Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde

Great coming of age tales are enthralling because we can all relate to the awkward transition from childhood to adulthood. However, they can also attune us to the challenges some face because of a particular individual's identity or circumstances. “Zami” draws on much of Audre Lorde's autobiographical experience to form what she calls a “biomythography”. It's a process of understanding and defining herself as separate from the ways in which she has been categorized by her circumstances and the way other people view her. We follow her piercing observations of the world around her being raised in Harlem through to her independence and early adulthood in the 1950s. She charts her journey towards being proudly “Black, female, gay and out of the closet” in a time and society with widespread racism, sexism and homophobia. With evocative and emotive detail Lorde captures the difficult process of establishing an independent state of being within the circles of family, friends, lovers, community and country. It also endearingly charts her progress towards becoming a great reader and writer.

The depths of loneliness Lorde felt being so different from those around her is powerfully related in celestial terms: “I grew up feeling like an only planet, or some isolated world in a hostile, or at best, unfriendly, firmament.” This intense sense of alienation is carried forth as she is sensitive to the hostilities of other people's opinions and the ways they look down upon her. It has a persistent physical effect upon her as she describes: “I could feel bands of tension sweeping across my body back and forth, like lunar winds across the moon's face.” This is such a clever way of framing her mental and physical state in her early years. By casting herself as a planetary body she shows how she is at once cognizant of her inherent greatness but also painfully aware of her distance from others.

There's so much powerful imagery from her childhood which brings this bygone era to life. From descriptions of her glasses which frequently broke to a briefly known playmate we come to understand the world of her youth through the things she valued the most. One of my favourite sections is about the West Indian pestle and mortar in her family kitchen. It's both a symbol of the Caribbean island her mother came from and a beautiful object which she attends to with an almost hypnotic intensity. Seemingly everyday items such as this are elevated to near religious significance when understood within the context of a household because it's what ties this family to a particular lineage, culture and history.

Lorde also deftly differentiates her understanding of her environment as a child from what she knows now viewing it in retrospect. For instance, there were occasions when out in public white people would spit at her but her mother explained it away as people who were simply careless. She realises that “My mother and father believed that they could best protect their children from the realities of race in america and the fact of american racism by never giving them name, much less discussing their nature.” So it was only through experience and her own rationale that she came to truly understand her position in this society as a black woman.

I appreciated how there are detailed accounts of her economic struggles as a young woman who found it especially difficult to find steady and decently-paid work because of the colour of her skin and her educational background. Gruelling experiences of working in a factory are described with such intensity. The paltry safety measures in place had to be ignored in order to produce the demanded workload leaving employees dangerously at risk to exposure or injury. However, one point I found it difficult to understand was her self-proclaimed lack of typing skills. She describes how with every move to new lodgings she made she laboriously carried with her a typewriter which she used to write poetry. Yet at every job interview she insists “I had never really learned to type” which closes many opportunities. I'm guessing she means she never learned how to type a certain amount of words per minute, but because this was such a barrier to finding jobs other than manual labour it seems strange she didn't teach herself to properly type while regularly using a typewriter.

It feels especially meaningful that even when Lorde is able to enter liberating spaces as a young woman she discovers there are barriers which prevent her from finding true happiness or being truly equal to those around her. She feels an instinctual desire to move to Mexico and there “Wherever I went, there were brown faces of every hue meeting mine, and seeing my own color reflected upon the streets in such great numbers was an affirmation for me that was brand-new and very exciting. I had never felt visible before, nor even known I lacked it.” Yet, such freedom is short lived as she must return to America. Also, when she gradually discovers a lesbian community she finds they are united in a belief that “as lesbians, we were all outsiders and all equal in our outsiderhood... It was wishful thinking based on little fact; the ways in which it was true languished in the shadow of those many ways in which it would always be false.” Lorde pointedly describes how there's still discrimination and aggression because of her blackness which is mostly unspoken because an oppressed community doesn't want to believe they are also capable of being oppressors.

An interesting stylistic choice of the book is how the linear story of her development is interspersed with short italicised sections. Earlier in the text these seem to be youthful poems and later on they become more narrative-driven to articulate her burgeoning understanding of the world. These poignantly add to the sense of her evolution as a writer and intellectual. It shows how her growth as a literary artist has been an ongoing process running alongside larger issues to do with family, work and lovers as “Writing was the only thing that made me feel like I was alive.” It's such a gift that Audre Lorde insisted upon documenting her experience and thoughts in this way for future generations. Jackie Kay, a contemporary writer I admire, commented that “I came across Audre Lorde's Zami, and I cried to think how lucky I was to have found her. She was an inspiration.” Reading this book is an enriching and wondrous experience.

The Golden Mole by Katherine Rundell

It can be easy to forget just how astonishingly wonderful and weird animals can be. Rundell has created a collection of short essays focusing on an array of creatures whose characteristics and histories are so extraordinary their very existence seems like a miracle worth preserving. Some such as the pangolin and narwhal are more exotic and some such as the bear and crow feel more commonplace. But the author teases out fascinating facts about all their behaviour and makeup which make us re-view the true beauty of these beings. From burrowing marsupials to ancient sharks that dwell in the depths of the ocean, we learn intriguing information about them as well as how many face destruction because of humans and the effects of climate change. There are also often details about the way these animals have held a certain place in our culture and politics leading us to either fear, harvest or revere them. Rather than attempting to give comprehensive accounts of all these creatures, Rundell consciously takes an idiosyncratic approach to alight upon curious information which sparks the readers imagination and sense of wonder.

As a way of winding down at the end of the day I'll often read aloud to my husband before bed. This collection made an excellent book for this routine as each section is usually only four-five pages long (the perfect amount before either or both of us grow too sleepy to continue.) It also made a delightful surprise to reveal what would be our “animal of the night”. There were many instances where we'd exclaim aloud at facts such as how “wolves are one of the very few animals who convey information with facial expressions” or how mating seahorses “dance” by changing colours, entwining tails and clicking at each other. I was particularly delighted to discover the first animal discussed in the book is the wombat since it's a favourite creature of mine. The beginning of each chapter comes with a beautiful custom illustration of each animal by Talya Baldwin which adds to the overall exquisite beauty of this edition which is adorned with gold foil. Such a level of attention rightly makes Rundell's nature book feel like a sacred text. Given that half of the author royalties are going to charities to push back climate change and environmental destruction, hopefully this publication will also do a little to help the creatures within it survive.

Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies by Maddie Mortimer

Having a serious illness inevitably changes a person's relationship to their own body. This is the experience which is creatively and movingly dramatised in Maddie Mortimer's debut novel. Lia is a writer and artist who illustrates children's guides to the body as well as being a wife and mother. At the beginning of the novel she receives the news that her cancer has recurred and she will have to undergo another cycle of brutal treatment. The story follows Lia and her family's extremely challenging process of dealing with this and come to terms with her past. While they love and support Lia through this illness, her adolescent daughter Iris and her academic husband Harry struggle to deal with their own issues because ordinary life doesn't stop.

Running alongside the tale of their lives is a narrative voice which is marked in bold type. The identity of this narrator is intentionally elusive as it could be interpreted as the disease, Lia's body, a projection of her psyche (feelings of guilt, anger or restlessness) or genetics itself as it travels through generations. The voice is sporadic at first, but it comes to have a stronger and more prominent presence in the story. It's both an antagonist and a reliably familiar presence in Lia's life. It can be at turns mischievous and funny in its (high and low) cultural references as well as threatening and manipulative. Though it can feel disarming to have this odd presence amidst a more traditional narrative it comes to feel like an integral part of the story and makes sense since when our lives are disrupted by serious illness it can feel like another entity with its own agenda is constantly with us.

I was somewhat hesitant to start this book since people very close to me have struggled with cancer, but I ultimately found it extremely beneficial reading such an impressive debut novel. It helped me process my feelings surrounding this condition and the emotional and practical implications of dealing with such an illness. The story sympathetically shows how everyone has their own unique ways of coping with the life altering challenges which accompany cancer. It's also extremely artful how Mortimer describes methods of viewing the body and how we can reconsider our relationship to our physical being. There are also multiple emotionally-charged scenes which I know will stick with me such as when Iris undergoes a painful stunt to impress the school bully only for it to backfire and when Lia is groped on a train by a group of raucous lads. Scenes of strife are also mixed in with moments of tenderness such as when Harry cares for Lia or when Iris and Lia playfully come up with multiple creative answers for Lia's school test questions.

There were some moments where it feels like the author is controlling the nebulous voice to make a statement or get a point across rather than it coming organically, but for the most part it feels like an authentic presence that Lia is inextricably linked to. I was also somewhat uncertain if the scenes from Lia's early life were necessary to flash back to, but ultimately this comes together to make a poignant statement about how the past and present intersect, just as the beginning of life/potential of life circles back to our lives' inevitable end. Overall I was impressed by the scope and ingenuity of this novel to give a different perspective on the physical and mental process of illness. It's a moving and memorable experience reading it.

A Line in the World by Dorthe Nors (translated by Caroline Waight)

I enjoyed the unique narrative of Dorthe Nors' novel “Mirror, Shoulder, Signal” so I was curious to experience her first book of nonfiction which is a meditation on the coast of her native Jutland. She visits various points along the line of the map where the land meets the North Sea including villages, churches, lighthouses, power stations and surfing beaches. It's an area where she was raised and where she currently lives, but she poignantly captures the seemingly paradoxical sense of being from this place as well as being a perpetual outsider. She frequently refers to the “schism” where identity is formed. This is an intersection between time, memory, landscape and community which the individual uneasily occupies. At the same time she reflects upon her personal history as well as the factual and mythic history of the people found here. However, she realises that there cannot be one true chronicle as details of the past become muddled: “When does a story begin? Always somewhere else, always further back in the text, beyond the horizon, in the unknown”. What she offers instead is a personalised view of the beauty and dangers of this natural environment as well as the courageousness, warmth and occasional narrow mindedness of its people.

The memoirist style of this book is pleasurably meandering and broody. Specific instances of erosion, pollution, religious conflict and colonialism have affected different areas of this landscape. Nors shows how these issues raise larger points regarding how the narrative of history is formed and the function of community. I was reminded of Keegan's novel “Small Things Like These” when she describes the tension surrounding how locals want to defend a local company because it employees so many people, but at the same time it's poisoning the land and water with chemical waste. Nors meaningfully recounts the mission of Denmark's first environmental activist known as 'Amber Aage' and observes how “The silence that can close around someone who says what mustn't be said in a small community isn't for the faint of heart.” The drive to maintain the status quo is also reflected in the way women have been traditionally treated in this location and how outsiders are regarded with suspicion because of provincial attitudes that: “Big cities, free speech and foreign lures are the work of the devil.” At the same time Nors recounts the humour and warmth she experiences with many of this coastline's inhabitants. I admire the way she shows how we can have so many mixed feelings about our homeland and how it's an inextricable part of our character.

Spike by Jeremy Farrar with Anjana Ahuja

The recent pandemic was such a world changing event which altered all our lives, but I think so many of us were left reeling as it happened so fast and we all had to scramble to understand what was going on. So it's invaluable to read the inside perspective of someone who is an expert on infectious diseases and who was one of the first people to hear about this mysterious new respiratory disease in China. Jeremy Farrar traces the history of this pandemic from the first outbreak, explains the nature of the disease and why a failure to properly contain and report on it helped it to spread across the globe. The title refers not only to spikes in infections as the disease was traced through different countries, but also the spike protein found on the surface of Covid-19 virus cells which aids it in invading the body. Not only does he give an inside perspective on the medical channels across the globe which sought to understand it and rapidly develop a vaccine, but as a member of the SAGE emergency committee he gives an invaluable perspective on the UK's uneven plan for dealing with this outbreak.

It's sobering to think how the pandemic could have been responded to so much better, but also terrifying to realise it could have been so much worse if it weren't for the valiant efforts of certain scientists, leaders and medical professionals! Farrar highlights some of the real heroes, but also politicians who failed to act on the best advice or actively lied to the public at different points: “Ministers were not following the science even if they said they were.” The author doesn't mince his words in condemning Boris Johnson and his cabinet for their arrogance, incompetence and lack of planning which led to unnecessary deaths and societal chaos. It's pointed out how the idea of “herd immunity” is a dangerous notion without any basis in scientific fact. He also humbly admits how a lack of information led him to hesitate at certain points when he should have acted more forcefully. Understandably, he also seriously considered the possibility of certain conspiracies such as the theory that the disease was created in a lab and accidentally released – a notion which has now been judged to be absolutely false. Farrar describes the heart racing stress at certain points of not only realising the seriousness of this highly infectious disease, but knowing how improper government handling was going to lead to it spreading more and causing many more deaths.

The book concludes with some sensible advice about the way in which governing bodies and scientific cooperation across the globe can help prepare us for future pandemics and prevent them from being as destructive as Covid-19. There are many financial and political challenges which will make following these steps difficult, but it's vital to address these issues. It felt somewhat triggering to mentally return to this tense time period. However, I think this book gives an essential understanding of the pandemic which we can learn a lot from as well as standing as an invaluable document to historically catalogue what actually happened.

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver

Barbara Kingsolver uses the same structure and moral imperative of Dickens' “David Copperfield” to tell the enthralling and utterly convincing fictional story of Demon Copperhead, a charismatic boy born into an impoverished area of contemporary rural America. His real name is Damon Fields but he bears the nickname of the title which is what people called him as a boy because of his absent father who had a snake tattoo and copper-wire hair. But also it's a moniker he proudly adopts as a way of asserting his individuality and “You can't deny, it's got a power to it.” In a charmingly conversational and evocative manner he recounts the story of his life from his birth up through to his adulthood having survived an abusive stepfather, a mother grappling with substance abuse, foster care where he's forced into farm labour and drug addiction borne out of America's surging opioid crisis. There's a physicality to the language of this narrative which evokes the feel and texture of this adolescent boy's existence. His fiery spirit, wicked sense of humour and rational ability to navigate the challenges of his circumstances make his narrative mesmerising. Through his eyes we witness the state of a country where individuals in Demon's position can fall between the cracks and suffer from the stereotypes made about people in rural and low income areas.

It was especially meaningful reading this novel after having previously read Patrick Radden Keefe's searing nonfiction account “Empire of Pain” concerning the Sackler family's involvement in the pharmaceutical industry. This background knowledge of the financial drive to prescribe the drug OxyContin despite its highly addictive nature was useful as a large portion of the novel is concerned with characters unwittingly caught in this system – although I don't think it would have prevented me from appreciating the story if I hadn't been aware of it already. The way in which Kingsolver has dramatised this conflict and crisis powerfully shows the social and psychological implications of health services which are driven by profit rather than the welfare of patients. Demon is part of a whole generation whose early lives were stymied or cut short because of this drug and its addictive effects. The tragic way this plays out in the story makes this far-reaching issue intensely felt and it's utterly heartbreaking knowing this is merely one of countless examples of this drug's virulent influence.

I also appreciated the way this novel gives a complex picture of its hero's ethnicity. Demon knows he's from Melungeon heritage, but he only understands the real meaning of this over the course of the story. It taps into a whole history of citizens who experienced prejudice but were excluded from legal protection as their mixed racial heritage meant they didn't fit into a legally defined category. As he becomes more aware of the past and his position in the world, Demon comes to understand why some people react to him in the way they do and call him certain names. Through slurs to do with his race and regionality he comes to understand “A thing grows teeth when it's put into words.” Yet he also learns that terms intended to wound can be reclaimed and used to empower those who experience the deleterious effects of bigotry. This leads Demon to artistically harness satire as a means of counteracting the stereotypes inflicted upon him and those he loves in a cartoon series he draws titled “RedNeck”. Through his humour and intelligence, he's able to emerge from his perilous circumstances and fraught journey as a survivor with an important story to tell.