Warsan Shire, ND Stevenson, & Liam Konemann | Mini Reviews

The Fire Never Goes Out by ND Stevenson
Published by Harper, 2020
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

These slice of life diary entries start out chronicling life as a young artist suddenly propelled to success, but they gradually transition into an honest, relatable look at burnout, exploring your identity, and dealing with mental health issues.

Stevenson’s work has such a charm and warmth to it, and while there’s an endearing vulnerability on show throughout, the themes of gender, sexuality, and mental health are only ever really explored at surface level, due to the nature of the graphic memoir’s structure.

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The Appendix by Liam Konemann
Published by 404 Ink, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Personal yet self-aware, this is a concise look at life as a trans, gay man in modern Britain. There’s a particular focus on representation within the media, the idea of “passing”, and the difficult road to acceptance and happiness.

Despite the tagline, and the more hopeful conclusion, it’s worth noting this isn’t always a joyous read. Konemann is frank in his portrayal of trans/homophobia, but his articulate, approachable, warm style certainly soften the blow.

Affirming for those who’ve experienced similar prejudice, and enlightening for those who haven’t, this is a great little read, with much to say despite its deceptive page count.

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Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head by Warsan Shire
Published by Random House Trade, 2022
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A bold, powerful, and unflinching look at race, womanhood, and identity. Shire has a real knack for striking imagery that hits you in the gut, capturing all the beauty and heartache of the immigrant experience, a longing for home, and the perils of navigating the world as a young Black woman.

Between this full-length collection and her previous pamphlet, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth, Shire is fast becoming one of my favourite poets.

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Poetry & Nonfiction | Three Mini Reviews

Release the Beast by Bimini Bon Boulash
Published by Viking, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Cynics will likely assume this to be a quick cash grab designed to capitalise on Bimini’s meteoric rise to fame following their appearance on Drag Race UK, but it’s so much more than that.

Bimini is smart, articulate, and compassionate. Yes, there are fun, lighter moments, but they tackle a number of important topics, including gender identity, politics, sexuality, and substance abuse. Drawing on personal anecdotes, they always adopt a self-reflective, intersectional approach to their views; their warmth and wisdom emphasising the importance of community among queer people.

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My Spirit Burns Through This Body by Akwaeke Emezi
Published by The Paris Review, 2020
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

In this short but powerful essay, Emezi paints a harrowing picture of life with a chronic illness; the physical and mental ramifications of suppressed trauma.

They write with honesty and flair, capturing the frustration of a disconnect between what the mind wants and what the body can cope with. Ultimately, it’s about learning to be kind and patient with yourself, by recognising your own boundaries and living with rather than against the pain.

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Summon by Elizabeth Ridout
Published by Myriad Editions, 2020
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

As with many poetry collections, I found the pieces here pretty hit or miss, but the highlights made it well worth checking out. Rideout’s regular use of bold, visceral imagery ensured every piece was interesting to read, even if I didn’t necessarily connect on a personal level.

My favourite lines, from Dinner Table: “By addressing these divides, we are embroidering / in red along the branches of the family tapestry, / deadheading bloodlines that were dripping / down the generations and on to your tablecloth.”

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Jackie Morris & Zara Slattery | Mini Reviews

The Wild Swans by Jackie Morris
Published by Unbound, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Rather than reimagining the story, as most modern takes on fairy tales do, this is very much the classic Hans Christian Andersen story, retold in Morris’ own words, accompanied by her stunning watercolour illustrations. Sticking faithfully to the original text, any small changes and additions feel well placed, fleshing out the characters and adding greater emotional depth by exploring their motivations, especially where the “wicked stepmother” trope is concerned.

It stands fairly unique among the fairy tale canon; our princess very much the heroine of the piece as opposed to a damsel, and the primary focus on familial love over romance, as Eliza strives to outsmart a vengeful queen and save her brothers. It’s not easy to maintain the inherent air of whimsy and magic that comes with a fairy tale throughout a full-length text without it feeling overly twee, but Morris pulls it off. Her prose is simple yet lyrical, the perfect accompaniment to her artwork, which is as ethereal and enchanting as ever.

Some examples of the book’s artwork

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Coma by Zara Slattery
Published by Myriad Editions, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This graphic memoir recounts a period of 15 days in 2013 when Slattery was placed in a drug-induced coma, after contracting a life-threatening bacterial infection that aggressively attacks the skin and muscle. The account flits back and forth between events in the “real world”, where her husband’s diary entries explain the efforts being made my medical staff to save Slattery’s life, while he looks after their children, and the hallucinogenic nightmares experienced by Slattery throughout her coma as she fights to regain consciousness.

The contrast between monochrome (real world events) and kaleidoscopic colour (Slattery’s nightmares) works really well to emphasize both the bewilderment the author experienced, and the necessary persistence of mundane, domestic life for her loved ones, despite them living through a time of such heightened anxiety and emotion.

Slattery’s story is a great example of how people can rally together during a crisis, and how illness is so often a shared experience. Being written and published some years on from the incident, however, I felt it would have benefitted from a little more reflection on her subsequent recovery, both physical and mental.

Still, this is a striking read that highlights a little-known medical condition, while showcasing the unique strengths of the graphic novel form.

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Mary Beard & Sara Gran | Mini Reviews

Women & Power by Mary Beard
Published by Profile Books, 2017
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Succinct, eloquent, and approachable, this does a very good job of laying out the extent to which Western society is structured and coded to keep men in power, and to underplay the merits of women and feminine energy.

As a classicist, Beard is well placed to discuss the failings of the classics in their portrayal of women, and why it’s important to recognise that a lot of modern-day misogyny and gendered stereotypes have their roots in ancient history and problematic cultural portrayals of women.

As Beard points out herself in the afterword, the content itself is already somewhat outdated, the rise of the #MeToo movement throughout the last few years drastically increasing public awareness as to the extent of ingrained sexism. It also doesn’t present much in the way of solutions, but its brevity makes it a handy, accessible jumping off point for further thought and reading.

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Come Closer by Sara Gran
Published by Faber & Faber, 2021 (first published in 2003)
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A woman with a seemingly perfect life starts to act out in increasingly strange and violent ways, eventually coming to fear she has been possessed by a demon. With the story told in first-person, Amanda is a classic example of an unreliable narrator. Though her narrative style is fast-paced and matter-of-fact, her blackouts, erratic behaviour, and frequent loss of control mean we can never be certain what to believe.

The plot itself follows a very predictable trajectory, though there are some genuinely unsettling moments peppered throughout, and perhaps certain aspects would have felt fresher back when the book was first published.

Come Closer can be read as a genuine supernatural tale just as easily as it can be interpreted as a documentation of a woman’s descent into madness in the face of a life she doesn’t want. That said, while this may not bring anything new to the table, if you like your horror ambiguous and psychological, this is well worth checking out.

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Palimpsest by Lisa Wool-Rim Sjöblom | Book Review

Palimpsest by Lisa Wool-Rim Sjöblom
Translated from the Swedish by Hanna Strömberg & Richey Wyver
Published by Drawn and Quarterly, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This graphic memoir follows the author’s journey to try and uncover her roots. Born in South Korea, she spent the first two years of her life in an orphanage before being flown to Sweden, where she was adopted and raised. Her attempts to explore her heritage as a teenager quickly met a brick wall, but upon the birth of her own children several years later, she feels compelled to reopen the search for her biological family.

Sjöblom does a fantastic job of reflecting the identity crisis that befalls many adoptees as they grow up, particularly people of colour who are adopted into white families. As a child, she is proud of her Korean ancestry and eager to explore the culture of her “first country”, but the reality of looking different from everyone else around her – including her own family – and the fierce racism this inspires soon take their toll. It’s heartbreaking to see the pride literally beaten out of her, and Sjöblom doesn’t shy away from the realities of rock bottom, with discussion of attempted suicide and hospitalisation.

She goes on to explain the power that lies in connecting to a people and their culture, and that the need to uncover the past is not necessarily about being unhappy within your adopted family, but about establishing roots that tether you to the world and make you feel seen. As she explains: “In Sweden I’m at home, but I feel like a stranger. In Korea, I’m a stranger, but I feel at home.” Her search is as much about finding closure for herself as it is sparing her children a similar longing for answers in the future.

As for the format, it makes a lot of sense given Sjöblom’s background as an illustrator and graphic designer. While I like the muted colour palette, the visuals themselves are quite simplistic in style and don’t do much to advance the narrative. Indeed, the book is very text heavy for a typical graphic novel or memoir, with several full-page transcripts of emails and letters that were exchanged during the author’s enquiries. On occasion, this can make it feel a little like reading a case file, with some of Sjöblom’s personal flair lost.

That said, I greatly admire her determination to speak frankly about the corruption her investigation unearths. Falsified information, withheld details, illegal practices, and outright lies hinder her personal search, but they also speak of the wider issues faced by many Koreans who were (often wrongfully) sent overseas for adoption. I also appreciate that Sjöblom makes clear not every search culminates in a neat and much longed for happily ever after: Not knowing is painful, but sometimes the truth is too.

In all, this is an excellent memoir that opened my eyes to an issue many of us should be more aware of. The author explains that most “adoption stories” are framed in a positive light, told from the perspective of a loving adoptive parent, and rarely from an actual adoptee who has experienced the process’ highs and lows in equal measure. It is her hope that this book may be a voice for a generation of Korean adoptees who have been silenced; I urge everyone to listen.

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Manjit Thapp & Chloe Giordano | Mini Reviews

Feelings by Manjit Thapp
Published by Penguin Random House, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This is a gentle and ruminative look at how much our mood/mental health can be affected by the changing seasons. The text itself is relatively simple, though it does have an air of prose poetry to it. So while it may not discuss any particularly unique experiences or offer up any ground-breaking insights, it is likely to resonate widely.

If you suffer from anxiety or bouts of depression (particularly SAD), you are sure to feel seen by Thapp’s musings. Regardless, the real draw here is her stunning artwork. A dreamy colour palette and a playful use of structure and layout elevate this quasi-graphic-memoir considerably. I will certainly come back to this to soak up the visuals, and will be keeping an eye out for more of Thapp’s work.

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The Embroidered Art of Chloe Giordano
Published by Search Press, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I’ve been an admirer of Giordano’s work ever since I took up embroidery myself. Specialising in characterful, hyper-realistic woodland animals, her pieces are brought to life in her own distinct style of thread painting. In this book, she breaks down her creative process – in general terms, and on a piece-by-piece basis. It’s definitely easy to draw inspiration from her work, and though most of us will never come close to her standard, it is a joy to pore over such high-quality reproductions of her designs – the book itself having been produced to a wonderful standard.

If you’re a total newcomer to embroidery and are looking for a book that will walk you through specific patterns or teach you different stitch techniques, this isn’t the one for you. If, however, you already have an interest in embroidery or textile art, and want to marvel at the work of one of the best in the business, this is a gorgeous, well curated retrospective of Giordano’s career so far.

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The Natural Mother of the Child by Krys Malcolm Belc | Book Review

The Natural Mother of the Child by Krys Malcolm Belc
Published by Counterpoint Press, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This memoir explores Belc’s experiences as a transmasculine nonbinary parent, with a particular focus on the shifting nature of identity, and the language we use to define ourselves.

Born biologically female, Belc was yet to undergo surgery or hormone replacement, but was living and presenting publicly as a man, when he decided to have a child via a sperm donor. There is such fascinating insight into the complexities of queer parenthood, with Belc both amazed and horrified by the changes he goes through. It was the disconnect between the wonderful bond he felt with his child and his discomfort with the bodily processes of carrying, birthing, and nursing a child that confirmed in Belc’s mind that he was indeed not a woman in any of the societally accepted ways. As soon as he finished breastfeeding (having had to reluctantly stop binding his chest), he began the formal process of taking testosterone.

Belc is also a parent to two other children, carried by his cis-female partner, Anna. He very much feels like the children’s dad – and is deeply uncomfortable with being called a mother, even to the child he birthed – and yet, heteronormativity is so widely accepted, that to tell people he is his son’s father feels like a denial of their physical bond. He is proud to have carried him, and doesn’t want to erase that history. It is here we see the importance of the words we use to label ourselves and each other – and how frustrating it can be when those labels don’t easily apply to our own lived realities.

This leads on nicely into some great commentary on the general difficulty that queer people face in being recognised as a parent to the children they don’t have a direct biological link to (having been carried by their partner instead). Despite using sperm donations and raising their children together, Belc and his partner are not listed on the birth certificates, or recognised legally as a parent to the children they didn’t carry themselves. This means they have to adopt each other’s offspring to have any recognised rights over them (they worry that if one of them were to die, the other would have no legal right to custody, despite having raised all of their children together from birth, for example). However, this process also means the children’s biological father – a family friend – must relinquish all rights to the children, something that Belc feels great remorse over.

Another interesting area explored is that of male rage. Once he has transitioned, Belc notes a marked difference in the way people – including his own partner and children – respond to him, especially when he is angry. Simply changing his outward appearance to present as a man is enough to make society instantly more fearful of him, which says a lot about how deep-rooted toxic masculinity has become.

As you can tell, there is a lot of depth and nuance to Belc’s situation, but it is presented in such an accessible way. What’s more, this complexity is beautifully counterbalanced by the simple act of loving his children, providing them with a happy home – as any parent aspires to – and an upbringing that encourages acceptance of difference.

A natural storyteller, Belc’s writing style is approachable, honest, and warm, often feeling like a heartfelt discussion with a friend. The essay-like structure, non-linear timeline, and shits between a first and second-person perspective can be a little jarring, however. Nonetheless, this fascinating read manages to capture so many of the struggles inherent to the trans/nonbinary experience, and the complicated ways in which they intersect with the joys of parenthood.

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Thank you to the publisher for a free advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

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Pádraig Kenny & Kae Tempest | Mini Reviews

The Monsters of Rookhaven by Pádraig Kenny
Published by Henry Holt & Company, 2020
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I picked this up knowing very little about it (due in part to a deliberately vague blurb), and there was definitely an element of my expectations not matching what the book actually set out to offer. I was anticipating something gothic and unsettling that flirted with magical realism, akin to Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House. Instead, I got a middle grade-leaning fantastical story with a campy-horror vibe, more akin to The Addams Family.

We follow a ragtag family of strange “monsters” who live together in a mansion kept hidden from humans by magic. When the barrier protecting them is breached, two orphaned siblings on the run stumble into their hidden world, and drama ensues from there, as the monsters come into conflict with the residents of the neighbouring village. Though it never delves very deep, the story does touch on some nice themes, like the concept of found family, and the idea that real monsters hide among us, causing division by spreading fear of the Other. It also pays homage to several staples of the horror genre in fun little ways.

I appreciated the contrast between the slow-burn first half that focuses on establishing characters and lore, and the breathless latter-half that really ramps up the stakes. That said, there are definitely lapses in logic when it comes to the world-building and characterisation. If you can suspend your disbelief and submit yourself to the wildness of the ride, this certainly has its charm.

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On Connection by Kae Tempest
Published by Faber & Faber, 2020
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Performance poet, musician, and novelist Kae Tempest has written an extended essay that explores the role of creativity in fostering connections throughout society.

Nuanced and self-aware, the book opens with Tempest acknowledging their own privileges as someone who grew up white and middle-class, highlighting the problematic nature of a blanket call for unity. By recognising the validity (and necessity) of vocal pushback against injustice (like the BLM, MeToo, and TransLivesMatter movements), they embrace rather than dismiss the idea of difference. Instead of reductively claiming, “we’re all the same”, Tempest goes on to argue that the constantly evolving relationship between artist, art, and audience makes creativity a vital tool in bridging, rather than denying, our differences. Providing us with an opportunity to process, explore, and express our individuality (when creating ourselves), or to empathize with, educate ourselves on, and understand different perspectives (when engaging with someone else’s creative output), we can find common ground that transcends potential division.

Tempest completed and published the book during the covid-19 pandemic. The context of widespread isolation and the catastrophic impact it has had on individuals’ mental health, as well as the creative arts world at large, adds a whole other layer of resonance to its look at the importance of connection. Somehow, it allows the book to feel both timeless and very much of the now. And while a couple of points can feel somewhat tenuous, beyond anything else, the work cements Tempest as one of the most interesting, observational, engaging, and galvanising voices at work today.

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Rudy Francisco & Chavisa Woods | Mini Reviews

I’ll Fly Away by Rudy Francisco
Published by Button Poetry, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This collection is definitely at its strongest when Francisco tackles the topics of systemic racism and police brutality against Black people. In these pieces, there are some excellent, gut-punch lines that cut right to the quick.

By contrast, the more insular, personal pieces are often hampered by overly-simplistic, clumsy imagery. It’s possible, however, that these lines would have more impact in a live setting, since I believe the poet comes from a performance background.

Frank, accessible, and contemporary in tone; I can certainly understand Francisco’s popularity.

Thank you to the publisher for a free advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

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100 Times by Chavisa Woods
Published by Seven Stories Press, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ 

I feel very conflicted about this one, and am pained to not be writing a more positive review. It’s a case of a book that I hugely admire and recommend for its intention, but which I found frustrating in its execution.

It chronicles, in a very matter-of-fact way, 100 examples of sexism that Woods has faced throughout her life, in an attempt to show just how pervasive it is within society. It’s exhausting and infuriating to bear witness to such a relentless string of harassment, abuse, assault, dismissal, intimidation, and condescension. I don’t underestimate for a moment how gratifying and powerful it will be for many women to see the reality of the injustice they face put to paper so clearly. Woods’ perspective as an openly queer woman, and her acknowledgment of the unique struggles faced by women of colour and transgender women, add some very welcome intersectionality.

On the other hand, the text is very repetitive. In terms of some of the anecdotes shared, this is deliberate; serving to show how monotonous and normalised misogyny has become. With regards to the simplistic prose, it’s a little harder to excuse, with the same phrasing used time and time again. This lack of light and shade, coupled with an almost regimented structure and tone, means some of its power is lost. There are also many examples in which Woods’ response to sexism is to immediately retaliate with physical violence: punching people, pushing them to the ground, spitting in their face, repeatedly striking them on the head, etc. I want to be clear that self-defence against threat or violence is a totally different matter, but generally speaking, I’m not a massive fan of combating problematic behaviour with further problematic behaviour. The ‘angry feminist’ trope is already used by those who seek to dismiss the validity of the movement; I couldn’t help but worry this book will fuel their misguided argument.

So, while I didn’t gel with the way she chose to deliver her message, the core point that Woods sets out to make is an important one, and I respect her frank refusal to accept inequality. There are definitely stylistic and personal preferences affecting my response, so I don’t doubt others will connect with it more than I did.

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Natasha T. Miller & Tom Allen | Mini Reviews

Butcher by Natasha T. Miller
Published by Button Poetry, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This collection of poems centres around Miller’s attempts to navigate grief after the loss of her brother, her mother’s alcoholism, and the everyday struggles she faces as a Black, queer woman in modern America.

Miller’s experience as a performance poet and activist really shines through, even as her voice is condensed into text form. There’s a directness to her writing style that makes the pieces at once approachable and impactful. There’s no hiding behind complex rhythms or elaborate imagery here; the themes laid bare with gut-punch clarity. Given the scope of the topics at hand – racism, homophobia, love and loss – I’d argue they’re all the stronger for it.

The poems are divided into a few sections, named after different cuts taken from the body of a cow. Beyond the obvious raw, brutal connotations, this initially suggests the idea of breaking ourselves down into constituent parts; acting as metaphorical “butchers” so we can cut away the viscera and confront the very “meat” of our lives. The device/imagery isn’t used to any real effect, however, and ends up being somewhat superfluous. It’s the one area I felt would have benefitted from a little more depth of exploration.

Still, the immediacy and power of Miller’s words are sure to resonate widely, and I’m glad to have discovered her work.

Thank you to the publisher for a free advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

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No Shame by Tom Allen
Published by Hodder & Stoughton, 2020
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Tom’s wit, warmth, and honesty shine through in this charming yet poignant memoir. It centres around the idea of shame, with Tom sharing formative moments from throughout his life in which he was either cowed by the shame inflicted upon him by society, or when he actively defied it by embracing his own path.

It’s a book about his journey to self-acceptance, particularly his long struggle to come out and feel comfortable in his own skin. Whilst nothing hugely revelatory, this means it does serve as a lovely “I see you” to anyone else who may be wrestling with internalised shame for simply wanting to be themselves.

There’s also a particularly nice focus on the importance of good teachers in providing safe spaces for children to explore their identities. (Big love to the drama teacher who encouraged Tom to see through his plan to perform a dramatic monologue in full drag at his school show; providing him with a dress and wig, and even helping him with his makeup. ❤ Especially considering this was during the time of Section 28, meaning it could have cost her the job, it’s a lovely tribute to the key role of good allies in nurturing queer youth.)

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