The Adversary by Michael Crummey

Between plagues, marauders and horrific weather (destructive storms and unpredictable ice locking in the cove) I'm certainly glad I didn't live on the Newfoundland coastline in the early 1800s. The exact date when this immersive historical novel is set isn't specified but I assume it must be in this period because at one point there's an old man who still recalls the Seven Years War. It's a tough life for the inhabitants of the fictional town of Mockbeggar and not made any easier by the longstanding rivalry between siblings Abe Strapp and the Widow Caines who hold the majority shares of the mercantile businesses along this stretch of Northern land. This story doesn't shrink from depicting the violence and gruelling hardship of these inhabitants' lives and (sometimes) their abrupt deaths, but the author's atmospheric language, high drama and vivid characters were so compelling I found this novel consistently gripping.

I like that there's a Dickensian feel to Crummey's writing in depicting class strife and squalid 19th century living conditions, but also in his evocative choice of names such as Captain Deady, Mr Clinch and Solemn. In addition, many characters take on nicknames or they are referred to by their profession rather than their proper names including The Beadle, The Abbess and The Widow. I think this highlights how certain people become so defined by their roles within a community – especially such a small one as this. Since there are so many characters and some individuals are referred to by multiple names I initially worried it'd become confusing but I found following the characters and their relationships to each other fairly straightforward. There was also an unpredictable quality to the narrative since characters are prone to death even when I assumed they'd remain major figures throughout the story.

Given the difficulty of surviving in this location the inhabitants certainly don't need the added stress of Abe and the Widow's petty competitiveness and squabbling which subsequently has an effect on all the lives and livelihoods of the entire community. I found it very easy to believe this would happen because growing up in my hometown in Maine there were two factions of a prominent family whose business decisions negatively impacted the community and were detrimental to the economy – all because there was a longstanding family rivalry. I like how the depth and history of the Strapp sibling's conflict is gradually revealed over the course of the novel. At first The Widow seems like a good person because she is so capable, intelligent and provides work for some of the younger members of the community who are in need. However, her scheming nature gradually reveals itself especially through the mistrust she engenders from those around her and we eventually witness instances of her cutthroat nature. She seems to especially arouse a mistrust in other women. Though I think she is ultimately villainous I was very drawn to her as a character for the idiosyncratic way she dressed in her late husband's distinctive clothes, her forthright manner and her determination to become successful despite the odds. However, I'd certainly never want to meet her in real life!

Abe is more immediately damaging in his truly heinous actions and reigns as a tyrannical figure of the community. It's infuriating that he gets his way in being assigned the role of Justice of the Peace. There couldn't be a more ironic title for him since there is nothing just in his behaviour. He stirs up conflict and causes destruction at every opportunity. Though he's truly monstrous I think it's believable because there are people who are unrelentingly glutinous and outright selfishness. It's also sadly plausible that someone like this can retain his power though he's totally incompetent at doing anything but retraining his power. He does this through intimidation and taking advantage of his position selling goods to the community on credit at exorbitantly high interest rates. He exploits the easiest ways to make more money through selling alcohol, gambling and running a prostitution business. Despite his power and success he always seems to be discontent and miserable throwing tantrums. Since he so often gets his way it was truly satisfying whenever there's a rare instance where he's undermined or humiliated. Unfortunately Abe usually keeps the upper hand and he gleefully exploits, abuses and kills whoever he wishes. Given his horrific actions and nature I couldn't help hoping throughout the story he'd become a victim of vigilante justice or become a casualty of his own incompetence.

Perhaps because of the harsh conditions and competitive nature of this world there are few truly good characters in this novel. The exceptions are teenage siblings Solemn and Bride as well as a reformed young man named Lazarus. There's an interesting dynamic between this trio especially in Solemn's unspoken desire for Lazarus and the way Solemn strategically plans to maintain a closeness to him. It's poignant when historical novels can highlight how gay (or potentially gay) individuals such as this existed in the past but their sexuality was often necessarily hidden or actively left out of historical records. I found Lazarus to be one of the most fascinating and dynamic characters in the novel because he undergoes such a transformation of identity. He arrives in Mockbeggar as a criminal/indentured servant who is sexually sold to enable the older criminals to gamble. But his intelligence and kindness are fostered so he develops into a productive member of the community. I enjoyed the close-knit relationship between these three younger characters however, I found it a bit saccharine that they quote the bible to each other all the time. I know this is a common language/connection between them but to me it made their relationship less dynamic.

“The Adversary” is a sort of sequel to Crummey's previous novel “The Innocents”. I've not read this other book and from watching interviews with the author about this novel I know he describes the books as mirrors of each other because their stories occur concurrently but in different areas of Newfoundland. There's a brief reference to children in a different cove whose parents have died and who are struggling to survive. These are the protagonists of “The Innocents” and there are some characters in “The Adversary” who appeared in that earlier novel but mostly in more minor roles. Crummey describes that first book as a play upon the Adam and Eve story. Similarly “The Adversary” is obviously a play upon the Cain and Abel story. It's fascinating how Crummey transposes the conflict of this biblical tale to Newfoundland. There are a number of great interviews online with Crummey discussing this newer novel, but one I'd especially recommend is one with Kobo because I think it's enlightening how he discusses the environment and history of the region: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGRgwEWULMU

I'm certainly keen to read “The Innocents” and other work by Crummey since “The Adversary” is the first book I've read by him and I think he's a fantastic writer. His style of storytelling reminds me of Joyce Carol Oates' work (which is obviously a very positive thing for me) and it also reminded me of Eleanor Catton's “The Luminaries”. It's also interesting learning from interviews with Crummey that the character of Abe was based on a real historical figure from Newfoundland's history named George Ryder. Ryder engaged in many of the heinous crimes and actions which Abe also commits in the novel. However, the author was also conscious that Abe's tyrannical nature has a similarity to the attitudes/actions of many despotic leaders who exist in the world today. It's poignant how this novel functions as both a fictionalisation of the past and commentary upon the present in this way – but it's also depressing knowing that such people often find ways to gain and maintain the power to oppress others. Although, more than Abe (who is simply an idiotic bully and narcissist), I was disturbed by the Protestant parish officer The Beadle who is his enabler. In addition to being Abe's godfather, The Beadle schemes to allow Abe to persist in his destructive behaviour (partly so that he himself can retain his power and income.)

Overall, I found this novel impressive and utterly absorbing. It's so atmospheric – both in the descriptions of the environment and the use of dialogue/language throughout the novel. It's striking how when some sailors arrive in the community they speak in a markedly different way from the natives. It may be crudely childish of me, but I enjoyed how there were so many creative/funny terms for insults, conjugal relations and sexual anatomy throughout the book. It provides some light relief to the more gruesomely violent scenes. However, these creative turns of phrase also indicate the wit of so many people from the past whose lives weren't recorded in any other way. The story is filled with so many memorable and compelling characters including midwife Mary Oram. Locals are suspicious/wary of her but many rely on her medical know-how. There are also so many intriguing plot points in this novel that I felt consistently engaged. So I'm really glad to have discovered this new-to-me author through it being shortlisted for the Dublin Literary Award.

On the Calculation of Volume I by Solvej Balle (translated by Barbara J Haveland)

I was naturally drawn to reading this novel because when I was younger I loved movies about time travel such as 'The Time Machine' (1960), 'Somewhere in Time' and 'Back to the Future'. Of course, there's also 'Groundhog Day' and Balle's novel also features a protagonist caught in a time loop. Such sci-fi stories are pleasurable brain-teasers, but they also get us to think outside the boundaries of ordinary reality and our subjective experience of the world. Balle's novel begins on the 121st day Tara Selter has experienced November 18 and we follow as she evades meeting her husband Thomas in their own home. She goes on to explain that this bizarre occurrence first started while she was away on a work trip and how she's come to this point. She continues to document her experiences until she's spent a year of her life in November 18. Unlike 'Groundhog Day' she grows older and changes though everyone else wakes up to this day (apparently) exactly the same and as if they've never experienced it before.

To me, Balle's novel functions on two levels...

On the first level there is the plot and how time has “fallen apart” for Tara. There's much intrigue which arises from her predicament regarding why this is happening and the “rules” of her time loop since the effect she has upon objects isn't always consistent. It's curious to follow her experimentation over the course of a year from staying awake as long as possible with her husband Thomas to meticulously taking notes and memorising what's happening around her to keeping certain objects close by to see if they'll return to their original positions when Nov 18 restarts. It appears that anything which becomes materially connected to her such as food remains gone when the day restarts, but there are also physical objects such as certain books and a telescope which she's able to keep (whereas others such as an ancient Roman coin and some books she purchases return to their original positions.)

There are also some other questions I'm left with and experiments I wish Tara had conducted over the many days. I'm somewhat unclear about what moment Thomas returns to his “starting position” in bed on Nov 18 given that the couple successfully stay awake together into the 19th. Tara notes how at one point Thomas forgets everything she's told him and what they've experienced throughout the 18th, but I don't think she records when she falls asleep during this process or how far into the 19th she ever makes it. On her first time experiencing November 18th she gets burned and this heals over time. Though she physically changes I'm curious about what physical effect she can have upon other people and animals from day to day. If she cut Thomas would he still have that wound the next day? Leeks disappear from the garden when she eats them, but would her effect on other living things like trees or animals also carry over into the next day? When she returns to Paris later on and notices a dog tied up outside of a shop I wondered what would happen if she took that dog. Would the dog still be there in her hotel room the next day if she keeps it with her? Given that the things she purchases and eats from the kitchen in her home and local shops disappear after she's consumed them I also wondered if anyone notices these disappearances. Surely Thomas might notice a thing or two missing which he expects to find in the kitchen and a shop would notice that their stock has been massively reduced. But these reactions or lack of reactions aren't recorded by Tara. She notes at one point that no matter what she spends her bank account remains the same so I wondered what would happen if she added to her finances by gambling or playing the lottery when she knows what the results of these will be on Nov 18. If she did so, would that additional money still be with her or in her account the next day?

Although I wondered about all these questions while reading the novel the fact that they weren't pursued by Tara didn't spoil my enjoyment of the story. I'm sure there are innumerable experiments or theories she could have pursued but finding the ultimate answer for why this is happening or how it works doesn't feel that important (at least not to me.) Any overall explanation for how or why this is happening would probably feel unsatisfying anyway. The fact that I'm musing upon it just shows that I was engaged by the theoretical problem of the novel and Tara's plight. I felt like I really went on a journey with her as she grows increasingly anxious over the year about how she can escape from this time loop. If she is caught in it forever and as she is aging surely there will come a day when she becomes so old Thomas won't recognize her anymore or she might die (and presumably the recurrence of Nov 18 will stop.) This brings me onto how this novel also raises larger issues about existence, life and relationships...

On the second level there are many larger philosophical and symbolic questions which arise from Tara's condition in this novel. This book has prompted me to read HG Wells' classic “The Time Machine” for the first time (even though I'm already familiar with its story through the film adaptation.) In it The Time Traveller (as he's referred to) raises the point how humans normally only think about the three dimensional nature of reality. However, there is also the fourth dimension of time which we don't usually factor in because “our consciousness moves intermittently in one direction along the latter from the beginning to the end of our lives.” Tara's dilemma is that she is trapped in everyone else's present time while she herself is progressively moving towards the end of her life. As such her mentality changes throughout the days and months which pass only for her. So the story considers how we relate to time in both a material and mental way. Also, the volume of objects are typically measured by multiplying their three dimensions. Given that Tara experiences a disruption of the fourth dimension the title of this novel suggests that time also has an impact upon our material reality.

I find all the science behind our material relationship to time really interesting (although I only understand the bare basics of it.) Due to gravitational time dilation, it's a fact that time goes faster the farther away you are from the earth's surface. Even though humans can only experience this to a tiny degree it's interesting to consider. Of course, for Tara time isn't moving faster or slower but on a loop. There's also the fact that we only get her subjective experience of this phenomenon. Does everyone else in the world go through to November 19 but Tara is pulled back to the beginning of November 18? Are there a series of multiverses where everyone else is living a different future based on Tara's actions on the 18th? Or is Tara the only one experiencing the future while everyone else and the world itself is caught in a loop? I enjoyed how the novel raises these interesting questions while not answering them.

Tara's experience immediately made me think of the circumstances of lockdown during the recent pandemic. Primarily staying inside had the bizarre effect where every day felt the same. I also became attuned to patterns of my husband's behaviour and the environment of my home (when the mail arrives/the routines of neighbours/the way sunlight changes in different rooms at that particular time of the year) in ways I wasn't previously because we'd go to our respective work spaces. I also felt thrown out of time so that my meal routines changed. Sometimes I'd forget to eat when getting up and find myself having cereal early in the afternoon. So Balle's story had a poignancy in thinking how our experience of the world changes when we have an enforced stasis like this. It also raises an awareness of everything that occurs in the world without our knowledge because we are in our own subjective experience. However, Tara is able to learn about all the things she wasn't previously aware of because she was in her own day - before that day became the only day.

The story also made me think about the nature of relationships. It feels significant that Tara is away from home when the loop starts occurring. I was also struck by the fact that both Tara and Thomas' names begin with T and their business is T. & T. Selter. So it appears like there is some sort of doppelgänger or mirroring situation going on, but Tara becomes the anomaly who changes while her husband stays the same. It's quite sweet at first that they get lost in the “fog” of days enjoying each other's company – although she has the annoyance of needing to explain to him every morning about her condition. There's a great love and intimacy between them. However, this isn't sustainable and Tara gradually moves into the guest room and eventually into another local house entirely. I was struck by the lines: “Thomas has a set pattern in his house... It is his pattern and I have no place in it.” In a way, the story feels like an interrogation of romantic relationships. What happens to a couple when one person stays the same and the other steadily changes? Even if a couple is happy would that happiness endure if they were forced to re-experience the same day over and over? Tara grows to feel so alienated from both Thomas and the immediate world around her that she comes to think “Thomas is the ghost and I am the monster.”

From the tone of the beginning of the novel I immediately wondered if Thomas was dead and her experience of him being caught in an eternal present was a sort of magical thinking on her part. So there's a poignancy to this as she notes the routine and all of Thomas' movements. But it's also creepy! It's frightening to consider from Thomas' point of view what it'd be like to be monitored without his knowledge in this way. From Tara's account Thomas seems to fully accept her condition and he only raises objections when she starts spending more time away from their home and devising a way to break out of the routine by returning to Paris. It'd be curious to consider what would have happened if he did journey with her. Would he still be there when she woke up in her hotel room again? I wonder if his objection to her leaving and refusal to join her was an intended part of the story's meaning or if it'd have created a technical difficulty with Balle's plot leading it to a place she didn't want it to go.

I thought it was interesting how Tara begins to think of herself as a monster as she is relentlessly consuming and taking from the world while everything that's consumed by others is restored when the day restarts. This made me think about our concerns over the environment and a consciousness about our own carbon footprint. From a certain frame of mind it's difficult not to anxiously feel like every individual is negatively impacting the planet and must minimize their damage. However, Tara eventually reasons “I do not take much from this world, I think to myself, not when you consider its size... That's how little the monster is. That's how little difference I make to the world. That's how little the activities of one person matter on the eighteenth of November.” It was fascinating how her predicament leads to meditations about the micro vs the macro (Tara as one small individual vs the universe.) This reminded me of “Solenoid” as at one point the narrator of that novel inhabits the consciousness of a dust mite. However, Tara starts to take comfort in studying the stars, movement of sky and the constancy of the moon: “The heavens are vast and untouchable, the universe opens up and you become an insignificant little monster taking tiny bites out of a gigantic world.”

Part of me is attracted to the idea of being caught in a time loop where I'm not subject to the responsibilities of daily life and being able to spend endless time looking at the night sky – or reading everything I want! Of course, there are major downsides to it as well as Tara discovers. So the story has made me think about the tension between carving out personal time for myself versus engaging with life in the larger world. For a relatively simple concept, Balle's story yields a lot to meditate about and I think that's due to the skill of her prose which embeds the reader so firmly in Tara's consciousness and reasoning. The style of writing is quite straightforward with many declarative sentences as she enumerates the facts and this has the effect of insisting on the fact of her evolving reality and emotional state which is in opposition to the rest of the world.

This is the first book in a planned series of seven novels. I'm very curious to see where it goes next – especially as this first novel ends with a sort of cliffhanger. However, I have reservations about whether my interest will continue throughout all seven books. I assume Balle has a large outline and plan since she's declared there will be this amount of books and she's working writing the final two at the moment. So hopefully she'll be able to sustain the momentum. Regardless, I'm very glad I read this novel as it was very enjoyable and it's left me a lot to mull over.

The Dream Hotel by Laila Lalami

I felt very tense reading this story set in the near future given how plausible and real it feels. Lalami's tale taps into an anxiety many of us probably share about how our conversations, search histories, identities and daily life are being recorded by the technology we use. Nevertheless, most of us submit to this because the convenience and benefits outweigh any immediate fear about how this information might be used by corporations or government bodies. In many ways the protagonist Sara is a typical American going about her life when she's suddenly yanked out of her routine at the airport because it's suspected she might commit a crime (and she offends the egos of those questioning her.) Part of the reason for her high risk score is due to dreams she's had which have fed into an algorithm that has categorized her as a potential threat. She's kept in a retention facility for what she's told will only be a few weeks, but it extends much longer. Following the increasingly degrading conditions of her life, the intense suspicion which surrounds her and the steady wearing away of her freedom is terrifying. I found it especially horrifying how her own husband seems to eventually suspect she must have done something wrong to be in this situation. Given the potential for so many aspects of our lives to be under surveillance and measures that governments take to retain people under suspicion it feels like a potential situation that's not too far from our present reality.

Of course, Sara's heritage plays a part in the story as well. Since her last name is Hussein and her family come from Morocco she's grown up accustomed to automatically being under more suspicion – especially in situations like US airports. An American friend of mine has an Arabic surname and she's told me how she wears loose fitting clothing whenever she flies in and out of the US because she knows she'll be strip searched every time though she's never committed any crime. It's terrible the way in which people continue to be profiled and treated differently in ordinary circumstances. It was moving reading the section about Sara's memories regarding how her family reacted to these situations, veering between a desire to completely comply to avoid getting into trouble and an impulse to rebel against unfair treatment. This sliding scale of natural reactions is mirrored in the facility in which Sara is incarcerated to be monitored. Though there's a wide variety of women of different ethnicities and backgrounds in the retention facility, it feels significant the story is focused through Sara as someone especially vulnerable to being targeted. Naturally this must be a source of ever-present anxiety and the outrageous persecution she experiences is like a manifestation of the threat she's always lived under.

The novel initially moves between the details of the incident where she's stopped at the airport and her time spent in the retention facility. I found it effective how it shows this encounter at the airport as a seemingly benign annoyance, but then it becomes terrifyingly dangerous as she's determined to be a risk and taken away. Maybe this is because we're all accustomed to occasionally needing to submit to such questioning at places like airports. However, after following Sara's encounters with a number of other women being held at the facility the narrative skips to the story of inmate Julie who has been released. Now that Julie is back home after only a few weeks it's revealed she was a plant from Dreamsaver Inc who went inside the facility to collect data directly. Though this adds to the plot of the story, I felt surprised Julie's experiences in the facility didn't cause her to question the morality of either her company's work or a system which was incarcerating innocent people under strained conditions. I suppose she is so ingrained in the system that she fully believes in it and feels above it so that the possibility of her own real indefinite retention seems impossible to her. It reminded me somewhat of Kushner's choice in “Creation Lake” in its focus on an immoral character. However, since we only briefly get a section with her and Sara's discovery about Julie's identity doesn't really lead anywhere this felt like more of a distraction from the primary focus of the story.

I found it effective how the retention facility is in a former school. This adds a constant solemn sense that this used to be a building focused on education and now it's a place which grinds down the lives of innocent individuals. There are occasional references to children's things on the walls which remind Sara that it used to be a school and this comes to feel like a sad commentary on how the world has changed. This is also a location which wasn't originally designed to be used for this purpose and its inadequacy becomes even more clear when there is the threat of the wild fires which mean they must be temporarily moved. The chaotic and improvised nature of their being evacuated increases the draconian measures taken to incarcerate them like criminals rather than people merely being monitored. I appreciated how this element of the story also reminded us that there are considerations such as climate change which are affecting increasingly harsh regulations and add to the pressure society is under.

I enjoyed how Lalami built up an understanding how this facility wasn't so much about keeping people safe from potential threats but enhancing the profits of companies which capitalise on both the cheap labour of the inmates and the products which the detained must purchase for themselves – especially if they want to communicate with the outside. There's a section which recounts a series of messages between Sara and PostPal which felt especially effective because who among us hasn't faced difficulties with companies where the service or product we've received is inadequate, but trying to get compensation through phone calls or emails feels like communicating with a computer which only gives rote and insufficient responses?! I could really feel Sara's mounting frustration. There's the irony that Sara must act impeccably during her retention but the system holding her continuously experiences faults. These faults may be intentional to put pressure on the detained or they might be real mechanical difficulties. In either case, the government and corporations are not held accountable for these faults. This adds to the sense of injustice within this whole situation and all power resides within a faceless system or the petty power trips of authorities in the facility like a character named Hinton. Sara is continuously told by the authorities, her legal advice and family that she simply needs to “follow the rules” but the story shows how this is actually impossible.

I enjoyed how how there's an ambiguity to the story's end which left me pondering not only the novel as a whole but the reality of Sara's present circumstances. Reading this book has certainly made me think more carefully about how much I'm allowing myself to be monitored and actively sharing information with companies which claim my privacy will remain secure. However, as we all know, there have been countless stories of data leaks or companies inappropriately selling off user details. I found it especially intriguing that the author describes how she wanted this book to feel more like history than a speculation about the future and how she created this sense in the novel by including documents like archival material. I think this does make the novel more effective and I appreciated getting small insights into what was happening outside of Sara's immediate experience. I felt the novel as a whole was mostly successful but some parts came to feel a bit too repetitive and, though it made sense there was such a large cast of characters, the brief glimpses we got of their stories weren't always sufficient to understand their experiences. Overall, this book came across as a refreshing take on serious and relevant concerns about technology and personal security.

Days of Light by Megan Hunter

This was the perfect novel to read over the recent long Easter weekend because not only is it beautifully written and utterly absorbing but the book begins on Easter Sunday 1938. It follows the story of Ivy who is on the cusp of adulthood and uncertain what she wants to do in her life. She lives in an artistic and bohemian household (“the most secular house in England”) in the countryside where her mother Marina dedicates as much time as possible to painting. This situation is heavily inspired by The Bloomsbury Group where Ivy is partly a fictionalised version of Angelica Garnett, artist Vanessa Bell's daughter. This collective of writers and painters had very complicated romantic entanglements as Angelica discusses in her memoir “Deceived with Kindness”. When she was in her 20s Angelica married writer David Garnett. Not only was David a man over 25 years her senior but he'd known her since her birth and he was once the lover of Duncan Grant, Angelica's biological father. It would have been easy for the author to sensationalise this story, but she does something much more subtle and moving with its architecture. Instead we follow the character of Ivy over several decades and each section focuses on a day in her life at different points. The story traces her intense connection with the natural world, evolving sense of spirituality and a love affair she has with another woman over many years.

It's important to note that the names, personalities and stories of Hunter's characters diverge from the historical figures of The Bloomsbury Group in many ways. I was frequently surprised where the novel went, how the events of WWII enter into the story and the way Ivy herself changes over time. A crucial event from the beginning casts a shadow over the rest of the novel. This involves a person disappearing and a mysterious occurrence where Ivy views a strange flash of light. Questions surrounding these mysteries linger throughout Ivy's development especially in her familial relationships and a growing connection with religion. I'm not someone naturally inclined to read about spirituality but the way the novel poetically describes Ivy's soulful sense of being is extremely moving. Though she has dabbled in the arts Ivy doesn't feel proficient in painting or writing. At one point it's observed how “One phrase of poetry had remained with her: exquisite risk. Where was this, she wondered, in this comfortable world of sofas and flowers in vases? Where was the risk? She supposed it was here: in the brushstrokes, the attempt to create life on the canvas. But she found - had always found - that she wanted more, for the risk to be discovered outside the studio. In life itself.” Ivy valiantly forges her own relationship with the world and sense of artistic expression in the process of living.

Light itself becomes a thing of inspiration and wonder. It's something that Ivy's artistic family seek to capture in their paintings. It's like a message from the firmament guiding Ivy's spirit. Light also becomes more prominent in the English spring when the days lengthen and brighten. It's noted how “Ivy loved how each spring announced itself as a new event: unprecedented, entirely original.” This seems so true to how we often experience this season of rejuvenation and renewal. In creating an account of Ivy's life through a series of days separated by decades Hunter forms a unique view of history and a hopeful way of approaching life with all its disappointments and opportunities. It's touching how Ivy's relationship with her aunt Genevieve (a fictional equivalent of Virgina Woolf) develops. I also love how the writing in this novel feels inspired by Virgina Woolf's poetic way of representing consciousness especially in “Mrs Dalloway” and “The Waves” (my favourite novel of all time), but “Days of Light” also does something distinctive and unique in its prose style. It offers a different slant on the process of living. Our roots may be formed in our own families and circumstances, but the story shows how an individual can spring forth to forge their own path. Ivy emerged from a group of people dedicated to experimentation and she herself creates a different way of life that's suited for her own distinct personality. Though “Days of Light” is very different from the pared down style and dystopian atmosphere of Hunter's debut “The End We Start From”, this new novel possesses an equally graceful style of writing which is an absolute joy to read.

Mothers and Sons by Adam Haslett

There's a tremendous emotional complexity to the lives of Adam Haslett's characters which isn't fully understood until sticking with them for a sustained period of time and following the full arc of their stories. This was the case in his previous novel “Imagine Me Gone” and it's certainly true in this new novel which (as the title suggests) explores the dynamics of several mother and son relationships. By its conclusion I was in tears because the impact was so strong. The story primarily focuses on Peter, a gay asylum lawyer in his 40s living in New York City, and his mother Ann who runs a women's retreat in rural Vermont with her female partner Clare. Peter and Ann have been estranged for many years after a dramatic incident and great loss which occurred many years ago. Each of them works really hard in their lives to enact positive change for other people, but without sustaining their own emotional well being. As Peter takes on new client Vasel Marku who is a gay Albanian seeking asylum in the US this lawyer gradually confronts what he's suppressed about his own past and how his mother is a key part of being able to progress forward in his life.

The narrative moves back and forth between these two central characters' perspectives, with Peter's story told in first person while Ann's tale is related in the third person. The nature of the gulf between them is gradually revealed and circumstances lead them together – a reunion that's partly facilitated by Peter's chaotic and vibrant sister Liz. I especially appreciated getting a detailed representation of Peter's life working with his clients who might be deported and the difficulty of building a case to grant them asylum. This feels especially topical given the mass deportations occurring under the new administration in America right now. Though Peter is openly gay he lives a very restrained existence, regularly seeing a man only for sexual convenience and building no lasting ties. It's poignant how Haslett presents the psychology of a man who fully accepts his sexuality but has trouble forging emotional connections with other men. Ann's story is equally compelling as she made the decision to leave her husband for a woman when Peter was a teenager. Though she's in some ways settled her present life is still evolving and I really felt the intricate nature of the longstanding partnership she's built with Clare over many years.

There are also a number of other compelling mother/son relationships presented alongside these central characters including Vasel and the mother who helped him flee Albania, one of Peter's female clients and her American-born son and Peter's teenage friend (and first love) Jared and his young mother. The contrast between these various relationships show how such connections often contain a lot of tension. While many mothers make tremendous sacrifices for their sons they also run the risk of smothering them. As sons strive for independence they often don't appreciate or acknowledge the challenges their mothers are facing. Ruptures occur through these disconnections and that can lead to deep loneliness. Re-opening honest connections can be incredibly difficult and it's solemnly observed “What a waste a closed heart is.” However, the novel also pays tribute to the special bond of this familial relationship and its potential to become nurturing in a vital way. It's admirable how Haslett's writing draws on classic themes, but it also feels powerfully bold and modern.

The Book of Disappearance by Ibtisam Azem (translated by Sinan Antoon)

I was drawn to the bold premise of this novel where one day all Palestinian Arabs suddenly vanish from the State of Israel. This challenges the notion that if Palestinians were to leave the region it would solve the biggest problems of this area of The Middle East. It's an inventive way of considering this longstanding conflict and, sadly, continues to feel extremely relevant today though the book was first published in Arabic in 2014 (with the first English translation appearing in 2019.) The narrative brings this sudden occurrence to life through the voices and competing opinions of those who remain, but it's primarily focused through the lens of Israeli journalist Ariel who reads through the notebooks of his vanished Palestinian friend and neighbour Alaa while writing news articles on reactions to the ongoing situation. But before the big event occurs I was immediately emotionally drawn into the story with Alaa's description of the death of his beloved grandmother. I felt his deep sense of grief which is represented in the often repeated metaphor: “Longing for you is like holding a rose of thorns!” It's touching how her charismatic presence and staunch devotion to Jaffa seem to fill this novel even though she dies at the very beginning. Her loss which proceeds the entire Palestinian people's disappearance seems to underpin a question posed in various ways throughout the novel: what remains in a physical landscape after part of its people and their culture have gone or been destroyed?

It was compelling how the initial disappearance of the Palestinians is viewed from a number of different characters in the community whose lives are immediately impacted by the loss. Inconveniences and larger immediate problems such as the loss of manual labour, delayed buses, closed shops and the cancellation of a medical operation gradually build to larger tensions concerning how the State of Israel will function without any Palestinian Arabs. The state anxiously requires that everyone must register their citizenship as a way of definitively categorising who belongs and who doesn't. I appreciated how the author represented a wide range of perspectives from highly prejudiced to fearful to sympathetic to indifferent. From what I understand some of these points of view were taken from or at least inspired by real interviews and speeches. Though we're only given a small glimpse of a number of characters' lives, I found the way this was structured to be effective because it gave a snapshot of so many different voices and reactions. It shows the deep seeded dangerous rhetoric believed by some that Israel is the only democratic nation in this area and the Palestinian Arabs are a threatening inconvenient presence that need to be controlled. However, others assume that their disappearance must have been somehow orchestrated by the Israeli state and worry for their welfare.

I found it interesting how both Alaa and Ariel's fathers are absent for different reasons and how the reasons for their fathers' deaths influence each man's beliefs and how they are perceived within their communities. Though they are friends and there are accounts of how they socialised with one another, there are also sections which describe how they have very different beliefs which stem from competing ideological stances and their respective positions within the society. Initially I felt uncertain how much I believed in their friendship and I think that's partly with how the novel is structured, but I gradually came to feel that they have quite a complicated connection with each other. In particular, there's a very powerful scene where Alaa has a very public rant at how Ariel isn't seeing his point of view.

Ariel is quite a complicated figure as he's in some ways liberal but also adheres to Zionist beliefs. Alarming scenes from his past are gradually shown and it also grows increasingly disturbing how Ariel freely colonizes Alaa's apartment even though he's only been gone a short time. Ariel reads Alaa's notebook, sleeps in his bed, drinks his wine and finally plans to change the locks. Though they shared a friendship, it feels like Ariel reverts to the stance that any space which is abandoned by Palestinians can be freely taken and he feels justified in doing so. However, there's a tension because he hears noises as if the space is being haunted or that Alaa may return at any moment to reclaim his space. There's also an unsettling painting in Alaa's apartment of a cloaked figure staring out as if continuing to bear witness.

One of the most devastating sections of the novel concerns a much older former Israeli soldier named Dayan's memory of witnessing and being involved with the rape and terrorisation of an Arab woman and man. He's continued seeing the woman on the street for many years but now that the Palestinians have vanished he's not able to ask her for forgiveness and paradoxically he resents her for depriving him of that opportunity. This passage seemed to function as both a literal account, but it's also symbolic of how if the Palestinians were to disappear there would be no way for the Israelis to atone for their oppressive actions. Some members of my bookclub posed an intriguing question considering whether the woman in this section is Alaa's grandmother and if Dayan is related to Ariel. It certainly seems possible but I didn't think this was the case because I believe the woman disappears with the other Palestinians rather than dying before that occurrence, but maybe that's my own interpretation. I'd be keen to hear if other readers wondered this or have other theories/possible answers.

The novel feels somewhere between a documentary and piece of speculative fiction to me. The points of view of various individuals give a sense of the narrative a nation creates about itself to justify its actions and policies. This statement stood out to me: “An illusion is enough to live the lie that later becomes the truth.” As the Palestinians are being pushed out of the country, imprisoned or killed there's the danger their narrative and point of view will disappear or be erased. Alaa maintains a notebook partly because “I write to remember, and to remind, so memories are not erased. Memory is my last lifeline.” Though the novel describes a fantastical occurrence which is never explained it doesn't feel as much like speculative fiction because the disappearance of the Palestinians has been occurring in a literal way ever since the beginning of the Nakba and 1948 events which the grandmother recalls.

Some readers have expressed concerns over whether this novel gives a balanced take on this conflict given the author is Palestinian. Certainly the writer is coming from a certain point of view and she's also a journalist. However, this isn't an article or piece of non-fiction. It's a novel and like all artistic creations is by its very nature from a subjective perspective. I'm in no way an expert in this conflict, but the atrocities being experienced by both Palestinians and Israelis in the region is well documented. This novel made me think about the recent documentary 'No Other Land' (which won an Oscar earlier this year.) It feels especially relevant given that at the centre of the documentary is a friendship between an Israeli and Palestinian who are activists. It's a really powerful film and I'd highly recommend watching it.

Overall, I felt that this novel meaningfully shows how a place truly comes to life through the multiplicity of experiences and perspectives of its different citizens. The grandmother viewed Jaffa in a certain way. Alaa viewed it a different way. And Ariel views it another way. Just as Alaa longs to speak with his grandmother again to see her perspective, Ariel desires to speak with Alaa. So the loss of each individual is not only a physical absence but mean that an essential part of this place's character has also been lost. Though this is a very specific story its concept and ideas could easily be applied to many different areas of the world which have been colonized or where there are deep seeded conflicts between different cultures, religions or nationalities. It made me think of the novel “Exit West” by Mohsin Hamid as it uses a fantastical occurrence as a way to differently consider a larger political issue. As some readers have remarked and Azem has cited Jose Saramago's excellent novel “Blindness” also feels like an influence. But Azem still does something very unique in this book – not least of which is portray a grandmother/grandchild connection which feels very emotional and true.

Stag Dance by Torrey Peters

I had such a fantastic time reading this book! It's smart, joyful, scary, sexy, challenging, weird and messy in the best possible way. The three short stories and novella included in this collection range wildly in style and subject matter, but all of them imaginatively inspire different ways of thinking about gender and trans experience. There's a manufactured contagion where everyone must choose and maintain whether they are female or male. At a boarding school a popular guy pursues his secret desires with the soft body of his roommate while boisterous lads demonstrate their masculinity. A week-long Las Vegas event for cross-dressers and trans women leads a vulnerable individual to make an extremely tense decision. And, in the book's titular longest story, a group of lumberjacks perform a unique ritual to satisfy the simmering repressed desires which accompany living in an isolated remote forest. These tales dramatise how none of us simply inhabit pure masculinity or femininity but exist in different shades which are constantly changing. The collection also cleverly probes the blurred lines between being cis and trans and questions whether such lines even exist.

After Torrey Peters' breakout “Detransition, Baby” many have been eagerly awaiting the next book and some will no doubt be disappointed that this follow up isn't a novel. However, the imaginative range found in these stories make each of them memorable. They show how the strength and support which can be found within communities, friendships, relationships and sisterhood are also accompanied by instances of jealousy and backstabbing. Within all groups there are hierarchies based on relative beauty and power, but especially amongst marginalised communities. These things can be difficult to discuss and it's brilliant how Peters gets into the nuance of individual experience in this imaginative fiction. I admire that she doesn't feel the need to sanitise this complexity or present virtuous examples of queer life. There are desires which some can only admit online or under certain circumstances and which morph as they leak into reality. I found it highly relatable the vulnerability some of these characters experience as they tentatively step into a like-minded community and relationships. It can be so disorientating and frightening trying to forge real connections while still trying to figure yourself out and avoid those who want to take advantage of naïve newcomers. Peters presents all this in a way which doesn't shrink from this darkness but it also feels celebratory and so very funny. This is queer excellence.

The Persians by Sanam Mahloudji

This entertaining and exhilarating debut novel is like a literary equivalent of the show 'Absolutely Fabulous'. At the beginning of the story outspoken, materialistic and status-obsessed Shirin is accused of attempted prostitution by an undercover policeman. With her lofty manner she utterly dismisses the accusation, but her conscientious niece Bita obtains legal representation and helps build a case for Shirin who is at risk of losing her American event planning business, serving jail time and having her US visa revoked so that she'd need to return to her native Iran. The dynamic between Shirin and Bita is irresistibly funny as the former acts hideously while the later strives to do what's morally responsible.

Shirin's case is at the centre of this novel, but the story builds out to represent the lives of multiple generations of Iranian women who come from a once illustrious family. Shirin's mother Elizabeth and daughter Niaz who continue to live in Iran also contend with their own struggles. As events unfold and secrets are uncovered the truth brushes uncomfortably against how these women have defined themselves. As Elizabeth remarks at one point, “We are so far from what we think we are in our minds, you and me.” It's interesting how the story portrays how expectations and cultural understanding shift with each succeeding generation. It delves into the tumultuous recent history of Iran and explores shifting hierarchies within current Persian culture. Each woman is strong-willed in her own way as this family navigates the world and contends with an inherited sense of entitlement. This was a very enjoyable novel though it sometimes focuses more on comic hijinks than the heart of the story.

The Empusium by Olga Tokarczuk (translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones)

I've had mixed experiences reading Tokarczuk's work in the past. I didn't get on with “Flights” but loved “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead”. So I was curious to see what I'd make of “The Empusium”, especially just after reading “The Magic Mountain” as the bones of this story heavily inspired Tokarczuk's novel. This follows 24 year-old Mieczysław Wojnicz who is suffering from TB and another initially mysterious condition as he journeys to a “health resort” in the Silesian mountain range. There he encounters a number of highly opinionated men who take him on rambles through the countryside, drink a hallucinogenic alcohol named Schwärmerei and engage in conversations on a range of topics from politics to religion to the nature of reality, but most of these discussions devolve into horrifically misogynistic statements. The narrative follows Wojnicz's increasingly unsettling experiences as rumours of ritual killings in the forest and witches abound alongside persistent unsettling noises around the property. However, we also get frequent memories from Wojnicz's past as he lived under his imposing father (who is also a massive misogynist.) The story leads to a scene of intense crisis and an opportunity for new possibilities for Wojnicz.

The title of the book comes from Empusa or Empousa (who was a shape-shifting female from Greek mythology who seduced and fed on young men) but the name is combined with the word symposium. I enjoyed the chilling atmosphere of this novel where we're almost immediately presented with a body on a dining table! Threats abound from devils, the town's working class, women and even the landscape (according to his friend Thilo.) There's the question of who Wojnicz should really trust – the doctors, the gentlemen residents, terminally-ill Thilo with his cryptic warnings, the local women or the strange noises/voices that surround him. There's some gore especially surrounding food (there's a duck soup scene which is utterly stomach-churning) and the novel considers the cruelty towards/consumption of animals which is strongly reminiscent of Tokarczuk's “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead”. One of the most unsettling images are some creepy dolls (tuntschi) which are made from natural material by locals and used for sex before being left in the forest. Though the novel is subtitled as a “horror story” it's not so much about nail-biting terror, but it's fairly effective at creating a persistent eerie sensation.

It gradually becomes clear that the true horror comes from prevailing attitudes and systems of thought concerning a hatred towards women. Not only that but Wojnicz is frequently under pressure to conform to stereotypical notions of masculinity. I grew up in rural Maine where I was forced to spend time amongst groups of men on camping and hunting trips. Though they weren't outwardly misogynistic there was pressure to fit into this high-testosterone atmosphere, rise to physical challenges and submit to men's need to be “right” in whatever argument they were making (whether I agreed with them or not.) So I definitely felt for the pressures Wojnicz experienced among such men.

Interestingly, the narrative switches between a past-tense 3rd person following Wojnicz and a collective first person account in the present from some undefined entities (labelled in the opening cast list of the novel as “Nameless inhabitants of the walls, floors and ceilings”.) I liked how this later narrative voice added to the creepiness of the story as it felt like I was travelling amongst ghosts, spirits, nature or some other unknown entity. It adds to the sense that although misogynistic men control the social order of this location there's a perspective outside of this judging, undermining and wryly commenting on the proceedings. But it was also such a curious way of shifting focus from the larger action to the micro: the chinks between the slate roof tiles, droplets of water, clumps of grass, etc. To me this felt very cinematic like in David Lynch's Blue Velvet where the view of a seemingly idyllic neighbourhood narrows down to creepy undergrowth.

The novel’s story has a superficial relationship to Thomas Mann's “The Magic Mountain” with its hero newly arrived at a sanatorium, plot structure centred around conversations between gentlemen and setting prior to WWI. Tokarczuk has commented that she rereads Mann's novel every few years so it's in some ways a homage and in some ways a corrective or, as she describes, a way of “sparring” with that classic. Having just read Mann's novel, I was immensely relieved that the diatribes from different gentlemen were greatly condensed since there were so many long essayistic chapters in “The Magic Mountain”. Nevertheless, there was a meandering sense which remained in Tokarczuk's story which meant the plot felt a little lethargic in places: another day, another stroll that descends into misogynistic nonsense. However, I enjoyed how Tokarczuk explored issues surrounding Polish nationality/independence and a new take on time/space by considering both a 2 and 4 dimensional reality. I also liked that Tokarczuk reproduced the odd homoerotic imagery of pencils being stroked in adolescence which was also in Mann's novel. There are several other parallels in imagery/ideas between the two books. I certainly don't feel it was necessary to have read “The Magic Mountain” as Tokarczuk's text doesn't play off from that original in the same way that the recent novel “James” worked in parallel to “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”, but I'm still glad I read Mann's book because it is its own strange beast.

There's a surprising twist in the story and the final sections of the novel are quite thrilling. These reinforce Tokarczuk's message that reality doesn't exist in simple absolutes but in different perceptions and in-between spaces. Overall I think this was a fascinating and through-provoking read. Though I definitely wouldn't want to harken back to this time of more rudimentary medicine/treatment I did like the idea of champagne being prescribed as a cure. There are certain odd images which will stick with me such as a toad sitting on a pile of potatoes. Though the finale is gripping I felt it played out a little too quickly with the narrative summing up afterwards for all the characters. In this case I kind of preferred how Mann concluded his novel in a way which was haunting and ominous regarding the advent of WWI. The really bracing thing to me was the author's afterward where she states how the misogynistic views expressed by her characters were paraphrased from texts by some of the foremost Western thinkers/writers from the past including Charles Darwin, Sigmund Freud, Shakespeare, Yeats, etc. It shines a light on how the core of our culture is threaded through with misogynistic ideas and thus calls into question our very foundations.

Playground by Richard Powers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Creation Lake by Rachel Kushner

I was initially thrown by the description of this book as a spy novel. Instead of the moody suspenseful tale I was expecting I was surprised to find large portions of the book concern a philosophical treatise pondering the early years of Homo Sapiens and Neanderthals. The novel is told from the point of view of a very confident and cooly guarded woman who uses the undercover name Sadie. We follow how she gradually infiltrates an anti-capitalist eco commune through the old friend of its leader and her movements around an agricultural area of France. Presumably the year is 2013 since the sounds of Daft Punk’s song ‘Get Lucky’ can be heard everywhere Sadie travels. A large portion of the narrative concerns her reading and commenting upon the emails of Bruno Lacombe, a reclusive mentor to the commune who lives in a cave and believes he hears voices. His musings are curious to read about but initially I found the overall mode and conceit of this novel disorientating and overly ponderous. Nevertheless, I steadily got into its deliberation about our origins as humans and where our motivations come from. It's also fun to follow Sadie who is supremely judgemental but also a fallible individual who gets tipsy on wine and meets a new gay bestie named Vito.

The reader doesn't know much about this narrator since her profession requires that she remain anonymous. However, she refers to her jobs from the past and why she had to stop working undercover for a US government body after romantically entrapping a young man by convincing him to commit acts of eco-terrorism. Even before the examples were specifically referenced in the novel I recalled the UK undercover policing relationship scandals from the past couple of decades. It's outrageous that there have been numerous cases such as this where officers used a false identity and became romantically involved with the subjects they were spying on and, in some cases, had children with them. So it's logical that Sadie must be a steely individual only concerned with executing her job even if this includes emotional manipulation and morally bankrupt behaviour.

She indicates at one point that she doesn't even have an opinion about the issues at stake because she is simply performing her duty. Sadie believes this justifies her actions but I get the sense that she enjoys feeling superior to those around her. Additionally, Kushner has fun with inhabiting such a judgemental voice as Sadie freely makes catty comments about other people's appearance and French life. At one point she likens terrines to cat food and observes that the older/more rural the Frenchman the higher his pants will be belted. She also points out that only in France will you find talk shows with famous writers as guests because it's the only place where people think writers are interesting. These sly observations provide some levity amidst the more ponderous passages of the novel. Sadie is also extremely confident about her appearance as being attractive but not having any especially remarkable features which will make her stand out and thus she can remain relatively anonymous. However, she does have artificially enhanced breasts which she refers to multiple times and takes pride in and which I assume she had done to aide her in seducing the subjects she's spying on.

Bruno can be a bit of a windbag in his messages and he has eccentric ideas, but I found some of his diatribes pondering the origin of humans and our motivations interesting. Though she's reading these messages looking for clues about potential acts of sabotage, it seems like it's also forcing Sadie to think more in depth about deeper issues. Kushner repeatedly refers to the image of lines of poplar trees as it seems to connect with this long view of history or successive generations of humans stretching back to our most primal form. Bruno's earnestness is also endearing as he's desperately seeking an alternative for the path our civilization has taken. I also have a natural sympathy for people who form intentional communities and different ways of organising themselves. In my early adulthood I even visited a number of communes and considered joining one. However, I eventually realised that it's incredibly difficult to successfully organise a community along new lines without repeating the same mistakes as mainstream society. This certainly seems to be the case with Le Moulin, the commune Sadie enters into where there is a lot of talk and ideals but little practical action. Sadie joins them under the pretence of translating the group's co-written book opposing Capitalism. However, she is really there to report on and monitor their activities in the lead up to a planned demonstration at an agricultural fair and try to provoke one member to take the protest to even further extremes.

Sadie expresses the view that people's belief systems are merely a superficial way to “shore up their own identity.” She goes on to say “The truth of a person, under all the layers and guises, the significations of group and type, the quiet truth, underneath the noise of opinions and 'beliefs,' is a substance that is pure and stubborn and consistent. It is hard, white salt.” This image of the salt at the core of our being becomes quite significant to her and recurs especially towards the end of the novel. Is this a cynical view by an embittered person who has chosen a profession of necessary loneliness with no fixed identity? Are the beliefs that people hold so dearly really only superficial and fleeting? Or does our unique make up and system of beliefs form who we are? I think Kushner is raising all these questions with no certain answers but offers them through the lens of an individual who positions herself outside both mainstream society and the counterculture of this commune.

It's endearing that Sadie comes to feel so fond of Bruno and protective towards him – even remarking that the commune doesn't deserve him. I think she recognizes a kinship with him in his extreme isolation and rejection of society. They seem to have come to the same conclusions but have different approaches to navigating life. They're also both keen on considering deep time by staring into a dark cave of great depth or gazing into the stars in the night sky. This touchstone with history draws them out of the present moment, the present circumstances of our civilization and the (to their minds) tragic trajectory of Homo sapiens. Sadie also seems to want to take the place of Bruno's deceased daughter – however, he doesn't know her and has no idea that she's been reading his messages. So the only connection she can have with him is to engage with his system of beliefs and look to the stars (even if they aren't really stars but satellites.)

As you can see, this novel's spy story is somewhat secondary to the larger questions it raises regarding humanity, individual motivation and the trajectory of our civilization. Those looking for a plot which adheres to the genre conventions of spy novels might be disappointed by this. However, I heartily enjoyed Kushner's creative take on this sleuth's tale as its increasingly dramatic story ponders many prescient issues from a unique point of view. It's also a fascinating character study about an individual with no regard for the people she deceives. Yet cracks begin to show as she is prone to drinking, popping pills and ocular migraines. Kushner also incorporates a good deal of humour in how she presents Sadie's perspective. Additionally, there's an increasing complexity to this spy whose self-interested stance is muddled by the missives of a mysterious guru. There is a slow build up in the story as the first half of the novel is top heavy with Bruno's emails, but “Creation Lake” develops a good momentum as it leads up to the dramatic resolution and a potential reckoning for Sadie.

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 argued that 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.

Caledonian Road by Andrew O'Hagan

“Caledonian Road” is a dramatic and epic novel about modern London. It presents snapshots of many different levels of society which mostly circle around this area of the city to the northeast of King's Cross. It gradually forms a grand portrait about how people and the issues they face are interconnected. There's a sense that the economic disparity in this particular area persists despite decades of reforms and that this is representative of imbalances throughout the nation as a whole. From the plight of immigrants, the dangers of criminal gangs, the workings of the media/politics and the immorality of the elite/super-wealthy, Andrew O'Hagan utilizes his journalistic experience to harness many of the most pressing news stories of our day and distills them into a Dickensian tale replete with virtuous and comically repulsive characters.

Though the point of view often switches between many different individuals the most central figure is art historian Campbell Flynn. He's undergoing an artistic and financial crisis having published a respectable biography on Vermeer but now he's written a self help book about men which is projected to be a huge bestseller. He comes from a humble Scottish background but now inhabits the upper echelons of society. Various dealings have left him desperate for money and led him to compromise his integrity and talents to take lucrative jobs ranging from fashion industry write-ups to an inspiring podcast series. He's also an academic that has recently formed a strong connection to his student Milo whose vociferous cultural critiques tap Campbell into something real and modern. However, Milo has his own designs to utilize his skills as a hacker to become a whistle blower reminiscent of Julian Assange (O'Hagan once attempted to ghost write an autobiography for this activist.)

Despite his privilege, Campbell is surrounded by a number of people who regard him with contempt from some of his academic colleagues to the sitting tenant in the apartment of his building. Campbell's good friend Sir William is also going through a crisis as his financial and sexual affairs come under scrutiny. His prosecution and some other dramatic events unravel the secrets and corruption underpinning many of the lives of this large cast of characters – so large that there is a list of the dramatis personae at the start of the novel (a handy reference I frequently flipped back to keep track of who is who.) Although many of the characters are arrogant, corrupt and distasteful (especially amongst the upper set) I enjoyed how O'Hagan reveals their flaws through scenes where they demonstrate how self-justified they feel in their opinions and positions. They're well aware what others think of them but they stick to their guns as they believe they are in the right. A lot of humour emerges from this and keeps the story rollicking along as Campbell moves between the cast. I'm impressed with O'Hagan's ambition to not only present many levels of society and a broad social landscape of contemporary London but to actually inhabit a number of these different characters' voices through dialogue and their mental process. It's brave of him and I couldn't testify to the authenticity of the many different people he portrays but it's handled with confidence. Sometimes it does feel like characters embody certain issues and communities that O'Hagan wants to discuss in a way which makes them feel more representative than authentic. Nevertheless, there are scenes where a psychological complexity and emotional levels develop with certain characters so that I grew to care about several of them and I was intrigued to follow their storylines.

I know some readers have felt somewhat alienated from the book when they're not as intimately familiar with London as a city or British politics, but O'Hagan's evocative descriptions give a strong sense of the environment, people and issues at stake. It's difficult for me to judge how effective this is since I have lived in the city for over twenty years so I've observed how it's changed and I'm more familiar with what's being portrayed. I've even met some people who feel very reminiscent of some of the novel's characters. There's also a pleasure for me recognizing certain aspects of the cityscape in the narrative even when it's something as casual as Byron Burger (a once large food chain which diminished considerably after the pandemic) or Google's enormous new building which is still being build in King's Cross. Many of the characters' routes can be physically traced and followed through the city. I also appreciated how O'Hagan links some characters' experience of the capitol through different imagery (such as swans) and their individual interpretation of these reference points.

The many individual stories of these characters feed into a larger entangled tale of criminal activity, exploitation and economic disparity. It makes sense that “Caledonian Road” is frequently described as a state of the nation novel since so much of the story questions how the country's character and politics is being dictated by greed and a desire to maintain the appearance of power/dominance/being a first world nation. A character comments at one point that the English will do anything for £1million and it's been well reported how much London property is being held as an investment by international tycoons making the city more into a shell rather than a living metropolis. It feels effective how the overarching story is gesturing towards these larger issues and their complexities.

Overall, the story felt consistently engaging to me although I was interested in some characters more than others (Elizabeth, Moira, Jakub being amongst the most sympathetic to me.) However, other characters were intriguingly monstrous such as Yuri, Jake and Antonia. Still others were fascinating in their denial of the truth about what's happening because they are so fixated on their version of reality like Mrs Krupa, Candy and Mrs Voyles. Milo is one of the most contentious characters in the novel. For much of it he feels simply like a counterpoint to Campbell. As a computer wiz who is morally righteous and driven by the loss of his mother/friends, he's intent on disrupting the system and exposing corruption. Rather than feeling invested in his storyline itself I was more interested in how he is one of the few characters not willing to compromise his values in any way. Many characters (gang members, truck drivers, models, pot growers, politicians, writers) set aside their moral sense for the time being as they expect to soon be financially independent enough or socially powerful enough to live by their own code, but the day where that happens keeps getting extended into the future until their actions catch up with them. Campbell seems to be the supreme example of this as his underlying financial crisis/reliance on substance abuse means the more he tries to get himself out of this mess the more he becomes entangled in it until it reaches an absolute crisis point.

I think O'Hagan is effective in demonstrating how difficult it is in this day and age to wholly live by certain moral standards because we're often shielded from how we're involved in a much larger system. The characters' actions show how many of us want to retain our own personal comfort as a priority. Maintaining the status quo is also very appealing. There are certain characters such as a Russian oligarch whose status and actions come across like something directly extracted from a news story - as do many of this novel's plot lines. That's not bad necessarily as the novel uses satire to paint a large canvas with what concerns the English sensibility at this period of time. However, it does add to the sense that some characters come across more like symbols or stereotypes and this feels more problematic for those individuals that come from other nations: the wealthy/criminal Russians, the Polish immigrants, the Irish drivers. Nevertheless, there are moments where I felt emotionally involved with them so I keep going back and forth about how I feel about this novel as a whole. It's one I'd like to return to at some point as I think I'll be able to pick up on the nuances better now that I'm familiar with the characters and overall plot as a whole.

Long Island by Colm Tóibín

A striking thing about reading Toibin's novel “Brooklyn” was how much its emotional power slowly crept up on me. The story follows Eilis Lacey, a young Irish woman who is coaxed into moving to America in the 1950s to find work. While this book was engaging and beautifully written I didn't understand the point of it until Eilis gradually became caught in an unbearably tense dilemma. Suddenly the overwhelming heft of its meaning hit me and I was both utterly engrossed and very moved by it. Since “Long Island” is a direct sequel to “Brooklyn” many readers will wonder whether its necessary to read this earlier book first. This new novel certainly stands on its own and it cleverly keys readers into the drama of the first book in case they're not familiar with these characters. However, there's also a great pleasure in already intimately knowing these characters so I think it's advisable to read “Brooklyn” first and it's certainly worthwhile.

Unlike “Brooklyn”, “Long Island” immediately has a gripping plot as we meet Eilis again twenty years later. She's living a seemingly content life with her Italian-American husband Tony and their two nearly adult children when an unexpected visitor arrives at her home. This stranger tells her that his wife is pregnant with Tony's child and when the baby is born he will leave it on Eilis and Tony's doorstep. The news not only makes Eilis question her marriage and the choices she's made, but brings into sharp focus the limitations of her position. Tony's family close ranks and Eilis is expected to support her husband (and this new child) even though he's betrayed her. Since her mother back in Ireland will soon be celebrating her eightieth birthday, Eilis has a convenient excuse to return to her native country and take some time to think about how she wants to handle this painful situation.

When she embarks on this journey the narrative point of view begins alternating between Eilis, her lifelong friend Nancy who is now running a chip shop whose fumes and rowdy customers disrupt the locals and Eilis' old flame Jim who now runs his family's pub. Nancy and Jim have been through a lot in the intervening years. They've made tentative plans for the future but the reintroduction of Eilis creates new possibilities and problems. In this story Toibin cleverly reproduces the central drama of “Brooklyn” that made it so thrilling while bringing a new spin to the story following the lives of these characters who are a little older and more world-weary. Their options for making big life changes seem to be shrinking, but there are still unexpected possibilities. While this trio are the heart of the story there are a host of brightly rendered individuals from Nora Webster, the protagonist of another novel by Toibin, to Eilis' irascible old mother to Tony's brother Frank who is obliquely referred to as “one of those men”. The communities of a New York Italian/American quarter and a small town in Ireland are brought vividly alive with interfering family members, gossiping neighbours and charismatic banter.

However, Toibin also has a masterful ability to suggest much more through what's left unsaid between the characters. There's the painful silence between a married couple lying in bed together who are awake in the dark. But there are also acute gaps in dialogue between characters. For instance, in one scene a character asks another “Can you say you love me?” and the other character replies “Yes, I can.” But this isn't the same as actually saying aloud “I love you.” Some characters exhibit hilariously blatant contradictions claiming not to be gossips but eagerly spreading rumours. The narrative also seamlessly moves between these characters' thoughts of an imagined future and the actual reality of what they want or need or what's possible. Toibin expertly describes how people keep each other in check and control each other while intending to be supportive. He shows how people want to know each other's business but not openly communicate with them. The story demonstrates the ways communities and families support one another, but also inhibit individuals from realizing their potential if their identity and dreams don't align with the values of the majority.

“Long Island” is a wonderful addition to the ongoing tale of these characters and I hope Toibin continues to write about them from new angles and introducing new drama to this beautifully realised fictional world.

Night Watch by Jayne Anne Phillips

I was greatly anticipating the announcement of the 2024 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and made a video speculating what books might be listed for this year's prize. When “Night Watch” by Jayne Anne Phillips was declared the winner I was highly intrigued because personally I'd never heard of this novel before. Some readers I follow who had read this novel were disappointed by this winner, but nevertheless I went into reading it with an open mind. Unfortunately I found reading the novel to be a frustrating and disappointing experience. The plot is not only melodramatic but often feels like a cliched soap opera with double identities, amnesia, separated lovers and a dramatic fire/physical altercation. Of course, these can be elements in great literature but this novels feels somewhat like an unsuccessful mashup of “Wuthering Heights” and “Rebecca” set during the American Civil War. Its heavy reliance on coincidences and artificially conjured emotional situations makes it seem like a cheap and facile imitation of an epic tale.

The story is primarily set at the Trans-Alleghany lunatic asylum in West Virginia in the year 1874 and follows the gradual recovery of a mother named Eliza who is so mentally unwell she's nearly comatose at the novel's beginning. Her teenage daughter ConaLee joins her at the asylum, but pretends to be Eliza's carer because family aren't allowed to live with patients. Both mother and daughter take pseudonyms while at the asylum. Prior to their time at the facility they've been captives of a tyrannical scheming Confederate soldier who insists on being called Papa. The narrative occasionally flashes back to a decade prior at the end of the American Civil War to show different characters' points of view including Eliza's lover John, a wounded Union soldier, and Dearbhla, an Irish healer. There's also an orphan boy nicknamed Weed dwelling at the asylum who oversees many events which occur between the characters. Eventually true identities are revealed, a professionally questionable romance forms and everyone goes on a jolly carriage ride.

The Pulitzer simply declared this to be “a beautifully rendered novel” and in a Publisher's Weekly interview Phillips described wanting the reader to “understand the history of another time, to appreciate it—and the best way to understand,” she says, “is fiction. I want to write scenes where the reader can feel the shattering moments.” There are certainly shattering moments including an unnecessarily extended rape scene whose gruelling nature points to why Eliza is psychologically destroyed. However, I didn't feel the story sufficiently conveyed the dynamics of this long-term abusive situation and I was left with a lot of questions which it felt like the authors skipped or avoided. Despite giving a sense of the facility including reproductions of photographs and documents, I didn't understand how the hospital operated. I don't understand why ConaLee was denied from knowing about her true father for so long. Eliza's neighbour Dearbhla is the kind of character I'd normally be intrigued by and want to read about, but her involvement in the plot felt forced. There was a lot of potential in the story regarding revelations about John O'Shea and Weed's ambiguous nature and origins, but these didn't feel sufficiently developed.

The momentum of the book rests in the damage of the past and this is embodied in the monstrous figure of Papa. However, the primary action takes place in the present as Eliza slowly heals and the story leads to an artificial confrontation. Of course it's inspiring to find that there existed a facility at the time which was so caring to its mentally ill patients as most such institutions during this period were cruel and abusive. But the story and the choice to focus on this benevolent facility don't give much insight into this period of history. Or, rather, they suggest a simplistic sense of hope amidst a devastating period which left many casualties. Consider the example of Keneally's “Schindler's Ark” which highlights an inspiring example of humanity amidst a genocide. Yet the book also doesn't shy from portraying the complex cruelty and destruction of this period of history. “Night Watch” only offers a flattened version of the past with a syrupy plot designed to suggest that benevolence ultimately prevails, but this has little to do with reality of war or its aftermath.