The Girls by Emma Cline | Book Review

The Girls by Emma Cline
Published by Vintage, 2016
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This was the book of the summer a few years back. Having waited a sufficient amount of time for the hype to die down, I hoped I’d be able to go into this feeling neutral and open-minded. Perhaps my expectations were still too high, however, as I can’t help but feel a little underwhelmed.

I’ll start with what I did like. The story follows a teenage girl who gets drawn into the periphery of a cult at the tale end of the 1960s, the stifling heat of summer reflected in the heady, claustrophobic atmosphere. In an age where radicalisation is a pressing issue, I really appreciate the way Cline addressed Evie’s inception into the group. She shows us how easy it is for a young and impressionable person to be drawn towards the wrong kind of people, when society has taught them to seek validation and purpose through the attention and affection of others. I also liked the non-linear timeline. Though the sections following Evie in adulthood add little to the overall plot, having her look back with retrospect on her teen years allows for a more analytical, perceptive, and mature narrative voice.

Here’s where things came a little unstuck for me, however. Though I was pleasantly surprised by how lyrical Cline’s prose was, there was a glut of superfluous metaphors, meaning she edged towards style over substance at times. I also think the book simply plays all its cards too early. From the opening pages, we know that Evie spends the summer of 1969 with this group; we know how and why she first becomes involved with them; we know the horrific act of violence they will go on to commit; and we know that Evie will not take part in this act herself. The book thus went on to feel sluggish and overly long, with little room left for unexpected developments regarding plot or themes. With so much build up to a climax we already know, and both Evie and the reader held at something of a distance throughout, the emotional payoff feels lacking. I also thought there was a massive leap from the cult’s (admittedly toxic) behaviour and dynamic, to the brutal murder of four innocent people, with no real in between. The motivation behind said murder was also so ridiculous it left me feeling baffled more than disturbed.

All-in-all, I just don’t think the book really goes anywhere. It has a fascinating concept, and some interesting characters and ideas to work with, but by the end, they – and the reader – remain in exactly the same position in which they started. Perhaps if plot details had unfolded more organically, or things had been condensed somehow, the book could have had more impact. As it is, it left me wondering what Cline wanted to say.

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If you’d like to read The Girls, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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Reading the Women’s Prize Longlist | Wrap Up, Wish List & Shortlist Predictions

I recently finished my readthrough of all 16 books on this year’s Women’s Prize for Fiction longlist. With the shortlist due to be announced in less than a week, I thought I’d collate some thoughts here, and see how my wish list compares with my actual predictions when it comes to which ones will make the cut.

To kick things off simply, here is a list of the 16 contenders, in the order I read them. I’ll include my star rating for each, and links to my full reviews should you like to know more in-depth thoughts. Some have improved in my mind over time, others less so, but in the interest of fairness, I have honoured my original rating for them all.

THE LONGLIST

1. Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
2. Milkman by Anna Burns | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
3. My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
4. Praise Song for the Butterflies by Bernice L. McFadden | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
5. The Pisces by Melissa Broder | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
6. Circe by Madeline Miller | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
7. Ordinary People by Diana Evans | ⭐ ⭐ | Review
8. Bottled Goods by Sophie van Llewyn | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
9. Normal People by Sally Rooney | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
10. Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli | ⭐ ⭐ | Review
11. An American Marriage by Tayari Jones | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
12. Swan Song by Kelleigh Greenberg-Jephcott | ⭐ | Review
13. Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
14. The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
15. Number One Chinese Restaurant by Lillian Li | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review
16. Remembered by Yvonne Battle-Felton | ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ | Review

MY THOUGHTS

First off, I’m so glad I committed to reading the longlist. The Women’s Prize is the book prize I tend to be most drawn to, and I’ve often toyed with the idea of making my way through the whole longlist in time for the winner announcement. Overall, I think this year’s line-up is a solid offering. There were new favourites (like Ghost Wall and Normal People); unexpected gems I wouldn’t otherwise have picked up (like The Pisces and Remembered); and only one I categorically hated reading (Swan Song). My average rating across all 16 was 3.44 stars. I’m happy with that, to be honest. It means there were more books on there that I enjoyed than ones I didn’t.

In terms of diversity of authorship, I think it’s a pretty good list. We have the first non-binary author included in the mix (Akwaeke Emezi), which brings up interesting points of discussion regarding the very title and aim of the prize. Multiple countries are represented, and there are several writers of colour on the list, too.

I do think, however, that the list could have been a little more varied in terms of theme and content. The more I mull them all over, the more I see distinct pairings amongst the books. For example, we have two Greek mythology retellings with a feminist slant (Circe and The Silence of the Girls); we have two books that follow the disintegration of a black couple’s relationship (Ordinary People and An American Marriage); and we have two books that examine historical enslavement and its echoes throughout future generations (Praise Song for the Butterflies and Remembered). In all instances, I think the latter offerings were the stronger of the two. In the interest of having a rich selection of topics covered, and therefore the broadest possible appeal to the general public perusing the longlist, I would possibly have omitted the former titles in favour of other books. After all, the concept of something specific like a Greek mythology retelling will either appeal to you or it won’t. If it doesn’t, that’s two books right from the off that you aren’t going to be interested in reading, if you see what I mean.

Whilst taking each title as an individual contribution, there are some that weren’t my cup of tea at all, but I could still admire their intent. In that respect, I could understand the justification behind their inclusion on the list – particularly where topical themes are concerned. The only one I can personally see no argument for is Swan Song. Not only was it damned hard work to get through from a narrative perspective, it was riddled with clichés and problematic characterisation, and I found it thematically vapid. I would certainly have bumped it from the list.

But all that said, I never expected to like everything on the list, and by and large, I can’t complain with what they came up with. If nothing else, there are lots of books on there that will get people talking!

THE ONES THAT GOT AWAY

I’ve mentioned a few titles that I think could have been left off the list, but which eligible books do I personally think were overlooked? Which books did I either love or admire enough to think they warranted a place in their own right? Here are a few I’ve read over the past year that spring to mind, all of which would have added a certain flavour to the longlist in terms of plot, theme, genre, or atmosphere that I think was otherwise missing:

The Dreamers by Karen Thompson Walker, Everything Under by Daisy Johnson, The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner, House of Glass by Susan Fletcher, Winter by Ali Smith, The Water Cure by Sophie Mackintosh, Bitter Orange by Claire Fuller, and XX by Angela Chadwick.

HOPES FOR THE WINNER/SHORTLIST

I’m officially backing Ghost Wall!

The book from the longlist that I would most love to see go on to win is Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss. It is short and nuanced, but my goodness does it pack a punch. It draws on the past to make shrewdly observant comments about gender and power in the present day, and the tension is palpable, building towards a truly haunting final scene. It has so much to say, and it is so wonderfully written; and yet, it can be read in a single sitting. For me, it strikes the perfect balance between thematic impact, beautiful prose, and stimulating plot that makes for a worthy Women’s Prize champion; able to appeal to both seasoned literary enthusiasts and casual readers alike. It’s also a book that stands to gain from the publicity (a perk that some titles don’t necessarily need as much).

In terms of the ones I don’t want to be on the shortlist, Swan Song is the only one that would make me outright angry. On another note, however, if I’m being brutal, I think the one that needs it the least is Milkman. You could easily argue its case, but it won the Man Booker, and you don’t really get a bigger literary endorsement than that. In that sense, it would be nice to see some others get a shout out.

In an ideal world, my shortlist would look as follows:

1. Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss
2. Normal People by Sally Rooney
3. Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi
4. The Pisces by Melissa Broder
5. Remembered by Yvonne Battle-Felton
6. The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker

And honestly, I’d be happy if either My Sister, the Serial Killer or An American Marriage were on there as well.

SHORTLIST PREDICTIONS

If the titles listed above are the ones I’d be most happy to see on the shortlist, which ones do I actually think are most likely to appear, taking into account the judging panel, the current political climate, and so on? Hmm. I’ve never predicted a shortlist before, but here goes!

1. Milkman by Anna Burns
2. Circe by Madeline Miller
3. Normal People by Sally Rooney
4. Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli
5. Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss
6. Remembered by Yvonne Battle-Felton

My prediction for the shortlist

I could be way off, and I’ve swapped a few in and out a couple of times, but that’s the prediction I’m going to go with. I’ll be very interested to see how many (if any) I guessed right!

LET’S CHAT

Have you read the longlist? Which titles are you rooting for? Which ones do you think will actually make the cut?

I have to end this post by giving a massive shout out to my fellow members of the Women’s Prize Squad: Rachel, Hannah, Naty, Sarah, and Steph. I’ve loved sharing our thoughts throughout this whole thing. Our group chat/venting space, glorious spreadsheet, and mutual encouragement have made this experience SO much fun! I’m cheering you all on to the finish line now!

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Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi | Book Review

Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi
Published by Faber & Faber, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Having deliberately gone into this with little idea of what to expect, I was both impressed and delighted by how rich and complex it proved to be. Beautifully written, and highly thought-provoking, it is far more spiritual than I had anticipated, but ultimately explores identity at the murky intersection of culture, history, psychology, gender, sexuality, religion, mental health, and circumstance.

The plot follows Ada, a young Nigerian woman who must attempt to understand and make peace with the various parts of her fragmented psyche. Presented as ogbanje, spirits from Igbo folklore thought to plague someone with misfortune, these disparate voices take turns to narrate Ada’s story as they compete for control of their host, and look for a way to break free.

There are so many layers at play here. When taken literally, the folkloric nature of the story is darkly fascinating and fantastical, but there are undoubtedly thematic parallels with the trans/non-binary experience, and multiple personality disorder. The book examines how physically and mentally destructive it can be to live inside a body that feels in some way disjointed from your inner self (or indeed, selves). The ties to psychology and medicine become particularly prevalent here. With characters eager to label or diagnose Ada, we see both the stigma of mental health, and the arrogance of the Western world, which is quick to dismiss ideas from cultures it knows little about; even when it comes to something as diverse and unknowable as the human mind.

On that note, the book can also be interpreted as a look at the mind’s ability to fragment and compartmentalise to protect us from trauma; different ogbanje rising to the fore to shield or guide Ada when necessary. It also ruminates on the complexity of religion; how it can both offer salvation and encourage self-loathing.

The prose itself is excellent. There’s a sensual, flowing quality to the whole thing that lends it an almost ethereal edge. This works well given how much the narrative is informed by folklore, which is itself steeped in the art of storytelling.

This is the kind of novel that is driven more by its introspective ideas and stimulating themes than it is by plot, and as such, it’s one that offers more questions than it does answers. But the utterly unique narration and the incisive look at the relationship between mind and body make for a truly memorable reading experience.

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If you’d like to read Freshwater, you can find a copy by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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An American Marriage by Tayari Jones | Book Review

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones
Published by Oneworld, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This is the story of Celestial and Roy, a passionate and promising young couple torn apart by a miscarriage of justice. Though both know him to be innocent, Roy is imprisoned on an accusation of rape, the novel following their doomed attempts to stay together whilst circumstances tear them apart. Matters become even more complicated when Roy’s conviction is overturned, five years into his twelve-year sentence; just as Celestial begins to move on with another man.

I admired the way Jones manages to present her characters without judgement, despite the increasingly melodramatic events, and the often toxic dynamic. There’s no Team Celestial or Team Roy approach here. Both are flawed, complex human beings, and the author avoids pushing us into siding with one over the other. The perspective moves between the two (and Andre, Celestial’s childhood-friend-turned-lover), and each narrative voice feels distinct and consistent. The prose in general was very readable, in fact, but it’s punctuated by some lovely imagery that made it easy and enjoyable to fly through.

I will say, the pacing and structure felt a little off balance at times. The epistolary style in the book’s first section worked really well to show the tragic disintegration of Celestial and Roy’s relationship, and to reflect the frustration of being kept apart by forces beyond their control. In the latter portion, however, things slowed down, and the focus seemed to shift. Whilst the American justice system and the prejudice faced by black people are undoubtedly important factors throughout the novel, they take something of a backseat as the narrative progresses, moving ever more towards a conventional love triangle. I felt invested in the characters’ emotional struggles by then, absolutely, but I would have liked the political and socioeconomic themes to have been driven home with more punch. This is a good book, but if it had followed through on the potential presented by its context, it could have been a fantastic one.

That said, my attention was held invariably. I enjoyed Jones’s look at the idea of power and ownership within a marriage, and the messy intersection between love and hate in the search for happiness.

***

You can pick up a copy of An American Marriage from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli | Book Review

Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli
Published by 4^th Estate, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐

This is one of those instances in which I could see and respect a lot of what the author was trying to do, but stylistically, I just couldn’t connect with it.

The story follows a blended family as they drive across America. The parents are documentary makers, specialising in capturing sound. As they educate their kids about the Apache people (the subject of the father’s latest project), we see parallels with the present-day news stories playing out on the radio; migrant children being detained, pushed out, imprisoned, and displaced as they attempt to cross the US/Mexico border.

This is undoubtedly a timely novel, and yet it ruminates on the timelessness of humanity. I enjoyed its efforts to reflect the idea that events of the past echo throughout time (mirrored in the parents’ work with sound), and its look at the importance of documenting lives and experiences, so that we, and future generations, may learn from them. Luiselli’s prose is great at times, and she implements some fantastic imagery.

I did have a lot of issues with the execution, however. I love literature, and adore when an author can weave meaningful references to other works into their own. In this case, Luiselli shoehorns in so many references that it becomes farcical. Aside from lengthy passages of dialogue discussing books, every chapter opens with an epigraph, and some chapters literally just list book titles. It stops feeling like Luiselli is trying to draw thematic or narrative parallels, and starts to feel pretentious and self-congratulatory; a cringy effort to show-off how cultured and well-read she is. I doubt this was her intention, but it’s how it read to me.

The character development also felt off. There’s a lot of telling, rather than showing, particularly with the supposed tensions between the parents. We’re often told that they’re fighting and on the brink of a breakup, but the context of this felt lacking. The children fear that a separation would result in them being split up, thus ‘lost’ to each other. It becomes clear that this is supposed to be a thematic mirroring of the migrant children lost in the desert, but these are hardly problems of the same calibre. It all starts to feel like a terribly middle-class, privileged, and clumsy brand of empathy.

When the POV switches to that of the ten-year-old son half-way through, I found him very inauthentic as a narrator; the adult writer always visible through his words. By the time I reached the now infamous 30-page-long sentence (not a chapter, not a paragraph; a sentence), I just felt weary and emotionally disconnected.

There was also an element of expectation versus reality, which I concede is not strictly the book’s fault. I had been under the impression that the narrative would switch back and forth between the family and a group of migrant children. It doesn’t. The children, around whom the book is supposed to focus, are defined by their absence. Deliberate, yes, but a wasted opportunity, I felt. The book could have been a platform for migrant voices to shine. Arguably it is, but not at all in the way I hoped.

The aim of the book is one that I (and anyone with a shred of moral decency) can support 100%. It’s to deride the indignity of the way the current US administration treats migrants, and to highlight the country’s repeated mistreatment of those it deems ‘other’ or ‘undesirable’, by comparing what’s happening now to the experiences of Native Americans. Good intentions don’t equal a good book, however. The almost mythic quality given to the migrants doesn’t exactly help to humanise them. Nor does the rhetoric surrounding Native Americans, which seems to imply that they are resigned wholly to history books, sit very comfortably.

The number of glowing reviews for this prove that it can work in the hands of the right reader; the ability to gel with Luiselli’s singular style evidently key in connecting to the narrative. Sadly, I couldn’t.

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You can pick up a copy of Lost Children Archive from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

The Dreamers by Karen Thompson Walker | Book Review

The Dreamers by Karen Thompson Walker
Published by Scribner UK, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

The Dreamers is a remarkably assured novel that is as gripping as it is intellectually stimulating. The plot focuses on a small US college town that is quarantined after the outbreak of a strange virus. Sufferers fall into a deep, uninterrupted slumber; their brains recording unusually high levels of activity. Though they can be kept alive intravenously, the scale of the epidemic makes it increasingly difficult for the remaining medical staff to meet their needs, before they too succumb to the sleep sickness.

Karen Thompson Walker’s prose is understated yet brilliant. There’s a gentle, almost hypnotic feel to the book as a whole; a dreamy quality that is a perfect match for the narrative’s tone and content. She also manages to create a tangible sense of mounting tension as the virus spreads throughout the town; a quiet claustrophobia that is accented by some real gut-punch moments.

I really appreciate that we get to follow the epidemic from its inception. Many dystopian or speculative stories drop us in at the deep end, society already decimated. Here, we experience the slow, creeping sense of fear along with the characters, as the gravity of the situation gradually becomes clear. This makes it feel all the more plausible and unsettling.

The story is told from the perspective of various characters, who weave in and out of each other’s lives in small but impactful ways. This allows Thompson Walker to explore the prevailing humanity, and the simple moments of domesticity that prevail, even in times of great distress.

The book is, in many ways, about the beauty and wonder of life itself. This means there is a slight element of the ‘having-kids-is-incredible-and-you-just-aren’t-whole-until-you’ve-done-it-yourself’ attitude in a couple of the characters’ sections. It’s never too heavy handed, and it makes sense given those particular characters’ circumstances, but it’s a thematic trope that can feel a little exclusionary. This was the only small gripe holding me back from a five-star rating.

That said, I love how contemplative the book is despite its immense readability. At face value, it may well serve as an engrossing, character-driven story with a lot of heart, but there is a deceptive amount of thematic nuance running beneath the surface. This includes thought-provoking commentary on the abstract nature of time; how certain patterns echo throughout the past, present, and future, and the possibility of parallel or even cyclical realities. There is also an inherent interest in the mystery of dreams; a beautiful reminder of how little we yet understand about the complexity of the human brain.

And whilst I was left feeling wholly satisfied in terms of the narrative, the author doesn’t feel the need to hand us all the answers with regards to these bigger issues. As such, it’s a book that is sure to spark conversation, and one I’d love to see more people read.

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You can pick up a copy of The Dreamers from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner | Book Review

The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner
Published by Jonathan Cape, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

The Mars Room is an entirely unsentimental look at the US prison system, and those trapped within it. It is told predominantly through the eyes of Romy Hall, a morally complex young woman serving two life sentences for the murder of her stalker.

Though Romy is the focus of the book (and I found her both believable and fascinating as an anti-heroine), Kushner weaves other characters’ perspectives into the story as well. By humanising individuals in this way, yet creating the sense of a collective narrative voice, Kushner did an excellent job of reflecting the way people are swallowed up by the system, making escape from it almost impossible. The narrative is also non-linear, shifting back and forth in time in an almost stream of consciousness manner. This suggested to me the idea that, having lost everything else, memories and stories are all these people have left to sustain them.

The other real strength of the novel for me was its look at the grey area between victim and criminal; asking the reader to consider when that line is crossed, and if it’s ever possible to be both simultaneously. She also brings into play the idea that the system itself is so poorly constructed that it engenders further illicit behaviour; pushing inmates towards theft, drugs, and violence. Perhaps most interestingly of all, Kushner also explores the kind of socioeconomic conditions that can lead to incarceration, flirting with the notion of fate vs. free will. Romy is often told that it’s her own decisions that led her to prison; Kushner wants us to question the extent to which that is true.

With all that appreciation for its technical and thematic prowess, my middling rating may seem odd. I did feel, however, that a touch of the nuance was lost towards the end, when Kushner arguably became a bit too literal or heavy-handed with her message. And whilst I praised its use of multiple perspectives, there were a couple that I felt were unnecessary; adding nothing to the narrative, and serving largely to interrupt the flow of both the pace and story.

I’d say, on balance, this is the kind of book that I admired more than I ‘enjoyed’. Whilst I sped through it, I was compelled far more from a technical and thematic point of view than I was from an emotional one. But it does offer a refreshingly bold and valuable look at a very topical issue, and I’m glad to have read it.

If you’d like to try The Mars Room for yourself, you can find a copy by clicking here, or on the image above. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!