Olga Ravn & Kiran Millwood Hargrave | Mini Reviews

The Employees by Olga Ravn
Translated from the Danish by Martin Aitken
Published by Lolli Editions, 2020
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This is presented as a series of mission logs from the vast crew aboard a ship millions of kilometres from Earth. A blend of humans and humanoid beings, this ruminative little novel is a series of semi-abstract vignettes concerned with classic sci-fi questions: What does it mean to be human? Where is the line between living and merely being alive? Is there a danger of pushing science and technology too far?

As alluring as these themes continue to be – hence why so many authors continue to visit them – I don’t feel like this presents us with anything particularly new or impactful. If a book is – albeit deliberately – void of traditional plot and character development, I would hope for stunning prose and insightful social commentary. While Ravn’s offering is solid enough on these fronts to be worth checking out, again it doesn’t feel like she’s breaking any new ground.

In all, I appreciate the unique structure, strong translation, and ever-appealing themes, but was ultimately left feeling cold.

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Julia and the Shark by Kiran Millwood Hargrave
Published by Orion, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

With her father hired to work on digitising a lighthouse, and her marine biologist mother seeing this as the perfect opportunity to continue her research into the rare Greenland shark, Julia moves to a remote island for the summer. Across the months that follow, she will encounter friendship, othering, and the reality of her mother’s deteriorating mental state.

By focussing much more closely on its characters, and placing an important emphasis on big themes such as mental health and conservation, this is the kind of middle grade release that really transcends any potential limitations of its target age range. As such, I can see it speaking to adult readers just as much as their younger counterparts. The prose is engrossing without feeling overwrought, reaffirming that Kiran Millwood Hargrave is as an author I’m excited to follow.

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Lucy Taylor & Kij Johnson | Two Mini Reviews

Sweetlings by Lucy Taylor
Published by Tor Books, 2017
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Ah, yes. This hit the exact sweet spot between speculative science-fiction and body horror that I love. This unsettling novella is set in an all too plausible future, where sea levels have risen to swallow much of the Earth, and evolution has taken a frightening turn in response to the changing climate. Strange creatures drag themselves aground, and some of the surviving humans begin to show worrying signs of sickness and mutation. Our heroine must decide whether to stay with her small community by the coast and face a slow decline, or venture into the unknown inlands in search of safer climes.

Things started a little rocky, with some clumsy dialogue and a couple of overdone similes. Taylor soon hit her stride, however, creating a visceral and evocative setting that arrested my attention. There’s a consistently discomforting atmosphere throughout, and a swelling tension that underpins the narrative on its route to a suitably disturbing climax. The vivid imagery is sure to haunt my thoughts for quite some time.

For me, the best kind of horror is always that which combines the physical and the psychological, which this does very well. It’s all the more disturbing when, for all its flirtations with the darkly fantastical, it hits a little too close to home. I hope Taylor has ventured into this genre some more; I would happily reach for her work again when I want to feel my skin crawl.

Sweetlings can be purchased for Kindle from your usual retailer, or read online for free over on Tor’s website.

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Ponies by Kij Johnson
Published by Tor Books, 2010
My rating: ⭐ ⭐

This even slighter offering, also from Tor, won the Nebula award for best short story, and was nominated for a string of other major prizes. Perhaps this set my expectations a little too high. It’s a concept presented as an unsettling tableau, more than it is a developed story. Young girls all have their own magical talking ponies. They must attend a ritual ‘cutting-out’ party, where the girls have to remove two of the three things that make their companions special (their wings, their horn, or their voice).

The whole thing is a very unsubtle metaphor for the cruelty that children are capable of, and the sacrifices we make in order to fit in. I didn’t dislike anything about it, per se, but it was too brief and surface level to make any kind of emotional impact.

As before, Ponies can be purchased for Kindle, or read online for free over on Tor’s website.

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Sadie by Courtney Summers | Book Review

Sadie by Courtney Summers
Published by Wednesday Books, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Sadie is that rare look at trauma, and the dark side of humanity, that manages to be unflinching without ever feeling salacious. The story is told in two parallel narratives. The first follows our title character, hellbent on tracking down and killing the man that murdered her younger sister. The second is the transcript of a podcast, produced by a journalist investigating the case who is attempting to catch up with Sadie.

The duality of the plot’s structure and style is very effective. It taps into our morbid fascination with true crime, lending everything an unsettling air of realism, and allowing the author to relay facts at the right moment without it ever feeling like a convenient info-dump. On the other hand, Sadie’s first-person sections ensure that everything stays grounded in visceral human emotion.

The characters are handled with real skill, being far more complex than first impressions would imply. Sadie, for example, is an enormously sympathetic and empowering character, yes, but she is also realistically flawed, viewing her drug addict mother with an understandable but limited sense of villainy, and harbouring deep-rooted guilt and trauma of her own. As the true depth and motivation behind her vendetta becomes increasingly clear, the story takes on a whole other layer of poignancy and impact.

It’s worth noting that Sadie lives with a severe stutter, and though the stigma she faces is reflected consistently and convincingly, her disability is never the focus of the story, nor is it used as a device to further the plot or tick diversity boxes. This feels like genuine, reflective representation.

The pace is also handled well, as there’s a strong sense of tension building towards a final showdown, but I did think the book lacked a certain punch when it came to the climax itself. That said, I really appreciate that Summers chose not to wrap everything up too neatly in a bow. She provides enough closure to satisfy the reader’s investment in Sadie’s journey, whilst leaving enough open to invite further contemplation, crafting a conclusion that feels appropriately bittersweet. This sense of there being more to uncover reflects the lack of answers often present in real life cases of murder and missing people. As much as we may want everything to work itself out perfectly, life is rarely that kind.

Stradling the line between YA and adult fiction with ease, I think this would work for lovers of both. To explore the uncomfortably dark issues of abuse, paedophilia, grief, addiction, class divides, and revenge with the reverence they warrant, whilst completely avoiding gratuity, is not easy. Summers pulls is off here, telling a story that lends a voice to the victims too often forced to stay silent.

***

If you’d like to give Sadie a go, 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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Triquetra by Kirstyn McDermott | Book Review

Triquetra by Kirstyn McDermott
Published by Tor Books, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This ‘what if’ sequel to Snow White embraces the dark heart of true Grimm fairy tales. At the end of the original, our heroine marries her handsome rescuer whilst her wicked stepmother is condemned to death, forced to dance in red-hot iron slippers until she collapses. Triquetra picks up several years later. The stepmother, alive but greatly weakened by her ordeal, has been locked away by Snow White, who visits her once a month so the two may share an enchanted apple, and exchange deliciously sinister death threats. With the Prince not the hero he first seemed, and both the stepmother and the mirror suggesting that Snow White’s young daughter is now the one at risk, Snow White must decide who or what to trust.

The atmosphere in this was fantastic. It has an air of the quietly off-kilter, perfectly suited to the timeless magic and gothic undertone of fairy tales. McDermott’s prose is lovely, adding a sumptuous flair without ever feeling overdone. The sense of paranoia and brewing madness is also excellent, with Snow White having to live with the trauma of what she went through, the guilt of her own actions (torturing the wicked stepmother), fear for her young daughter, and doubt about her husband (kissing the corpse of a young girl he found in the woods doesn’t seem so great when you reflect on it, after all…).

With the mirror exploiting everyone’s deepest desires and insecurities to play them against each other, and the stepmother seeming to offer an olive branch to help Snow White protect her daughter from a proposed threat, the whole thing becomes a mind game of trust and nerve. The pervasive proclivity for selfishness within us all goes head-to-head with a warped sense of sisterhood, and I felt genuinely tense right up until the final sentence, never sure if and when a twist may reveal itself.

For this to tell a gripping story that stands on its own as an unsettling, fantastical fairy tale, whilst also forcing us to re-evaluate everything we thought we knew about the original Snow White, is quite the achievement, especially within the brief scope of a seemingly unassuming novella. I will certainly be looking out for more from McDermott, and from Tor’s oft-dark fantasy novella series.

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Triquetra can be purchased for Kindle from your usual retailer, or read for free online by clicking here.

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Flannery O’Connor & Fiona Benson | Two Mini Reviews

A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019 (first published in 1953)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This offering from the Faber Stories range follows a family as they set off on a road trip across the American South. When they run into trouble, the man they flag down for help just happens to be an escaped convict.

Once you get passed the few instances of uncomfortably outdated language in here, it’s a fantastic short story. The characters feel well established (especially the wonderfully haughty grandmother); the dynamic between them clear from the off despite the story’s brevity. O’Conner utilises striking imagery to employ a heavy dose of foreshadowing and dark humour. Added to the sweltering heat of the southern setting, this makes for a fantastic sense of mounting tension as we head towards an inevitably tragic and brutal conclusion.

Its narrative is impactful in and of itself, but there are interesting undercurrents of religion and morality that add depth well worth mulling over. A great introduction to O’Connor’s work!

You can pick up a copy of A Good Man is Hard to Find from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Vertigo & Ghost by Fiona Benson
Published by Jonathan Cape, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Benson’s impassioned collection of poetry draws on mythology to explore the perils of womanhood in a toxic masculine society. The first section places Zeus in the modern world, a serial abuser full of brazen self-importance. In these pieces, Benson fuses the personal with the historical to show how sex is weaponised, victims demonised, and oppressors excused. In the second section, the poet shifts her attention to motherhood, exploring the physical and mental strain of pregnancy, birth, and caring for a child. The themes of both sections coalesce in the closing pieces, in which Benson muses on the simmering panic of raising daughters in a world still unsafe for girls; the horror of modern warfare reflected in the war on women’s bodies and autonomy.

Benson’s use of imagery is bold and impactful. There is depth and nuance to explore in the language she employs, but the meaning behind her words always shines through with punch. As such, I think this is the kind of collection that has something to offer both relative newcomers and seasoned poetry readers alike. I, for one, will certainly be reading more of Benson’s work.

You can pick up a copy of Vertigo & Ghost from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Sylvia Plath and Alice Thompson | Two Mini Reviews

Here are some thoughts on a couple of recent reads. Coincidentally, though very different, both are mysterious, fascinating looks at facets of the human psyche.

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Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by Sylvia Plath
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I tried some of Plath’s poetry years back and failed to properly connect with it, but if I’ve taken anything from this slim story, it’s that I must give her work another shot.

One of the recently released Faber Stories, Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom is a previously unpublished short story that follows a young woman, forced to board a mysterious train, destination unknown. There’s barely a superfluous word, with Plath creating a number of beautiful images, and a tone of quiet menace that lurks in the background.

Though intentionally vague to a degree, and thus able to be interpreted in a couple of different ways, the allegory at work becomes increasingly clear as the tension builds. The theme of finding the will to live, and the strength to defy a seemingly unavoidable fate shines through; a meaning that takes on an added layer of poignancy when considered within the wider context of Plath’s life.

You can pick up a copy of Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by clicking here.

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Justine by Alice Thompson
Published by Salt, 2015 (first published by Canongate Books, 1996)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Sometimes, when you love a book, you want to push it into the hands of as many people as possible. Other times, you are well aware that it won’t work for a lot of people. Justine is very much an example of the latter for me. This strange and allegorical novel is a hypnotic look at the destructive power of obsession; the pursuit of physical beauty; and women as dehumanised objects of desire.

The plot follows an unnamed male narrator. He is a collector of art, and a beauty obsessive who becomes enthralled by Justine, a figure within a painting whom he believes he has met in real life. As he pursues Justine, and her twin sister Juliette, things become increasingly dark and disorientating. This creates a haze in which Thompson explores the blurred line between art and artist, whilst casting a quasi-feminist eye on the struggle for control between the sexes.

The evocative, exaggerated imagery of the novel reflects the importance of art and beauty to the narrative, whilst the hallucinogenic tone reflects the opium-fuelled daze and all-consuming obsession of the narrator’s existence. There are also many literary references throughout, notably those that draw parallels with Marquis de Sade’s Justine, Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper, and Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. These various layers enrich the book’s thematic depth, creating the kind of story that is sure to invite deeper thought, and divide readers. I, for one, was enraptured by its singular surrealism.

You can pick up a copy of Justine by clicking here.

How Much the Heart Can Hold | Book Review

How Much the Heart Can Hold by Various
Published by Sceptre, 2016
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Subtitled ‘seven stories on love’ (though there are actually eight in this paperback edition), this anthology sets out to quash the idea that love is a purely romantic notion. It does so by having each of its stories explore a different kind of love; such as unrequited love, obsessional love, familial love, and love for oneself.

I had been looking forward to picking this up for a while. After all, there are a couple of authors featured within that I already really like (Donal Ryan and Carys Bray), and some others I was keen to try. Perhaps those high expectations contributed to my prevailing lukewarm feelings, but I have to admit that I found the collection as a whole, and most of the individual stories themselves, stronger in concept than in execution.

That said, I’ll talk a little about the ones I enjoyed most. White Wine by Nikesh Shukla is a simple, readable, and timely story that shines a light on institutionalised racism. Its message is clear, without being heavy-handed: You cannot see how wrongly you are being treated by others until you love and accept yourself for who you are.

Codas by Carys Bray is about the evolving nature of familial love. Our main character, a woman in her 40s, is at the stage in life when her son is beginning to find his own feet, whilst her father is becoming more dependant with age and illness. Both still need her maternal brand of love and support, but the way it manifests towards both is changing as the cycle of life moves on.

It Was Summer by Phoebe Roy (the 8^th story exclusive to the paperback edition) uses the structure of the seasons as the backdrop to a new relationship between two men, as their love for each other ebbs and flows.

A couple of others had brilliant set-ups, but one employed a little too much magical realism for my personal taste, whilst another was too thin on plot, and far too overt with its political message (even if I agreed with it). The other three, I have to say, were entirely forgettable.

Altogether, that made for a very mixed reading experience. It’s certainly worth checking out if the overarching concept intrigues you, or if there are writers involved that you’re particularly keen to try. But I can’t say it’s a collection that is likely to stay with me.

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If you’ve read How Much the Heart Can Hold, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Mr Salary by Sally Rooney | Book Review

Mr Salary by Sally Rooney
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

***

I was starting to feel like the only person in the bookish community yet to try author-of-the-moment, Sally Rooney. Seeing that she had a short story published as part of the recent Faber Stories series (small and inexpensive volumes released to mark their 90th anniversary), I jumped at the chance to sample her narrative voice. Having now done so, I fully understand the hype.

Being so brief, I won’t go into any specifics regarding plot. But I will say that I was greatly impressed by Rooney’s deceptively simple yet shrewdly observant look at the power dynamic between our central characters – a woman in her early 20s, and a man in his late 30s. From the very first page, I had a clear sense of who these people were as individuals, and the nature of the relationship between them. The tone was almost voyeuristic, and it worked so well.

What’s really interesting, looking through reviews, is the split between those who find Sukie and Nathan’s relationship charming, and those who find it toxic. This discrepancy, and the ability to interpret things so differently is, I think, very deliberate. It reflects the uncertainty that the characters themselves feel about succumbing to the sexual tension between them, and is testament to Rooney’s deft yet subtle execution.

With Sukie also dealing with her father’s illness, this became, to me, a fascinating rumination on the parallel between being on the brink of love, and being in the presence of impending death; and how a closeness to both can blind us to reality. If this is what she can do with a short story, I can’t wait to try one of Rooney’s novels.

***

If you fancy picking up a copy of Mr Salary, you can find it on Book Depository with free international shipping by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

XX by Angela Chadwick | Book Review

From here on, I’ve decided to start posting full, individual reviews on my blog, rather than just combined wrap ups. But without further ado, here are some thoughts on my most recent read.

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XX by Angela Chadwick
Published by Dialogue Books, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

XX follows Jules and Rosie as they become the world’s first participants in a new clinical trial that will allow two women to conceive a child, using ovum-to-ovum fertilisation. Hailed by some as a breakthrough for queer couples, others see it as a catalyst for a vast population shift – as, given the genetics involved, the technique can only produce baby girls. Set against a backdrop of fierce political backlash, and media scaremongering, the couple must contend with a tirade of hatred, paranoia, and betrayal, alongside the usual fears that come with looming parenthood.

This is the best kind of speculative fiction, in that the scientific elements of the story feel only just out of reach. The political and social landscape could have been lifted from today’s newspapers; the breakthrough in fertility treatment one that may well be on the horizon. It makes the book’s musings on the morality involved in science versus nature, and the role of the media in shaping the public’s perception all the more topical. I also like that the argument as to whether this advancement is leading us towards a utopia or a dystopia is entirely open to debate.

For all the big questions raised by the subject matter, however, I was pleased that it finds time for an insular look at the central couple’s relationship. This allowed Chadwick to bring a further layer of depth to the narrative, exploring the idea of class divides. Jules, a local journalist, has grafted her entire life to work her way up from poor beginnings, whilst Rosie was born into a decidedly more privileged family. Despite being liberal in their social views, it becomes increasingly clear that both possess their own inherent prejudices against the other’s class, and feel an odd sense of loyalty to their own; a friction that no amount of love or social-ladder climbing can ever fully erase.

Given that this is, in many ways, a book about yearning for parenthood, it was refreshing to see some discussion on the pressure that women feel to become a mother, even if it’s not necessarily what they want. There is, however, a slight whisper of the ‘you just don’t get it until you have kids’ attitude, which can be patronising. Though, I suppose that’s to be expected given the topic at hand, and the circumstances/outlook of certain characters. My other small gripes are an overly neat epilogue that I’m not sure was necessary, and a nod towards the melodramatic at times, with someone holding back tears on just about every other page (a repetition that I feel an editor should have flagged up).

This is an altogether timely and thought-provoking, though surprisingly subtle, character driven story that ultimately asks us to consider what makes a family, and if our beginnings (from where we are born, to our very DNA) truly shape the person we are. I flew through this, and would love to hear other people’s thoughts on it.

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If you’d like to buy this (or any other book), please feel free to use my Book Depository affiliate link. They have free international shipping, and I’ll receive a small commission at no extra cost to you. Happy reading!

Women in Fiction | Lindsay Denton

DI Lindsay Denton

I started this little ongoing feature on my blog a while back to highlight great female characters in fiction. It occurred to me recently that not all great female characters are necessarily great people. Enter: Lindsay Denton.

Detective Inspector Lindsay Denton appears in the crime drama, Line of Duty, which centres around an anti-corruption department of the UK police force. Denton becomes the subject of their investigations during the show’s second season, when she is the sole survivor of an ambushed convoy escorting someone in witness protection. The investigators are unsure how culpable she may or may not have been in the attack, and the genius of the show is that: neither are we.

A phenomenal example of an anti-heroine, Denton’s erratic behaviour and moral ambiguity mean we’re constantly wrestling with our sympathies (or lack thereof) for her. She’s damn good at her job, but she also does some undeniably bad things in her own quest for justice. Even so, she carries them out with such intelligence, cunning, conviction and resourcefulness that you can’t help but be impressed.

Played brilliantly by Keeley Hawes, the character is consistently able to catch the audience off guard and shift where our loyalties lie. By the end of her story arc, some viewers will love her; others will loathe her. That, alone, is testament to the fantastic realisation of her depth and complexity of character.