Mr Salary by Sally Rooney | Book Review

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

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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.

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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!

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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!

Last 10 Books Tag

I saw this tag over on Kristin’s blog, and couldn’t resist giving it a go. You all know how these things work by now, so let’s just jump right in, shall we?

1. What was the last book you DNF?

Call me a glutton for punishment, but I almost never DNF a book, no matter how much of a slog it is. Thankfully, I pick up very few that I hate enough to want to DNF in the first place, but the last one I can remember being simply unable to suffer beyond the 100-page mark was Being a Beast by Charles Foster; a book of pretentious, self-serving waffle thinly veiled as nature writing.

2. Last book you reread?

I’m not often a big re-reader either. I have been gradually making my way through the Harry Potter series again, as and when the new illustrated editions come out, so it would either be The Prisoner of Azkaban, or else Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, which I’m so glad I revisited in 2017, as it went on to become one of my very favourite books.

3. Last book you bought?

I’m very pleased with my new purchases!

Mercifully, after not visiting one for about a month (which might be a record for me), I was in a bookshop earlier today, and I more than made up for lost time. I bought The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner, The Twisted Tree by Rachel Burge, and a couple of the new Faber Stories; Mr Salary by Sally Rooney, and Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by Sylvia Plath.

4. Last book you said you read but didn’t?

I don’t think I’ve ever done this, actually. Even back in my school days, I was always pretty good at getting through the required reading. If there was a really well-known book that I hadn’t read yet, but felt like I should have by now, I’d be far more likely to simply admit to it, in an attempt to shame myself into finally picking it up. *cough* Jane Eyre *cough*

5. Last book you wrote in the margins of?

I like to keep my books looking neat and tidy, so when I’m reading for pleasure, I don’t write on them. I can’t call to mind a specific title, but the last book I wrote in would have been a textbook of some kind whilst I was studying.

6. Last book you got signed?

I’ve only had two books signed during a face-to-face meeting with an author, and both were at a book fair years ago. The last book I purchased a pre-signed copy of was Tilly and the Bookwanderers by Anna James, which is a beautiful book inside and out, and one I would recommend to any bookworm.

7. Last book you lost?

I can’t tell you how many times I read this when I was little, and how glad I am to still have it.

For a while, I thought I’d lost my very battered but much beloved copy of The School Cat, a children’s book that I adored when I was young. Thankfully, it has since resurfaced.

8. Last book you had to replace?

I like to collect a certain edition of Agatha Christie’s novels, and whilst ordering The Mysterious Affair at Styles online, I was sent the wrong copy three times by three different outlets. You better believe I returned each and tried again until I got the right one.

9. Last book you had an argument over?

The ‘disagreements’ I’ve had over books have luckily been few and far between. The most memorable incident is when a straight man (isn’t it always a straight man?) messaged me in response to my positive review of Jenni Fagan’s The Sunlight Pilgrims. He had evidently taken umbrage with the fact that there is a young trans girl in the novel, an element of the story which I felt was handled beautifully. He (as a straight man, don’t forget) proceeded to tell me what kind of representation gay/trans people do and don’t need in books. His main argument was that they should never be the main focus of a book, as most people are straight and cis, and therefore can’t possibly be expected to relate, and that a recent increase in queer rep had become ‘disproportionate’ to the number of actual queer people in the world. I politely explained that, on the contrary, he was simply an idiot.

10. Last book you couldn’t get a hold of?

Tying in nicely with an answer from earlier, I really want to try some of Mary Shelley’s short stories, but previous collections have become tricky to get hold of. Excitingly, I found a new bind-up of three of her gothic tales which is being published later this month by Alma Classics, under the title, Transformation.

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There we have it! Since I wasn’t tagged myself, I’ll leave this open to anyone who’d like to give it a go. Let me know if you do, so I can check out your answers!

Reading Year in Review and 2019 Goals

Before we get swept up by another inevitably fast year, there’s just about time to take stock of how my reading fared throughout the previous 12 months, whilst setting out some new goals for 2019.

According to Goodreads, I read a total of 131 books, the best of which I highlighted in my Top Reads of 2018 post. My average rating for the year was 3.6 stars. This is a little lower than the previous couple of years, but I suppose it’s natural to become a more critical reader over time, and thus harder to please in some respects. It still means I’m picking up more books that I enjoy than I am books I don’t like, and that’s definitely a good thing.

I never read or don’t read a book based on the author’s gender; it’s just not a factor that even computes when I’m deciding what to pick up. Purely out of interest, however, I went through all of my 2018 reads and found that I read more than twice as many books written by women than I did books written by men. This fact is somehow unsurprising yet very pleasing.

My specific goals were:

• Read 90 books. At 131, I greatly surpassed that number, so this one gets a big tick.
• Pick up the longer books I’ve been putting off for ages. Meh, the success of this is fairly subjective. I did pick up the likes of The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton, and Vixen by Rosie Garland, but I still haven’t read Jane Eyre or The Heart’s Invisible Furies. So, I ticked a few off the ‘long books’ list, but there are others I can roll over to this year.
• Read by whim. I definitely did this, which I’m pleased about, as it seems to be the best way to avoid or get out of a reading slump. It’s also part of the reason I still haven’t picked up some of the aforementioned longer reads. The moment I told myself I had to pick one of them up so I’d meet an arbitrary goal, my brain lost interest. Definitely a lesson learned.

In terms of this year, I’m keeping it pretty simple again, with my goals being:

• Read 100 books. Pretty self-explanatory.
• Read more non-fiction. I don’t pick it up all that often, but when I do, I tend to really enjoy it. I’m not going to set a specific number for this; it’s just something I’d like to consciously reach for a little more often.
• Read more plays. Again, I don’t reach for them that often, but for the last two years, a play has ended up being one of my top 10 reads of the year. That has to say something.
• Read more Daphne du Maurier. I didn’t read a single full-length du Maurier book in 2018 (just a short story chapbook), and given that I read and adored 5 the previous year, that seems really stupid.
• Keep mood reading. The more of my life I spend as a bookworm, the more I come to accept that I’m a mood reader. Set TBRs and suchlike just don’t work for me. As I said, as soon as I tell myself I have to read a certain book, my brain just stops co-operating.

I always like to end these posts by sharing my monthly wrap up pictures from throughout the previous year. It’s a fun way for me (and anyone else who may be interested) to look back at everything I read at a glance. Happy reading in 2019, folks! Here’s hoping lots of good books come our way.

The books I read in January

The books I read in February

The books I read in March

The books I read in April

The books I read in May

The books I read in June

The books I read in July

The books I read in August

The books I read in September

The books I read in October

The books I read in November

The books I read in December

December Wrap Up

The books I read in December

I can’t quite believe how quickly this year has gone, but there is at least time for one last monthly wrap up before we head into 2019. Throughout December, I finished 12 books, bringing my final total for 2018 up to 131 (the best of which I talked about here). Here are some thoughts on each of them, with links to my full reviews over on Goodreads.

Ice by Anna Kavan

[ ⭐ ] I really wanted to love this, but just didn’t click with Kavan’s style at all, sadly. I felt held at such a distance that I could derive no thematic or narrative sense whatsoever. This, in turn, resulted in a complete emotional detachment, and a reading experience that felt like a hard slog with no worthwhile payoff. I’m not adverse to strange fiction, but this lacked any kind of grounding to guide us through, and became hallucinogenic to the point of being impenetrable. Not exactly a great start to the month, but we can’t love ‘em all.

Pages & Co. Book One: Tilly and the Bookwanderers by Anna James

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] If the concept of escapism through books has even been important to you, I can’t recommend this highly enough. It follows a young girl as she discovers the joy of ‘bookwandering’; a rare skill that allows devoted readers to travel in and out of the fictional worlds held within their books. Charming, intelligent, heartfelt, and utterly transporting, it works on two separate yet harmonious levels: It’s a fun and awe-inspiring adventure for young readers, but is also packed full of playful literary references for adults that tap into a special kind of nostalgia. Whilst one particular plot twist didn’t wholly work for me, the reading experience itself was one of the most magical I’ve ever had; like a cup of tea and a warm hug in bookish form.

Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] Written with eloquence and pin-sharp precision, this is a subtly powerful exploration of sexism, class, xenophobia, and violence. Moss cleverly draws on the past to highlight the hypocrisy of nationalist ideals and rigid gender roles. Intelligent and rousing, it is at once a tense family drama that explores domestic oppression, and a thought-provoking, timeless social commentary.

If Cats Disappeared from the World by Genki Kawamura

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] Written in an off-beat, conversational manner, this book follows a terminally ill young man who makes a deal with the devil: for every one thing he agrees to make disappear from the world, he’ll gain an extra day of life. It’s a simple but stylistically effective look at the difference between living and surviving; of reconciliation with the past; and the acceptance of our own mortality. It’s all fairly predictable in terms of plot progression and character development, but the quirky tone and universal themes make it a speedy and surprisingly heartening read.

Winter by Ali Smith

[ ⭐ ⭐ ] There’s no denying Smith’s brilliant wordplay, and for those willing to submit themselves to her sense of abandon when it comes to the conventions of plot and narrative structure, there is much to be debated regarding possible deeper meaning. For me, however, I once again felt held at too great a distance, which resulted in a lack of any emotional resonance. I also missed the air of urgency, and the beautiful descriptions of the landscape that had been present in Autumn. Though there are thought-provoking and timely themes bubbling beneath the surface, the unrealistic philosophical dialogue, and magical realism-esque tangents simply proved too jarring.

The World is Full of Foolish Men by Jean de la Fontaine

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] A slim collection of classic French fables. The typically playful writing and the nostalgic nature of the tales made this a simple but charming little read.

A Literary Christmas by The British Library

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] This is a treasure trove of (mostly) classic Christmas writings, ideal for getting into the festive spirit, and trying out some new authors. As with any anthology, there were some styles I didn’t gel with as much as others, but I thoroughly enjoyed the overall reading experience, with the stand out piece for me being the poignant and evocative Christmas at Sea by Robert Louis Stevenson. The book is beautifully presented, well structured, and I enjoyed the blend of both prose and poetry.

Crooked House by Agatha Christie

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] Another great setup, and a group of well-realised characters that I enjoyed getting to grips with. As always, I flew through it, and loved the snappy dialogue. This is, however, one of the few instances with Christie’s work where I successfully predicted the twist. That said, she did still manage to keep me guessing along the way, and it all came together in such a clever, sinister, and satisfying way, that it almost didn’t matter.

The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus by L. Frank Baum

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] I wouldn’t often be won round by something as overtly sweet as this, but it’s a perfect encapsulation of the magic of Christmastime. Part origin story, and part fairy tale, this utterly enchanting read is both playful and clever in its take on the Santa Claus story, presenting us with explanations for all the big questions, from who he is, to how he manages to deliver all the toys in one night. Written by the creator of The Wizard of Oz, it’s as imaginative and charming as you would expect. As an adult, I was completely enamoured by it; I can only imagine how awe-inspiring and satisfying it would be for younger readers.

The Christmas Truce by Carol Ann Duffy

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] A strange and captivating moment in history, captured in a simple yet resonant poem; this details the Christmas of 1914 when soldiers on both sides of WWI put down their weapons, and entered No Man’s Land to meet as equals. As such, it speaks of the timeless notion of coming together at Christmastime.

Tales from the Inner City by Shaun Tan

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] I love surrealism when it comes to art, but really struggle with it when it comes to prose, which often makes reading Tan’s books a tale of two halves for me. Conceptually, I thought this was excellent; 25 short stories, each one focussed on a different animal, commenting on the beauty, brutality, and complexity that make up man’s relationship with nature. Each one is accompanied by a stunning double-page illustration. Whilst plot-wise, most did little for me, I always admired what the author was saying thematically, and I could lose myself in the artwork time and time again. Indeed, looking at Tan’s paintings is like stepping inside a dream world; a hypnotically rich and rewarding experience.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J.K. Rowling

[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] I think we’ve all learned the hard way that expanded universe material for Harry Potter can be very hit and miss, hence why I put off consuming some of it for so long. Thankfully, this one was a hit; pleasingly meta, yet tongue-in-cheek enough to sit nicely alongside the main series without sullying anything. The parallels with familiar, real-world fairy tales were also very enjoyable.

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There we have it! My favourite read of the month was Ghost Wall. What was yours?

Top Reads of 2018

It’s that time again! In terms of reading, 2018 has been pretty solid, with many great reads amongst the 129 books I’ve managed to complete thus far. (I may finish another one or two before the year is out, but I’m pretty happy with this list, and so was eager to just share it now.) And since we all like to reflect on the cream of the crop, let’s jump right in.

I’m going to give an honourable mention to Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss. I should probably just make this list a top 11, because the exact number is arbitrary, but I do like the neatness of a top 10. Written with eloquence and pin-sharp precision, it is a subtly powerful exploration of gender, class, nationalism, and violence, as we follow a small group taking part in an Iron Age re-enactment. By drawing on the past, Moss is able to say much about the present day, showing the cyclical nature of men using physical power as a means of oppression. Tension builds at an unsettlingly good pace, reaching its claustrophobic best in the shocking yet beautifully understated climax. Dark, though tinged with a hope for the future that lies in the notions of youth and sisterhood, I found it thought-provoking and surprisingly impactful. The only reason it didn’t technically make the cut for my top 10 is that I just read it this month, and so it hasn’t had to stand the test of time yet.

A quick shout out as well to The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, The Gloaming by Kirsty Logan, and Partners in Crime by Agatha Christie; the other reads that were in contention for this list. But enough dallying; on with the actual countdown!

 10. The Corset by Laura Purcell

This is an intricately plotted and thematically rich gothic chiller that follows the dual narrative of a 16-year-old seamstress accused of murder, and the wealthy young woman who takes to visiting her in prison, determined to prove or disprove her guilt through the use of phrenology. An undercurrent of mystery and threat bubbles throughout this page-turner, which beyond its bleak and immersive core, manages to explore the notions of poverty, trauma, the class system, and female autonomy. Equal parts poignant and horrifying, Purcell maintains the perfect amount of ambiguity regarding its flirtation with the supernatural, leaving the reader satisfied, without losing the sinister tone of the book at large. It was also exactly what I was in the mood for when I picked it up, and there’s a lot to be said for finding the right book at the right time.

9. A Kiss Before Dying by Ira Levin

This was the first read of the year to give me the elusive book tingles (that prickling feeling of excitement that a book could well become one of your new favourites), and for that, I still think back on it very fondly all these months later. We follow a decidedly menacing chap, whose plans to claim his fiancé’s inheritance are scuppered when she falls pregnant, and risks being disowned by her father. He resolves to get rid of the baby, and his fiancé too if necessary. Clever, masterfully plotted, and just damn thrilling to read, this is perhaps one of the best crime books I’ve encountered, with a deliciously sinister plot, and brilliantly executed twists.

8. The Last Witch by Rona Munro

I adored reading this play, and I subsequently saw an excellent adaptation on the stage. It’s a powerful and atmospheric dramatization of the story of Janet Horne, the last woman to be executed for witchcraft in Scotland, in 1727. Janet as a heroine is fascinating, complex, and skilfully constructed; the atmosphere both tense and melancholy. As we delve into why Janet seems so hesitant to either confirm or deny the accusations against her, the story becomes a rousing look at the struggle for power between the sexes; othering; and the inherent hypocrisy of misogyny. I also loved its nuanced look at sisterhood, the power of language, and the magic of nature.

7. Mary’s Monster by Lita Judge

This book completely defies categorisation. It is, essentially, a novelised graphic memoir written in verse. It presents itself as though it’s the diary of Mary Shelley, exploring the events in her life that led to the creation of her magnum opus, Frankenstein. The poetic prose is beautiful; the first-person perspective intimate and engrossing; the accompanying black-and-white artwork both haunting and transporting. It’s a fascinating, original, engaging, and enlightening insight into an iconic work of literature. Above all else, however, it is a stunning love letter to the genius of Mary Shelley, and how she channelled great suffering into great art.

6. A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay

It isn’t easy to pen a horror novel that is as unsettling as it is achingly sad, but that is exactly what Tremblay has done here. Plot-wise, we follow a family who fear their eldest daughter’s increasingly strange behaviour may be caused by some kind of demonic possession. When the church gets involved, and money gets tight, they agree to let cameras into their home to document the attempts to exorcise her. On the one hand, the book is a very meta, critical analysis of the horror genre at large, with many clever homages to the classics, but it also has much to say about the demonization of mental health; religious pushback against the advances of science and medicine; and the moral depravity of a society obsessed with exploitation as a means of entertainment. It’s well worth checking out if you want to be disturbed and have your heart broken at the same time.

5. Dracula by Bram Stoker

This is one of those classics that is so iconic I thought I knew it before I’d even picked it up. I got so much more from it than I anticipated, however, in terms of both reading enjoyment and literary merit. Its epistolary structure lends an air of realism that enhances the unsettling atmosphere, and as a lover of all things gothic-horror, I thoroughly enjoyed delving into the origin of many aspects we now consider conventions of the genre. From a thematic point of view, it was a rich treasure trove to pick apart: the primal fear of bodily and sexual corruption; gender dynamics; mistrust of the unknown; and fascinating queer coding being just a few of my favourite themes to mull over. It might not be perfect by modern standards with regards to pacing and climax, but I both appreciated and enjoyed the time I spent with this book.

4. Little Boy Lost by Marghanita Laski

I found this book instantly absorbing, and utterly compelling throughout. An overlooked classic that focusses on the instinctual draw of paternal love, it follows one man’s attempts to track down his missing infant son, post-war. The emotional complexity of the hero is fantastic, as is the pacing, which sees the narrative unfold with real elegance and poignancy. The central themes of loss and healing are cleverly reflected in several aspects of the story; the backdrop of war-torn France attempting to reclaim its identity following decimation and liberation highly effective as a setting. Beautifully realised, I took its characters to heart, and they remain there to this day, despite having read it early in the year.

3. The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham

This was a gripping read with strikingly vivid world-building. As an early post-apocalyptic novel, it was also interesting and fun to read from the perspective of seeing where so many modern entries in the genre have subsequently drawn from. Beyond the enthralling tale of survival it presents at face value, there is also a surprising amount of depth and social commentary going on; with conflict between survivors, gender dynamics, and ensuing moral dilemmas proving more troublesome than the deadly, sentient plants that have devastated the population. The prose itself is very readable, with flashes of evocative beauty, and I loved its exploration of the illusion that humans have tamed nature and assumed ultimate power; making this, in many ways, a cautionary tale more relevant now than ever before.

2. Everything Under by Daisy Johnson

There is so much narrative and thematic depth to this book, which made it a read for which my admiration only grew the more time I took to reflect on it. A tinge of almost ethereal otherworldliness is befitting of the classic myths and fairy tales it so strongly feeds from, but it still maintains a bold, original identity all of its own, thanks to its intricate plot, and its complex, fascinating characters. Its tragically inevitable outcome, and its sense of pathos and quiet magic may not work for everyone, but I was swept up by its lush prose, clever structure, and its nuanced look at identity and gender fluidity; fate vs free will; the power of language; storytelling as a means of preserving memory; acceptance of the truth; and whether or not children have a duty to their parents.

1. The Lightkeepers by Abby Geni

In The Lightkeepers, we follow a nature photographer who secures a residency on a small cluster of remote, untouched islands, where the only other inhabitants are a group of scientists studying the indigenous animal species. Geni’s prose is utterly breathtaking, and she captures the raw beauty, daunting power, and savage menace of the natural world like no other writer I’ve ever encountered. When violence disrupts the group dynamic, the story becomes a fantastic meditation on the nature of storytelling as a means of coping with trauma. There are excellent parallels between Miranda’s work as a photographer and the ‘framing’ of a story to distort reality; between the cycle of the seasons and the process of grief; and a core of mystery with pleasing homages to Christie’s And Then There Were None. Rich, intricate, and expertly handled, I was utterly enthralled; by its narrative, its construction, and by its deceptive complexity. The Lightkeepers serves as a powerful and somehow timeless reminder that we too are just animals, doing what we have to do to get by – however ugly it may be.

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There we have it! Here’s to lots of great reads for us all in 2019. Have you read any of these? What were your favourite reads of the year?

Book to Film | Revolting Rhymes

Revolting Rhymes’ book cover (left), and film poster (right).

The animated adaptation of Roald Dahl’s beloved fairy tale/poetry collection originally aired as a two-part special in 2016 during the festive period. I loved watching it then, and loved it just as much upon revisiting it now.

The TV film takes five of the six stories/poems from Dahl’s book, which were themselves twisted retellings of classic fairy tales, and weaves them together to tell one coherent, if delightfully quirky, narrative. Dahl’s original text is woven seamlessly into the narration, which does well to preserve his distinct style of storytelling, drawing on his playful sense of wordplay, rhythm, and rhyme to propel the story forward with characteristically dark humour, and surprising twists and turns.

Quentin Blake’s illustrations are synonymous with Dahl’s work. As such, it could easily have proven tricky to pair his words with a noticeably different art style. I thought the animation was wonderful, however; slick, vibrant, and brilliantly stylised; distinct enough from Blake’s work to stand on its own merits, but not a radical enough departure so as to feel alien to those who already loved the book. The film’s nomination for an Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film proves I’m far from alone in that line of thought.

An example of the animation style. Fairy tales featured in the story include Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White, Jack and the Beanstalk, Cinderella, and The Three Little Pigs.

The cast features many recognisable voices, sure to be familiar to UK viewers in particular. This includes the likes of Dominic West, David Walliams, Rose Leslie, Gemma Chan, Bertie Carvel, Rob Brydon, and Tamsin Greig. Their fun and enigmatic performances are bolstered by a suitably fanciful soundtrack that never overwhelms.

The notion of balancing the light of the festive season with somewhat macabre storytelling stretches back generations, right to the days when people would gather to share ghostly tales by the fireside. This keeps the sentiment of that tradition very much alive, with rejuvenated wit, energy, and a pleasing dose of girl power.