Comfort Me with Apples by Catherynne M. Valente | Book Review

Comfort Me with Apples by Catherynne M. Valente
Published by Tordotcom, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

In this short, quasi-horror novel, we follow Sophia, a devoted wife living in a seemingly idyllic gated community, where residents are promised a life of safety from the dangers of the outside world as long as they abide by the strict set of rules. Troubled by strange objects she begins to find around her home, intrigued by the locked cellar, and suspicious of her husband’s increasing absences, Sophia begins to worry that her perfect existence isn’t quite what it seems.

There is, as you’d expect from the setup, an element of mystery that lies at the heart of this slim yet impactful story. In that respect, it is arguably best to head in knowing as little as possible. That said, most of the twists and turns are ultimately derivative of works we’ve seen before. Parallels with Ira Levin’s novel The Stepford Wives, the classic fairy tale Bluebeard, and Darren Aronofsky’s film Mother are impossible to ignore. If you’ve seen and/or read these, nothing will prove especially surprising, despite how clever the gradual eking out of the truth may initially seem. While this meant much of the story’s potential impact felt somewhat dampened for me, the quietly sinister atmosphere, striking imagery, and swift delivery kept me compelled nonetheless.

The prose itself is lush and flowery. In some instances, it would feel overwrought, but here it feels reflective of Sophia’s naive, sickly-sweet worldview, foreshadowing the rude awakening that lies ahead.

This wasn’t the knockout favourite I hoped it could be – given how many of its elements appeal directly to my taste. But while it may not be all that original, I certainly found it worthwhile and well-executed.

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The Glass Woman by Caroline Lea | Book Review

The Glass Woman by Caroline Lea
Published by Michael Joseph, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I was instantly hooked by this richly atmospheric tale set in 1600s Iceland. We follow Rósa as she moves to a remote village to join her new husband, Jón – a relative stranger. But Rósa is not Jón’s first wife, and the locals whisper of the mysterious circumstances surrounding her predecessor’s death, with Jón having buried her alone in the dead of night. Talk of witchcraft, strange goings on, and a locked attic soon fuel Rósa’s own suspicions about her husband’s past.

Many readers will immediately pick up on the early references to Jane Eyre and Rebecca. These are very deliberate, paying homage to the gothic classics that came before, and establishing certain expectations that Lea can enjoy indulging and subverting, keeping us on our toes throughout. Several layers of mystery and an evocative setting make the whole thing a real page turner. That said, there is also meaningful and poignant commentary on the fear of being ostracised, the damage caused by secrets and lies, and the importance of perspective in understanding the truth.

Lea also goes a great job of reflecting how hard life could be at the time, with everyone existing at the mercy of the stark landscape, the brutal weather, and each other’s prejudices.

Without spoilers, the only downside for me was the inclusion of a certain trope at the book’s end. While in many respects it feels appropriate given the narrative’s historical context, it’s an outcome we’ve seen many times before, and something a little more unexpected would have been welcome.

Still, I flew through this chunky novel, and enjoyed every moment I spent in its company.

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Wivenhoe by Samuel Fisher | Book Review

Wivenhoe by Samuel Fisher
Published by Corsair, 2022
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Set in an alternate present, where the climate crisis has buried the UK beneath endless snow, a cut-off village community is rocked by the brutal murder of one of their own. Told from the dual perspectives of a mother and her adult son (the step-mother and step-brother of the killer), the book asks us to consider the motivations and ramifications of violence, and what parts of society are worth holding onto when the world is falling apart.

Fisher writes incredibly well, his descriptive prose evoking the barren, frozen landscape and the characters’ isolation to great effect, without feeling dense or flowery. Tension swells throughout the narrative, and though the expected climax never quite comes, this ties in thematically with the idea of breaking toxic cycles of violence, and knowing when to admit defeat.

Tragic yet hopeful, Wivenhoe’s timely look at taking back control when it feels like the world is on pause is sure to resonate with many.

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Hex by Jenni Fagan | Book Review

Hex by Jenni Fagan
Published by Polygon, 2022
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Set on the eve of a young woman’s execution in 16th century Scotland, this is a look at how fear and hearsay were used as tools of oppression.

The narrative primarily focusses on Geillis as she reflects on her short life, recounting how and why she came to be accused of witchcraft and sentenced to hang for it. There is, however, a thread of magical realism that runs throughout, which sees Iris, a woman from the present day, seemingly travelling through time and space to comfort Geillis in her prison cell on her final night, before transforming into a crow so she can watch over her.

Thematically, this connection between two women across the years is used to comment on the fact that, while witch trials are a thing of the past, misogyny and abuses of power are still very much alive. While this resonates, and I remained intrigued at the time, on reflection I find it a little counterproductive. While Geillis is poignantly stoic in her declaration of innocence, determined to denounce the men who have unjustly wronged her, Iris’s role within the story suggests that magic and witches are in fact real, somewhat undermining the book’s commentary on the harm of lies and corruption.

Aside from feeling a little too on-the-nose at times, the book is nonetheless well written, and it manages to get you invested in its characters and pack an emotional punch despite its relatively short length.

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Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield

Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield
Published by Picador, 2022
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Part love story, part sci-fi chiller, this follows Miri, whose wife Leah has just returned from a botched deep-sea mission that left her stranded in a claustrophobic underwater vessel for months. Though initially relieved to have her back, it soon becomes clear that something about Leah has been changed by her experiences, her behaviour and appearance becoming increasingly strange.

I love the setup for this novel, which has all the ingredients to be my ideal read: queer, speculative, and creepy. It’s worth noting, therefore, that I had very high expectations heading in. For me, the book is definitely at its strongest when it flirts with the realms of body horror, but there was always a sense that the author was holding back in this respect, and I found myself waiting for a descent into full-blown horror that sadly never came.

For the most part, the book reads as an allegory for loving someone who has been changed due to illness – with obvious parallels being drawn with Miri’s mother, who died from an unspecified illness that seems to be dementia, leaving Miri with a lot of internalised health anxiety. Armfield asks poignant questions about what it means to love someone who is ill: the pain of watching them gradually slip away; the denial and frustration that can lead you to decline help and isolate yourself from others; the bittersweet power of past memories; and the pain of letting go.

I appreciate the way the narrative mirrors the protagonists’ experiences of feeling trapped, and being confronted by the unknown: Leah, quite literally trapped at the bottom of the ocean, and Miri, weighed down by the emotional strain of her wife’s eventual return. There are definitely times when the story lags somewhat, trudging slowly around the same ideas multiple times, but this soon feels deliberate, emphasizing the monotony felt by many of those living with – or caring for someone with – a chronic, degenerative illness.

Not quite the knockout favourite I hoped it would be, this was still a compelling read that explores the unique and shattering pain of grieving for someone who is technically not quite gone, as Miri learns to accept her grief, and push beyond her own fears to do right by those she loves.

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The Antarctica of Love by Sara Stridsberg | Book Review

The Antarctica of Love by Sara Stridsberg
Translated from the Swedish by Deborah Bragan-Turner
Published by Quercus Books, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Though this is in many ways a quiet, ruminative character study, it kept me utterly enthralled. It opens, as so many books do, with the violent murder of a young woman, but it immediately subverts every trope associated with the dead-girl-as-mere-plot-device.

Inni is exactly the kind of person who falls through the cracks of society, and whose death is flippantly portrayed in media time and time again: a drug addict living on the street who has turned to prostitution to scrape by. Taking on an omniscience, she narrates the novel herself, reclaiming her story in a way she never could while alive. Weaving back and forth through time, she reflects on every decision and heartache that led her to the point of her death, and watches over those she has left behind as they carry on without her – namely: her parents, her former lover, and her two children, both of whom were taken into care before she died. The story always returns to the scene of her death, however, which throughout the novel is explored in excruciating, harrowing detail. Despite the complexity of her character, and a life of love, loss, trials, and tribulations, it is this single moment out with her control that is unfairly destined to be her legacy.

The prose is stunning, with the translation having been handled seamlessly. In some instances, it may have seemed too dense or flowery, but the almost dreamlike quality is perfectly suited to the novel’s tone of melancholy and contemplation.

A shattering portrait of addiction, grief, the impact of trauma, and the idea of familial inheritance, this heartfelt novel and its painfully well-realised protagonist will stick with me for quite some time.

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The Madwomen’s Ball by Victoria Mas | Book Review

The Madwomen’s Ball by Victoria Mas
Translated from the French by Frank Wynn
Published by Doubleday, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Though the narrative arc follows a fairly familiar and predictable trajectory, this historical novel is an absorbing look at the treatment of women, particularly with regards to their mental health. Set in 19^th century Paris, we follow the perspectives of two women: Genevieve, a senior nurse working in an asylum for troubled women, and Eugenie, a 19-year-old entrusted to the asylum for claiming to communicate with the dead. Initially at loggerheads, Eugenie gives Genevieve reason to believe her claims are perfectly sane, and the two form an unlikely alliance.

Chiefly, the novel is concerned with power, particularly in the context of gender and class. It comments on the ways in which society was structured to keep women “in their place”. This includes how asylums were often a front for removing anyone bold enough to defy the role ascribed to them, but also the ways men in healthcare exploited the women around them – both nurses and patients alike.

The prose is nice without feeling overwrought, and this helps to evoke the era while remaining highly readable. Still, certain threads felt underdeveloped, resulting in some untapped potential in both the plot and its themes. Though it may seem strange to say so, given it is in many ways the driving force of the novel, the supernatural element felt largely extraneous. The same, very real historical context could have been explored without it, and the notion of women being unfairly ignored, silenced, and incarcerated could arguably have been driven home with greater power had Mas chosen to go down a more accurate, believable route.

All that said, this was an enjoyable read with hints of the gothic that certainly appealed. While it could have delved deeper, it left me eager to see where Mas takes her writing next.

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Chouette by Claire Oshetsky | Book Review

Chouette by Claire Oshetsky
Published by Virago, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This strange and hypnotic novel functions simultaneously as the fable-esque story of a woman convinced she has given birth to an owl-human hybrid, and a powerful allegory about difference, disability, mental health, and motherhood.

Oshetsky does an excellent job of showing how all-consuming parenthood can be, particularly if your child has severe disabilities and/or disfigurements that mark them out as “other”. Fiercely protective of her daughter, our protagonist must continually fight to allow her the chance to embrace her true nature, rebelling against constant pressure to seek out treatments and therapies to help her better integrate. Where she sees wonder and a unique beauty to be celebrated, society sees a problem; something to be feared, fixed, or at best, ignored.

Thanks to the tone established by Oshetsky’s prose and the story’s fantastical elements, the majority of the book takes on the quality of a dark, modern fairy tale. Later in the narrative, however, threads on “help” offered as a means of self-gratification, and the dangers of science overruling our own humanity, add further depth and real-world emotional resonance that ensure it stays grounded.

The skill of the novel’s construction, and the well-implemented use of an unreliable narrator, allow readers the freedom to treat the magical realism elements as literally or as figuratively as they wish. There is equal narrative and thematic interest to hold your attention either way.

While I felt the ending itself was pitched a little too ambiguously in terms of what the author wanted to say, the reading experience as a whole was gripping – all the more so for how unashamedly odd it is. I’m sure this singular read will stick with me for quite some time, and I’m excited to see what Oshetsky writes next.

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A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers | Book Review

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers
Published by Tor
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Becky Chambers is one of those authors whose books are so adored, I was convinced I’d love her work even before I had tried any of it for myself. Thankfully, reading this confirmed that belief was well founded

In A Psalm for the Wild-Built, we follow Dex, a tea monk whose vocation requires them to travel Panga (the moon they call home), providing those who need it with an impartial ear, words of comfort, and custom blends of tea. Despite being good at their job and relatively content with life, Dex comes to wonder if it’s enough. One day, craving solitude, adventure, and a break from routine, Dex heads into the untouched wilderness. Here, they become one of the first people for centuries to encounter one of the many robots who, upon gaining consciousness, chose to leave human civilisation and live free in the wild. Together, they wrestle with ideas of identity, purpose, and connection.

The role of a tea monk is such a lovely concept in and of itself; a charming play on the very real notion that a good cup of tea and a chance to offload can make everything seem better. This society having people whose very lives are dedicated to bringing such comfort to others is emblematic of the overall tone established by Chambers: one of warmth, kindness, and hope. On a grander scale, there is a clear sense of respect for the natural world, with “green” practices very much the norm. It is repeatedly implied that this harmonious, gentler way of life is a response to the impact of climate change, with humans having redressed the balance and reduced their impact on the environment before it was too late. This is something we could clearly learn from ourselves, but while most speculative sci-fi paints a dim view of our future relationship with nature, it was genuinely refreshing to read something optimistic.

I also loved the way gender identity and religion were handled, both having evolved to become far more fluid and inclusive in ways that felt natural and right. And yet, nothing was ever forced or preachy, with Chambers’ worldbuilding cleverly structured to show rather than tell. The prose itself is also gorgeous. Chambers paints her characters and their world so vividly, but she also has a knack for simple yet effective turns of phrase that feel perceptive and true: Birds aren’t singing, they have “melodic opinions”, while skyscrapers are “endless stacks of humanity”.

A poignant, necessary reminder that we’re all just doing our best to be happy, the book extends such a loving hand to anyone who may at times feel unmoored; questioning who they are or what they want from life. And yet, despite navigating big, philosophical ideas of place, purpose, and satisfaction, the story never feels dry. In fact, I can’t think of many books that have as much heart as this one. Without wanting to sound trite, it too functions like a comforting cup of tea and the reassurance of a friend, which is something most of us could benefit from now more than ever.

It’s rare I get invested in a series these days, but I fell instantly for Dex, Mosscap, and the reassuring way of life on Panga. I can’t wait to spend more time with them in future instalments.

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Kate Atkinson & Carol Ann Duffy | Mini Reviews

Festive Sprits by Kate Atkinson
Published by Doubleday, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A slim collection of three stories set during the festive period. In general, they explore the more melancholic side of the holidays, when feelings of loneliness and dissatisfaction are often heightened. That said, Atkinson weaves humour and warmth throughout; the strength of her characters’ voices giving us a sense of who they are incredibly quickly.

One of the stories ended on a bizarre, tonally jarring moment of magical realism that didn’t work for me, but the other two stories worked very well. Overall, they perfectly capture the bittersweet blend of nostalgia, sadness, and joy that so often go hand-in-hand at Christmastime. Lucy’s Day in particular is about finding small moments of genuine contentment in a life dictated by anxiety and burnout – something most of us can probably relate to at the moment.

This was such a great taster of what Atkinson can do, and I’m excited to explore more of her work.

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The Wren-Boys by Carol Ann Duffy
Published by Picador, 2015
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Narrative driven and simply told, yet bolstered by vivid imagery, this ranks among my favourite Christmas poems from Duffy so far.

Dermot Flynn’s illustrations are a beautiful, well-matched accompaniment, bringing to life the crisp, winter landscapes painted by Duffy’s words.

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