The Persians by Sanam Mahloudji

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

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

The Artist by Lucy Steeds

Last year I went on holiday to Provence in France at the height of lavender season. The heat, rich earthy smells and country sounds were so intense and this heady atmosphere is lavishly replicated in the prose of Steeds' debut novel. It's set in a remote house in this region inhabited by famous artist Edouard Tartuffe and his quiet, devoted niece Ettie. It's 1920 and ambitious journalist Joseph comes to interview the notoriously reclusive “Master of Light”, but he's quickly turned into a model for the painter's next great work of art. In their ensuing time together tensions rise as Tartuffe has an explosively tempestuous nature and disdain for anything outside his discipline of his painting. This is unnerving to Joseph but Ettie takes it in her stride while discretely attending to Tartuffe's every need. However, these characters also possess secrets which are gradually uncovered over the course of the story. The reveals are compelling but it's also meaningful how this tale delves into the trappings of hero-worship, the misogyny within the world of high art and the traumatic effects of WWI. Moreover, it's an engrossing portrait of a highly creative personality who has lived a strictly sheltered life and the challenges of emerging into the wider world.

Provence, July 2024

It's vivid the way in which Tartuffe's arrogance and controlling nature is depicted. I felt a jolt of shock with every outburst and tantrum from “Tata”. Though he's such a revered figure he's shown to be pitifully childish scooping handfuls of honey to suck and lashing out as a way of covering how much he fears being left alone. Though Ettie is only in the background at the start of this story she gradually emerges as a complex figure. The romantic element of the novel wasn't as compelling to me as the way in which her quiet personality gradually unfurls to show how she possesses great resilience and resourcefulness. I enjoyed how just as the dynamic between this trio began to grow stale there's a visit to the house from a colourfully outrageous and pretentious group of “artistes” who proclaim that they are “hunters of pleasure, gatherers of inspiration”. It's wonderful how the famous collector Peggy Guggenheim is amongst this group and the way she becomes a character in the novel. Overall, this is a thoroughly immersive tale which cleverly skewers the way egotistical men are praised in our culture while talented women are often overlooked or shunned.

Nesting by Roisín O'Donnell

After having first read O'Donnell's short fiction year's ago in the excellent anthology “The Long Gaze Back” it's exciting to see that this talented Irish author has published her debut novel. The story takes place in 2018 and follows Ciara Fay who lives with her husband Ryan and two young children in Dublin. Before her marriage she was a teacher and spent time living in South America. But since starting a family Ryan has demanded she give up working and cut her off from any friends so that Ciara has become increasingly isolated and dependant upon him. Though he is charming, handsome and successful on the surface Ryan is actually controlling, coercive and manipulative in private. Ciara has made failed attempts to leave him in the past and she's been considering doing so again for some time especially now that she's pregnant again. But one day on the spur of the moment she decides to finally do it and she leaves taking their children with her. The novel follows Ciara's extremely difficult experiences over the course of a year as she seeks to completely extricate herself from this toxic relationship, achieve a sense of independence, create a truly safe space for her children and not return to this odious man.

It's powerful and heartbreaking how this narrative fully drew me into the difficulty of Ciara's immediate circumstances. From the moment she walks away there's the pressing need for money and housing. Even though she has family behind her and there's a small amount of social care, the stress over where they'll sleep and get their next meal from is a constant pressing need. There are many challenges to getting support as a domestic abuse survivor. This is further complicated since Ciara states she's not been physically or sexually abused by her husband. However, his intimidating nature made life with him excruciatingly stressful and the dark truth of their existence together is subtly layered into the narrative. Finding work is extremely difficult for Ciara especially since she is expecting another child. Added to the difficulty of Ciara's immediate circumstances are the demands of her children whose petty complaints are ever present. I grew so frustrated with their eternal griping but, of course, it's only natural that they wouldn't understand the psychological, social, financial strain their mother is under because they are only young children. Their presence also means that Ciara must maintain frequent contact with Ryan as he threatens her with legal measures if he's not allowed to see them. Of course, this also provides him with an opportunity to attempt to turn them against Ciara and force more frequent contact with her. I truly felt like the weight of the world was upon Ciara's shoulders. It's impactful how O'Donnell captures the visceral experience of her many dilemmas and this emotional journey.

The Edges by Angelo Tijssens (translated by Michele Hutchison)

A physically and emotionally scarred man returns to his hometown after many years of having lived away in the city. His mother has died and he's there to clean out her home. He also reunites with his first lover, a man who has stagnated rather than thrived in this town. There is so much tender feeling packed into this slim melancholy novella which describes the actions of his days. The tenderness is primarily sore, but it's also warm and sensual. How is it possible to describe the rollicking mixture of emotions for someone who escaped a violent childhood and has now returned to this location packed with personal significance? How can someone feel nostalgic and long to return to somewhere that was the wellspring of fathomless hurt? The narrative moves between his second and first person account as memories invade his present day experiences. There's a moving familiarity he shares with his old lover but also the strangeness of time that has passed while separated and the acknowledgement that their sexual reunion won't lead to a renewed relationship. Tijssens admirably lets the reality of the situation speak for itself and the bittersweet truth of life gradually emerges. The author is also a filmmaker and I great admired the movie 'Close' which he co-wrote. His narratives resist the impulse for confession and instead subtly present ambiguous relationships and conflicted human experiences.

The Lion's Den by Iris Mwanza

This is a gripping legal drama set in the early 1990s as a young lawyer named Grace takes on a pro-bono case for her law firm in Zambia concerning a young individual named Bessy who is persecuted for his homosexuality and wearing women's clothing. Bessy is beaten by the police, his family visits the station every day but aren't allowed to see him and the police don't follow the proper procedures for processing Bessy's case making it impossible for Grace to help him. Nevertheless, she's determinedly seeks justice. Bessy himself appears only briefly in the story. However, through Grace's investigation and interviews with people who know him, there's a strong sense of his life as a sensitive and romantic individual who longs for love and wishes to move somewhere he can live openly.

Grace also emerges as a spirited and determined individual born into very humble circumstances and whose mother who tried to sell her into marriage. Instead of capitulating she flees her village in order to earn a law degree and live independently. Though she's ambitious she has a strong sense of justice – especially for those who are marginalised because she's very close to her late father's gay best friend. I appreciated how the story contrasts the sharp division between the rich and poor. Grace encounters some privileged individuals at her university and through her law firm who are accustomed to plentiful amounts of fine food. But Grace grew up literally starving at some points so has a persistent appetite and grateful appreciation for any food available. Equally she must become accustomed to the dress and manners of a society far from the village she grew up in. I also found it moving how Grace retains a strong connection to the spirits of her ancestors and how her religious identity works alongside widespread Christian practices.

At this time in the 90s and still today in Zambia, same-sex sexual activity is illegal for men and women. More than the laws there's a terrible social stigma for anyone who is LGBT. These notions are partly the result of legal and religious systems of belief which arrived with colonization. Of course, this means that many gay or trans individuals feel compelled to conceal their identity and risk being blackmailed. Anyone who bravely lives openly faces alienation, threats, longterm imprisonment or death. I'm glad this story encouraged me to read more about the historic and current state of queer life in Zambia to make me more aware of this ongoing struggle. Though it wasn't easy growing up gay in a relatively rural area of America in the 1990s, it would have been much more challenging to have grown up in Zambia at this time.

The novel had a powerful impact for this reason but it was also gripping to follow the developments of this case and Grace's journey. This story is a testament to the bravery of people who stand up for what's right against nearly insurmountable odds. But it also shows the complexity of trying to enact substantial change and achieve justice for marginalised individuals when causes gets swept up into party politics.

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.

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.

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.

River East, River West by Aube Rey Lescure

I was instantly drawn into this story of Alva, a teenager living in Shanghai in 2007 whose American mother Sloan marries a successful Chinese businessman named Lu Fang. For many years Alva and Sloan have lived hand to mouth. They've been less mother/daughter and more a team trying to survive – a relationship emphasized by how Sloan refers to Alva as “partner”. So this marriage prospect finally affords them some stability, but Alva disapproves of Lu Fang. She assumes Sloan is marrying out of convenience and Alva also resents being tied to Asia. She's lived there her whole life and knows nothing of her biological Chinese father as her mother simply describes him as “an unnamed squirt of sperm”, but she aspires to live in America and reveres Western culture. Alva frequently watches illegal dvd copies of American films and scrutinizes the landscape of US neighbourhoods on digital maps. She increasingly rebels against her parents and her public education in her determination to fully inhabit the Western side of her identity.

But that's just half the story. The narrative alternates between Alva's coming of age tale and an account of Lu Fang's troubled life. His story begins in China in the 1980s as he's trying to establish a family and a business amidst the country's economic boom. Though he's haunted by the difficulty of his early life, the horrors of his country's past and those who continue to propagate Mao's propaganda, he reasons “Maybe amnesia was the only way to go on in the new China.” Lu Fang longs for more than the circumstances he's born into and also partially falls for the lure of a Western lifestyle. However, both Alva and Lu Fang discover that cultural imperialism and racial prejudice run deep. An unlikely connection is formed in their joint alienation and the mystery of Sloan's past is gradually revealed. It's moving how this novel depicts each character's transformative journey and the way these conflicted individuals build a new form of family.

If I Survive You by Jonathan Escoffery

Imagine being constantly asked by strangers “What are you?” as if your existence isn't valid until you can be properly categorized within a particular ethnicity and racial identity. Of course, many people don't need to imagine this because it's a daily reality. 'In Flux', the opening story of Jonathan Escoffery's debut book of fiction, conveys how demoralizing and exhausting it is for a boy named Trelawny to grow up in America being persistently quizzed about this. It's especially frustrating for him because he doesn't know the “correct” answer since his skin tone and accent don't fit into any one group or people's common conceptions about individuals from his background. Neither his family, friends or a blood test are able to provide a definite conclusion which will satisfyingly answer this question. With sharp-toothed wit and tremendous feeling, the story reveals the truth of his experience using the second person. In doing so, it's as if Trelawny is condemned to not only be plagued by this question but to internalize it and turn it outward. Though this book branches out to sympathetically portray other members of his family, it's bookended by this viewpoint and rooted in his experience.

Family dramas often involve siblings battling for favour and the inheritance of property, but this book gives such a uniquely structured and vividly personal view of one such struggle. It revolves around Jamaicans Topper and Sanya whose move to Miami in the late 1970s eventually results in a self-built home and the birth of sons Delano and Trelawny. However, the lives of these characters are related in pieces showing how their experiences and perspectives leave them physically and psychologically distant from each other. It also builds a larger plot concerning patriarch Topper's dream house which is plagued by hurricane conditions, subsidence issues and an ackee tree whose growth has been stunted by his axe-wielding progeny. Along the way it traces Trelawny's pressing economic struggles as he lives out of his car while finding various work teaching, raising rent for elderly individuals in subsidised senior housing and catering to the masochistic/narcissistic fetishes of people from classified ads. The struggle for money and acceptance often leads to exploitation and violence. It's impactful how these stories show the barefaced reality of racism which becomes something to be weaponized in plays for power while the lived experience of it must be passively accepted.

In consciously choosing not to write a more traditionally structured linear tale through a single voice, Escoffery allows the reader to imaginatively build a larger story and meaning. I understand why some readers find it an uneven book as being offered such slivers can feel jarring and not all its sections have the same powerful effect. But personally I enjoyed following the surprising pathways this fiction takes to explore a variety of points of view and the growing tensions between these family members. Individual characters often fail to understand the challenges and disappointments the others face leading to conflict. I only wish there had been a story focusing on the mother Sanya whose progression we learn about in bits and pieces, but it would have been interesting to get her own perspective and how she is also unaware of aspects about her family's struggle – such as Trelawny's desperate circumstances which he conceals from her. However, it makes sense that this series of interconnected short stories focuses primarily on Trelawny himself as he feels like the heart of the book. Though he's sympathetic he has his own prejudices and shortcomings. There are also a number of peripheral characters whose fleeting presence is distinct and memorable. Together these stories build to a larger portrait of a unique multi-cultural landscape at a particular time. Though oppressive issues weigh heavily upon the inhabitants' daily lives, survival is achieved through cunning, compromise and a wry sense of humour.

Western Lane by Chetna Maroo

I was initially a bit apprehensive about how much I could connect with this novel's story as I knew it centres around a girl who plays squash. Since I have zero interest in sports I approached it cautiously. But I instantly felt involved in this tale which has a wonderful quietness to it. Beneath the surface action there is a lot of subtle power which arises through finely crafted descriptions of this family's life. It gradually shows how there are silences which can grow between family members until they become monumental. At the beginning the narrator, Gopi, informs us that she was 11 years old when her mother died and we follow the aftermath of her loss. She's left with her two older sisters and brooding father living in a town on the outskirts of London. Instead of dealing with or discussing their grief, the father trains his girls to play squash in a sports centre called Western Lane stating to them “I want you to become interested in something you can do your whole life.” In other words, this is an activity that can potentially stave off the void that's been created because of the loss of their mother.

Gopi develops a passion and talent for playing which her Pa fosters leading up to a local tournament. She spends so much time refining her technique in this empty box of the squash court repeatedly hitting a ball against the wall. It turns into a space which has a timeless quality to it where neither her adolescent development or the loss of her mother matters. The story traces this period showing no matter how much we'd like to remain suspended in the present moment change is inevitable. This becomes apparent through gradual shifts which occur in the family's routines between work, school and home life. Their restrained interactions are charged with an aching sorrow because of the loss of Gopi's Ma and all the emotions they're suppressing. What her sisters and father are truly feeling can only be guessed at in brief moments of overheard conversations or uncharacteristic behaviour. At the same time, the prospect of Gopi's own displacement becomes more probable as her aunt and uncle offer to take her into their home to relieve her father of the burden of raising three daughters on his own. It's heartrending following Gopi's lonely journey as she becomes more and more disciplined in her training while the conspicuous absence within her family grows larger.

I admire Maroo's pared down narrative style which builds precise details of action and dialogue to give an intricate portrait of Gopi's world. As time moves on and their lives necessarily progress without Ma there are reminders that she's gone. Gopi attends a Gujarati school in addition to her English education. This was her mother's primary language. There are moments when one sister still tries to speak to Ma using it or when their father seems to see Ma in a living room chair. While each member of the family mourns in their own way, the aunt and uncle as well as the Gujarati community hurriedly move in to provide instruction for the motherless girls and fill their kitchen with food. The narrative gracefully moves between tender private moments of family life and more public demonstrations of being a functioning unit. While it's definitely a melancholy story there's also a lot of warmth and joy to it. The sisters share such a close physical bond often climbing into each other's beds but they all have distinct personalities. There's also a sweetness to how adolescent Gopi invests so much energy and focus upon this tournament when we know in ten or even five years time the result won't matter to her because she'll have grown and moved beyond it.

It's also a story of an immigrant family and community in Britain who have connections between India, Kenya and Pakistan. While there are subtle tensions which arise from this such as a wariness about Gopi and Pa developing close relationships with a white woman and her son Ged at Western Lane, it's not dramatised for the sake of the plot. It's simply there in the background as part of their lives and I appreciate how this is presented so naturally. Though the family possesses a strong sense of self through their place in the community there's still an ambivalence about how to interact with each other given the tremendous loss they've sustained. Equally, Gopi is so uncertain in how to communicate openly with Ged though there are strong feelings between them: “We were shy and afraid because there was all this feeling between us and we didn't know who we were.” It's beautiful how moments like this capture all the awkwardness of adolescence where so many emotions are present but can't be adequately expressed. At the beginning of the novel her sister Khush assures Gopi that “Things are going to be okay” and we know this will be true despite the depression which could overwhelm them. But it's very touching how this novel shows the way Ma's absence will always be a part of their lives but it won't be the main thing which determines their future.

I imagine some readers might grow impatient with this novel or feel its plot is too slight, but I felt very moved by the gentleness of its story. It's interesting that Chetna Maroo worked alongside author Thomas Morris in The Stinging Fly's workshop program. He's a writer that similarly writes about scenes of contemporary life in a way which stirs a lot of subtle emotion. “Western Lane” feels like a promising debut and I hope Maroo writes more.

Mrs S by K Patrick

This novel is awash with so much sexual anticipation and sensuality it perfectly encapsulates the heady experience of falling in love. It's that feeling when passion becomes all consuming it infuses everything and time is measured by encounters with the desired individual. At the beginning of K Patrick's debut novel its Australian narrator has just arrived in England to work as a matron at a rural girls' boarding school. As she gradually acclimates to the environment and traditions of this old institution, she develops a deep attraction for the Headmaster's wife known simply as Mrs S. The story follows their interactions while building tantalizing suspense with the question of “Will they or won't they?” But it's also an excellent invocation of this emotionally charged environment with the budding egos of the girls and cloistered routines. As more is revealed about the narrator's difficult history with her family and her own discomfort within her own body, her yearning becomes movingly layered with a rich level of psychological complexity. Desire is truly shown in a new light which is both very specific and universal.

The writing in this novel shines with straightforward prose which are so precise and perfectly encapsulate the emotion and personality of the narrator. It's also satisfying how classic the story appears in its texture but how revelatory and new it feels in its meaning. The setting of the boarding school is filled with so many antiquated procedures it's groaning with centuries of routine. Details such as radiators which can't be turned off even when it's hot outside and soggy breakfast toast add to the all-consuming atmosphere of this place. There are also uptight figures such as the Nurse and the local Vicar as well as the doddering Headmaster. Everywhere are the tender personalities of the schoolgirls who sometimes cluster into antagonistic groups and other times drift in melancholy isolation. Their fiery energy is directed at boys, each other and sometimes the narrator: “The girls know about humiliation. They trade in it.” Other than Mrs S, perhaps the narrator's only true point of connection is with the Headmistress who becomes an ally in being a confirmed lesbian. However, their friendship is tinged with the resignation of knowing they only really have each other to rely upon being the most outwardly queer people at the school. Rising above all these other figures is Mrs S whose canny wisdom and prestige allows her to freely move throughout this environment. But she also has a mystery and air of dissatisfaction about her circumstances which adds to the total charm she casts over the narrator.

The narrator's infatuation with Mrs S becomes clear not only through the focus placed upon her, but in the way she describes her relationship with time. She details encounters with Mrs S and how she knows she will compulsively mull over them while mourning for any small detail of that experience which has been lost. This reminded me of Annie Ernaux's book “Simple Passion” in which the author recounts being so swept up in the heat of romance she is thrown out of the present. The mind becomes consumed with memories of past meetings and the anticipation of when they might meet next. Also, certain objects become laced with significance. At one point the narrator furtively conceals a portion of a smashed stained glass window depicting the figure of a woman which she makes a gift to Mrs S. This is filled with unspoken meaning about giving someone's independence back to themselves which may be misjudged by the narrator or misunderstood by Mrs S. Throughout the school there are also reminders of a deceased famous author who once attended this institution. Her strong presence is everywhere but she's essentially unattainable.

Though the novel functions as a romance, its deeper impact is about the question of how fully someone can inhabit themselves in such a location. It's a place which is intended to allow individuals to grow but only within the confines of certain borders. Though there's little opportunity for the kind of self expression which would allow the narrator to test out different ways of being she nevertheless finds opportunities to transcend the limitations of how she might be seen. When Mrs S takes her swimming at one point she remarks “If I could choose a different body, I choose this water”. Her expression of self is indelibly linked to her sincere desire and wish to completely envelop Mrs S. Many other characters such as the Headmistress, the girls and Mrs S struggle to find any such outlet so rebel in small and large ways against the constraints of their circumstances. It's a conflict which is thrillingly teased out in this story which is so compelling that reading it becomes its own kind of obsession.

Children of Paradise by Camilla Grudova

In an era that's often dominated by confessional “tell all” fiction it's refreshing, in a way, to read a novel that makes a dilapidated cinema the protagonist of the story and the journey we follow is this dying movie house's last hurrah. Each chapter is headed by the title of a different film and the subsequent events frequently play upon the style or subject matter of these movies. We know little of the narrator at all. She calls herself Holly after a character from 'Badlands' and just arrived in the country, but beyond that we know nothing of her past or future plans. She happens to see a movie house advertising “We're hiring” and quickly gets the job. After orientating herself around its strange interior and working there long enough, she's gradually drawn into the sub-culture of film enthusiasts who are her stand-offish colleagues.

This group doesn't just work in the cinema; they stay after hours drinking the dregs left by customers in glasses of alcohol, taking any drugs which customers drop on the floor or stash in the toilets and screw each other on the stained seats of the movie hall. However, they could hardly be called a collective or a united clique as their tastes in films vary wildly and their piling together to share unhealthy snacks while watching countless movies is more a convenience. Instead, it's the actual film house which has more of a body than any of these people with “the building's gaping mouth, a sparkling marquee teeth grin” and a lit chandelier “like a skeleton hanging there”. The single scratched screen plays mostly old films while a river of sewage runs in the concealed depths underneath. There's rumoured to be a mysterious secret screen which reveals itself in surreal moments to the curious narrator.

The Paradise cinema is the oldest in the city and it's definitely seen better days, yet the employees are devoted to it as a living artefact and beacon of culture. I related to this scenario as in my teenage years I worked at a haunted house in an amusement park. The employees had a cultish devotion to the place and often spent time there even when they were off the clock. It's endearing how a group of people who could be classified as misfits find solace in gathering around a place of employment whose days are clearly numbered. Equally, the bizarre owner of The Paradise and its patrons continuously return with religious devotion. This endows the cinema with a strong personality and Grudova relates in great detail the remnants of its glory days as well as the excruciating way it is steadily falling apart. Although I can understand why some readers are put off by the way it almost revels in the grotesque, there's a perverse pleasure in following the farcical events of this novel as it veers into absolute absurdity. For me, the story unraveled somewhat towards the very end as enforced changes to make this old independent cinema conform to a large cinema chain's designs go badly wrong. The narrative dwindles and feels less significant as all we're left with is the insubstantial narrator gazing in wonder at another lost institution.

I'm a Fan by Sheena Patel

The unnamed protagonist of “I'm a Fan” isn't really the protagonist of her own life as she spends much of her time following online (and borderline stalking) two individuals. There is “the man I want to be with” and “the woman I am obsessed with” who is also having an affair with this man. Both the narrator and the man she wants to be with are in longterm relationships with other people that are pushed to the periphery of this toxic love triangle. It's a messy state of affairs and the narrator relates her (seemingly) unfiltered thoughts and feelings about this situation while commenting on the nature of social media/the internet as well as issues to do with class and race dynamics. In many ways the frankness of her voice discussing these subjects in short punchy chapters is very refreshing. The dedicated documentation of such a doomed love affair reminded me somewhat of Annie Ernaux’s “Simple Passion”. It’s also tantalising to observe how a private obsession can be poisonously fostered by the act of online following as small details are seized upon as clues to be scrutinized in detail. This is partly because Instagram updates from “the woman I am obsessed with” aren't so much capturing fleeting aspects of her daily life as they are glib public pronouncements of her values, aesthetics and commercial products since she is an influencer. While the narrator severely critiques and abhors this woman she also covets her status and following. It's compelling and challenging how Patel describes this modern conflict.

My issue with the novel isn't, as some readers have complained, that all the characters are “horrible” people – the most likeable people being the man's neglected wife, the narrator's neglected boyfriend and the narrator's mother whose marriage is a compromise. Rather, I became frustrated that in the narrator's rigorous analysis of power dynamics no room is left for genuine human interactions. Every in real life (IRL) meeting with both the woman and man are part of a ploy towards some goal of simulated closeness or strategy for achieving an advantage in this dynamic. This is partly because of the narrator's fragile self esteem which is partly the product of all these larger historical and social issues. It's meaningful how the novel shows this isn't just theoretical: part of the reason the man desires the narrator is because of the colour of her skin and the woman she's obsessed with blithely lives in luxury while the narrator struggles to buy a home. But there's no growth in her character which allows her to progress in her own life or establish any sort of meaningful connection with these figures she obsessively fangirls.

Perhaps Patel is saying in this story that the state of our society and the poisonous effect of social media mean that no true interaction is possible. But such pessimism is stultifyingly glum and not true to life where such borders between very different individuals can disintegrate when moments of honest connection form. Certainly such a relationship might not be possible with the figures that the narrator is fixated upon, but the story would have felt more radical if she could have found someone who she could establish a bond with that wasn't defined by division. It's a sad effect of relationships that are mediated through social media that so much is left unsaid (even though it's a medium which is all about making pronouncements.) I appreciate how this tale looks through the screen to focus on someone who is viewing and calling out virtue signalling. She also finds herself haplessly playing into a system that grants more advantage to those who are already advantaged. Instead of being able to progress she instead finds herself circulating in the vacuum. It's a position which will hopefully become quickly dated as more and more people eschew platforms that are all about hollow interactions. I'm (obviously) not against social media or the internet in general, but I hope there's a future where the major fallibilities of these platforms can be changed and more honest interactions can occur to bridge our differences.

Black Butterflies by Priscilla Morris

One of the things I love about following book prizes is that they sometimes highlight books which weren't on my radar that I probably wouldn't have read otherwise. When the Women's Prize for Fiction 2023 longlist was announced it was the first I'd heard about “Black Butterflies” but this debut novel certainly packs an emotional punch and I was enthralled by its harrowing story. It begins in the Spring of 1992 as tensions are rising in the city of Sarajevo. Zora is a teacher and respected artist whose elderly mother is poorly. When she asks her older husband to accompany her mother to the English countryside to stay with their daughter, Zora plans to eventually join them. She's reluctant to leave this diverse and beautiful city she loves. However, when the Bosnian War escalates and conditions turn dire she and her friends and neighbours find themselves trapped in a metropolis which is continuously bombed while essential utilities cease and resources dwindle. This personal tale shows the first year of the Siege of Sarajevo from the inside. It contains heartfelt moments of humanity and instances of vicious cruelty as the resilience of these survivors is severely tested in brutal circumstances.

Though its narrated in the third person, this novel presents the world fully through Zora's perspective. So the city is shown to be full of superb architecture, surrounded by a gorgeous environment and rich with delicious food. As a historic crossroad and European centre it's also filled with people from many different cultures and backgrounds. But dramatic political changes mean that distinctions in nationality and religion which didn't matter before now mean everything. Nearly every ordinary citizen is either a target or under suspicion. It's horrifying how conditions deteriorate so quickly as the city turns into a war zone. The novel powerfully captures the way this creates a surprising juxtaposition of normalcy and desolation. It also produces odd intimacies with strangers on the street and neighbours. Sometimes this sudden closeness is fleeting as people shelter from an attack and other times it forms bonds which last. We witness how communities can come together and how strangers often argue about possible misinformation while waiting in long lines for water. I felt so drawn into Zora's experiences it made these conditions feel increasingly palpable and frighteningly real.

Amidst so much death and destruction, it's very moving how the novel presents art as not just a frivolous respite but an essential testament. Zora became famed for her paintings of bridges not only as a symbol which connects people to each other but as magnificent objects. The story traces how her attitude toward her art and its practice are changed by larger events. While she continues to teach her remaining students, she takes a neighbour girl under her tutelage and they create pictures with what materials are available. This relationship and the desire for people to still experience beauty comes to feel so precious especially as the assault reaches the city's most sacred landmarks and the meaning of the novel's title becomes clear. A community art show which might seem quaint in other circumstances here feels like a last string of humanity which people desperately cling to and it becomes a poignant celebration.

I don't know a lot about the Bosnian War and reading this powerful story has prompted me to want to learn more. But it also shows how even many of the civilians caught in the crossfire or forced into military service didn't understand what the fight was about which adds to an understanding of the absurdity and senselessness of war. It's a timely reminder that even the most robust civilizations become terrifyingly fragile when fear and hatred are allowed to create divisions. So I became thoroughly emotionally invested in Zora's struggle. The book grows increasingly tense in a way which kept me gripped but also woke me up to the reality of how such assaults on ordinary citizens has happened and continues to happen in other parts of the world today. It's an accomplished work of fiction and I'll be eager to read anything Priscilla Morris publishes next.