Kairos by Jenny Erpenbeck (translated by Michael Hofmann)

What if you woke up one day to discover that your country no longer exists? That was the experience for East Germans and the protagonists of this novel in October 1990. However, the story begins in East Berlin in June 1986 when a chance encounter between Hans and Katharina spark a passionate romance which continues for years. There is a 34 year age difference between them. The first half of the novel follows the intensity of their affair where the age gap feels somewhat inconsequential when considering the span of history. Descriptions of their trysts are meaningfully paired with heart soaring pieces of music and mythology. The second half of the novel follows the unspooling of this romance which grows increasingly dark and abusive. Though this is a story of toxic love the central question of the book isn't whether their affair is right or wrong; it was clearly doomed from its inception. This couple remains together long after they clearly should have separated, but they also linger in the idea of their nation even as it crumbles around them. The real question of the book is why do we cling to our romanic and political ideals when we know they are inherently faulty and bad for us?

The novel is framed around a future point where Katharina inherits boxes of documents after Hans has died. She sifts through these remnants of the past recalling the years of their affair and the many cultural references they shared. So the book is structured like a piece of archival research, but it's also structured like a piece of music. These incongruous modes of telling would clash if it weren't for Erpenbeck's elegant way of combining them to reproduce these characters' deeply-felt experience. The narrative effortlessly flows between their viewpoints to mimic the way their consciousness has been fused amidst this passionate romance. It becomes a locked box and a territory of their own. But as their relationship sours this paradise turns into a prison from which they - and the reader - can't escape. It becomes increasingly uncomfortable to read this novel as the second half turns intensely claustrophobic and painful. This obviously isn't a pleasurable experience but it is an impactful one because it reveals how deeply lost these characters have become in the changing country and world around them. Erpenbeck brilliantly probes issues of belonging and nationhood as she did in a very different context within her novel “Go, Went, Gone”.

Hans and Katharina come from very different generations, but they hold onto one another longing for a life which is no longer possible. Hans has a shady past and part of his belief in the German Democratic Republic comes from wanting to distance himself from the armed forces he was a part of in his youth. Katharina was born long after the end of WWII, but the system under which she was raised causes her to gaze critically at the commercial and cultural imperialism which is absorbing her country. As their affair painfully persists so the marking of different anniversaries continues as if dedicating themselves to these dates can hold their imagined reality together. But they come to feel increasingly hollow and twisted. Following the dissolution of their private world is a melancholy endeavour. Persisting to the end of this novel felt challenging but I'm glad I did because the overall effect is haunting. It made me question my own assumptions having grown up with a Western mentality and probe what romantic notions I allow to unhelpfully steer my life. I'm also sure it would be valuable revisiting “Kairos” at some point to better understand the innumerable cultural and historical references it contains.

And Then She Fell by Alicia Elliott

It's tricky trying to summarize how I feel about Alicia Elliott's debut novel as the experience of reading it was often frustrating, but the power of its voice and the complexity of the many issues it raises have inspired me to engage in a lot of discussion with my bookclub about it. There's also a very clever narrative twist a long way into the book which helped me to emotionally engage with it in a way I struggled to up until that point. The story focuses on narrator Alice's experiences grieving the loss of her mother and living in a predominantly white Canadian neighbourhood separate from her familiar indigenous community. She's a writer endeavouring to compose an updated version of the Haudenosaunee Creation Story, a wife to a kind-hearted white man who is academically researching her culture and a new mother to an infant she feels she's failing. Increasingly she senses that inanimate objects, creatures and strange visions are speaking to her. This introduces the question about whether she's suffering from mental health issues, the disorientating effects of sleep loss or whether she's deeply communicating with spirits/ancestors from her culture (or perhaps some mixture of all of these things.) So there is quite a lot going on and it's not surprising that Alice feels continuously overwhelmed!

It's quite a surprise in the prologue when Pocahontas (or Matoaka) begins speaking to Alice through the television screen. This feels both comic and playful, like something from a horror story. It's also meaningful in how there is a darker truth to indigenous history/experience than what non-First Nation groups acknowledge in popular culture. I feel like Elliott tries to balance these three modes throughout the novel's narrative which is a difficult thing to pull off. The novel uses a very conversational style of writing which makes it very personal and immediate. I appreciate how this conveys a strong impression of Alice's point of view and state of mind however, to me, it can sometimes feel too much like a rant where Elliott hammers through messages rather than letting them arise naturally within the story. Alicia Elliott wrote a very interesting personal essay about perceptions of mental illness: https://www.thestar.com/entertainment/books/the-power-of-alicia-elliott-how-the-indigenous-author-embraced-the-unreality-of-fiction-and/article_b0e3c11d-7092-5c59-ac2a-07c83b34a815.html It's really challenging not to dismiss someone's perspective when they've been categorised as suffering from “madness”. At the same time, there are so many practical difficulties which accompany this experience especially when clear and honest communication becomes nearly impossible.

Alice's daily physical interactions seem fairly benign – being gifted dvds, buying alcohol from staring shop assistants and being pounced upon by a hyper vigilant neighbour. Certainly there is unacknowledged prejudice and micro aggression within these encounters but Alice's reactions often feel out of proportion to what's occurring. I understand she is frustrated that the white community she's surrounded by can't understand her perspective and that she desires to exhibit positive representation to deflect stereotypes about Native people and feels the need to keep up appearances – especially to her husband Steve. This poetic line from the novel seems to really encapsulate her experience: “I'm a puddle pretending I've got shape and form.” However, it feels like her increasing panic about her predicament would be tremendously eased if she were to speak honestly with others about what's happening and her state of mind. Instead, she constantly covers this up and keeps an increasing amount of “little secrets” from Steve. Though we don't get much backstory about the formation of their relationship this seems to be a consistent aspect of it: “I've kept so much from him from the very beginning. Edited my life to make it seem a little less tragic and a lot more functional.” Of course she wants to present herself as capable/confident but a big part of any successful long term relationship is allowing a partner to see your vulnerabilities. Instead, Alice seems to be trying harder to cover them up so the truth of how she's feeling can only come out in erratic or paranoid behaviour.

Perhaps this is part of the point of the story. However, it makes it frustrating and difficult to empathise with Alice when she's not willing to let others into what she's experiencing except through this narrative and her rewriting of the Creation Story. I'm aware my reaction might be biased because this character's life is very different from my own. I want to listen to what this book has to say and I'm not trying to minimise the impact of her cultural heritage, position in this society and the difficulty of new motherhood. I was really struck by the lines: “Motherhood is sacrifice. Not metaphorical sacrifice. Literal sacrifice. Every day I feel like I'm destroying pieces of myself to win the favor of this insatiable demigod who wants and wants and wants.” It must feel devastating to rapidly lose yourself in this way and feel like this baby is the antagonist while also loving your child. I've found it really interesting to compare Elliott's novel with “Soldier Sailor” by Claire Kilroy since there are parallels in how new motherhood causes such a terrifying physical and mental breakdown and sense of isolation. What's clear from both is that it's a tremendous strain no matter the circumstances and support/lack of support from one's family/spouse.

It was a complete surprise to me how the story switches its nature later in the novel just as Alice's manic energy and all-consuming paranoia become too much to bear. By getting an outside perspective of Alice (and getting a heartrending peek at the many directions her life might have taken) I suddenly understood the tragedy of her plight better. I'd previously felt sympathy for how overwhelmed she's been with the grief for her mother, the responsibilities and sleeplessness of new motherhood, separation from her Indigenous community, wavering mental health, semi-reliance on drugs/alcohol and frustration trying to honour her heritage by rewriting its stories. But being locked in her point of view also made me feel like a therapist listening to a hopelessly tangled diatribe and this made the reading experience increasingly laborious. It's not often that it seems worth it to read through hundreds of pages to get to a pay off like this. But, in this case, I am very glad I read until the end. It felt necessary to see Alice's increasing frenzy from the inside in order to really know how she got to this point of absolute despair. There's a pleasure in re-viewing the events that have come before given that the nebulous voice is given a personality. It's also quite playful and inventive how the author has structured the book as if self consciously drawing upon the kind of popular culture films she frequently references. I was reminded of the films 'Get Out' in the dinner scene, 'Interstellar' in the family reunion across time – as well as the numerous movies which have drawn upon concepts of alternate realities/the multiverse. Some might see this as derivative but I think it felt natural for this story and a way to show the tension Alice experiences as someone whose identity is a blend of both Indigenous and colonial culture. I found this concluding section really heartwarming and moving, but I'm sure not all readers would agree.

The title of the novel is taken from the story of the Sky Woman being dropped by The Great Spirit into a hole so that she falls towards the Lower World. But I like that it also has a popular culture meaning in how Alice connects to Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka because she thinks if she makes the wrong choice the floor will fall out from beneath her. There's also some “Alice in Wonderland” influence given the protagonist's name, that Sky Woman falls (or is pushed) down a hole and at a disastrous dinner party Alice believes that guests shout “Off with her head” at her. I'm glad to have read this book and to have received Alicia Elliott's point of view. I do question whether she might have been able to use a different writing technique or structure to better tell this story. It's really difficult to say because Alice's mindset is so messy it feels like the narrative needs to emulate that and if it'd been more formalised it might not feel so authentic. So it's difficult to know how to rate this novel or whether I'd recommend it. I'm continuing to mull it over and I'd be very keen to hear reactions from other readers about the book as a whole.

James by Percival Everett

In the past couple of years it's been exciting to see new books coming out which self consciously build upon canonical literature from the past. “Demon Copperhead” brilliantly reimagined “David Copperfield” in contemporary rural America. Sandra Newman's “Julia” was a clever retelling of “1984” from the point of view of Winston's love interest. I'm sure there have been others and this isn't a new phenomenon. “Wide Sargasso Sea” is an excellent example of taking a striking character whose perspective we don't get in the original, the so-called mad woman in the attic from Bronte's “Jane Eyre” and imagining this world from her point of view. And now Percival Everett has used a similar method in the much talked about and highly publicised new novel “James”. I think this book deserves all the attention it's been getting! It shows some of the same events from Mark Twain's classic “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” from the character of Jim's perspective. Utilizing Everett's customary sense of wit and satire, he re-envisions this story and period of history to give a refreshing and revelatory take on James' precarious position as a runaway slave, his struggle to free his family and his yearning to achieve a sense of freedom outside the boundaries of the subjugation he's been born into during the Antebellum South.

Firstly, though I don't think it's absolutely necessary, I did reread “Tom Sawyer” and “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” before getting to this novel. I had read abridged versions of both when I was younger. Reading them as an adult was largely enjoyable though I now find it difficult to relate (or care much) about these boys' cravings for high adventure and high-jinks in their rural community. The episodic story seems designed for the entertainment of young boys so often it felt like the plot was unrealistically skewed to show these adolescent characters triumphing in situations and coincidentally happening upon dramatic scenes. This leads them to achieve great fortune at the end of “Tom Sawyer” and “Huck Finn” does feel like a stronger book in many ways. It's especially vivid and terrifying reading about Huck's abuse under his father at the beginning. Nevertheless, his journey thereafter often feels like a game he's playing. All the while Jim is portrayed as the honourable, superstitious and mild-mannered character at Huck's side. His friendship with Huck is touching. It's impressive how Twain's novel deals with the moral complexity Huck feels growing up in a culture where people with Jim's skin colour are treated as property but his growing emotional connection to Jim disallows him from seeing Jim in this way. But, obviously, this is only one side of the story. Of course, it's also jarring reading these novels today given the language used.

Interestingly, in Paul Beatty's 2016 Booker Prize winning novel “The Sellout” there's a fascinating and funny debate where a character named Foy Chester describes how he rewrote “Huckleberry Finn” after he began reading Twain's novel to his grandchildren but stopped when he discovered the 'n-word' appears 219 times in the book. He describes how “where the repugnant 'n-word' occurs, I replaced it with 'warrior' and the word 'slave' with 'dark-skinned volunteer... I also improved Jim's diction, rejiggered the plotline a bit, and retitled the book The Pejorative-Free Adventures and Intellectual and Spiritual Journeys of African-American Jim and His Young Protege, White Brother Huckleberry Finn or They Go In Search of the Lost Black Family Unit.” However, the narrator of Beatty's novel then challenges Chester stating: “why blame Mark Twain because you don't have the patience and courage to explain to your children that the 'n-word' exists... no one will ever refer to them as 'little black euphemisms' so welcome to the American lexicon”. The language in Twain's book has been subject to a longstanding debate and censoring or erasing what was cruelly, thoughtlessly and freely used in the past prevents us from learning from history. Therefore, I think it's important and smart how Everett has positioned his novel not as a rewrite, but a chance to tell Jim's story.

“James” begins with a section of the notebook of Dan Emmett (the real life composer and founder of the first troupe of blackface minstrels) and this takes an important role later in Everett's novel. I love that the story then launched into Tom and Huck playing one of their familiar jokes on James only to show that James is very aware of their game and indulgently playing along. James recognizes throughout the book that adolescent Huck is naturally attracted to adventure and he will sometimes manipulate Huck towards taking a certain action by persuading him it will be fun in this way. This new characterisation immediately negates the idea that James is a naïve butt of the joke which would be easy to assume from Twain's novel. Instead, Everett portrays him as highly intelligent, literate and an educator who teaches enslaved black children in the language and manner they must use around white people to avoid punishment and survive in this world.

It's poignant how the importance of language is emphasized throughout the novel. Natural speech carries on into conversations James has with other black people in private, but everyone speaking will quickly revert to another form of “dumbed down” language whenever white people are present and overhear them. They know that it's not only expected that they'll speak like this but they will be punished for using the language white people use. James must continuously check himself while travelling with Huck because even though they develop a camaraderie he must be mindful of maintaining that barrier. This necessary front comes to feel even more sad the closer he becomes to Huck. It's also striking that when James drops the affected form of speech in front of white characters he's confronting it's the inability to believe he can use such language that preoccupies them more than the immediate threat of violence.

I was also so moved by the reverence James has for books and writing since they are the only sources of true freedom available to him. He attentively dries books after they become soaked in the river and he clings to moments when he can read them when not being overviewed by white people. But also it's wonderful how he enters into a dreamlike/hallucinatory dialogue with philosophers of the Enlightenment such as John Locke and Voltaire to challenge them about their views on freedom as a concept vs the reality of his life. It's a brilliant way of interrogating a whole school of influential thought. It's also easy to imagine that if James had been born in a different time, place and circumstances he'd have been a great scholar, studying philosophy and publishing important books. As it is, his intense desire to write his own story is very touching and we also see him testing out different surnames for himself throughout the story. The mere ability to obtain a pencil and writing paper becomes so precious. So it's all the more heart wrenching when we see the price paid and consequences for the black man who obtains the pencil for James.

It's interesting how Everett mostly follows the timeline/events which Twain laid out in his novel. There are interludes when James is separated from Huck and here Everett had the freedom to fill in his story however he wanted. Through James' eyes some of the characters of Twain's novels such as the con artists they meet appear much less fun and more threatening – actually quite vicious and terrifying in Everett's novel. The events and timeline become altered more towards the end. I think I read how Everett mentioned somewhere (not in the interview I saw him give with Nelson) that he felt Twain was indulging the reading public by reintroducing Tom Sawyer at the end of “Huck Finn” because he felt they'd want more of this character. But this doesn't serve the story or primary characters of Huck and Jim well. So I found it really clever and harrowing where Everett takes James' story. The whole question of freedom and identity becomes much more layered as James joins a minstrel show, meets a man who is passing for white and ultimately reveals his true relationship with Huck. This gives a whole new meaning to their bond and why James is especially attentive and caring towards Huck.

In the past I've not been a very big fan of satirical writing where there are often exaggerated versions of villainous characters being presented in a way to (often justifiably) diminish their power. It usually seems to me better to give more nuanced presentations of characters to show the complexity of all individuals. However, Everett uses it to fantastic effect. His novel “The Trees” used satire in a much more blatant way where some of the white characters were purposefully portrayed as stereotypes. To portray them as such is Everett's clever way of challenging us to think about and re-view other stories (novels, films) where black individuals are presented in a stereotypical way. Probably little exaggeration is necessary in depicting many of the racist white characters in “James” because their assumed superiority was so much a part of the culture and even those who felt they were kind to slaves maintained their dominant position and were glad to wield their power when it suited them. Conversely, the slaves James engages with in private have cerebral conversations using heightened language to emphasise the unrealised intellectual potential and psychological complexity for these characters merely portrayed as (good-hearted, jovial) slaves in Twain's book and countless other stories. I think it's really effective and powerful how Everett achieves this in “James”.

In Twain's novels the boys often surreptitiously view people and scenes while they are concealed. This amplifies the entertainment and drama of it all – as if we're being allowed secret access to conversations and information. It's ingenious how Everett uses this same dynamic several times throughout his novel especially towards the end where James witnesses an enslaved woman now inhabiting his old home being raped. Rather than the voyeuristic charge in Twain's novels, being trapped in a concealed position to witness this utterly horrifying incident emphasizes the real practice, repercussions and violence of slavery. Of course, Twain could never have written such a scene but in thinking about the world he was evoking Tom and Huck would have realistically witnessed many acts of violence towards slaves. But getting that terrifying scene from James' perspective and throughout everything he's endured and his burning desire to find his family it's so satisfying how Everett allows James to go on a path of revenge towards the end. If you watched the interview I posted below it sounds like Everett was really inspired by the memory of his mild-mannered father who took out a gun and was prepared to fight when Everett was a child and they were almost stopped by the KKK. Similarly James is a calm and peaceful individual whose anger rouses him to justified violence to find and rescue his family.

So I think it's incredibly impressive how Everett handled writing this novel bringing with it all the adventure of Twain's classic but also challenging the reader to think about race, language, literature and history in a more complex way. It was especially striking to me how when news of the coming American Civil War reaches James he understands it has little to do with him. I think this makes us ponder more about the way we consider this period of history which is often characterised as a moral/virtuous battle to end slavery, but there were also other motivations behind it (economics/political power/preserving the Union) and to many of the individuals caught up in these events it meant something else. I found James' journey completely engrossing and came to really care about him and the multilayered connection he forms with Huck over the course of this magnificent story. I think the only thing I wish we'd had more of was James' family – I know the timeline of the story means we're not with them for most of it but we only get brief glimpses/details about them in the beginning and references to how he misses them but I wish the story had portrayed more memories and thoughts about them to give a more dynamic understanding of their connection. However, that's a minor quibble about an excellent novel which is a welcome addition to the cannon of American literature.

Women's Prize Shortlist 2024

Here are the 6 novels shortlisted for the 2024 Women's Prize for Fiction! A new video is up on my YouTube channel giving my instant reaction to the list and discussing each book: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Amh06jLxKeY

It's been a pleasure reading all of these excellent novels. It's especially interesting how this fiction approaches similar subject matter from different angles – generations of family life, individuals caught in large scale conflict, cultural displacement and motherhood. Some use multiple perspectives to show different angles to a story while others are firmly rooted in a first person point of view. There are tales set in the distant past and others that take place in our present time.

There's a high level of regional diversity from Ireland to Sri Lanka to Singapore to New South Wales to Palestine. There are highly established authors such as Anne Enright and Kate Grenville as well as debut novelist Aube Rey Lescure. It also feels like these new titles by Isabella Hammad, V.V. Ganeshananthan and Claire Kilroy are overdue for prize attention. I think it's a very strong group of books and would highly recommend reading all of them.

“The Wren, The Wren” was the first novel I read this year and, while I think some of Enright's other books are stronger, I thoroughly enjoyed how this tale evokes the life of a mother and her adult daughter while slyly skewering the patriarchy – especially arrogant writers. I was completely captivated by “River East, River West” which so creatively presents a different kind of strained mother/daughter relationship with the introduction of a complex step-father. I read “Soldier, Sailor” right after the longlist was announced and the high praise this harrowing novel about early motherhood has been getting is well deserved. I've read “Restless Dolly Maunder”, “Brotherless Night” and “Enter Ghost” more recently so I'm still processing my thoughts about them but found them all engrossing.

It's a shame “In Defence of the Act”, “Western Lane”, “Ordinary Human Failings”, “Nightbloom” and “Hangman” didn't make the cut but this is how competitions go. We've also had such interesting conversations about “And Then She Fell” with my online book club. However, honestly, it's not really about winners and losers but the pleasure of discovering and discussing books I might not otherwise read. I've certainly found many I enjoyed from this year's prize.

What do you think of the shortlist?

Hagstone by Sinéad Gleeson

I've been greatly anticipating Sinéad Gleeson's debut novel having read her powerful book of essays/memoir “Constellations” and the enlightening collections of stories by Irish women writers she edited “The Long Gaze Back” and “The Glass Shore”. Gleeson is highly attuned to the ways art, songs, writing and storytelling not only capture a place and the different personalities who inhabit it, but stand as a testimony for those whose narratives are often ignored, erased or suppressed. Therefore it's fitting this unique and captivating novel evokes the lives of a community and individuals who reside on the margins.

“Hagstone” follows artist Nell who resides on a remote rocky island. She's highly independent enjoying swims off the coast and occasionally takes lovers. Both she and the small populace there rely on the income from tourists who arrive during the warmer months. To make ends meet, she acts as a guide to these visitors who hunger for salacious stories of shipwrecks and tantalising folklore. So Nell is cognizant of the way true stories can become sensationalised. Her artwork reaches for a more subtle understanding and connection with the past. The pieces she creates are often meant to be ephemeral and work as touchstones to the lives of women who were maligned or misunderstood.

She receives an unexpected invitation to make a specially commissioned artwork for a reclusive commune known as the Iníons. This is a group formed of diverse women who have moved here from all over the world and, until now, their lives have been shrouded in secrecy. But Nell's presence isn't welcome by all who reside there. She gradually becomes familiar with several members and the uneasy structure of their commune in the lead up to a celebration – a climatic event with unintended consequences. A strange feature of the island is that there is a mysterious sound which emanates from the landscape and the Iníons have a reverence for it. Not everyone can hear this sound, but it drives some to madness and other to a kind of spiritual awakening or connection with this singular location.

This is a story which wrestles with the tension between independence and community. It asks what advantages can be found in building a life in relative isolation and what is sacrificed by removing oneself from the larger society: “Solitude can be its own kind of loss.” It especially focuses on the plight of women and those who understandably want to escape from the patriarchy. However, any group inevitably forms its own hierarchy and involves power struggles. The novel cleverly feels out the levels of compromise required when seeking to achieve a truly peaceful existence. It’s also fascinating how it explores the relationship between artist and subject. In what ways does art memorialise the lives of others and how does it intrude upon their privacy? Nick, a famous actor visiting the island, seeks to make a film about the Iníons and becomes another suspicious presence in this commune. Tensions mount from both inside and outside this community resulting is a horrific clash.

I deeply connected with this novel's story and appreciate the complex way it engages with these issues while also delivering a highly entertaining, compellingly gothic, occasionally sexy and meaningful tale.

Nightbloom by Peace Adzo Medie

I love it when a novel can present two conflicting perspectives which are equally convincing. This demonstrates that relationships are very complicated and it muddles concepts of right and wrong. Throughout “Nightbloom” I felt my sympathy completely shifting in tandem with who was telling the story. It follows cousins Selasi and Akorfa who are best friends growing up in the same Ghanaian town. But, as they get older, they diverge in their academic pursuits and aspirations. Differences to do with economic status, social groups and family circumstances which didn't matter so much when they were younger play a factor into how they grow to misinterpret and misunderstand one another. Their connection becomes completely distant as Akorfa moves to study in America and Selasi becomes a successful restaurateur in Ghana with a politically ambitious husband. The narrative follows one cousin's point of view before switching to the other to show the same events from another perspective until their paths meet again. Though the break in their friendship partly has to do with personality conflicts it also has to do with larger factors such as familial expectations and societal pressure. The divide which forms between them is all the more heartrending because both experience similar abuse as women and pressure to overlook the injustices they must endure. They'd be able to find solace and strength in one another if the circumstances of the world hadn't come between them. The way this story follows the course of their journey is emotional and utterly gripping.

You can also watch me discussing this novel in my garden: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FeA_CJw5QuU

Hangman by Maya Binyam

It's refreshing that there's a wave of contemporary fiction which is actively working against a confessional mode of storytelling. Many novels present the inner life of characters with all their history, memories, preoccupations and hopes for the future. However, Binyam challenges the reader with a nameless narrator who returns to his nameless native country in sub-Saharan Africa after living for many years in a nameless Western country. His purported mission is to locate his ailing brother who has been writing him letters entreating him for money, medicine, property and support. But really this journey is a reckoning with the place he left behind and with himself. However, he actively withholds personal information and his emotional state as he becomes reacquainted with this place, its people and their politics. This unashamedly draws influence from Rachel Cusk's “Outline” to build upon it. Binyam's novel even begins with its narrator conversing with someone on a flight. I greatly appreciated the absurdist and slyly surreal nature of this book with its flashes of wicked humour and his account becomes surprising emotional.

This style of writing may seem confusing and frustrating, but the narrator is highly suspicious about how tales such as his can be used to falsely frame people. At one point he emails a friend about his progress and instantly refutes that message's content “It wasn't accurate, but it didn't need to be accurate, because emails were just a mode of storytelling. In the case of the so-called immigrant returning to his home country, the story should be a good one.” Such a homecoming with all its conflicted feelings of estrangement and belonging can't be neatly contained. Nor can his personal past and the circumstances of his emigration. Any such attempt to convey them in a straightforward way would lead to interpretation and they'd become politicised so that any nuance would be ironed out. Much of the novel concerns his conversations with those he encounters as they eagerly describe their backgrounds and positions: “People liked to talk, because talking made them feel like their experiences amounted to something, but usually the talking turned those experiences into lies.” By withholding his own story, the narrator seeks to maintain a greater degree of honesty.

Nevertheless, details about his past and frame of mind gradually emerge. Through suggestions and hints the abstract gradually solidifies, but it can never be fully defined. It becomes increasingly poignant how people and places that he initially identifies as one thing are suddenly revealed to have great personal significance to him. A stranger becomes a relative. A building turns into a home he was forced to vacate. In this way the present world shifts around him and becomes realigned with history. Yet everything has changed and he's a different person from the one who left this place many years ago. Unsurprisingly, the consequences and ultimate result of this homecoming are ambiguous. Though the immediate experience of this book is befuddling it's developed more resonance the more I've thought about it. It's certainly not a novel that will be everyone's cup of tea but those who patiently engage with its larger meaning will most likely find it impactful.

My Friends by Hisham Matar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Flat Place by Noreen Masud

In this memoir Masud describes how flat landscapes have always been supremely comforting to her. Ever since she was a girl growing up in Pakistan's capital she's yearned for these barren vistas and frequently mentally travels to these empty spaces. She recounts the challenges of growing up in cloistered difficult circumstances, the process of moving to Britain to establish her independence and how she deals with complex trauma. Through this she convey a sense of establishing her unique cultural and national identity. She was raised to primarily speak English rather than Urdu and her domineering father placed an emphasis on a British education. So this makes up much of her frame of reference, but she's also highly conscious of the racial stereotypes and colonial history which come with this. These issues and fragmented memories of her early life are considered as she recounts journeys to a number of British locations such as Orford Ness, the Cambridgeshire Fens, Morecambe Bay and Orkney. It's an elegant and moving meditation on finding nurturing environments and methods of reconciling the past.

Something that immediately endeared this book to me is that the opening of the first chapter begins with a quote from my favourite novel Virginia Woolf's “The Waves”. The lines capture the sharply different perspectives and personalities of the story's central characters. I think it resonates with Masud's sense that everyone has a unique way of emotionally translating their view of the world. Some may view empty landscapes as bleak, but Masud finds them nurturing. It's beautiful how she describes the experience to travelling to a number specific location, the interactions she has there and the memories which are raised. Many of these memories come in fragments and remain incomplete. So, rather than seeking a complete picture, she allows them to remain obscure. Thus the past doesn't necessarily define her and she's able to fill her life with what she finds most fulfilling. In this way, this beautifully written memoir delivers an empowering and unique message.

Lies of Silence by Brian Moore

“Lies of Silence” is instantly thrilling because its protagonist Michael Dillon is presented with an impossible choice. Under duress he's instructed by the IRA to park his car which contains a concealed bomb at the Belfast hotel where he works as a manager. It will probably kill dozens of people. They emphasise that if he fails to do this his wife Moira will be killed. The result of this crisis leads to a terrifying personal and moral conundrum as he becomes caught in a media blitz and the political turmoil of his native Northern Ireland. All he really wants is to settle somewhere far away from The Troubles with the woman he loves and to rekindle his early passion for writing poetry. However, like the wider conflict itself, there are no easy answers. The heart pounding suspense of this story is imbued with an intelligent examination about the role of personal responsibility in a dispute so large it feels like there are no correct options.

Part of the terrifying thing about this crisis is that violence was such an everyday part of the news this specific incident wasn't viewed by the general public as noteworthy: “Just another bomb. Just an ordinary day, after all.” People are shown to be going about their ordinary lives as if nothing had happened. After all, what else can be done? But it's a frightening thing that such terror can become normalized. By being thrust into the centre of it through Michael's story we see the intensely personal consequences of this larger conflict. The choices of the characters are further complicated by the personal issues they're going through. It's especially interesting how Moira's motivation becomes swayed by revelations about Michael leading to a newfound cause that she champions. Moore has a clear, direct style of writing which is very effective in conveying scenes with fast action but it also conveys the larger issues which are at stake. I'll be keen to read more of his books.

Soldier Sailor by Claire Kilroy

This novel is narrated by an Irish mother describing the extremely difficult experience of raising her son. She addresses these reflections to the son and refers to this boy as Sailor. Though the narrative is directed at him it's left ambivalent whether she's writing this down as a letter or merely composing this monologue in her mind. We follow roughly a year or so in her life during which Sailor turns two and then three years old. She's deeply exhausted, frustrated and depressed. This state of mind is infused into the narrative itself which veers from sharply realistic and disastrous scenes of daily life to hazy waking dream like states to periods of deep contemplation.

The story puts out into the open a lot of the harsh reality concerning parenting which is often swept under the carpet. Early on she wonders: “Would you have had a baby if they told you that stuff?” Yet this isn't simply a story about the horrors of parenting which would scare anyone away from wanting to have a child. It is just one woman's perspective – it's not trying to be universal although I'm sure many parents will greatly relate to particular moments in this book and there's a lot to learn here. It's very raw and emotional and down to earth, but also finely written (almost poetic in places) and occasionally funny (often in a tragi-comic way). A small detail I found very funny early on is when she says “I unstrapped my prize marrow” as if the baby were a vegetable she's bringing to the country fair.

There's a real crispness to Kilroy's prose which can so neatly sum up her experience: “I was so tired and you were so hungry. But you wouldn't eat and I couldn't sleep. Mother and child.” Even though the story of the difficulty of raising a child has been told many times before and we all know a lot of what she describes (whether we have direct experience of it or not) it's never been told quite like this before. So it felt very original to me. At it's heart this book feels like a desperate cry to be heard and understood and a plea for people to stop being dicks. This is something she states a number of time in the way people react to her or dismiss her in public when she's clearly going through a tough time. In reference to a cashier she remarks “To him I was yet another clumsy housewife who couldn't keep up with him. I know this because I used to think that way too. I used to be a dick. There's a spectrum. I was on it. But you won't be a dick because I have enlightened you. Be an astronaut, be a nurse, be a postman, be whatever. Just don't be a dick.” One of the biggest dicks in her life is her husband. She's the main caretaker as he has a demanding job and is often at the office. But even when he is home the duties of parenting are still placed upon her. So she doesn't have the time to work herself or express herself creatively. Again, it's well known that high expectations are placed upon a mother at home while the father works but this novel really shows the ins and outs of that experience.

The husband does often come across as a villainous dick. He says and does some horribly dismissive and neglectful things. But because it's entirely from her perspective we only get her side so undoubtably it's very difficult for him as well. I feel like the novel acknowledges this in some of her extreme actions and the way she can dismiss his good intentions and questions when he's trying to understand her. Yet I primarily felt on her side because she's often wrangling with the child while he's there but he's just on his phone or watching tv.

It's very interesting that she also occasionally meets someone she refers to as her friend. This is a man she's known since childhood. He now has three children and they sometimes run into each other at the playground. As the primary carer since his wife works a demanding job he can really sympathise with her because he's going through the same thing. This has such a positive effect because part of the trouble is how isolated and lonely she is. He's a counterpoint to her husband and she remarks at one point: “my faith in masculinity was at stake and my friend redeemed it”. But I feel like there's a compelling ambiguity about whether the friend is even real or someone she's just imagined as a companion. This aspect really reminded me of the film 'Tully' where Charlize Theron portrays a highly stressed mother. I think the novel does leave it up to interpretation. The friend could be real and his life has coincidentally run parallel to hers. For part of the book I wondered if there was a romantic tension there but I don't think it's as simple as that because she also states at one point “I didn't want my friend to be my husband. I wanted my husband to be my friend.” And that seems to get at the crux of why she's relating her experience like this.

She understandably feels like she's losing her mind and that she's losing her connection to the people most precious to her: her husband and her son. So this account is a heartfelt attempt to solidify that connection and create an understanding between them. Even though it's almost definitely an internal monologue it raises interesting questions about whether it's right for a parent to be this open about the struggles they face. Is it damaging and placing too much guilt upon a child to let that child know the pain its mere existence has caused? Or is it better to have total honesty so there can be real understanding within a family? I think these are questions this novel is consciously raising and there aren't any easy answers. Certainly there have been points I've wondered what my parents really went through raising me but would I really want to know that full truth? It's hard to say.

There are a couple of brief poignant moments in the story where she recalls her own parents. There's the memory of being taken to a beach as a child and wanting to return to that beach but realising it's not the beach she misses but the parent and a connection to that parent. At another point she acknowledges the lineage of motherhood she's entered where she writes “I had sighed like my mother had sighed before me and hers before her...” So she seems to be relating this story so her son will feel this connection too. But, again, it's also ambiguous about whether Sailor actually hears or reads what his mother is telling him. It's more likely that she's silently directing her thoughts towards him and he'll never know how she really felt going through this often hellish experience. This adds another tragic element to the story. So I found reading this book a moving and eye opening experience especially since I don't have any children myself.

My Men by Victoria Kielland (translated by Damion Searls)

“My Men” is the story of a young Norwegian woman who moves to America towards the end of the 19th century, changes her name and establishes a new life. Eventually she's discovered to be a serial killer responsible for the deaths of at least 14 people. Kielland reimagines this historical case of Belle Gunness from the inside of her troubled consciousness. Yet, rather than poring over gory details or building a thickly plotted story of dread, the author traces the shifting emotions of this woman whose life is driven by loss, loneliness, bad faith and bad logic. There's a bewitching nature to the poetic prose style which is at once claustrophobic and achingly tender. Rather than offering an explanation for why and how this occurred, this novel is moreover concerned with meticulously recording the state of its heroine's mind.

There's a cumulative sense of Belle's bleakly abiding aloneness in the world and fractured relations to other people. It's noted how “Bella stared into life and saw herself lying all alone at the bottom” and “The world was a whole, she could see it, but it was like she was standing just outside it and there was nothing she could do but cry.” This sense of complete separateness seems to foster a sense of absolute independence where she is wholly self-reliant and governed by her own sense of righteousness. In doing so the story traces how she comes to feel fully justified in her murderous actions: “Her carnivorous heart was exactly that simple, moments of closeness, a big black wound. A whole European map of dead men.” It makes for a very unsettling and strangely haunting read.

Parasol Against the Axe by Helen Oyeyemi

How would a city respond if it were being trolled online? That's what Oyeyemi presents at the beginning of this curious, inventive and mischievous novel. Prague cannot be contained in a weekend but by following the experiences of three old friends who venture there for an uncommon hen party we see how their lives intersect and meld with the city's past. It's a riotous adventure travelling with them through the winding streets. Like anyone who attempts to take an idealistic stroll through a place which is new to them, things rarely go to plan. There are some especially funny scenes involving petty conflicts and bickering with the people they encounter.

The chequered pasts of these characters catch up with them while the metropolis' history and living present impresses itself upon them. Their colourful biographies reveal many surprises involving criminality, artistic differences and alternative names. It made me think about how we like to imagine that our identities are robust and fixed things that can slotted into an online profile. But really we're susceptible to changes as the world around us – especially a bustling city with a lively persona - demands attention.

The story about a bookstore which doesn't accept currency but works through an exchange of titles was extremely appealing. I was intrigued by the shapeshifting book Paradoxical Undressing which accompanies them. It shows how every story cannot be contained just like every personality cannot be classified. The way in which Hero engages with its text reminded me how any book which I take on a journey becomes a part of my travels as I dip into reading it at various points while experiencing new landscapes, meeting fresh people and learning about local tales. “Parasol Against the Axe” feels baffling at times but I was dazzled by the originality of its style and charismatic oddity. Oyeyemi's writing can be likened to Ali Smith and readers who require a strong plot should be cautious, but if you're in the mood for getting lost in a tangle of idiosyncratic stories her books are a joy to discover.

Women's Prize Longlist 2024

Here are the 16 novels longlisted for the 2024 Women's Prize for Fiction! It's an eclectic group that includes contemporary novels, historical fiction, political tales, coming of age stories and sci-fi. A new video is up on my YouTube channel unboxing and discovering all these titles: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2j7ytX2h388

It's quite exciting how there are stories here which span the globe including Canada, the Caribbean, Great Britain, Ireland, Africa, the Middle East, Australia, East Asia and Sri Lanka. Former Women's Prize winner Kate Grenville is here alongside Anne Enright who has been nominated multiple times and former longlistee V.V. Ganneshananthan. There are 8 debut novels including Chetna Maroo whose novel “Western Lane” was shortlisted for the 2023 Booker Prize and it was one of my favourite books that I read last year.

I only correctly predicted four on this list and I've currently only read three of them. It's great to see “The Wren, The Wren” here as it was the very first novel I read this year and I was completely taken by this clever family story. I also was enthralled by “River East, River West” so I'm thrilled this debut is getting more attention.

I'd already been eager to read “Soldier Sailor”, “Nightbloom” and “8 Lives of a Century-Old Trickster” so I'll probably start with them, but I'm eager to explore more of these titles and might read by whim. Hopefully I'll have read most of these books by the time the winner is announced (alongside the first winner of the Women's Prize for Non-Fiction) on June 13.

It's always such a pleasure discovering new books through this prize and finally getting to some novels I've been meaning to read. What do you think of the longlist? Which novels do you want to read first?

Lublin by Marya Wilkinson

If I were to introduce this novel by saying “three teenage Jewish boys walk towards the Polish city of Lublin to sell brushes” it might sound like the start of a dodgy joke. But it's both accurate and in character with this wonderful story as Elya, the leader and entrepreneur of the group likes a good (or even a mediocre) wisecrack. He's convinced his pious friend Kiva to join him along with Kiva's mischievous and politically rebellious cousin Ziv. We follow their travels through the countryside and idiosyncratic towns trying to reach the marketplace in Lublin. Along the way they share bawdy tales, get into fights, compare peckers, exchange religious stories, run away from anti-semitic Cossacks, read “Crime and Punishment” and undergo a severe test of their willpower. Through this episodic adventure by foot the boys' vibrant personalities come to life as their friendship comes under strain and they contend with the circumstances of the early twentieth century. It's oftentimes funny, occasionally poignant and utterly refreshing in how it gradually morphs into a hauntingly surreal story.

Alongside the immediate action and trials these boys experience there are occasional references to larger events occurring in the world both in the past and the future. This narrative technique adds to the sense these lads have fallen out of a linear sense of time as they gradually run out of food and become lost. It's as if they are carrying their community and culture with them as they wander on a seemingly endless journey. Of course, this gestures at the plight of their people: “Everyone imagines a great finger reaching down from Gan Eden to designate a Jewish homeland... No sensible person or nation wants Jews on their doorstep. Farsteysh?” As the novel is set in Europe prior to the coming World Wars a reader can't help being aware of what trials such boys might face in the coming decades. However, their endearing dispositions are so lively this overarching theme doesn't weigh down the immediate story. Instead it builds to a moving portrait of these distinct figures trying to carve out their own path in a perilous world. I was utterly charmed by this book.