Nevada by Imogen Binnie

When I was in my late teens I got a temporary job in a bookstore. I've often thought I could have spent my life at this retail gig that I wasn't particularly skilled at simply because I like to be near books. This is the employment Maria, the protagonist of Imogen Binnie's “Nevada”, has settled into. She describes in brilliant tragi-comic scenes how she's settled into working at a large old bookstore in New York City. Most of her days are spent lingering around the most obscure shelves of books and occasionally sneaking out to buy a bagel. She observes how “Her job exhausts her and her girlfriend exasperates her.” Her only real passions beside reading are riding her bicycle around the city and blogging about what it's really like to be a trans woman. She's both trying to understand her own experience and demystify what it means to be trans because “Maria is transsexual and she is so meek she might disappear.” Though she's extremely forthright in her opinions concerning this, she's so emotionally inhibited her girlfriend is fed up. A confrontation with her and taking one too many liberties at her job propels Maria out of her static existence. She spontaneously journeys across the country in her girlfriend's “borrowed” car and meets an individual she views as a younger version of herself who she hopes to inspire.

This novel was originally published in 2013, but it was reprinted last year as a trans fiction cult classic replete with endorsements from leading queer writers such as Torrey Peters, Andrea Lawlor and Brontez Purnell. There's a real charm to the narrative voice which uses a vernacular that is both self-deprecating and self-assured as it honestly describes the perspective of its heroine. She's completely aware that she's caught in a rut, but can barely muster the energy to take her scheduled estrogen injection – let alone build a more fulfilling life for herself. This is partly because her thoughts are so consumed with issues around her trans identity it exhausts her. As we learn about her development and her challenges of achieving self acceptance, this preoccupation seems totally justified. But, on the other hand, she allows it to overwhelm her to a degree where she perpetually feels on the brink of tipping over into chaos and losing her hard-won autonomy. Amidst this struggle she lays out and clarifies so many commonly misunderstood notions about what it's like to be a trans woman it's wonderfully refreshing reading her frank account.

Though this book presents itself on the surface as a road trip novel it subverts this concept by barely showing the actual trip and doesn't aspire to any neat notions of self discovery or inspiring connections. It's quite surprising how the narrative perspective shifts to the younger and equally inert figure of James in the later part of the book and the novel's ending is daring in how resolutely it avoids a tidy conclusion. But this made it feels all the more realistic and poignant for me. Maria and James aren't individuals who can find direction in their lives based on clear goals. Instead their meandering paths are more often steered by chance in a world that is largely mystified by their complex true identities and cruelly unconcerned with their well being. The information and sense of community they glean is mostly found online as there are so few points of physical connection available to them. Naturally, the internet is a behemoth of unsubstantiated knowledge and conflicting opinions. Maria's own closest in-real-life friend Piranha is wonderfully supportive but has her own serious issues to contend with and guidance can't be foisted upon Maria. So I grew to dearly care for these characters in their precarious situations and greatly appreciated receiving Maria's forthright and funny point of view.

Standing Heavy – GauZ' (translated by Frank Wynne)

Have you ever worked at a terrible, low-paid job and the only thing which got you through every gruelling hour was thinking 'One day I'll write a novel about this and then you'll see!' I've had several menial positions in my life from fast food to dressing as a ghoul in an amusement park's haunted house but I've never managed to write a successful book about them to get that sweet revenge. However, journalist and screenwriter GauZ' is living the dream. He grew up in the African country of Cote d'ivoire before moving to Paris where he became an undocumented student and security guard before returning to his native country. His debut novel “Standing Heavy” was first published in French in 2014 and won a prestigious award. It was recently translated into English and it's now been shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2023. The uniquely structured story moves between different decades describing the experiences of several black men from Cote d'ivoire employed in Paris as security guards. Their observations about the people around them, the consumerist institutions and the country itself are so satisfyingly cutting and humorous this book is a pleasure to read. It also gives an eye opening view and valuable new perspective on the long lasting effects of colonialism, capitalism and shifts in society over the past several decades.

It also clearly shows what should have already been glaringly obvious: that black men are favoured in the profession of security because of the stereotype that they are strong and intimidating. There are so many contradictions wrapped up in this state of being because the guard is both powerful and powerless. He is visible to those who want to shoplift and are deterred from stealing after seeing him. However, he's also invisible to many of the shoppers except as a source of amusement and to the larger society and the institutions who employs him. Therefore it's pleasing to see the tables turned and get the point of view of the guard as he's engaged in the tedious and soul crushing job of standing all day watching frivolous shoppers purchasing expensive things they don't need and adding to the wealth of organizations who only pay him a pittance. The maddening effects of this kind of work is intensely felt in the story. For instance, it's observed how “a security guard can expect to be exposed to 120 musical horrors in the space of a six-hour shift.” His only respite is relying on his imagination to fill the repetitive hours.

Many of the guard's observations focus on the habits of shoppers with their silly and cringe-worthy behaviour. However, they also point to how this consumerism is inextricably tied to movements between nations and the commodification of culture. It describes how what's known as The African Print is “The preposterous gaudy culmination of the infernal cycle of humiliations inflicted upon the Negro peoples since slavery.” Many of our material desires and habits go unquestioned but this narrative highlights how they are linked to power structures and history in a very real and immediate way. Unsurprisingly many of the points also have a mocking tone and express different levels of humour from the more juvenile to sophisticated social critiques. And some of these observations fall back on semi-sexist and racist stereotypes. This can make for uncomfortable reading at some points but the author acknowledges in the book “When we do not understand 'the other', we invent it, usually with racist cliches.” These sections are a part of being so thoroughly rooted in the guard's perspective shown in this story.

Yet the quips which recount the guard's thoughts and reflections while he's engaged in surveillance only make up part of this book. Other sections move between periods of time as different men learn to settle in Paris and find work. They capture periods of political and ideological change as these immigrants at first find hope of upward social mobility and education only to have these aspirations dashed. An individual named Joseph observes after 9/11 “The whole planet has been plunged into the age of paranoia... an era of law and order.” The demand for security and also the regulation of security inhibits these men's ability to progress as people are gripped by fear. At first I didn't really see how the different sections of the book came together, but towards the end it became extremely moving how they link up to give a wider view of this changing society and the fate of these individuals. The tone changes between parts so it's like a series of anecdotes (some of which work better than others) mixed with longer detailed observations about the men's living conditions. This forces the reader to adjust how they read from section to section. There's also a poignancy to how the guard whose observations we get in the 2010s is faceless and nameless even though we are so steeped in his innermost thoughts. It's a strikingly original piece of fiction and it's so heartening to see this author achieving even more success with this novel.

Women's Prize Shortlist 2023

Here are the 6 novels shortlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction! A new video is up on my YouTube channel where I react to each title as it's revealed and discuss all the books. I’m chuffed 4 out of my 6 predictions made the cut!

I am thrilled (and relieved) that “Demon Copperhead” made it! I've been rooting for this novel to win since before the longlist was announced so it's so exciting that it's a finalist. But you never know which way the judges will go! “The Marriage Portrait” is also such an accomplished historical novel that I loved reading. And if Kingsolver or O'Farrell win they'll be the first authors to have won the award twice!

There are also such impressive debut novels on the list. “Fire Rush” has the most striking voice and it's a story with a powerful message. It's enthralling how the psychological detail of “Trespasses” brings the reality of one woman's experience to life amidst The Troubles. I've not read “Black Butterflies” yet but I've heard such good things about it.

Then there are the dolphins! I've also not read “Pod” yet but I've seen such different opinions I'm so curious to see what I make of it. I was a fan of her previous novel “The Bees”. So we will see!

What do you think about the shortlist? Are there any you hope will win or any you're excited to read?

A System So Magnificent It Is Blinding by Amanda Svensson (translated by Nichola Smalley)

Adult triplets Sebastian, Matilda and Clara are leading very different lives in different parts of the world. But when they get a call from their mother with the news that one child was accidentally switched at birth it makes each of them fearfully wonder who is the odd one out. The story isn't so much about finding the answer to this as it's more concerned with the meaning of familial bonds and potential hidden patterns which govern our existence. A diabolical game or an elaborate conspiracy might be at play. Or it might just be that life is messy and we're desperately looking for a grand design to make sense of it all. While each sibling is grappling with their own problems they gradually reconnect with each other. Hijinks and absurdities ensue. The novel is advertised as a joyful family saga but it comes across more like an unsuccessful mashup of a “Mamma Mia!” type comic family mystery and a philosophical investigation into the structure of reality.

Many of the central characters have conditions which make them experience the world in a way very different from most people. Matilda has manic episodes, Sebastian's patient/lover Laura increasingly only sees the world in two dimensions and scientist Jennifer Travis doesn't believe she has a soul. It's somewhat interesting reading about how these circumstances alter their perception about life and there were elements of many characters' stories I found engaging. But the way they all come together felt forced and unbelievable. I was eager to read about Clara's experiences travelling to Easter Island, but her connection to the characters she meets there was so unconvincing. Jordan, the inadvertent leader of a group of environmental pessimists, and adrift actress Elif both inexplicably latch onto Clara even though she's completely uncharismatic. Sebastian's affair with a married woman and Matilda's struggle with mothering her step daughter were more compelling. But as the novel steadily ushers the siblings back together for the zany conclusion any emotional involvement I had with their individual stories dwindled.

The central concern of this book is about the desire to make sense of life. Some characters and the mysterious scientific institute Sebastian works for follow a Cartesian method whereby they think the whole of life can be understood by looking at its individual parts and how they fit together. Jennifer Travis postulates that “the brain... it's logical, structured... it's an equation... That's what a human is. A puzzle with a limited number of pieces. They fit together with no need for a sticky soul to glue them together... There's a system in the madness... A system so magnificent it blinds us.” However, most of us instinctually understand that life is much more complex than this with innumerable mysteries inherent to its nature. So, unsurprisingly, she eventually “learned to live with being merely a big – admittedly rather complicated – equation swathed in biodegradable wrapping paper. But if you can experience love, Jennifer thought, feeling her heart rate quicken, you are experiencing something that really is completely and utterly illogical, that can't be explained as anything less rational than the wingbeats of the soul.” Though this is very elegantly put, it's a sentimental and uninspired revelation which takes too long to arrive at in a story which enjoys humorously meandering through its characters' experiences. So, while I didn't have a bad time reading this overlong novel, I ultimately grew impatient and found the ending dully simplistic.

The Dog of the North by Elizabeth McKenzie

What better way to avoid the mess your life has become than by trying to clean up everyone else's messy life? Penny is in her mid-30s with a broken marriage and without anywhere to live. She's unemployed and her small amount of savings is swiftly dwindling. However, her irascible hoarder grandmother Dr Pincer is in an even more perilous situation. Adult Protective Services have warned that they'll step in if something isn't done about her filthy house and the possible weapon she uses to threaten strangers. As Penny journeys to help she becomes embroiled in other people's troubles including Dr Pincer's sickly accountant, her bullying biological father and her grandfather Arlo whose second wife can't stand to live with him any longer. Added to that is the fact that Penny's mother and stepfather disappeared in the Australian Outback five years ago and she can't accept that they're really gone.

We follow her journey stumbling through misadventures and desperate situations. She gets caught in hijinks such as washing a sticky toupee in an office bathroom, looking after a cute Pomeranian dog and retrieving her lost phone from the sinkhole her vehicle collapsed into. Her good intentions often only lead her into more trouble. In witnessing these eccentric characters and outlandish dilemmas through Penny's eyes we gradually become aware of just how little her own emotional and physical needs are being attended to. I appreciate the way Elizabeth McKenzie approaches the complexity of family entanglements with absurdist humour as demonstrated in her novel “The Portable Veblen”.

It was a pleasure reading this wacky story as it zips through farcical encounters and veers around unpredictable corners. Being so steeped in Penny's consciousness and questionable logic it's easy to forget just how perilous her own situation is becoming until she's practically broken and destitute. Equally her self-effacing and eager to please manner mean her voice is almost drowned out by the strong-willed and colourful personalities that surround her. I found it moving how towards the end of the book we get a deeper understanding of her own deprivations. Though the idiosyncratic figures and madcap circumstances come perilously close to outright silliness, there's a warm heart to this story which makes it ultimately endearing.

International Booker Prize Shortlist 2023

The International Booker 2023 shortlist has been announced! Here are the 6 novels and there are some surprises I didn't expect to see. A new video is up on my YouTube channel discussing each book and my thoughts on the list.

I've read 3 of these so far and I'm looking forward to reading the rest. I'm thrilled that “Boulder” has been listed. This story of an independent soul's struggle with settling down and having a child raises so many meaningful questions about whether building a family necessitates subsuming your own identity. I'm not surprised “Time Shelter” has been listed as its perspective on memory and nostalgia is so unique. While I found the overall meaning of the book to be very powerful, I wish the characters and plot had more emotional impact.

I'm glad to see “Standing Heavy” and “Still Born” listed as well as I've heard great things and I'm glad to have an excuse to prioritise reading them. I'm curious about “Whale” but slightly cautious since I've heard such mixed things about it. But often it's the books which receive the most varied reviews that make the most interesting reading experiences. “The Gospel According to the New World” felt like it was more focused on the concept of a modern messiah than building an engaging story so it's a curious choice by the judges.

Now... where is “The Birthday Party”? It was my favourite from the longlist. A slow-build thrill with a deeper meaning. But that's the way it goes with book prizes. I'm sure there will be a lot more debate about what's listed and the content of all these varied and fascinating translated books of fiction.

What do you think of the shortlist? Are you planning on reading them all? Do you have any favourites so far? Let me know your thoughts!

Wandering Souls by Cecile Pin

In the past several years there have been many nuanced novels describing instances of displacement and migration. Some examples of moving stories about families in transit I've read include “America is Not the Heart”, “Kololo Hill” and “The Hungry Ghosts”. However, especially after the heated public debate about the novel “American Dirt”, there's a heightened awareness concerning the sensitivity needed when portraying the lives of people forced to leave their country of birth. This is an issue author Cecile Pin is conscious of in her exquisite debut novel “Wandering Souls” which describes the fates of a Vietnamese family who embark on a perilous journey to flee persecution. The most central character is Anh, the eldest sibling who must suddenly take on a great deal of responsibility. Although it's a relatively short book there are different narratives which are all deftly handled and combine to form an affecting complex tale. One strand is an authorial voice who struggles to decide how such a chronicle should be told and declares “I am trying to carve out a story between the macabre and the fairy tale, so that a glimmer of truth can appear.” What emerges is a unique form of fiction which is both joyous and tragic and it shines with heartfelt sincerity.

The novel is so carefully calibrated to include historical and political accounts ranging from the tragedy of The Koh Kra massacre to Thatcher's policies to American military tactics. However, this doesn't distract from the emotional power of this being a story about family life. I think the balance works so well because of the evocative details used which leave a memorable impression. There are moments of pure happiness such as the siblings sledging during their first English snowfall and the lingering taste of caramelized braised pork which the family shared on their final meal together before departing Vietnam. And there are feelings of fear, grief and trauma which emerge in different ways through the distinct personalities of the siblings. Alongside the story of the children who survive and find a new country to call home there's also the voice of their sensitive younger brother Dao who died in transit. His charismatic spectral presence is very touching while also being a reminder of how fate is so cruelly fickle. The lives that the survivors build for themselves is hard won with a melancholy awareness of the family they've lost.

Time Shelter by Georgi Gospodinov (translated by Angela Rodel)

When I was younger I loved stories such as H.G. Wells' “The Time Machine” which not only imagined a fantastic scenario where a person could travel through different periods of time, but poignantly described how civilisation continuously strives towards utopian ideals (and inevitably fails.) In the novel “Time Shelter” Georgi Gospodinov asserts “There is no time machine except the h uman being.” However, the narrator befriends a mysterious person named Guastine who seemingly inhabits different periods of time simultaneously. The story introduces a scenario where individuals stricken with dementia find comfort in Guastine's clinic which meticulously reproduces environments from the past. As the idea catches on the general public seek refuge in living as if the past were the present. Eventually most of Europe holds referendums to revert to a specific decade from history. Alongside this outlandish tale, the book seriously ponders matters to do with mortality, memory, the nature of reality and the power of nostalgia.

As the narrator gets involved in the clinic and recreating the past, he's struck by certain sensations which inspire a trip down his own memory lane. It was moving how even though these recollections were obviously specific to him I was equally swept into the narrator's longing for the past. I feel like nostalgia is something so many people experienced more intensely during the pandemic since lockdowns meant we weren't allowed to see familiar people and places in real life. During this time I once passed by a fountain near a grocery store and the smell of its chlorinated recycled water evoked strong childhood memories of being taken to Disney World with its elaborate fountains. This resulted in some shameful hours I spent watching POV videos of Disney rides and old park vlogs on YouTube. There's an undeniable power to how certain sensations (especially scents) can instantly transport us to the past. Even if it's not a happy recollection, we can suddenly feel like we're re-experiencing all those emotions from a bygone era with a mixture of memory and the imagination. The novel describes both the pleasures and dangers of harnessing this effect in the lives of individuals and nations.

Guastine's ambition grows from wanting to reproduce different decades on different floors of his clinic to wanting to recreate whole cities from different times. Similarly, as nations engage in public debates about what eras they want to revert back to there are disagreements and issues which make such plans practically impossible. Of course, this is an absurdist story but the value of indulging in such concepts is that it offers a more clearsighted view of the influence that history and nostalgia has upon us. Gospodinov artfully shows how it's easier and more comfortable for people to harken back to the past than look to the future which is unknown. This is something that politicians and marketers are aware of and they use this to manipulate the public. We can easily see evidence in this from political campaigns to commercials. And quite frequently it works. Ironically, we can even feel nostalgia for the ads we were constantly fed in early life: “But what is going on with the ads? The ones we passed over with annoyance back then have now taken on a new value. Suddenly the ads have become the true news about that time. The entrance into it. A memory of everyday life”. These ads from the past have become testaments to the ideals and styles which were fed to us in a particular time period.

In recent years populist leaders have proclaimed that they'll make a country great again and that they want to take a country back. By taking such notions of reverting to past times literally this novel creatively shows how this isn't only a fallacy but a dangerous impossibility. Inequity has always existed so no one would be able to agree what period of time was best in a nation's history. Also, this nostalgia for a purer better era is more about our fantasies of how things used to be rather than the reality of history. Gospodinov states: “The past is not just that which happened to you. Sometimes it is that which you just imagined.” Alongside expressing universal ideas about the function of the past and memory, it feels like this novel is making a timely statement because we can so often be swayed into making decisions about the future based on nostalgia rather than recognizing the reality of the present.

As much as I appreciated the overall message of this novel, there were some elements of the book I struggled with. It has so many interesting ideas to chew over and it really helped me re-frame my understanding of history and the effects of nostalgia. However, I felt it was a bit of a slog getting through this story as I struggled to emotionally connect to it. The nebulous figure of Guastine flits in and out of the novel making statements and providing quotes which sometimes felt too self conscious. Though the narrator gradually reveals elements of his life I never felt like I could fully grasp who he was as a character. He also sometimes goes off on tangents such as a chapter which feels like a one-sided polemic against euthanasia and in another section he seems to dismiss all recent literature: “if nations go back to the '70s and '80s, what will happen to the poetry and books that are not yet written and which are forthcoming? Then I tried to recall what great things I had read from the past few years. I didn't think I would have regrets about any of it.” In my opinion, these sassy simplistic asides detract from the larger meaning of the book. So, while I admire the larger meaning of this novel, the experience of reading it was both enlightening and frustrating.

Is Mother Dead by Vigdis Hjorth (translated by Charlotte Barslund)

There are few subjects more tender and heartbreaking than a child whose parents have rejected them. Being cast out like that can crush someone's self esteem and make them feel like their place in the world is a mistake. It can also be liberating and allow someone to develop an identity separate from what their family has designated for them. So it's interesting how Vigdis Hjorth gives a unique point of view of such a case in “Is Mother Dead”. The story is told from the perspective of successful artist Johanna who has recently returned to her native Norway after a long absence. A major retrospective of her artwork will soon be shown and it's causing her to reflect on the remaining family that she's been estranged from for many years. She's aware her mother and sister inhabit the same city she's returned to and she doggedly attempts to make contact. When her advances are ignored and rejected Johanna begins stalking her mother. The reasons for this family rift and the painful feelings surrounding it are gradually revealed as we follow her determination to get some answers.

The prose are imbued with a lowkey solemnity and simmering resentment because she's not part of her family's life anymore. Having been labelled the black sheep, she prides herself on her independence and even at one point remarks “it feels like I am of the earth and not of Mum”. She's built a career, been in a loving marriage until her husband's death and has a thriving adult son of her own. However, there's a longing for a connection with her mother and she's desperate to know what her mother's life is like now. She's nervously aware that if her mother dies she might not even be informed of this fact. Though this novel is literally full of questions it feels notable that there's no question mark in the title. In a sense Johanna is haunting the old life she's left behind. She visits places from her youth and tries to reconcile the old woman she now spies on with the woman she knew growing up. At one point she realises her mother “had placed a ghost where she imagined me to be and she was terrified of it”.

So why can't Johanna simply part ways with her family who no longer want any contact with her? Johanna ponders this herself as she's doing this against her better judgement but she states “I yearn for something unobtainable... so why can't I just accept the situation as it is, my common sense already has, but pig-headedness makes me write to Mum, I don't understand myself.” And she realises that “I've come to terms with losing my mum, but I can't come to terms with Mum coming to terms with losing her daughter”. Since her mother refuses to discuss it with her, Johanna must become almost like a detective piecing together an answer from what she observes of her mother and what she remembers. The primary reasons for Johanna becoming an outcast are clear but the deeper motivations and pain her mother carries are harder to discern. Alongside this psychological mystery, there is a tension throughout the novel as we wonder will she actually speak to her mother again and can there be a reconciliation after all this time?

I feel like what you get out of this novel depends somewhat on what you're willing to put into it. On the surface it can feel repetitive and empty since Johanna is left to speculate about so much. However, seriously pondering the deeper questions at the heart of this book makes it feel achingly resonant. What obligation should a parent feel towards their child and vice versa? Is it possible to overcome fundamental differences of opinion about how life should be lived in order to maintain a family bond? How do you negotiate levels of personal privacy between family members without creating emotional distance? Is it a betrayal of trust to speak about private family matters publicly or express them in art?

One of the reasons for the break between mother and daughter is a series of paintings by Johanna called 'Mother and Child' which were exhibited in her family's home town. Her family interpreted this artwork as unfairly representing their lives whereas Johanna didn't necessarily intend them to be autobiographical. At first I found it frustrating that these paintings aren't described in much detail – nor is Johanna's body of artwork or technique though she's apparently prominent enough to deserve a retrospective exhibit. However, as she describes her memories it's clear there's a fundamental difference in how she interprets the world versus how her family views it. When she was younger Johanna drew pictures which were expressive and symbolic whereas her parents felt they should represent life as closely as possible like a photograph. This difference in point of view also extends to how they interpret a familial sense of duty and degrees of emotional connection to one another. The rift this eventually causes between them is shown to be quietly explosive as we follow Johanna's obsessive investigation.

No matter how close or distant you are from your own family these are issues which everyone can relate to some level. I think it's so interesting how with family we always get to a point where we wonder: am I the weird one or are they the weird ones? And this question is teasingly probed in this novel where on one level Johanna's behaviour is erratic and intrusive. But, on the other hand, her family's absolute rejection and refusal to speak to her is perversely cruel and viciously cold. Communication is key and this is something her family won't engage in but Johanna feels “There are so many crucial questions we never ask except in our most private moments, so many issues we avoid discussing even though the people who could contribute to clarification and information are still alive.” She witnesses her mother and sister routinely visit her father's grave. However, they ignore her though she's still alive and so close by. It's always felt like a mysterious tragedy to me that people can devote themselves so strongly to the memory of a family member who has died while ignoring the family they still have. I found it moving how this novel dynamically ponders this question.

Boulder by Eva Baltasar (translated by Julia Sanches)

I feel lucky that my husband and I have always fully agreed that we don't want to have children. For some couples this can become a difficult and painful subject. Such is the case for the protagonist of “Boulder” and her partner Samsa. Because the narrator had previously been living an isolated life working as a cook on a merchant ship, Samsa nicknames her Boulder like “those large, solitary rocks in southern Patagonia, pieces of world left over after creation”. Upon meeting the women immediately form an intense emotional and sexual connection. So, when Samsa is offered a good job in Reykjavik, Boulder is persuaded to give up her nomadic lifestyle and settle down. After several years Samsa is determined to have a child and Boulder hesitantly agrees. This novel follows the complications this causes in their relationship and raises larger questions about the meaning of life especially in regards to procreation. It's written in a poetic and briskly engaging style full of verve and insights.

It's interesting how Boulder's philosophy of life is disrupted by the challenge of partnership and parenthood. For most people, settling down is a stage which naturally follows from a rootless existence. But she believes “The destination always kills the journey, and if we have to reduce life to a story, it can only be a bad one.” Equally she shuns any attachments believing “I can give anything up, because nothing is essential when you refuse to imprison life in a narrative.” This ethos is contrary to what mainstream society promulgates concerning the matters of a stable job, life partner and starting a family. So it's striking how Boulder feels irresistibly drawn towards Samsa and their bond challenges her essential nature. This is described in deeply evocative prose: “The intense heat of Samsa's body is rhythmic, it reaches my skin in waves that wash over me the way a murmuring tide washes over a lone rock, bringing in something new each time – a tale of shipwreck, a ship buried in the sand, calm and quiet at the bottom of the sea.” I admire the rich descriptions which not only invoke the heat of their connection but the gradual shift in Boulder's psychology.

The metaphor inherent in Boulder's nickname is worked into the texture of this book. She doesn't feel connected to the story of our species so becoming a mother and entering into that narrative is deeply uncomfortable for her. This isn't just a queer perspective because clearly Samsa feels differently. However, I feel like it's a sense that many queer people strongly relate to since we often feel ostracised from the values of larger society and certainly many heterosexual people can feel the same. There's an interesting section where she goes to a museum and remarks “I'm not even interested in the sculptures – nude, still, deliberately feminine, wrested with every strike of the mallet from slabs of granite, from rocks that had once held meaning under the stars.” For her, propagating the species takes away from the inherent value of life for life's sake. She didn't ask to be created; she simply exists and doesn't feel obligated to ensure anyone will continue on from her. Also, as with many couples who become parents, her emotional and physical relationship to her partner dramatically changes once they have a child. The growing distance between them is palpable.

I found it very moving how the storyline evokes gradual but seismic shifts which occur between them and within Boulder herself over a long period of time. It takes a lot of skill to convey immense and complicated feelings through such economical prose. While the ideas of the book seem weighty, there's also a lightness in this story demonstrated in the feverish desires which takes hold of Boulder and the humour of her drinking partner Ragnar who had many wives and children. “Wife number three had amazing tits. Creamy as skyr, he says. The man's a poet,” Boulder wryly comments. I found this description which invokes Iceland's famous yoghurt-like product so funny. Maybe I also strongly connected to this short, impressive novel because I feel sympathetic with Boulder's point of view. However, I don't think it's dogmatic in its message. Instead it offers an alternative perspective from the idea that existence only has meaning if you have children. It poignantly opens up a conversation about having children as well as the nature of life and how it should be lived.