The Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout

For the past several years Strout has created a beautiful tapestry of novels about the intersecting lives of a number of her characters – most notably Lucy Barton, Olive Kitteridge and Bob Burgess in titles such as “Oh William!”, “Lucy by the Sea” and “Tell Me Everything”. So it's notable that she has written a new novel which is entirely outside of this set of books – although keen readers will notice there is an easter egg within “The Things We Never Say” that refers to a previous Strout novel and definitively establishes that this story is entirely outside of that fictional universe. Though the setting and characters are somewhat different, Strout's characteristic style of fiction persists. We follow idiosyncratic characters having conversations and privately contemplating the world. The narrative dips into the past and gives small snapshots into the future. The author has such a moving way of representing her characters' thoughts where memories intrude upon the present to produce a ruminative and lightly philosophical sensation. The genius of Strout's writing is that it is both highly relatable and profound as it guides the reader through what matters the most.

This new story focuses on Artie Dam, a history teacher who lives on the coast of Massachusetts. He's been married to his wife Evie over thirty years, has an adult son and enjoys taking meditative solo afternoon sailing trips. And in this strange new post-pandemic world Artie finds himself preoccupied with a sense of loneliness and the question of whether we really have free will. Not only does he contemplate the possibility of incompatibilism but he boldly raises this issue in casual conversation. Naturally many people are quick to bat away discussing such a ponderous question. Gradually Artie finds truer understanding with the people in his life by daring to speak about things which aren't normally verbalised, but this isn't a sure method of achieving real connections. The results are both surprising and humbling as the story concerns the nuances of human communication. Sometimes his exchanges are tenderly moving and sometimes they're just awkward in a way which is true to the ebb and flow of our personal networks. Some friends turn into strangers and some strangers become close friends. The central father and son relationship in this story is especially poignant. There is also a narrative tension as Artie discovers a dramatic secret about his family which may or may not completely upend his life.

The novel begins in the lead up to the 2024 US presidential elections and Artie has a terrifying feeling about what the result will be. In a conversation it's remarked “He's going to win, you know... People want authority. They crave authority. And she doesn't have the kind they want, and he does. In his cult following kind of way.” Everyone who has lived through this recent period of time will know exactly what is being said here. Though Strout possesses a seemingly gentle style of storytelling this novel is also excoriating about the present state of the country and the very real threats we may face in the near future. It's no coincidence that Artie is a teacher of history and his class openly discusses the lives of ordinary people from the Civil War and WWII. The anger and frustration with the state of our present times is palpable in this story. Artie witnesses bursts of violence and firm political lines being drawn. Yet surprising love can also be found between people who are seemingly diametrically opposed. What can we talk about and what can't we say? At one point it's stated: “to say anything real was to say things that nobody wanted to know. Or if they wanted to know, they would not care in the right way. Or even understand. It was a private thing, to be alive.” Though Artie is preoccupied with the question of free will, Strout seems more concerned with the question: what's happened to decency?

The Remembered Soldier by Anjet Daanje (translated by David McKay)

“The Remembered Soldier” by Anjet Daanje follows a WWI veteran nicknamed Noon who has lost his memory and resides in a Flanders asylum. It's fours years after the end of the war and a woman named Julienne comes to the facility claiming this veteran is her husband Amand. The novel traces this couple's story as they adjust to life together but there are questions about her motives amidst the debilitating effects of his shell shock. This is an emotional tale which took me a bit of time to ease into with the way it presents a cascading mountain of detail regarding Amand's psychological state and the dramatically fluctuating condition of his relationship to Julienne. But it feels so effective in conveying the horror of PTSD and the terrifying confusion from his amnesia. Moments of being fully present and aware come to feel so precious as his state of mind is often a blend of uncertain memories, nightmares, surreal fantasies and paranoia. The reader is also drawn into the tension about whether Amand is paranoid or is Julienne really hiding something about their past because of inconsistencies and questions regarding what she tells him. Daanje teases this out and, while I sometimes grew impatient with the way that Amand and Julienne's relationship ran hot and cold, I did feel very involved in their story. I wanted to know the truth about Amand's history, what Julienne is concealing and whether they'd be able to establish a stable and happy life.

I found it interesting that Noon or Amand seemed to be in a place of relative stability in the asylum with his routine gardening and his connection to some of the other patients, but of course there are terrifying undercurrents with the patients' nightmares and the time some former soldiers must spend in the ominously named “unruly pavilion” when things get too bad. The periodic pressure which comes from women who visit to see if Noon is their lost husband/relative seemed like another kind of needling agony as he's presented with so many possible lives to slot into until he's finally identified as Amand. It felt poignant when at one point in the story he returns to the asylum and finds he's outgrown it because he's established a place in Julienne's home. Yet he still sometimes longed for the tranquility he found in the asylum garden and this seemed to manifest in the way he occasionally walked out of the city until he found himself in a field.

Most notably, Daanje establishes an interesting form for the book where nearly every paragraph begins with the word “and”. The lines build into one long continuous extended description and the dialogue is compressed into the sentences. It gave me the sense of being swept into a river as we followed Amand's experience from being found by Julienne at the asylum to re-establishing himself in his family and work life. I think it's effective in conveying how there is barely ever any relief from the turmoil of Amand's condition as at any moment the ground beneath his feet might become unstable and he's be swept back into a nightmare. Are Amand and Julienne moving towards the truth or are they building an intricate illusion in their life together? At one point it's stated “he thinks she knows it too, their life is built on quicksand, one false step and they'll drown together.” This uncertainty builds a persistent sense of uneasy tension.

Amand comes to be wholly reliant on Julienne as “without her he has no idea who he's supposed to be.” He knows he can't trust his own mind and his memories are unknown but “there are also times he thinks it must be her, there's something about her, something unnameable.” There are several indicators of Julienne's potential untrustworthiness with how she concealed that she moved their family from Meenen while he was away at war, the question over their daughter Rose's parentage, how it's revealed Julienne used to be Amand's mother's maid, the way Julienne uses Amand to pose in photographs for financial gain and how their neighbour Felice accuses Julienne of falsifying her memories with Amand when the women have a fight. It's also so significant how Julienne spends much of her time retouching photos in an effort to both preserve and manipulate the past. However, there are plausible explanations for these things where Julienne might be tactfully withholding things or massaging the truth about the past to make their future together easier. It also might be that Amand finds it too difficult to accept a loving relationship after having lived in the dark about his life for so many years. It's remarked how “it's a safe world, this life he shares with her, but beneath it lies a nameless threat, whatever he does, thinks, says, it's there in the background, always, as if he glimpses it out of the corner of his eye and it moves again before he can look at it straight on, and the strange thing is somehow his fear always comes as a relief, his love for her was unknown territory, his fear is familiar.” Paradoxically there is a kind of comfort he finds in his fear rather than embracing the happiness which can be found with Julienne. But if the relationship turns out to be based on lies will that all collapse and he'll find himself in a new kind of horror?

Amand is also understandably wary about knowing the truth of his past and his time at war. It's remarked how “he's afraid for himself, for what his mind has managed to conceal from him all these years, it must be something terrible.” Yet there is no way for him to escape the past as memories might resurface unexpectedly and even amidst pleasurable experiences such as when the taste of chocolate reminds him of the chocolate he plundered from a dead soldier's pack while on the front. So he's trapped in a kind of limbo and this is poignantly symbolised in the way Amand and Julienne paint a backdrop of a no-man's-land for him to pose in front of to be photographed. Psychologically he's still there on the battlefield and can't escape it. And the widows who come to pose with him in front of that backdrop remind them of how many men didn't return from war. Though they know they are lucky and that finding each other was a “miracle” it's also fraught with so much difficulty, heartache and a tangle of complexity which might ensnare them.

I think it's masterful the way this novel presents an untrustworthy point of view. Amand losing his memory because of PTSD serves as both a testament to the trauma caused by the experience of war and a narrative device to create a lot of tension and mystery throughout the story. It's very impactful the way the novel roots us in his experience where the sense of disorientation and paranoia reach such terrifying levels. Since the narrative is filled with a profusion of detail following his experience with the repetition of the word “and” it felt all the more terrifying when there is a gap in his memory about what's occurred in the present. Amand realises that he can't trust himself and Julienne realises that she's inevitably going to lose the man with whom she's built a familiar relationship and love over the past year. As much as I felt suspicious of Julienne I also grew increasingly anxious for her and their children because of Amand's unpredictability.

The narrative style shifts in such a marked way in the final section of the novel. It's so striking that this is when the story moves from the intense often claustrophobic environment of their household with its familiar routines to the chaos of the larger post-WWI world. I found it so powerful how the novel describes the degraded existence of the collapsed German nation with the hunger, hyper inflation and highly skilled people forced to perform unskilled labour to try to get food. I don't think I've read any other fiction that depicts this post-war environment so vividly. Part of me wishes that this section had been longer with less time spent on fluctuations Amand and Julienne's relationship. Walking through this devastated landscape is such a wake up call for Amand who learns that “the war is over for the people it never really touched” but everyone else's lives have been shattered and existence is a constant struggle.

One of the most poignant characters in the story is a black dog named Issie. It almost feels paradoxical that an animal would stand out more than the couple's own children. A frequent criticism I've seen of this book is how small a role the children play in Amand and Julienne's life. I felt this as well while reading the book but my assumption is that this was a period of time when many parents weren't heavily involved in the emotional lives of their children. Parenting is more a practical obligation. But also Amand and Julienne were so wrapped up in each other there seemed little space for them to care about anyone else.

I think it's so compelling how this story raises larger questions about our relationship to the personal and collective past. There are the alternate realities we build for ourselves because we can't cope with the actual reality, but what is the cost of denying or manipulating the truth? There are also many specific questions to consider relating to the story. Of course, one of the big ones is can we really trust Julienne? Knowing the full truth about her and her motives is something I don't think we can ever know because this story is entirely from Amand's perspective, but it's clear she's a passionate survivor. One of the reasons I'd like to reread this novel one day is to see if I feel differently about her now that I know the entirety of this novel's plot. Even after certain plot points are answered larger uncertainties remain and ambiguities which can be debated.

Overall, I think this is such an impressive and moving novel! I admire the way it presents a tantalising mystery and gives a different perspective on post-WWI. Though it's a historical novel it feels relevant to consider how the effects of war last much longer than whenever politicians declare that a conflict has ended. It's also so moving how this story meditates on the meaning of memory and how it functions as the basis of understanding ourselves and our relationships to other people. Do our photographs give an accurate representation of the past or do they idealise the past? Is love an early commitment made after a passionate affair or is it found in the familiar routines where the challenges of daily life must be faced together? Daanje's story has left me with these lingering questions which I keep thinking about and I'm grateful the novel offers such a unique perspective.

Vigil by George Saunders

When George Saunders' first novel “Lincoln in the Bardo” came out in 2017 I instantly fell in love with it and was thrilled to see it win that year's Booker Prize. So I've been highly anticipating this new book and it was a thrill to interview him about “Vigil” in London: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xyuMp5X7uM It's impressive that Saunders has such a towering literary reputation given this is only his second novel though, of course, he's also published multiple acclaimed short story collections and non-fiction as well as being very active in the reading community with different organisations and his 'Story Club' substack.

I found it somewhat surprising at first that, like his previous novel, “Vigil” follows a similar format where the narrative treads between the living and the very chatty dead. In addition to the dying protagonist/wealthy oil man KJ Boone, we're introduced to many idiosyncratic (and sometimes flatulent) individuals caught in a realm like the bardo, a state between living and rebirth that comes from Tibetan Buddhism. There are references to how these figures aren't ready to “move on” yet because of some unfinished Earthly business. However, the heroine of this novel Jill 'Doll' Blaine is in a state of “elevation” where she continuously returns to Earth to comfort those who are passing. I enjoyed the creativity, inventiveness and humour of how Saunders describes the way in which the dead act. But I'm aware that this sort of action can quickly slide into the puerile and feel flippant. I felt Saunders mostly kept to the right side of this as I was consistently entertained and surprised by the ghosts' actions. There's also a tragi-comic element to all the ghosts encountered as many are caught up in their own obsessions and unable to break free or find peace. To be caught in such an egotistical loop is its own kind of hell!

It feels timely that this novel focuses on a businessman whose decisions and unconscionable actions have led to so many painful deaths and the destruction of the environment. I'm sure many people are frustrated that a small group of powerful elite in this world find ways to work around the law and use their influence purely to enhance their personal wealth/status to such ridiculous proportions. So I'm sympathetic with this novel's central drive to hold such a man to account and confront him with the destructive effects of his decisions by surrounding him with ghosts. Through all his self-justification and denial, some small hidden part of KJ Boone knows that what he has done is wrong. The spirits which surround him appeal for him to acknowledge this but KJ is on the brink of death. Is an acknowledgement of this truth enough even though there is nothing he can tangibly do to correct his wrongs? What form of repentance is suitable for someone who has caused such destruction? Is it right to hold KJ Boone responsible when he's merely part of a capitalist and social system that encourages individuals to pursue enterprise without a conscience? This story raises these questions and many more.

I don't think these questions have any easy answers but the story interrogates these issues through the ghosts, some of whom are former colleagues to the dying man who take radically different positions. Their designs upon KJ Boone seem wrapped up in their own logic and understanding about whether humanity should be sought in those who act in an inhumane way. The Frenchman feels: “To comfort one who remains wilfully ignorant of what he has done is to provide no comfort at all, he said. If you truly wish to comfort him, bring him to admit his sin, then repent of it.” Of course, the most insistent voice we're closely aligned with in the story is Jill Blaine who merely wants to give KJ Boone comfort as he passes over into death. Naturally her intentions seem angelic, but her reasoning behind this is complicated by discoveries about her own past. Her killer Paul Bowman who unintentionally blew her up when he was targeting her husband has entirely forgotten about his crime and her beloved husband started another family shortly after Jill's death. As her short life has almost entirely been forgotten it seems natural that Jill wants to leave behind any sense of selfhood and devote herself instead to what she believes to be her mission in a state of elevation: “Elevation was true. It was. For sure. Me, elevated? Was real. Realer by a mile, at this point, than “Jill 'Doll' Blaine.” Nevertheless, she keeps being drawn back to her memories through the wedding taking place next door and her own investigations into the physical landscape of her former life. Though a state of elevation is her new reality it doesn't provide any solution to the dilemma regarding KJ Boone's guilt beyond offering an all-encompassing benevolence which is offered to anyone merely because they are human.

I felt Jill was a tragic character who I was highly sympathetic towards but I don't agree with her logic and I think Saunders is interrogating her reasoning as well. At the same time, I don't think there's necessarily any other alternative or solution about how to resolve KJ Boone's fate. I want to see him held accountable but I don't agree that anyone should be doomed or subjected to torture for eternity like a comic-grotesque duo known as the two Mels' want to inflict upon KJ. I think the novel itself bypasses offering any solution and instead we follow Jill as she's about to embark on another mission to provide comfort to someone who is dying. Instead of this being an admirable state of benevolence I think Saunders is suggesting that it's another kind of loop her spirit is caught within and a fate that she's subjecting herself to for eternity. Surely if more and more people like KJ Boone negatively impact the world in the destructive ways that he has done there will come a time in the future when no dying humans are left to comfort because humanity will have been wiped out. So the dilemma that Saunders presents in this novel is very dark and sombre.

I think this is a very creative and thought-provoking book, but its brevity made it feel less impactful and meaningful to me than “Lincoln in the Bardo”. I know it's perhaps unfair that this new novel should continuously be compared to the last. But the ending of “Vigil” felt somewhat rushed and Jill's supernatural intervention a bit forced. Nevertheless, I enjoyed reading it and the experience was naturally enhanced by discussing it with Saunders himself. It was interesting that he acknowledged at the beginning of our talk that reviews have been “all over the place.” A review in the NY Times calls this novel “a hot-water bottle in print form” and the Guardian commented that Saunders' writing is “starting to feel like a gimmick” with a familiar “repertoire of tricks and tics.” Meanwhile a piece in the LA Review of Books comments “the novel sometimes feels weightless, even frivolous.” Since he mentioned reviews of his book, I was tempted (but too shy) to ask Saunders if he felt that any of the criticism being made about it was reasonable and made him rethink how he wrote it. It's difficult to see where his fiction might go from here and I wonder if he is more of a natural short story writer than a novelist, but I always find it writing extremely creative and thought-provoking.

Women Without Men by Shahrnush Parsipur (translated by Faridoun Farrokh)

Although “Women Without Men” was first published in Persian in 1989 and translated into English in 2011 it wasn't published in the UK until recently by Penguin's International Writers series. It's wonderful that it's become more widely available as this is a modern classic which incorporates magical realism and feminism to convey the story of five Iranian women seeking independence from the patriarchy. The first chapter ends with the line “It is always the heart's desire that drives one insane.” I think this is the key to understanding how the repression which these women from different levels of society experience drives them to radically break free from the circumstances of their reality. The story follows as these very distinct women use different methods to obtain independence whether that be literally becoming part of nature or scheming to evade the control of men. It's a work of great imagination that is a testament to the creativity and resilience of the human spirit.

Shahrnush Parsipur is an Iranian-born writer who just recently turned 80. While living in Iran she was an advocate of free speech and under the Islamic government she was imprisoned for many years. She's written about these experiences in a memoir called “Kissing the Sword” which I'd also like to read. Parsipur was jailed again specifically for the content of “Women Without Men” because of its frank portrayal of female sexuality and it's still officially banned in Iran. This title is a novella which rotates between the perspectives of five different women who converge on a property with a vast garden and orchard. It's set in 1953 which is significant as this was the year in which a US and UK backed coup d'etat overthrew the democratic government to reinstate a monarchy which was more favourable for Western interests. Prior to this women were gradually being granted more rights within Iran, but with this change in government that was hindered by years of disruption which eventually led to the Iranian Revolution and an Islamic Republic. The historical events of this year don't play a direct role in the story, but there are references to the severe disruption and violence which is taking place outside.

The stories of these women mostly take place within domestic spaces where they come into conflict with each other and the domineering men in their lives. There is an emphasis placed upon whether or not different women are virgins and stereotypes about menopause are made by one of their husbands. They long for financial and social freedom, education and a place where they can truly realise their desires. It's so interesting how some of the women liken themselves to film stars including Julie Andrews and Vivien Leigh. Mrs Farrokhlaqa's husband thinks his wife resembles Vivien Leigh and it feels apt that she is inspired by Scarlett O'Hara because this was a character determined to forge her own destiny and survive no matter what it took. I felt one of the most striking characters is Munis who longs to understand her own body, but has been prevented from learning about female anatomy and sex. Her friend Fa'iza diminishes Munis and schemes to become romantically involved with Munis' brother. This relationship plays out in an entertaining way and it's engaging how all of the women in this novella embark on journeys of discovery. It's extremely imaginative how this breaks with reality in various ways where a woman turns into tree, a woman rises from the dead multiple times, a woman can read minds and another woman only sees men who are headless. These surreal occurrences grant freedom which can't be obtained in ordinary reality, but it's far from fanciful. There are also many realistic horrors depicted in this story including domestic violence, rape and murder.

So when the various women in this tale arrive at a point to live in a vast garden owned by the now financially independent Farrokhlaqa there is finally the wonderful possibility for them to control their own destinies. But this isn't a utopian space. The women disagree, some progress onto elevated states of existence while other regress back into more subservient roles within the patriarchy. However, the vital thing is that they are allowed to decide the direction of their lives for themselves rather than having their choices controlled. So it's very touching how we follow the fates of each of these complex and passionate women. While I admire the extremely creative way that Parsipur evokes their stories and created a kind of modern myth, I did feel that some of the accounts of their lives were too brief. Also, some scenes felt more cartoonish than fantastical. There's a section where a number of characters come upon murder scene and faint. When they wake up they've forgotten what they witnessed or dismiss what they saw as a dream which felt a bit too convenient. There are also some peripheral characters such as a maid whose story is cut off when the novella suggests it would continue. Nevertheless, this is such a striking and significant book which captures the stories of ordinary Iranian women in an impactful and memorable way. It's inspired me to read more about Iranian history, want to see the film adaptation of this novella and to read more by Shahrnush Parsipur.

This novel is currently listed for the 2026 International Booker Prize.

The Melancholy of Resistance by László Krasznahorkai (translated by George Szirtes)

I'm always keen to try reading something from the most recent winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature. This novel is a thoughtful exploration of a breakdown in society and the different philosophical positions people adopt to navigate through increasingly difficult circumstances. With its blocks of text, often confusing plot and unsettling atmosphere, this is most definitely a challenging read. But, given it was first published in the late 1980s, it also feels surprisingly relevant to disruptions we're seeing in the world today. It was written at a time when the author himself had witnessed the breakdown of communism in Hungary. There are parts of this book that are also filled with dark humour and a profound sense of wonder. I took a few hours to go to the Natural History Museum in London and spent time reading by a giant model of a whale to really add to the experience of this moody tale.

It took me a bit of time to get over the physical challenge of reading this novel. In order for my vision not to blur and keep my place I had to run my finger down the margins as I read. The run-on sentences and prose that flows like lava (as Szirtes has described it) requires a lot of attention and patience. It was difficult to know when I could take a break from the book and whenever I came to the end of a sentence at the start of a page it felt like I could finally exhale. I think the layout of this text is meant to reflect the sense of claustrophobia and overwhelming sense of doom felt by the citizens of this Hungarian town. I appreciate the effect the author is going for but personally I'm not convinced it's necessary. There are many instances where paragraph breaks could naturally be inserted and make the reading experience easier on a practical level. But, as it was, it certainly became a different kind of immersive experience and at times I felt hypnotised by the way it locked me into the details of these characters' increasing sense of dread and the chaos unfolding around them.

Though the format of the text was difficult, I was immediately compelled by the story as stuffy and snobbish Mrs Plauf has such an awful train ride being sexually pursued and struggles to make it home. I appreciated how we're gradually introduced to unsettling details occurring on the periphery giving a sense that things aren't quite right. I found the eeriest detail to be about the weather where it was freezing cold but it no longer snowed and the trees were uprooting as if the environment itself had died. The arrival of scheming Mrs Eszter brought a compelling dramatic element to the story though the full extent of her motives to acquire power and control only became clear to me as the novel went on. I did like the comically absurd scene in a bar as Janos assigned roles to the drunks to simulate planetary movements while the weary bartender waited for them to leave. However, as the narrative moved deeper into Janos Valuska and Gyorgy Eszter's stories it became increasingly unclear and hard to follow. I think this is intentional as the town descends into a state of lawlessness and all the characters were equally disorientated. But also these two central male characters had such strong idealistic values regarding the symmetry of the cosmos and the harmony found in a perfect piece of music that following their intense logic and philosophical positions was demanding.

I found the best way to read this novel was just to go with the flow and the overall atmosphere rather than getting bogged down in trying to understand the details of what was occurring. My favourite part was when Janos goes to see the stuffed whale from the travelling circus and the intense experience of being confronted with such an immense formerly-living creation. The writing here felt very beautiful and moving to me. It can be debated what the whale actually means or represents. Certainly there are religious, mythological and literary reference points for it. For me, it felt like an embodiment of how all life and every civilisation will eventually end no matter how enormous or seemingly indestructible.

Another striking element of the story was the Police Chief's two sons who start out as wannabe thugs when we're first introduced to them and then we meet them again later as crying children who have been completely overwhelmed by the chaos and abandoned by their drunken father which means their safety is no longer guaranteed. This felt poignant as it shows how impressionable young people can be so drawn to power but they desperately need help from others when they are left powerless. It makes me think of this notable line in the story: “there was ‘neither good nor evil’, and that there was one law and one law only, that of the strong which dictated that ‘the stronger power was absolute.’” This feeds into what I perceive to be a larger message of the novel which is that all systems of order, government and justice collapse when all sense of morality disappears. What is right and wrong no longer matters because life in its rawest form is about survival of the fittest.

I found it absolutely chilling reading the account from the mob which Janos discovers describing their rampage through the city and how they preyed upon cats and a random family trying to get home. The extended terror they subject this family to taps into a sense of the perverse pleasure the powerful take in dominating and controlling those who are vulnerable. I didn't find Gyorgy Eszter to be sympathetic because of his selfishness and misogynistic attitude toward his wife (though, of course, she is a horrible individual.) However, it was touching how he realises his platonic love for his friend Janos and develops a deep concern for this wellbeing. Given his complete inability to protect Janos, I found it moving how Gyorgy resigns himself and takes solace in the music he loves. No matter how much he tried to block out the rest of the world (literally boarding up his windows and staying in bed as much as possible) his need for human contact and a connection with beauty took precedence. I wonder if this is a thin sliver of hope or a sense of humanity which the story offers amidst so much destruction. Nevertheless, the final section is one of the most sombre endings to a novel I've ever read.

I found the majority of this book alternately frustrating and intriguingly bizarre to follow. But mostly it gives this unsettling sense of the city and society breaking down on every level so I found it to be an intensely atmospheric experience. I'm sure it touches upon many philosophical ideas and concepts I haven't quite grasped or couldn't entirely follow. “The Melancholy of Resistance” felt to me like a cross between Cartarescu's “Solenoid” and Paul Lynch's “Prophet Song”. This is all extremely weighty and complex fiction, but I think they are books worth reading and taking the time to meditate on. Personally, I'm glad I read this novel though I realise it's not for everyone or, maybe, not the right kind of read for someone if they're not in the mood for it. I'd like to read more by Krasznahorkai but I need to take a break from him for a while.

Glyph by Ali Smith

Ali Smith's writing has always been centred around the playfulness of language, its elasticity and surprising meanings. There is the mischievous way it alternately creates connections and misunderstandings between humans. Only Ali would conceive of a pair of novels whose titles are similar sounding words and each word has multiple definitions. “Glyph” is the second after her previous novel “Gliff”. Though there are some thematic links and both revel in the inventive glory of story telling, one of the strongest links between these books is how two characters have read the novel “Gliff” and disagree about its quality. Of course, Ali's two novel can be read independent of one another and it'd give a new meaning if you read them in an order separate to when they were published - like in her brilliant previous novel “How to Be Both” where the two sections can be read in different orders to give surprisingly different experiences.

This new book is filled with puns, the struggles of family life and the challenges of living in the world today (some of which are unique and others feel like the same old story felt through human history.) Adult sisters Petra and Patricia have been estranged for many years, but they had a strong connection to each other in childhood. They survived through living with an abusive father and the grief of losing their mother by conjuring or inventing the story of a special ghost. Now a certain spectre has made its presence felt in the present. This gives them the chance to reunite alongside Patricia's teen daughter Bill (Billie) who questions everything in a way which often unsettles adults. This novel is right up to date as it's set in 2026 and references many contemporary issues from debates over AI, whether flying certain flags is patriotic and waving other flags is criminal and the UK protests outside of asylum hotels. But it also looks back at history with stories of those who were lost in previous wars. There are individuals who resisted following the pack or simply showed their humanity by helping a disabled animal in need. Their voices were silenced by being executed by their fellow troops or they were literally flattened and left in the road. So many of these stories don't make it into the dominant narrative of history. In this novel they rise as spectres whose restlessness and indomitable spirits speak to the creative power of individuals.

There's an insightful passage in this book uttered by Bill which feels so relevant to what we're grappling with now: “there's this huge mechanism and it's acting on everybody. It is such a simple mechanism it is actually stealthy brilliance. You just say something that's the truth is a lie. Or that something that's a lie is the truth. Then the matter of something being true or not stops being about truth or lies and becomes about choosing a side and it drops itself like a blanket over everything, a blanket the size of the sky – no, maybe more like a net, like a gigantic fishing net, or the kind they use to drop over people on game shows on TV, something quite difficult to get untangled from so you have to struggle against it just to get yourself to the place where truth is.” I'm sure anyone who has been watching the news lately or feeling despair about the tone of current discourse can relate!

I was drawn to the lively personalities at the centre of this novel, but also some peripheral characters such as Glyph's longing for his lost lover and the sister's kindly uncle who was ignored at their mother's funeral. It takes real skill to make characters live on in a reader's imagination though only a slight bit of their experience is presented in the narrative. Smith is also brilliant at showing how though there may be tensions between relatives each family creates its own lexicon where words such as “stanchion” or “rubble” will take on their own meanings through being frequently used in their conversations. Most of all this book is a testament to the power of storytelling and how everyone will take their own meaning from those stories which are reinvented in their retelling - springing up like ghosts to tease, delight and provoke people to question the story about the world those in power want us to believe.

Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

Several versions of this novel exist as it was published in a serialised form and numerous subsequent book form editions of the novel contained many different revisions. I read the Penguin Classics edition which is based on the three-volume first edition, published in December 1891. This is considered to be the closest text to what Hardy originally intended and what the first readers of the book experienced. From what I understand the earlier serialised edition contained many edits based on censorship and later editions contained revisions to align the novel within the fictional geography of Hardy's Wessex.

I first read this novel over 20 years ago. While I appreciated the story at that young age, I think a lot of things about it went over my head. Even though I found reading it now a very solemn experience (poor Tess couldn't ever catch a break!) I did find it mostly engaging following the melodrama of this story. I felt for Tess in the pressure she gets from her parents to ingratiate herself with their D'Urberville “relatives”, the guilt she feels falling asleep which leads to the horse's accidental death and the terror/trauma of Alec's unwanted advances. I wish there was more of Mrs D'Urberville in the story as she was really sweet with her love for birds and acknowledging that her son is a louse! Because the section where Alec actually had sex with Tess is famously omitted, there's been a historic debate about whether Tess was raped or seduced. I think that's nonsense and personally consider it rape. Regardless of how it's defined, the fact is that she was sexually taken advantage of by a wealthy man in a position of power. Whether she grudgingly submitted to Alec's advances, was drugged or taken by force while she was asleep – it was abuse! I know that's probably a modern interpretation but I consider the nature of uneven power relationships to be a constant and Alec is a serial stalker/sex pest who assumes that because Tess is a poor peasant she'd want to be his possession. I found the subsequent section where there's the death of Tess' baby and the priest's refusal to baptize the child heartbreaking.

Even though I knew there'd be a tragic ending (though I couldn't recall all its specific details) I felt a glimmer of hope in the Spring when Tess becomes a milkmaid and has a simmering romance with Angel. However, I became frustrated by the extended amount of time taken with their courtship and Tess' dilemma about whether to confess to Angel what happened in her past. Parts made me wonder if this was padding which came from the book's initial serialisation. Angel actually fooled me into thinking he might be a good dude, but of course on their wedding night he's revealed to be a hypocrite since she instantly forgives his having sex with another woman but doesn't forgive Tess for having non-consensual sex. Then there's the disturbingly weird and ridiculous scene of Angel sleep walking with Tess and carrying her to a grave declaring that she's dead. All he wanted was an idealised version of her and a country virgin with whom he could start a farm. To make matters even worse, he propositions one of the other milk maids to go to Brazil with him though she confesses she could never love him as much as Tess. Angel is such a coward and it's cruelly satisfying reading how he has such a hard time in Brazil.

The subsequent sections of Tess arduously working the fields and trying to scratch out a living also felt tediously long to me. There is the character of Farmer Groby who is cruelly driven to torture Tess making her perform hard labour and remind her of her shameful past. He makes a contrast to kindly Mr Crick, her former employer at the dairy. I was struck by the scene where Tess defaces herself, cutting off her eyebrows and wrapping her head in a scarf to try to discourage the unwanted advances of men. Over this long period of time Tess' attitude does seem to change. We see through her letters to Angel that she gradually comes to accept that she's not to blame and he should have been more sympathetic to her plight. It felt like a ridiculous coincidence that when Tess finally goes to Angel's family for help that she overhears Angel's bitchy brothers talking dismissively about Angel and Tess. All the while she is continuously pestered by Alec who seems to pop up behind her at every turn after his weak religious conversion has crumbled. In fact he blames Tess for his conversion “backsliding” because of that tempting mouth of hers which no man can seem to resist. But since her family are literally turned out onto the street with all their belongings after the death of Tess' father it makes sense that Alec is her only option because otherwise her siblings would starve. Even though Alec is disgusting at least he's not hypocritical like Angel – he simply wants Tess as a possession and still wants to marry her though she's married already.

It's so interesting how the perspective shifts after Angel returns and Tess tells him it's too late. Rather than portraying the murder we simply observe the blood soaking through the ceiling as observed by the householder, Mrs Brooks. It's such a creepy scene and interesting how the novel suddenly becomes like a thriller with Tess and Angel on the run. I felt this was a welcome relief after the tedium of Tess' gruelling life in the fields. Of course, it doesn't last long with them bizarrely happening upon Stonehenge and Tess having a good nap before the police take her away. It seems apt the section is titled “Fulfilment” as Tess seems to fulfil her role as a martyr by declaring about her impending arrest “I am almost glad – yes, glad! This happiness could not have lasted. It was too much. I have had enough; and now I shall not live for you to despise me!” That Tess would suggest to Angel that once she's gone he should marry her sister Liza Lu seems totally perverse. This actually happens at the end as Angel and Liza Lu watch on as the black flag declares that Tess has been hanged for her crime. The couple is far from romantic and it's infuriating Tess has been punished for her only crime while all the people in her life who have wronged her have not faced any justice (except Alec.) I assume this is the sentiment Hardy wanted to evoke in readers to drive home the injustice of what someone like Tess goes through.

I felt this book fell into the category of fiction where the author seems to over-manipulate events to evoke sympathy for a tragic character. As such it was hard for me to feel fully invested in a figure whose life is artificially packed with misery and tragedy. I understand the grander symbolic reasons for Hardy constructing the story in this way which I'll discuss shortly, but I think it's partly why this book is such a hard sell with modern readers. I kept thinking about the contemporary example of “A Little Life” where readers commonly criticise the way the author never allowed the character of Jude to get better or find a sustained happiness and that she seemed intent on perversely torturing a character whose life she wanted readers to care about. Hardy's depiction of Tess feels all the more disturbing knowing he was partly inspired to write the novel from the memory of witnessing a beautiful woman's (Elizabeth Martha Brown) execution when he was a teenager. I feel like this says a lot about how Hardy portrays Tess as an irresistibly attractive but fated figure, but maybe I'm reading into it too much.

Despite being designed for tragedy, I did appreciate how Tess is imbued with an ability to dream beyond her circumstances. A scene I really enjoyed is early on when Tess and her brother Abraham are driving the horse and they have a conversation about the night sky and stars. It's remarked how each star is a world and there are “splendid” or “blighted” worlds and Tess remarks that they live on a blighted world. Later on there's a scene where Tess describes how she likes to “lie on the grass at night and look straight up at some big bright star; and, by fixing your mind upon it, you will soon find that you are hundreds and hundreds o' miles away from your body, which you don't seem to want at all.” There's a sense that she knows she's been dealt a bad hand with her family's petty striving for an aristocratic ancestry, being raped by Alec, losing her child and a life of manual labour having been abandoned by her husband. Nevertheless, she maintains a sense of integrity and tries to do what's right (until the end when she commits murder.)

This makes me ponder the meaning behind the novel's subtitle “A Pure Woman”. Tess is “pure” in the sense that she has done nothing wrong to cause so much hardship in her life and only acted in the best way she can given the circumstances. Alec sees her as “pure” in the sense she is an impoverished peasant available for purchase and Angel sees her as a “pure” virginal country girl. Because they have these idealised notions of her they can't recognise Tess for who she really is (someone who is simply not attracted to Alec and Angel doesn't see she is a victim of rape.) So I think the subtitle has a layered meaning. However, I also think it's a limitation of the novel that Hardy has designed Tess to be so relentlessly “pure”. Would Tess be any less worthy of sympathy if she had flirted with Alec before he raped her? Or married Alec after the violation purely for financial gain? Or kept her past a secret from Angel? Or insisted on financial assistance from Angel's family because she's his abandoned wife? Or left her many siblings to the responsibility of her parents to establish an entirely independent life elsewhere? Personally I prefer reading about characters who make morally dubious choices which are nonetheless logical and understandable rather than following a compulsively “good” or “pure” character who is a tragic victim of circumstance. Of course, Hardy was being progressive at the time showing why it's inhumane to blame a victim of rape as any woman who had a child out of wedlock at that time (regardless of the reason for her pregnancy) would have been widely condemned. Certainly such misogyny still exists today but the wretchedness of Tess' plight doesn't make it as satisfying a read today.

It's interesting that Hardy was drawn more to writing poetry (as I understand it, he wrote novels more for financial reasons than artistic satisfaction which is why he returned to poetry in the later years of his life.) Parts of the book did feel beautifully written to me, especially the descriptions of agricultural life which is detailed as being both tranquil and very difficult. Unsurprisingly Hardy was influenced by Whitman and I think that can be seen in the writing (Whitman is even referenced at one point.) However, as some have noted, there are numerous lines which are over-complicated. Reading them and unpacking their full meaning can be somewhat laborious. But overall I found it fairly easy to read despite its antiquated style and structure. I felt much of the dialogue yielded a lot of humour (whether it was intentional or not.) And, speaking of rare funny moments in the story, I did find the scene where Angel carries the milkmaids over a body of water while they all swoon in his arms to be hilarious.

All that I've discussed so far refers more to my personal reaction to this novel. However, I appreciate there's a lot more in this book which has a historic and symbolic significance. I found it interesting frequently flipping to the notes at the back of the novel to understand the literary/religious/historical references. In both the story and its structure Hardy explores the tension between Fate/Freedom, Christianity/Paganism, Nature/Civilisation and old world/modern world. The seasons during which events take place relate strongly to cycles of rejuvenation/fertility vs deterioration/death. Tess' reasons for turning her back on Christianity are much different from the intellectual reasons which draw Angel to a rural life separate from his father's beliefs. Of course, there's a lot more to consider from a scholarly perspective and I know I've just dipped my toe in reading/listening to a few discussions. Even after doing so, it still puzzles me somewhat why it's considered such an established classic that is often taught in schools (my husband recounted to me how he had to spend multiple months studying this novel.) I'm not saying it's without artistry or depth, but I find the work of other Victorian authors such as Dickens, the Brontes, George Eliot, Anthony Trollope, Elizabeth Gaskell and Wilkie Collins to be much richer and more enjoyable.

The Two Roberts by Damian Barr

I enjoy it when immersive historical fiction introduces me to fascinating individuals from the past. It inspires me to want to find out more about them. Damian Barr's new novel “The Two Roberts” recreates the lives of Bobby MacBryde and Robert Colquhoun, two working class gay Scottish artists who came of age in the mid 20th century. They climbed the heights of British society and moved in the artistic circles of the time before disappearing into relative obscurity. This is a deeply-involving, thought-provoking and sexy tale! I was a big fan of Barr's debut novel “You Will Be Safe Here” so it was great to discover that this new book explores a different corner of queer history.

A slight concern I had before starting this novel was whether I'd confuse the central characters since they are both called Robert. But the distinctions between Bobby and Robert are made very clear from the beginning. Though there are superficial similarities between them there are many differences regarding their personalities, artistic subjects, religious backgrounds and erm... sexual preferences. I got so involved following the tensions of their relationship, painterly aspirations and immersion in their society. Despite having to live under the persistent fear of potential arrest just from having gay sex it didn't stop them collecting buttons from their heated encounters with many different men. They were deeply devoted to each other as a couple but there was also a lot of messiness and broken crockery in their entwined lives. Amorous letters and sketches of each other needed to be destroyed because they could have been used as evidence against them. So it's poignant how the vanished intimate details of their lives are reimagined in the story. This novel gives a multi-layered look at the challenges as well as the vibrancy and excitement of queer life at this time.

Naturally, I loved how Bobby discovers a deep passion for reading in his local library. His enthralment with studying paintings in books makes his and Robert's first journey to a London gallery to see some of these artworks in person all the more thrilling. It inspired me to take a trip to The National Gallery in London to see for myself Van Gogh's Sunflowers which this pair once examined together. I show footage from my solo expedition in a video I've made about this novel. It's interesting how their artistic development and collaboration is shown in the novel as well as their acquaintance with figures such as Lucian Freud and Elizabeth Smart (as well as tensions they had with Vanessa Bell and the Bloomsbury Group.) Damian Barr has also curated a new exhibition of MacBryde and Colquhoun's paintings at Charleston in Lewes so I hope to see that at some point before it closes in April.

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

I was a big fan of the first book in Balle's ambitious planned series of “On the Calculation of Volume”. I'm compelled by the immediacy of Tara's plight being caught in a time loop where November 18 repeats endlessly for her while she continues to age and the rest of the world wakes up experiencing this day for the first time. But, even more than the plot, I find it fascinating to consider the larger ideas and questions this story raises concerning human relationships, subjective experience and our temporal relationship to the material world. So it was exciting to read this second book which continues Tara's notes after a full year has passed living in November 18th.

Just to note, I think it would be quite disorientating entering into this second book without having read the first. It picks up where the previous book left off and only briefly explains the overall circumstances and nature of her predicament. Though Tara still hopes to find a way to escape her time loop there's a more resigned meditative tone in this continuation of her story. Since she's been denied the regular annual traditions of the year from holidays to changes in the seasons, Tara dedicates herself to recreating these events by visiting family (who a bit too conveniently believe that she is caught in a time loop) and travelling to parts of Europe where the climates more closely replicate the season she feels she ought to be experiencing. Thus she gains a wider view of what the world experiences on November 18th from late-year lambing to football matches.

I enjoyed how this made me think more about how reliant we become on cycles of the year and changes in life. Without the holiday festivities Tara has come to expect there's a marked absence in her life: “traditions don't need to harmonise, they simply have to be there. They have to be there as a sort of safety net, to give one something to land on. When the world falls apart. When time fractures.” Far from going through the motions, the traditions which are part of family and community life form a touchstone. It's moving how Tara fastidiously goes about recreating Christmas with her family and then immersing herself in a Northern European snowy landscape to simulate the experience and sensibility which comes with winter.

A fascinating distinction is drawn between the weather and the seasons. A woman Tara meets in a hospital after she's injured herself remarks that “Temperature and precipitation were meteorological phenomena, she said. Cold and heat, cloudbursts and drought. But seasons? She saw them more as psychological phenomena.” I've noticed how something that often unites people (especially the British) is discussing the weather. It most often comes up when the weather that we're experiencing doesn't conform to what we expect the weather to be within the season we're currently inhabiting. This reminds me of Ali Smith's Seasonal Quartet (“Autumn”, “Winter”, “Spring” and “Summer”) and how many of the characters discuss or long for future seasons – as if the anticipation of the season to come is more enticing than appreciating the season one is inhabiting. Tara's plan to follow and record the seasons becomes like performance art where she immerses herself in the stereotypical sensations of a season to satisfy her psychological needs. Of course, this isn't always satisfying because there are indications which remind her it's not actually that season.

Being on the move also means that Tara doesn't use up all the resources of her local area. Any food she consumes doesn't appear again the next day so over time she drains the resources of local food outlets or restaurants. Consequently, she has the recurring feeling that she's a kind of monster: “I am devouring my world. That I have to move on, to avoid eating up my world. That I am a monster on the move, a winter monster.” Her condition creates a hyper-awareness of the environmental impact of her presence in a way we don't often think about in our normal lives because usually any resources we use can be easily replaced. I like how this factor creates an added layer of considering existence when thrown outside of the normal flow of time.

Our lives are so often consumed with the daily obligations of work and leisure time spent with partners, family and friends. I read this novel while suffering from a cold so I was less active than usual and absented myself from ordinary daily activities. So I enjoy how Tara's peculiar predicament simulates that experience of being thrown out of the normal flow of life. As I said with the first book, I don't think the how and why of this occurrence is as interesting as the larger questions her condition raises about existence. She's driven into a much more interior and ruminative space – eventually going on a tangent researching Roman civilization inspired by the sestertius she continues to carry with her. I enjoyed how this mimics the sense of becoming obsessed with a certain subject or book where time seems to disappear.

Tara also seems to come to a place where she can partly accept her fate and live in this eternal present: “my time is not a circle and it is not a line, it is not a wheel and it is not a river. It is a space, a room, a pool, a vessel, a container. It is a backyard with a medlar tree and autumn sunshine.” Since we're so accustomed to thinking about our personal and collective histories on timelines I like that her unique sense of existence forces me to consider another way of conceptualising a relationship to time. I'm very curious about where the series will go next (especially as this book ends with quite a cliffhanger.) I do worry that the author feels the need to work in twists which will keep the reader compelled to pick up the next book but, for the moment at least, I'm still hooked.

Daughters of the Bamboo Grove by Barbara Demick

“Daughters of the Bamboo Grove” is journalist Barbara Demick's account of a particular pair of twin girls who were born in China in the year 2000. When they were very young one of the girls was taken by a family planning official, trafficked to an orphanage and adopted by an American couple who thought they were rescuing the girl from China's oppressive one child policy. The book recounts the girls' separate journeys being raised in America and China as well as giving a wider picture of how the one child laws created a corrupt system where children were forcibly seized from a huge number of families. This displacement was obviously heartbreaking for many involved and now with genealogical tests being more widespread difficult reunions can sometimes take place. It was enlightening getting a clearer view of this recent Chinese history and it was moving following the stories of these twin girls.

I enjoyed the way Demick weaves a clear-sighted view of Chinese politics, history and the tragic effects of the one child policy into snapshots into the lives of ordinary citizens and how their families have been personally impacted by these larger issues. In particular, I found it fascinating learning about some brave citizens who stood up to local authorities and demanded answers about what happened to their children. In one section Demick goes off on a tangent about twins and psychological studies about “twinness” which didn't feel necessary. However, the rest of the book is extremely compelling as an exploration of modern Chinese life and the deleterious effects and continuing impact of policing procreation. Moreover, it was emotional and impactful following the story of these twin girls' lives and Demick's surprisingly personal involvement in them.

Things in Nature Merely Grow by Yiyun Li

It's a strange experience following an author's semi-autobiographical publications for years. Unexpected tragedies which occur in reality are honed into books with meaning which is both personal and universal. I've read and been extremely moved by Li's previous books “Dear Friend, from My Life I Write to You in Your Life” in which she alludes to her own suicide attempt and “Where Reasons End” in which she creates fictional conversations with her teenage son Vincent who committed suicide. It's difficult to imagine that there could be any experiences which are more heartbreaking than what Li already lived through. But last year her second son James also committed suicide. Li acknowledges in this new book about James that if this were fiction it would strain belief and that enduring such tragedy is unimaginable until it actually occurs. Nevertheless, this is her reality. In this book she doesn't so much ponder how or why James died, but the experience of still being a mother though both her children are deceased and persisting after such an agonising loss has occurred. The fact of what has happened must be faced and she records her process of “radical acceptance” because “If an abyss is where I shall be for the rest of my life, the abyss is my habitat. One should not waste energy fighting one's habitat.”

Reading about such a personal tragedy might feel too morbid and achingly difficult for many readers, but I'm glad to have read this book for its quiet wisdom, practical approach to dealing with bereavement and people's awkwardness around death. Li describes both invaluable support and callous reactions she's received from different people since being informed about James' suicide. Some people offer a valuable perspective to Li and there are small acts of kindness which assist in the practicalities of daily life. However, it staggers belief how some individuals feel compelled to make one person's tragedy more about themselves. Equally, since Li is a writer and public figure, commentary from the media (especially Chinese news outlets) has been insensitive and cruel in their assumptions and speculations. There's a satisfaction in reading how Li settles the score in this memoir and lays bare the worst side of how humanity can respond to such a tragedy. It's also surprising and horrifying how Li recounts the physical and mental abuse she received at an early age from her mother; this contrasts sharply with the understanding and respect she gave to her own sons. This book also offers a new way of understanding loss – not as a process of grieving, a notion which Li refutes because it suggests there will be an endpoint when the grief will end and normal life will resume: “What is grief but a word, a shortcut, a simplification of something much larger than that word?” There is no normality after such a monumental loss and if reality is to be accepted it must be faced in all its ruthless complexity.

Death wasn't discussed much when I was growing up (I think this is common for many Americans) so whenever I experience the loss of a loved one I feel somewhat unequipped to know how to respond. I'm stupefied and uncomfortable with death, as if the fact of it should be simply acknowledged and then we should all swiftly move on. So I'm grateful for the rational way Li details and discusses surviving through something which feels so irrational and overwhelming. It's also a beautiful testament to the unique qualities of both her sons. She explains that the form her book “Where Reasons End” took was particular to Vincent and the form this book takes is unique for James: “A book is a placeholder, no more, no less. This book for James – what does it hold? All the words that have come to me: many of them fall short; some are kept because they are needed to hold a place for James.” I feel grateful to have got to know a bit about this intelligent young man through Li's recollections. More than that I feel I have a better point of view about the process of bereavement and facing such unimaginable loss – because it's sadly inevitable we will all lose loved ones at some point. As Li states, “There is no real salvation from one's own life; books, however, offer the approximation of it.”

Love Forms by Claire Adam

Dawn is a middle aged woman who was born and raised in Trinidad but has spent her entire adult life living in England. When she was a teenager she gave up her newborn daughter for adoption. Now she's been contacted by a woman who claims to be her lost daughter. This story is an account of her life and the search for the daughter she's never known. I read this novel with my online book club and there were very mixed responses from different members. Some found it very emotional to read and others felt it fell flat. Personally, I did find the story emotionally involving – especially Dawn's harrowing experience when she was only 16 being smuggled into Venezuela to give birth in secret and the very poignant end of the novel. To me these events set the tone of the book so that all the details she relates about her life in between (from mundane observations to poignant memories) have an emotional charge to them where Dawn is trying to set the record straight about her past/identity and reconcile the trauma and loss she experienced as a teenager. The time she spends late at night looking through her ipad to look at maps of Venezuela and copy pictures of women who might look like her daughter show her deep yearning for connection and understanding. I also found it very powerful how she imagines different forms her daughter's life might have taken and potential conversations they might have. While the story is obviously set within a specific context I think it prompts self reflections about an individual's relationship to their parents or child (if they are a parent.)

I found it interesting how Claire Adam stated in an interview that the yearning a mother and child have to be together (even if they've never met) seems to “defy rational explanation”. I enjoyed how the story steadily explores this question probing how the connection might be instinctual, biological, emotional or a combination of these. Is this bond imagined or real? There's the immediate tension throughout this tale about whether or not the woman in Italy who has contacted Dawn is her daughter or not. But apart from the genetic answer to this question there is obviously a longing for a mother/daughter relationship which never occurred and it's poignant how the story explores the dynamics of this. I appreciated the way the novel questions the meaning and role of parenthood – especially how family can take on different forms – especially if certain family members have been (potentially) irretrievably lost.

I'd say the story takes quite a leisurely pace as it moves backwards and forwards between Dawn's present and the past. Not all of the details may seem entirely relevant but it came across to me like Dawn was trying to compose a memoir or portrait of her own life so her lost daughter can understand her. So her way of explaining aspect of Trinidadian ways of speaking and mannerisms felt intended to help her daughter understand what life is like in the country of Dawn's birth because her unknown daughter has probably never visited it and isn't familiar with the culture. Similarly, Dawn explains the workings and lifestyle of Britain and London where she's made her home for her entire adult life. Personally, I enjoyed mentions of a number of south London locations I'm familiar with since I've also lived in these areas for my entire adult life. It also felt like this surplus of detail and Dawn's manner of explaining things was also a way for her to affirm her own sense of identity since she has lived away from her homeland for so long. I certainly feel this myself as an expat. Nevertheless, the story does seem to drag a bit and becomes a little too meandering in the middle.

I felt one of the most striking sections of the novel was when Dawn confronts her father trying to explain why she longs to reconnect with her unknown daughter and holding him to account for putting her in such a terrifying/dangerous situation when she was pregnant at 16. The “You were the lion” line packs quite a punch! But I like how this is further complicated as we learn things which have been hidden about her father's past. While the father's attitude toward Dawn is undoubtably influenced by a patriarchal sense regarding the stigma and class shame about an unwed pregnant daughter, it shows how he might have also been motivated by a sense of shame about his own past and a potential suppressed longing for an unknown family connection. It partly shows why he is so motivated to consign children given up for adoption to the past and focus purely on the present and the family formed within the sanctity of marriage and the “legitimate” children who are socially accepted. Alternatively, Dawn's mother softens her point of view and I found the uneasy new connection she makes with her to be very poignant. This change in her mother's stance made sense to me given the amount of time that has passed, the way social norms have changed slightly over the decades and since the father has died Dawn's mother might feel less need to side with him.

I've enjoyed thinking about this novel in comparison to some other recent fiction which differently explores parent/child relationships – especially in relation to young mothers. For instance, in “Seascraper” by Benjamin Wood, Thomas' mother became pregnant with him when she was a teenager. She had to make compromises in her life in order to care for him at a young age yet she doesn't regret her decision. In addition to parental/social pressure, Dawn was motivated to give her daughter up for adoption because she didn't want to miss out on life's opportunities. Now in her 50s she has a good life and loves her adult sons but she's not achieved her professional aspirations in being a doctor. I've found it interesting to consider to what degree compromises are an inevitable part of parenthood – regardless of whether a child is kept or given up for adoption. Another example is the recent novel “Ripeness” by Sarah Moss where the protagonist's sister gives her newborn up for adoption and is staunch in her conviction that she wants no emotional or physical connection with the baby because she is focused on her dance career. I've been mulling over these different characters and the different techniques these authors have used to explore the complicated questions surrounding parent/child connections.

Having also read Claire Adam's previous novel “Golden Child”, I think the author has a special talent for conveying complex emotions in her narratives and exploring the teeming (perhaps unanswerable) questions which induce such conflicted feelings.

The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny by Kiran Desai

I'm filled with eager anticipation when I open up a novel and discover it begins with a family tree because I love a rich saga that follows multiple generations. Kiran Desai's new novel is doubly exciting as it begins with charts of the two family trees belonging to its titular protagonists, Sonia and Sunny. This is a giant 670 page book which is the author's first novel in nearly twenty years since “The Inheritance of Loss” which won the 2006 Booker Prize. It's perhaps not surprising this book is so long considering how it's stated within it that “A writer itched and itched to put everything into a book, or it became unbearable.” This novel certainly contains a lot concerning intergenerational conflicts, national/cultural/racial identity, different forms of romance, professional aspirations and the weight of colonial history.

I became thoroughly immersed in the lives and journeys of these characters after spending so much time with them, but I do want to give a small piece of advice which I wish I'd known about before reading this novel. Early on in the book I was somewhat put off by one of the storylines concerning aspiring novelist Sonia's toxic romantic relationship with Ilan, a much older, wealthy and controlling artist. I feel like there have been numerous novels that explore the dynamic of an intelligent young woman falling under the sway of a manipulative older man so I was uncertain if I wanted to continue reading a book which tells a similar story. However, I think Desai is partly interrogating familiar tropes in this novel because it's later remarked that “if Sonia managed to write the story of herself and Ilan, it would fall into a tedious stereotype of older, monster male and younger, aspiring female artist. A story that kept occurring, kept on being repeated ad nauseam.” That such a story keeps happening says something about our culture because despite some social progress and feminism young women continue to be taken advantage of and emotionally manipulated by older men. So if you're equally wary of reading such a tale I'd advise you to persist with this novel because it has a unique way of approaching it.

Sonia feels the tension between representing her life in fiction and that experience being perceived as a stereotype in a number of different ways. She's warned early on that her fiction shouldn't fall back on “orientalist” tropes which concern arranged marriages and magical realism. So she starts to censor herself and feels self conscious about how to express herself on the page. I feel like Kiran Desai is playing with these expectations because she also gives us a story concerning a bungled attempt at an arranged marriage and a demonic dog which plagues one of the main characters. However, the novel takes on an unusual form and doesn't play out in an expected way. It primarily follows the experiences of Sonia and young journalist Sunny who were both born and raised in India but have been living in America and trying to start their careers there when the novel begins. The novel is partly a romance, but more than pursuing the question of will they or won't they get together it's more about the professional aspirations of these two individuals and figuring out their own positions in the world. They are immigrants who experience different forms of racism and struggle with feelings of isolation and the pressure of expectations while communicating with their families back in India. Their parents contend with institutionalised corruption and the legacy of colonialism and Partition which so affected Sonia and Sunny's grandparents. This is all material which has been covered in a lot of fiction, but I think the author is showing how these are all issues that the participants still deal with in a tangible way and she takes a unique approach to dramatising them.

What I liked most about this novel was getting to know the characters in an intimate way over a sustained length of time. A lot of tragi-comic feeling emerges from these individuals interacting with each other. I felt very invested in both Sonia and Sunny and the winding paths their lives take. But I also developed a lot of affection for many of the peripheral characters. There is Mina Foi (Sonia's aunt) who became known as a “bad luck daughter” early on in her life and has been branded as this ever since. Sunny's lifelong friend Satya is also making his way in America as a young doctor and he resolves to bring a wife back from India. One of the most prominent characters is Sunny's mother Babita who lives off from her inherited wealth and has many non-politically correct opinions. It's hilarious how she steels a round of camembert cheese from a French embassy. She's the kind of domineering figure I love reading about but would never want to meet in real life and the way her story plays out is very poignant. I also appreciated that there are a number of gay characters that members of these families befriend who are very different from each other and don't feel stereotypical. So I came to feel very invested in these characters' lives and miss many of them now that I've completed reading the novel.

I also thought it was powerful how the novel explores loneliness in many different forms. The novel begins with Sonia feeling extremely isolated working at a library in a college in Vermont during an extremely snowy wintertime. Coincidentally, I also studied at a college in Vermont over two winters and spent a lot of time on my own in the library so I entirely understand how she felt. However, Sonia is made aware that her sense of loneliness is relative when she meets a character who felt painfully isolated living under a dictatorship because she feared she might be reported on if she ever confided her true feelings about the regime to her friends or family. Sunny's mother Babita feels loneliness in another way as she's aware Sunny often lies to her about his life and she feels the gulf between them as she waits for him to “own up to his lies”. There are also individuals who are ostracised by the community for their actions and there's a cruel groupthink which hopes those individuals will “remain alone forever.” Desai considers the many different ways loneliness takes shape and how solitude can alternately be debilitating or a source of strength as Sonia's mother Seher finds when living a relatively isolated life reasoning that: “There are worse things than loneliness. Loneliness could mean abiding peace. It could mean understanding your happiness backward, when you happened to exclaim out loud, surprising yourself when there was no apparent reason, I'm happy!”

I enjoyed the many literary references throughout this novel and the meditations on reading it presents. At one point Sonia makes the apparently contradictory statement that her favourite novel is Kawabata's “Snow Country” even though she's never read the book in its entirety. In another section it's remarked that “when Dickens is better than your life, then why live your life? It would be foolishness not to read Dickens instead.” I can certainly sympathise with the sense that life within a novel can often seem so much more exciting than real life. Later on in the novel some characters watch 'Murder on the Orient Express' and the plot of the murder mystery is linked to this novel's story in a surprisingly poignant way. Naturally as Sonia is an aspiring novelist she considers the best way to capture her voice on the page and determine what subject matter she most wants to write about. This feels especially complicated considering her position as someone who has left and returned to India: “There was perhaps a fundamental flaw in a brown person going to the brown world to tell the white world about the brown world, as if he were a white person believing in the centrality of the white world – and because of the central power of Western news outlets, also telling the brown world about itself (upside down) from this location.” This raises so many interesting questions considering the point of view an author is writing from and who is the intended audience. There's also a fear as it's asked “Were writers who embodied and illuminated their times eventually condemned by the more enlightened future they themselves helped bring into being?” Books which were once considered progressive come under more scrutiny as society changes and values alter over the years. It's interesting to ponder how Desai's novel might be viewed in the years to come as positively or negatively reflecting Indian identity because the characters express a multitude of opinions concerning corruption in the country as well as a tender love for it.

It's intriguing how part of the novel takes place in Mexico as the author's mother Anita Desai who is also a prominent writer has set books here as well. Many years ago Kiran interviewed Anita and it's intriguing to discover them discussing Mexico so it's clearly a location which interests Kiran as well. Anita remarks that “Mexico was different. It was such a strange experience, so entirely new. Never having learned anything about it living in India, I set off with the intent of exploring it, and found so much deeply familiar, with close connections between the Indian and Mexican, that was also, of course, an Indian world.” Kiran explores these connections as well as one of the protagonists moves there and contemplates the history of immigrants to Mexico as well as the way he is perceived by locals in the small community he settles into. At one point in the novel it's noted, “An immigrant story is also a ghost story and a murder story. You become a ghost, the people left behind become ghostly, sometimes you kill them by the heartlessness of leaving, sometimes you psychically kill yourself.” As someone who has settled in another country during his adult life, I found it poignant the way the novel considers the complexity of feelings an immigrant has about himself and the people he's left behind.

Although I enjoyed and appreciated this novel for the most part and didn't begrudge its length, I did feel like there were a couple of coincidences which stretched believability and only existed to propel the plot forward and create conflict. There's a dramatic scene where an item is retrieved later on in the book which felt somewhat forced and I felt Ilan was a character who could have been left behind much earlier in the story. I think perhaps Desai was attempting to dramatise Sonia's sense of trauma with a fantastical element, but this fell flat for me as I was much more concerned about her real life experiences such as an unsuccessful and disturbing trip she embarks on to Africa to write a commissioned travel article. Even though every part of this story didn't work for me, I was mostly swept up in its narrative and the lives of its many characters. One of the most poignant sections is when a character meditates on being in love: “She thought that this was what people spoke of when they spoke about love: You were outwardly more adult and treated with greater consideration, but secretly you were more childlike, more free, more full of laughter.” The way this novel charts its characters gradual maturity in discovering the true meaning of love and a deeper sense of self-acceptance is beautiful and moving. I was glad to fully envelope myself in this epic tale.

Audition by Katie Kitamura

This very literary novel is quite divisive because for some readers it provides so much to consider and discuss in terms of its themes and story. However, readers who prefer novels with definitive conclusions may be extremely frustrated by it. I was intrigued by many of the tantalising details and surprising connections I found in it. My natural inclination is to read this book like a puzzle where I pour over it searching for clues and answers – and I have some theories! However, I know that there's no one way of understanding this book. There's a short NPR interview with Kitamura where she states “It's very much a kind of book that's open to interpretation. It's been designed so that it can be read in two or three or maybe even four different ways.”

I think there's a potential issue with self-consciously writing a novel that's open to so many interpretations as its story could end up feeling like it doesn't mean anything because the author has inserted so many ambiguous and potentially contradictory statements. Nevertheless, I did enjoy reading this book and felt emotionally engaged by its themes. It's alternately fun and infuriating to consider its many meanings and it's difficult to discuss without giving spoilers so you probably won't want to read this post until after completing the book.

This story focuses on an unnamed central character who is an actress living in New York City and her relationship with her husband Tomas as well as her shifting connection to a mysterious young man named Xavier. Perhaps not being named allows her a degree of anonymity that she doesn't feel is available to her as a person and a performer. Not only does she act on stage but she frequently feels like she's playing a role in real life based on how other people perceive her. However, it also feels like her profession is a natural fit for this character who is very self conscious and feels preoccupied about how others perceive/define her. As she meets Xavier in the restaurant in the first part she notices how other people react to how she is a woman in her late 40s meeting a “beautiful” young man. I wonder about the degree to which her interpretation of other people's reaction to them is real or how much it reflects her own sense of discomfort in this unusual meeting. We're only granted access to her consciousness and so much of the book seems rooted in her uncertainty about the relation between herself and others.

Even though there isn't a single solution I still think it's intriguing and worthwhile to consider this story. It meditates a lot on the nature of enacting roles within our own lives whether that be as a spouse, parent, friend or a woman. This is very much a story in two parts and the relation between these sections seems to me to be the larger question – rather than the outcome of the relationships between the characters. In several ways, the two parts of the book seem to contradict each other but I think they're also connected in some integral ways. There's a significant line early on in the novel where she states “There are always two stories taking place at once, the narrative inside the play and the narrative around it, and the boundary between the two is more porous than you might think, that is both the danger and the excitement of the performance.” The same seems to be true in the reading experience. There is the text on the page that the author has written and then there is the interpretation going on inside the reader's head.

In the first part on the book she's been in rehearsals for a play 'The Opposite Shore' where she plays a pivotal role but she's uncertain about how a crucial central scene/monologue is working. In the second part of the book she's been performing in a play called 'Rivers' and experiencing a very successful run. It feels to me like the same play from the first part of the book but it's unclear whether it's another one entirely or if the title has simply changed between rehearsals and its run. We never find out much about the play(s) or the substance of her central monologue within it except that her interpretation of this speech and its meaning changes for her night by night. I think it's significant that she's been able to embrace the improvisational nature of her performance in the second part of the book whereas in the first part she's striving more for the play's meaning to be defined so she can enact this on stage. I wonder if her confidence and the relative success she feels as a performer between the two sections bears weight upon how she relates to her husband Tomas and Xavier.

The most obvious and significant switch between the two parts of the book is that Xavier changes from not being her son to being her son. In the first part Xavier initially believes she's his long-lost mother based on something a journalist misrepresented her saying in an interview. But she knows his being her son is impossible.. However, in the second part Xavier is her and Tomas' son and he moves back into their apartment. Though his familial status is never questioned there are indicators that his early life as her child is hazy and might not be real. She remarks “in some ways when I looked back on his childhood, he was at once there but also not there. Or perhaps it was that I was at once there but also not there, as if Xavier's childhood had taken place in my vicinity, with the details somehow escaping me.” And in a later part she states “my memory was alarmingly inconsistent and full of gaps, so that I could not really say how it had been, at various stages of his life, his childhood and adolescence... none of it seemed like the record of events that had actually taken place.” Has she merely convinced herself that he is actually her son when he isn't or has she just forgotten aspects of his early life or does she have a psychological condition (which Tomas and Xavier cryptically refer to) which has created gaps in her memory like this? Has she always been his mother but in the first part of the novel she denied this to herself? Like so much in this book it's never made clear.

There are many ways to interpret this story. For me it feels most prominently about parenthood, the decision whether or not to become a parent and how this decision affects a relationship. She denies that there could be any possibility Xavier is her child in the first part yet she agrees to meet him at a restaurant. Does she like the idea of imagining him as a potential son/protégé? Or is she considering he might become a lover? Or does she just enjoy having an attractive young man being attentive to her? Whatever her motives the meeting creates tension in her relationship as Tomas enters the restaurant and though she tries signalling to him he doesn't appear to see her. Yet when they are discussing their day later she doesn't admit to being in the restaurant or meeting Xavier. She reveals she's had affairs in the past – partly as a consequence of the difficulties they experienced in their relationship after her miscarriage. Tomas sends her a worrying message at the end of the first part where he says they need to talk and that he doesn't want to carry on in this way. Perhaps he's fed up with there being any secrets/lies between them. Or perhaps he's yearning for a solution that will cement their relationship such as having Xavier play the part of their son.

The second part of the story could be an alternate reality where Xavier has always been their son (or is it the same reality where he's always been their son?) Or they might have come to some agreement where Xavier plays the part of their son. Whatever the situation is the narrator, Tomas and Xavier all act as if he is and has always been their son as he moves into their apartment. Previously their apartment had been described as spacious with enough room for the couple to work separately. However when Xavier moves in things start to feel much more cramped. Though he initially spends a lot of time out of the apartment working with Anne he eventually spends more and more time in their communal space. A giant ugly desk is purchased for him which takes up a lot of room. And eventually Hana moves into the apartment as well. She is immediately a figure of animosity and eventually she's a sexual threat when the narrator discovers both Xavier and Tomas playfully wrestling with her in a sexually suggestive way. This was a very strange moment and I wonder if it was perhaps just the narrator's paranoid fantasy rather than something which takes place in reality. It seems significant that in both parts of the book the narrator's relationship with Tomas eventually becomes very strained. So I feel like whether or not they have a son together it doesn't detract from the fact that the narrator is ageing and begins to feel like she could be replaced by someone like Hana.

At the end of the second part she remarks “I stand on this stage, in the story he has created, in the role he has made.” Since Xavier has been working on his own play (or is it Hana who has been writing it since she spent more time working at the desk?) it seems like the narrator is embodying a role he's created for her. It's been suggested that this novel could work like a mobius strip which circles back to the book's beginning. So perhaps the first part of the novel is in fact the play Xavier has written where she is freed to pursue her desire to keep performing and the possibility of a life where she wasn't subject to the responsibilities of parenthood. Performance seems to open her life up to endless possibilities and the ability to constantly reinvent herself. It is “the control that cedes to freedom” but it doesn't allow her to control how others see her or control the relationships she has with other people. Part of the tragedy of this novel and the sense of dread it evokes feels like it comes from an increasing awareness of her mortality and a narrowing lack of possibilities for her personal future. No matter how much she reinvents herself on stage or in her life people will always make their own assumptions about her and she will keep getting older (as we all are.) Her continuing relationship with Tomas is never a certainty. Nor is her career as an actress.

Overall I really appreciated this novel and the ideas it raises. Kitamura's writing has been likened to Rachel Cusk which makes sense (although personally I find some of Cusk's more recent work frustrating.) In interviews Kitamura has cited Ira Levin's novel “Rosemary's Baby” as an influence which makes sense given the uneasy atmosphere in the second part of the book. She's also described how she wrote much of it during the recent pandemic which also makes a lot of sense given the second part is so much about renegotiating connections with close family members in the increasingly claustrophobic space of the home. “Audition” reminds me somewhat of “On the Calculation of Volume” as a high concept book which prompts a reconsideration about the nature of reality and our relationships. However, this novel also made me think about Edward Albee's play 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf' where a middle age couple imagine that they've had a son and jointly invent a backstory for him. It also reminded me of Joyce Carol Oates' novel “Blonde” and Susan Sontag's novel “In America” as both these novels feature a central protagonist who is a famous actress and finds the performance she inhabits bleeds into reality and the meaning of an essence of “self” becomes harder to define. I find ideas around performing and its relation to truth really interesting so I really appreciate the situation and possibilities presented in Kitamura's novel.

Nevertheless “Audition” didn't feel like an entirely satisfying story like I get from a more traditional novel. It's difficult to grasp anything fixed about the narrator (except that she likes pastries) since she's always in a state of flux. Similarly I don't feel like I intimately know Tomas or Xavier and especially not Hana who felt more like someone put into the story as someone the narrator reacts to and against (although an argument could be made that Hana doesn't actually exist.) So ultimately I appreciate how “Audition” gave me a lot of interesting things to contemplate but I didn't totally fall for its story or characters. However, I've loved discussing it and possible theories regarding its story with other readers.

Fox by Joyce Carol Oates

In the past few years I've loved discovering books by Wilkie Collins such as “The Moonstone” and “The Woman in White”. There are echoes of these masterful stories of mystery in Oates' new epic “Fox” which also incorporates her own form of psychological realism rooted in contemporary America. Surprisingly, this story begins with the perspective of an excitable dog named Princess Di who discovers part of a body near a hiking trail along a lake in New Jersey. A cast of characters are introduced alongside a local detective who endeavours to solve the crime. As we follow the movements of a number of individuals who visit this trail by a lake the ominous sight of turkey vultures circle around in the sky as an omen of death. While following the detective's interviews with suspects and people connected to the victim, I was constantly making my own guesses about who did it and my suspicions kept shifting as more information is revealed. Of course I won't give any spoilers but the ending surprised me.

It should be made clear this is not a cosy crime story. There are more layers to this book beyond its being an effective tale of intrigue. The body which is discovered is believed to be that of the titular character Francis Harlan Fox. He's a lauded poet, a highly respected English teacher at a private middle school and he's beloved by many people in the community. Fox is also a serial pedophile with a “predilection for prepubescent girls”. Not only are his horrific crimes depicted but Oates tunes the reader into his warped sensibility and shows the world through his perspective. As with novels such as “Butcher” and “Zombie”, this tale is another demonstration of how this author so fearlessly explores and exposes psychotic individuals. Naturally this is extremely disturbing but it demonstrates exactly how this man is a masterful manipulator. He's an extremely charismatic individual who forms a legion of supporters willing to defend him. Sadly, this fictional story was inspired by a real case of a teacher who was also a pedophile. So, in addition to the mystery surrounding the discovery of a body, this novel really forms an investigation into how and why someone so dangerous could get away with his crimes for many years.

There's an individual on the case named Detective Zwender who has a sometimes antagonistic relationship with his Christian sidekick Officer Odom. As with Oates' previous novels such as “The Falls” and “Do With Me What You Will”, following this detective's efforts raises questions about the relation between the law and finding justice. There is a murder to be solved but also a larger crime of Fox's abusive behaviour. The story considers exactly how a community should continue and recover after such atrocities are uncovered, especially when warning signs were ignored and the perpetrator continues to be defended by some of his devotees. Zwender is divorced, suffers from health issues and primarily lives for his work. His largely-anonymous lifestyle is in sharp contrast to that of the highly popular Francis Fox who celebrated and loved. Here Oates indicates a sad irony that often charlatans are undeservedly lauded in our society whereas hardworking humble individuals are often overlooked. This novel is a powerful addition to the author's canon of literature which provides absorbing insights into the dark side of America.

I had the great pleasure of interviewing Oates about this novel and you can watch our discussion here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQTvZShm4Uo