Women's Prize for Non-Fiction Longlist 2024

I've followed The Women's Prize for Fiction for many years and found many great books through it. So it's quite exciting that they've just launched a sister award for Non-Fiction. In the past couple of years I've tried to incorporate more non-fiction into my reading. So it's wonderful to be presented with a range of titles about subjects as diverse as science, history, memoir, technology, literary biography, health, linguistics, investigative journalism, art history, activism, travel-writing and economics. Many are specialists in their fields who are publishing for a general readership for the first time. There are authors from Britain, America, Jamaica, Canada, Australia, India and the Philippines. I've only read one of these books thus far so I'm looking forward to exploring others.

Recently I read Naomi Klein's excellent “Doppelganger” which begins as a personal story about how Klein has often been confused online for the public figure Naomi Wolf for the simple reason they share a first name and hair colour. Both also often write about power structures – however, they come to very different conclusions. Wolf has recently led her listeners down paths of conspiracy theories and Klein has often received negative messages intended for Wolf. I can sympathize with how alarming this online confusion can be when several years ago I started receiving angry messages out of nowhere. Another man named Eric Anderson who is also a gay writer who is American and lives in England posted an article about why he believes men are naturally polygamous. In response, I started receiving furious messages from wives who accused me of trying to justify their husbands cheating. I was baffled at first until I tracked down the reason for this outcry. Klein broadens her confessions about her personal experience to a wider discussion about the literary and symbolic traditions of doubles.

However, she also uses her ideological divide between her and Wolf to contemplate the way we've become such a divided society. This has been exasperated by online culture and the crisis of the recent pandemic. It's really interesting how she traces the way people can quickly fall down conspiracy theory rabbit holes and how this can lead to sharply drawn political camps which are difficult to traverse. In this way, Klein gets at some of the most heated arguments in our culture today. She approaches this with great reason, thought and humour. “Doppelganger” has also been listed for The Writers' Prize alongside “Thunderclap” by Laura Cumming. I'm greatly looking forward to reading this other title which is a history of a deadly explosion and art. I've also been eager to read Anna Funder's book about Eileen O'Shaughnessy, George Orwell's wife whose influence upon his work has been largely unacknowledged until now. I probably won't have time to read all these books before the announcement of the shortlist on March 27 or the winner on June 13, but I'd like to read several more.

I’ve also made a video discussing all these titles which you can watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHj59NMFGCQ. Have you read any of these books? Which are you looking forward to reading?

Bright Fear by Mary Jean Chan

It's difficult to ever feel entirely comfortable in one's own skin. Following on from the excellent debut “Flèche”, Chan's new collection of poetry continues to describe the tension between self expression and belonging. Some poems deal with the struggle to find acceptance within the family and the bravery required to present oneself authentically. Sage advice is offered in the line “refuse to be a bomb shelter for your mother's fears.” But the book also suggests the surprising love and approval that can be found when there is honesty. Other poems reference the recent pandemic and startling moments of bigotry that are experienced. Not only do belittling words and actions create fresh lacerations but they're a reminder of all the different levels of abuse one has experienced throughout life and “How the body endures the toll of another's glance.” Over the course of three sections, this collection presents a life in constant flux and how we search for moments of solace and potential connection within our shared language.

One of the standout poems for me is titled 'Hindsight' which follows a path of logic considering one's position of privilege in relation to the suffering of past generations. Then the lines of the poem are reversed to give a whole new meaning and perspective on this issue. There's a natural guilt which accompanies living with a knowledge about the struggles our ancestors contended with and knowing that we wouldn't exist if they hadn't persisted through them. But that doesn't mean we should minimise the perils we face in our present times alongside the opportunities that have been provided. This poem poignantly expressed this through its structure and helped clarify my understanding after grappling with this issue for a long time.

Just as the author meaningfully articulates the challenges of navigating the world, there's also a deep consideration for the difficulty of finding which form this writing should take. This is addressed playfully at one point where it's noted “The poet opened a clean Word document, titled it POETRY, then saved it in a folder titled NONFICTION, then saved it in a folder titled FICTION.” Chan admits a preference for the poetic mode because “I want my reader to understand my protagonist and their feelings without my having to describe them in detail”. Poetry also comes across as the best refuge when confronted with the judgement of others: “I left home for the poem: inscrutable house, constructed space, blue room, how the poets have named a heaven in which lonely meanings sit companionably beside lonely children.” Many beautiful moments of connection can be found through the poems in this excellent book.

The Driver's Seat by Muriel Spark

What if instead of being a hapless victim, a woman destined to die were to take control of her own fate? Early in this novella it's revealed that heroine Lise will be murdered. Therefore the story becomes an inventive 'whydunnit' as the narrative follows events leading to Lise's death alongside police interviews with people she encounters prior to her inevitable demise. The novel begins as she embarks on a holiday from her tedious job at an accountancy firm to travel to an unspecified South European city. She revels in dressing garishly, acting spontaneously and confronting anyone who impedes her mysterious journey to meet an illusory boyfriend. It's a startlingly unique psychological thriller as she encounters lascivious men, labyrinthine shopping malls and violent student protests. With her customary dark wit and lively prose, Spark's story creatively confronts issues of illness, self-destruction and mortality.

The motivations of this enticingly peculiar and emotionally volatile character are not immediately clear. It's compelling how Spark shows how Lise seems to make moment to moment choices. Yet, at the same time, she's driven by a strange mission which comes with its own parameters. Many of her encounters with others clash with her plans leading to conflict. It raises the question of whether she is acting eccentrically or if the world around her merely interprets her this way because she is inscrutable. Spark had a particular talent for writing about discontent and irascible characters in an enthralling way as with her novel “Momento Mori”. The dramatic plots serve as a frames through which such lively personalities can burst through insisting that their desires are met. It makes these figures feels truly alive.

Prater Violet by Christopher Isherwood

Staying informed about atrocities occurring in other parts of the world inevitably challenges an individual to weigh up their own sense of moral responsibility. What action should be taken when you're conscious there's injustice elsewhere in the world? Voting for a party with the correct policies? Protest? Charitable fundraising? Volunteering? Or is keeping up to date on the news enough? This is a perennial issue and it's something Isherwood was clearly considering when he published this slim novel in the same year WWII ended. The story is set in the mid-1930s at a time when Nazis began attacking Austria. It's not directly political, but instead approaches a larger question about what degree of autonomy is involved when an individual isn't immediately involved in a conflict.

The protagonist is Christopher Isherwood himself, but this is a fictional account of a writer who becomes involved in the film industry when he's hired (amidst much faux-protestation) to write the script for a sentimental musical named Prater Violet set in Vienna. While on this job he develops a strong working relationship with Friedrich Bergmann, an accomplished Austrian director. Both have high artistic ideals and see this film as beneath them, but they agree to work for a studio because it pays well and there's an allure to Hollywood glamour. The story begins with a lot of humorous repartee as this egotistical pair lower themselves to the daily grind and complicated mechanics of the film world. Long days are spent on a project which feels increasingly frivolous given what's occurring in Bergmann's native country.

When political events reach a crisis point so does the director's involvement in the film and Isherwood questions his own sense of responsibility. There's an especially striking passage in which he considers: “Perhaps I had travelled too much, left my heart in too many places. I knew what I was supposed to feel, what it was fashionable for my generation to feel. We cared about everything: fascism in Germany and Italy, the seizure of Manchuria, Indian nationalism, the Irish question, the workers, the Negroes, the Jews. We had spread our feelings over the whole world; and I knew that mine were spread very thin. I cared – oh, yes, I certainly cared – about the Austrian socialists. But did I care as much as I said I did, tried to imagine I did? No, not nearly as much... What is the use of caring at all, if you aren't prepared to dedicate your life, to die? Well, perhaps it was some use. Very, very little.” Surely everyone feels this sense of inner strife at some point. I've certainly experienced it in recent months reading the news about atrocities occurring amidst the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

There are no easy answers and even admitting to such hand wringing feels uncomfortable as if the question of personal responsibility were larger than the very real horrors people elsewhere are experiencing. In a way I admire Isherwood for representing this subjective perspective so faithfully because if he attempted to directly portray the conflict it might have felt gratuitous or like virtual signalling. The mission of this novel is very different from a contemporary book like “Bolla” even if the subject matter overlaps. Isherwood's point of view is not from the inside; it's on the periphery but this doesn't make it less valid. Nor does admitting to feelings of helplessness or even indifference when faced with the solemn truth about wars which an individual isn't directly involved in. In “On Photography”, Susan Sontag wrote “For boredom is just the reverse side of fascination: both depend on being outside rather than inside a situation, and one leads to the other.” Isherwood is fascinated by what's occurring in the world and he cares about it, but his anxiety and awareness does nothing to alleviate the suffering of others.

I certainly found this novel engaging and I appreciated its point of view, but the story also feels too slight. The effort involved in completing the film is handled very swiftly. Also, Isherwood is very evasive about his personal relationships. During work on the film he's reunited with an old schoolmate named Sandy Ashmeade who is working as a story editor. It's insinuated their relationship has an interesting history but this is never explored. Nor are the string of romantic relationships Isherwood lists at the end of the novel except how he concealed them from Bergmann. The reader is also left in the dark about these and Isherwood's future. It's interesting that this book marked Isherwood's return to writing fiction after not publishing anything for several years during which he collaborated on a translation of the Bhagavad Gita. Perhaps his involvement in religion and his identity as a homosexual were subjects more complicated than his intended parameters for the novel “Prater Violet” but it leaves the story feeling oddly truncated. Nevertheless, the central point of the book is vividly conveyed and it's worthwhile reading this curious slice of fiction.

North Woods by Daniel Mason

“North Woods” started a little slow for me as Mason fleetingly presents his initial characters and mixes his styles of story telling. However, I quickly became aware that this novel centres around a single location from the moment of its birth with a foundation stone being set in the ground. Rather than introducing any character or group of characters who will lead us through the narrative, the book's focus is a yellow house in New England. As soon as I let go of the impulse to focus on any one individual's journey I could get into the flow of the story more. Of course, sections about later inhabitants are also longer so I naturally felt I knew them better and became really engaged by the story when I was introduced to a soldier/fruit enthusiast and his daughters.

As each section leaps forward through the decades there's a poignant accumulation of the stories of people who proceeded living in this abode. Traces of those who've previously inhabited the house remain. I like how Mason builds a layered sense of time. I've always found it touching to think about who might have lived in my house before me and who might live here when I eventually leave. There's a strange intimacy knowing we've shared this same physical space but will probably never know anything about each other's lives beyond changes made to the home's structure. Who knows what drama played out in this same space? That's what the author shows us tracing this line of inhabitants and I think it's very clever how this accumulates into a special poignancy.

The way Mason mixes songs, articles and maps into the narrative adds to this because this documentation tangibly shows the traces of those who've lived there before. I know for some it might feel jarring to be pulled out of the flow of the story by these but (for me at least) it adds another dimension to the novel and makes the North Woods feel like a real location imbued with so much history. I also enjoy how the author interjects some occasional humour such as a joke about a trick played on a thieving farmer family or a Minister's theory that the events of the Bible “had actually transpired in New England” with examples of potential parallels. These little asides are welcome since the story involves a lot of serious drama.

I must admit that the novel stirs sentimental feeling in me as well since I grew up in New England. The descriptions of the seasons and natural environment are very evocative. I appreciate the mention of specific things such as a regional flower called lady slippers and chickadee birds which I was very familiar with when I was young. At the same time larger American conflicts throughout different time periods seep into the experiences of people who pass through the same house. Mason evokes a strong sense of atmosphere though sometimes his description can lapse into cliché. In the first 40 pages I noticed he used the same adjectives: “violet consumes the lemon-yellow wings of the viburnum” and “She looked then much as she does now: a clean facade of lemon yellow”. This particular phrase always stands out to me because I heard a creative writing instructor once say it's better to describe something as “lemon yellow” rather than as “yellow” because it creates a stronger sensory experience for the reader. That's true but it's now become overused. However, that's a minor quibble in an otherwise beautifully written story.

As I continued to read this novel I felt a building anticipation to discover who might inhabit this location next. The form of narrative also continuously changes and I especially enjoyed a chapter composed of letters written from a painter to a poet. I'm a sucker for a tale written in epistolary form – especially one set in the distant past where you know the mail took a long time to reach its destination so there are interesting gaps and experiences which must have occurred between the correspondence. Again, to some readers, the changes in narrative might feel disruptive but I found it refreshing. It's also impressive that Mason can convincingly write in many different styles from true crime pulp to notes for a lecture intended for a historical society.

As much as I enjoyed the whole novel some sections would have felt melodramatic and over the top if I'd read them in isolation. At one point there's an outrageous séance which reaches a feverish gothic pitch. But I think because it's set in a single location and continues to involve previous inhabitants there is an added pleasure and meaning. I know some readers have been put off by supernatural elements in the story. To me this felt playful and I enjoyed the Beetlejuice vibe, but it also adds to this progressive layering of history which Mason builds.

Equally, it's a book that kept me on my toes. The characters change from section to section so I had to reorientate myself in new stories, but also the author changes his style of storytelling and even moves into the consciousness of a beetle. This was very funny and unexpected. And it's also inventive how it's incorporated into the overall plot and changing natural landscape. The narrative seamlessly slides between the micro and macro in this way yet always revolves around this one house. I also appreciate how this is represented in the imagery set between sections as well. There's a map of marked trees in the area, but also the paths carved by the beetles. When viewed from this perspective such landscapes become both large and small. It's an artful way of referring to larger stories of people and the nation while selecting to focus on certain pieces.

Watch me discuss this novel while baking iced apple buns

It was such a pleasure to read this novel but it's also challenging because I'd like to spend more time with certain characters such as a lively medium named Anastasia. However, the structure of the book necessitates moving on from them. I found I had to modify my expectations and not grow too attached to characters. Yet, the more the novel went on the more pleasure there was in picking up on small details which referred to characters who previously inhabited the house.

There are also quite a few instances of coincidence in the story for the sake of the plot which tie all the sections together. I'm in two minds about it because on the one hand it makes a very satisfying story where indicators of previous residents appear more and more. But, on the other hand, certain details feel so improbable – for instance, a letter written by a kidnapped woman that was tucked in a bible and taken to Canada finds its way back to the region and comes to a professor's attention after generations. Of course, chance findings and occurrences like this happen but it can sometimes feel a little too convenient for the plot.

And certainly this isn't a novel that's aiming for strict realism since it becomes increasingly supernatural. After a certain point the story becomes increasingly wild in its evocation of the dead and their interaction with the living. But the environmental concerns of the novel grow at an equal pace. These two subjects come together in the most beautiful and moving way in the final section of the book which shows how the world itself operates on a very different clock from human's conception of time - that the experience of our lives is so ephemeral compared to the surrounding forest and the structure of the house itself which gradually degrades with only brief instances of remodelling or repairs. Certain objects that might easily be overlooked take on such significance so when later characters enter into the house the reader is aware of the meaning of things whereas to these newer characters it appears like a lot of old clutter. The line from a later chapter “She was struck by the discrepancy in meaning the belongings presented. That death meant not only the cessation of life, but vast worlds of significance” feels poignant and relevant to a lot of what Mason is doing in this novel. The lives and struggles of these vibrant characters come to feel small when considering the vastness of time in a certain location yet traces remain even when their meaning has been lost.

This has been such an enjoyable novel to read – especially at this time of year because the sections set in the winter are so vivid! It's only 369 pages but it feels like a much longer and epic novel in a good way like I've fully experienced the yearly cycles of this house over centuries and also the accumulating weight of experience from all the residents and people who've passed through this location. The ending is incredibly poignant and it has such a haunting effect. Not only has Mason created an entertaining book that I'm keen to return to in order to better understand the many connections between its characters and stories, but it offers a refreshingly different way of understanding time and the environment of a unique location.

Land of Milk and Honey by C Pam Zhang

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

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

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

The Wren, The Wren by Anne Enright

There's a down to earth and relatable quality to Enright's writing which makes it so wonderfully engaging. It's a slight of hand which might initially conceal that the prose is very sophisticated and biting. “The Wren, The Wren” opens with a passage about the discomforting weirdness of inhabiting a body and consciousness which had me instantly chuckling in recognition. The story continues as a young woman named Nell relates the experience of unexpectedly falling in love. However, this is anything but a saccharine tale of romance as her relationship with a rural muscular lad turns into something that is both exciting and disturbing.

Her experiences show how love affairs and long term relationships involve varying degrees of power play – something which has been true for past generations of Nell's family as well. The narrative alternates between Nell's perspective and that of her no-nonsense mother Carmel who lives independently and has mostly avoided any committed romance. Both live with the spectre of Carmel's deceased father Phil McDaragh, a poet of moderate fame who abandoned his family and ill wife to move to America seeking more personal and professional success. His poems bookend Carmel and Nell's accounts. They're full of airy talk about love and nature. The more that's related about this family's history the more hollow and posturing they appear.

Phil gave Carmel the dubious honour of dedicating one of his poems to her. It's a kind of gift but it also cements his girl and his relationship to her as something removed from reality. Enright seems to be disentangling the illusion created by fame with both this novel and her previous book “Actress” showing how the creation of public image and representation can be very different from personal experience. But really this issue of the spotlight being cast on a certain individual highlights and exaggerates issues we all have concerning authenticity. Through these women's accounts we see how lived experience is precariously removed from perceptions and representations of it – especially when these come from a dominant man. In turn, this skews self perception. Over the course of their story Carmel and Nell gradually find greater clarity about themselves and their family. The drama disentangles the mythology which has been built around a masculine poet and patriarchal figure.

One of Nell's statements which continues to haunt me is when she recalls how whenever she wanted a present Carmel always gave her exactly what she asked for. What she hoped for was a surprise. This story shows how our relationships with each other don't thrive if we only play out our expected roles as a daughter or son or mother or father. Instead we have to see the person as they really are: a unique individual who is constantly changing and trying to figure their lives out. This novel presents a meaningful family story where connections and relationships are tested in these charismatic individuals' ongoing quest for self-fulfilment.

My Top Books of 2023

Here are my 10 favourite books that I read in 2023! It's been an eventful year from launching my own online bookclub to joining in the Booker Prize livestream to interviewing legends Joyce Carol Oates, Zadie Smith and Martin MacInness. My reading experience has been enormously enhanced by all the online discussion I've had with many readers so thank you for engaging with me about books. I've read a lot of wonderful stories this year but these ten titles stand out in my memory and personally impacted me in many ways.

There's an epic tale of one family hurtling toward crisis, a story of simmering desire and self-discovery at a girls boarding school, a deeply meaningful and charming meeting across generations of gay men, a slender novel about the enormous impact becoming parents has upon a relationship, a drama about a home invasion which builds to a gripping conclusion, a rediscovered Italian classic about an office worker and housewife's self exploration, a sprawling surreal notebook recording a man's search for meaning, a love story set within the horrors of WWI, an adolescent girl in mourning who aspires to win a regional sports competition and a quest to discover the origins of life which takes the reader to the bottom of the ocean and the furthest reaches of outer space.

I love hearing about everyone's personal favourite reading experiences from the past year because this isn't about creating a hierarchy of great literature - though much of it is great. It's about sharing the deep love we've felt for certain titles which have captivated and wholly absorbed us. That's what these ten books did to me. I'd be delighted to hear what you think of them or if you're keen to read any of them now. And let me know some of the best books you've read in the past year!

The Waves by Virginia Woolf

It feels negligent that I've never made a dedicated post about my favourite novel of all time on this blog. However, I recently reread it in its entirety with my online book group so it feels like the right moment to write about it. “The Waves” has been a companion of mine for over twenty years which I return to frequently in order to reread a section or listen to on audio book while walking or riding a bus through London. It's the perfect novel to occasionally revisit since it follows the trajectory of six main characters' lives. As I grow older I relate differently to their perspectives and Virginia Woolf's profound musings. When I first happened upon this book I found it challenging to get into. The poetic nature of the prose initially makes the characters' different voices sound the same and there's little evident plot. But I was entranced by the style of Woolf's tale and I've grown to appreciate what she's really saying through this artfully crafted book.

As the story revolves between the six characters' perspectives the narrative claims they are speaking, but this isn't dialogue or even necessarily what these individuals are thinking. They could be called soliloquies but I think of their passages more as subconscious speech describing how their experience of the world is filtered through their different points of view. Each section leaps forward in time following these characters from youth till old age and every part begins with a description of the sun moving across the sky over a day. As the light changes so does the appearance and seeming solidity of the world it illuminates. The style of this story reflects how we are unified by common life cycles, but our individual personalities differently colour our experience of it. There are plot developments to do with relationships, professional achievements, death and suicide. But the overarching meaning of “The Waves” is more about the tension between our inner life and the outward experience of it. Also, it highlights our various connections and disconnections with each other.

This is why I think this is a novel which can be endlessly revisited because my perspective on the characters and story has drastically changed as I've continued to age and experience more. Sometimes I'll feel more of an affinity with some figures more than others or the characters reflections at a certain point in my life will resonate more or less strongly. Woolf's prose are also packed with so much symbolism and can be interpreted many different ways. Certain lines still perplex me, but I enjoy trying to decipher their possible meaning. Sometimes I'll read a passage in this book and the profundity of it will hit me with such power that I laugh out loud or start crying. “The Waves” continues to impact me, teach me and give me joy making it an invaluable touchstone.

The Vaster Wilds by Lauren Groff

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

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

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

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

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

The Booker Prize 2023 Winner

It's been quite a journey reading the books listed for this year's Booker Prize! I've enjoyed all the discussion and debate about the novels. It's really deepened my appreciation and understanding of them. I was lucky enough to have been invited to the award ceremony last night and give my opinions before and after the winner was announced on the Booker's Livestream with Jack Edwards and Jo Hamya. It was a fantastic night as I also got to chat with Shehan Karunatilaka, Esi Edugyan, Eleanor Catton, Elif Shafak and Chetna Maroo. You can watch my vlog about the evening here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSdy1PH7qGw

I truly thought all six books on the shortlist were excellent. My tip to win was “Western Lane”. “The Bee Sting” recently won the Eason Novel of the Year Prize in Ireland and “Study for Obedience” recently won the Giller Prize in Canada. However, the winner of the Booker Prize is “Prophet Song”. It's such a powerful novel with a lot of contemporary and historical resonance. I'm glad more people will be reading and discussing this unsettling and insightful novel.

What do you think about the result? Did your favourite win? I'm looking forward to even more discussion about Paul Lynch's novel and the other books listed for this year's prize.

Too many books, too little time

I start to stress at this time of year that there are so many recently published books I've still not read. Almost all the books on this packed shelf have been published within the past couple of years and I'd like to read them soon – though I know that's not likely. Not only do I have all these tempting stories waiting but I'm also receiving many advance copies of exciting new titles which will be published in early 2024. So it's difficult not to feel overwhelmed. However, I've learned to take my time and work my way through a prioritized list while still occasionally picking up a book on a whim.

I'm often asked how I choose what to read next. I pick books to read because of a range of reasons: a great review, a personal recommendation, an author I've enjoyed reading before or an intriguing summary. Or I might just like the look of the cover. There are a couple books I'm eager to get to first. I recently re-read “1984” in preparation for Sandra Newman's version of the story from a different character's point of view so I definitely want to get to that. “Blackouts” is also a priority because I've heard nothing but amazing things about this now National Book Award winning novel. If you spot a book on this shelf that you think I should read sooner rather than later let me know!

Despite my intense desire to gluttonously read all these, the great thing about books is that they will patiently wait on the shelf and I can only read one title at a time. As winter is fast approaching and the sunlight fades sooner in the day there's a pleasure in discovering each unique story while being cozy inside and reading with my trusty lamp as a companion. For over a year I've been using this High Definition Table Light from Serious Readers. It illuminates the page beautifully in a way which feels warm and natural. If you're looking for an excellent gift for a literary loved one or for yourself I'd really recommend getting a reading light from Serious Readers. Find out more about what makes their lights so special through this link https://try.seriousreaders.com/pages/sr458 and, if you decide to buy one, be sure to enter the Offer Code SR458 when checking out as this will save you £100 on a High Definition Light and provides you with free delivery.

Let me know the books you're aiming to read before the end of the year and if you have any suggestions of what I should read first from these shelves.

This Other Eden by Paul Harding

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

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

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

The Black Prince by Iris Murdoch

It often takes me a bit to get into a Murdoch novel because usually there are several central characters with complex relationships to each other. But once I get to know them all and into the drama of the story I'm totally gripped. The primary conflict in this tale is between Bradley Pearson, an aspiring writer who has published very little, and his frenemy Arnold Baffin, a bestselling prolific author whose work Bradley looks down upon. Bradley is determined to write his masterwork but finds himself distracted by a group of people's messy issues and he unexpectedly falls in love with a much younger woman. Murdoch shows how ambition, jealousy and desire play out in a highly dramatic scenario with tragic consequences. Though Bradley has lofty ambitions to write a literary masterpiece it's ironic and hilarious that this narrative mostly told from his point of view (with significant forwards and afterwards from other characters' perspectives) focuses on the kind of salacious story he sneers at. However, it's a novel that perfectly demonstrates Murdoch's tremendous ability for writing in a way which is highly entertaining as well as artful.

I enjoyed the way this cleverly structured novel explores the debate and assumed division between “highbrow” literature and popular “readable” books. Arguments in the story concerning quality versus quantity in literary output and criticism made about new literature feel like they must have been close to Murdoch's heart. In her usual temperate manner, she approaches these issues with both great seriousness and a sly smile. The characters often represent sharply divided points of view or embody certain ideas. However, they also come alive as individuals and feel realistic in much of their evocative dialogue. Murdoch was such a master at writing compelling and fun books which also explored profound ideas and made frequent literary references. Shakespeare is an important touchstone in her work and this novel specifically plays upon 'Hamlet' in character parallels and overt discussions about the play's meaning and how it relates to Shakespeare's life as an artist.

It was initially challenging for me to get into this novel because Bradley is in many ways such a loathsome character. He's pretentious, cruel to his friends, dismissive towards his suicidal sister and seduces a woman less than half his age. Given that his voice dominates the narrative I didn't know if I could stomach his story. I often enjoy reading about unlikeable characters but his arrogant and self-centred manner is particularly irksome to me. However, he became a character I loved to hate as Murdoch subtly undermines him through the structure of her plot showing how his world implodes and he's served a delicious form of punishment. At the same time he's presented as thoroughly human and allotted a good measure of integrity. There's a lot more that happens in this story and a large cast of compelling characters from Bradley's wealthy ex-wife Christian to her cash-strapped gay brother Francis who makes the outrageous claim that Shakespeare was “The greatest homosexual of them all.” These figures all play off from one another in an enticing way.

It was especially pleasing that the BT Tower (formerly called the Post Office Tower) plays a role in this novel. It's such a distinct London landmark and there's a fun scene where two characters have dinner at the revolving restaurant at the top (which no longer operates.) Details such as this and the sensibility of the characters bring to life the sensation of 1970s England. It's interesting to contemplate what things have changed and what's stayed the same while also pondering all the universal issues that the author dramatises. I've still only read several books from Murdoch's impressive oeuvre of twenty-six novels. Reading “A Fairly Honourable Defeat” over the summer was such a pleasure, but I think “The Bell” is one of my favourites so far. I look forward to continuing my journey of reading through her complete works.

Study for Obedience by Sarah Bernstein

There are some books which I find difficult or disappointing when I initially try to read them. I don't feel it's necessary to finish reading a book I'm not enjoying or understanding because there are so many more titles waiting to be read. However, some books warrant a second attempt. When I first tried reading “Study for Obedience” late this Summer I found it so arduous I put it down after fifty pages. The protagonist's subservient personality and cryptic narrative frustrated me. However, many readers who've appreciated this novel urged me to give it another try and it's since won the Giller Prize in Canada as well as being shortlisted for the 2023 Booker. But, more than being intrigued by any hype, I primarily picked it up again out of a curiosity to see if I could understand the meaning of Bernstein's book. I'm glad I did because I subsequently appreciated it much more. I can't say it's an enjoyable experience because it's often frustrating and there are elements I still don't understand. However, it's worth persisting with it. I think it partly worked better for me because I went into it without the expectation I'd get a traditionally plotted story.

The premise of this novel is quite straightforward. An unnamed young woman moves to an unnamed northern country to become the housekeeper for her eldest brother. She doesn't speak the language of this rural territory though her ancestors came from this region. As she gradually tries to become part of the community she's treated with suspicion and blamed for unfortunate events which occur. That's really all there is to the story and that's all that happens. Readers who require more drama in their novels will be disappointed by this book. Instead, this tale embeds us in a discomfiting personality and creates a certain mood. It's difficult to sympathise with the protagonist because she makes herself compliant, accepts the blame for things which aren't her fault and remains wilfully ignorant (or appears to do so.) She's not so much a character I want to root for but shake and tell her to stand up for herself. Once I let go of the desire to like her I became more compelled by the alternative perspective she offers.

There is little overt violence in this story but there is a sinister edge and a building tension. She is perilously isolated and her best efforts to integrate only further ostracise her from the local population. In fact, actions such as spreading decorative twigs around the town and volunteering instead make her a target for the villagers frustrations. We're limited to her perspective so it may be that her actual interactions might be different from how she presents them. There's a question about how innocent she really is because she realises that “it seemed to me that my obedience had itself taken on a kind of mysterious power. And if I had been granted this power, by some grace, against my wishes, must I not then make use of it in some way?” The villagers overreact to her presence in an exaggerated way. This highlights the absurdity of groupthink in certain communities which needlessly ostracise people who are different or who aren't native to the region. It also shows how fear and superstition often lead to violence.

This meaning is underpinned by the fact that the narrator's ancestors from this area were persecuted for being Jewish and there are overt references to the Holocaust. However, the lack of names used for locations or people only emphasizes the universal nature of this struggle. It's easy to think of contemporary parallels where large groups are forced out of their homes or killed because another group of people believe they are entitled to that space. The narrator doesn't see herself as blameless in these ongoing struggles. Rather, she states “Every single one of us on this ruined earth exhibited a perfect obedience to our local forces of gravity, daily choosing the path of least resistance, which while entirely and understandably human was at the same time the most barbaric, the most abominable course of action. So, listen. I am not blameless. I played my part.” This naturally caused me to reflect on the ways I might minimize myself in order to comfortably get by or remain blind to horrors unfolding around me on both a local and global scale.

In this way, the novel compelled a level of self-reflection and contemplation that I wasn't expecting after first trying and failing to read the book. I believe there's a special power and uniqueness in this novel. However, unlike some difficult books which took me a lot of time to appreciate this isn't one I'll be eager to revisit anytime soon. It's unrelentingly bleak and the protagonist still aggravates me. Her meandering perspective is like listening to someone who has been isolated in a cabin for years that I want to make a stealthy escape from, but I suppose in that way it's faithfully representing what this character goes through. Despite all this, I found reading the entire novel a worthwhile experience and expect it will have a lasting effect upon me.