certain sections focus on other characters in Olive’s community as well. As I talked about in a video earlier this year, I love how this form of novel gives a more rounded picture of a group of characters since you get a series of individual perspectives but also better see their relationships and perspectives on each other. Later parts of this new novel bring certain characters together and you discover what happened to them after their individual sections conclude. In some sections Olive only makes a brief appearance or is referred to glancingly, but essentially this novel revolves around her.

One of the interesting recurrences in this novel are moments where characters are so shocked and unsettled by unexpected incidents that they remember them throughout their lives. It’s remarked how they can’t believe something happens and this disbelief makes it such a haunting experience for them that they don’t entirely trust their memory that it even occurred. This is such a true mark of individual experience in how certain occurrences like this will doggedly and inexplicably stick with us. We’ll obsessively think over them again and again like a puzzle we can never solve. It’s really moving how Strout captures this trait of human experience and how this creates an open-ended sense of life where there are no firm conclusions but only a series of unsettling mysteries which remain from our interactions with others.

A wonderful trait the author gives to Olive is a phrase where she’ll dismiss someone who disagrees with or ignores her by remarking “phooey to you.” While it’s a funny rejoinder, it also takes on a poignancy over the course of the novel in how it shows Olive’s essential alienation from other people and how rather than trying to find a more dynamic way to engage with them she’ll simply emotionally cut herself off. This leads to a relatable sense of loneliness she experiences and feels much more keenly as she grows older and must depend on other people more because she can’t remain as physically independent. What’s so clever about this recurring phrase of Olive’s is that it serves as a verbal tic the character possesses like Scarlett O’Hara dismissing objections people make about her actions by blithely stating “Fiddle dee dee” rather than seriously engaging with them. It’s an idiosyncrasy Olive possesses and something she must learn to mitigate if she is going to form meaningful connections with others.

While it’s often poignant how the novel shows her making this journey, there are moments when the message becomes too overt – such as when Olive finds a way to communicate with a Trump supporter she initially cuts herself off from. In instances like this it’s like the author is intruding upon the narrative too much to make a statement about how we need to form a dialogue between politically opposed individuals in the US. I’m not saying I disagree with this sentiment but in a novel it comes across as overtly didactic. Nevertheless, it shows a consistency of character since Olive is someone who always identified as a liberal democrat who angrily lashes out against republicans like the final section of the first novel “Olive Kitteridge” where Olive is outraged to discover Jack Kennison voted for George W. Bush.

Frances McDormand so perfectly embodied the character of Olive in the miniseries based on the first novel I’d love to see her reprise the role in an adaptation of this new novel.

I appreciated how the novel uses different stories to trace the transforming moral values of the culture over many years and different generations. One section concerns a daughter who returns home to inform her parents she works as a dominatrix and that a documentary has been made about her. Meanwhile, her father participates in Civil War re-enactments to physically inhabit an idea of the past. This contrast of activities creatively shows how we test the limits of our identities by inhabiting different modes of being. It also shows how there have been so many changes to what’s deemed permissible in society over time such as an elderly woman who recounts how she was stigmatized when she was a teenager for producing a child out of wedlock, a wife who has an affair with her therapist and a daughter who is estranged from her father after coming out as a lesbian. I’m glad the novel delves into these very different experiences by using this form of a “novel in stories” because it gives a more panoramic picture than if we were only limited to Olive’s point of view.

There’s been a lot of cynicism expressed recently regarding literary novels such as “The Testaments” and “Find Me” that are sequels to previous books. But I’ve enjoyed how each of these books creatively carries their stories forward. It’s like visiting past friends and catching up with them. It also allows for a more expansive portrait of these complex characters and the communities they inhabit – just as Strout has done previously with her character Lucy Barton who she picks up with again in the sequel “Anything is Possible”. Reading “Olive, Again” also speaks to my experience as a person who has changed and grown since first reading about Olive Kitteridge over a decade ago. Like Olive, I’ve had a lot of new experiences since then but I’m not sure I’m particularly any wiser; life just goes on. I loved having this chance to fictionally meet Olive again. More than that, this is a novel filled with so much humanity and exhibits a rare honesty about our relationships and individual foibles.

10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World by Elif Shafak

Although I very much enjoyed Elif Shafak’s previous novel “Three Daughters of Eve”, I was initially hesitant to read her new novel because the subject sounded so depressing. “10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World” recounts the final thoughts of its central character Leila after she’s been murdered and left in a dumpster. Scientists speculate that the brain remains active for a number of minutes after a person’s heart stops so the first part of the novel captures her final memories and reflections. As the clock ticks down to the inevitable expiration of her consciousness we follow her journey from being born to a religiously conservative man with two wives in the provinces of Turkey to her life as a prostitute in Istanbul where she becomes known as Tequila Leila. Along the way she meets five vital friends. These people form a network of mutual support to each other amidst strenuous circumstances and social rejection. We’re also given brief glimpses into these five people’s experiences of alienation.

While I admire the nobility of a novelist who sympathetically gives voice to the many voiceless represented in this novel it presents a lot of difficult subject matter including child abuse, religious extremism, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, the plight of immigrants, poverty and sexual slavery. I also felt uncertain at first because in the first section of the book it feels like each friend of Leila’s self-consciously represents a different downtrodden community. In her attempt to make visible a full spectrum of alienated people Shafak risks turning her characters into tokens rather than fully realised individuals. But ultimately I found this novel came together and worked very effectively for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, Leila’s personality and resiliency shine through her tumultuous journey. It’s a pleasure seeing her vibrant character come out in scenes where she radiates an energy and creative persistence amidst very challenging situations. This gives the story an engaging momentum. Secondly, the later part of the book is concerned with her friends coming together to memorialize Leila when the state refuses to do so after burying her in a “cemetery of the companionless” amidst many other marginalized unmourned people. The idiosyncratic personalities of these five character emerge in their interactions with each other as they form a wild plan to pay tribute to their beloved friend. I felt these aspects of the novel made it a riveting and convincing read rather than just a worthy exercise in raising social awareness for the disenfranchised citizens of Turkey.

It’s not surprising that Shafak is preoccupied with issues to do with social stigma in modern-day Turkey. As an activist and artist she’s been put on trial by the Turkish government for ‘insulting Turkishness’ in her writing and Shafak wrote a moving article here describing the political struggles she’s encountered. I admire that she’s not only chosen to engage with such difficult issues being faced by people who are being persecuted and silenced, but she’s skilfully crafted a story which draws you right into the heart of their plight and makes them come alive in a way I found powerful and moving.