The Most Fun We Ever Had by Claire Lombardo | Book Review

The Most Fun We Ever Had by Claire Lombardo
Published by Doubleday, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This follows three generations of the same family, looking at the various ways their lives are impacted by the unexpected return of a 15-year-old boy, previously given up for adoption as a baby.

There’s definitely some worthwhile social commentary in here. Jonah, the teenager stumbling back into the family he has never known, grew up within the care system. As such, he’s been completely deprived of the comfort and excess afforded to the wealthy Sorenson clan. The arrival of this outsider with a completely different perspective on life forces them to confront their own privilege for the first time, and it’s interesting to note the defensiveness they tend to display, as though embarrassed by – and unwilling to fully acknowledge – their own advantageous position.

It’s also true that several of the characters make cruel or insensitive jokes towards those of lower classes, and show a lack of empathy where others’ struggles are concerned; ingrained, throwaway comments that highlight the inherent obliviousness and sense of disconnect often experienced by those who have grown up surrounded by money. Whilst I certainly interpreted these moments as critique rather than endorsement from the author, I would have appreciated a little more development for this particular thread. I liked that she wasn’t afraid of showing her characters’ flaws, but she could have tackled them head on, rather than skirting around them.

Primarily, however, the book is an exploration of the established idea that money cannot buy happiness. Despite ostensibly coming across as the perfect family, we soon learn that each of them is suffering in some hidden way; the need to keep up appearances and please their seemingly saintly parents forcing them to hide the truth of their pain from each other as much as from the outside world. Through the four sisters at the heart of the novel, Lombardo does a great job of reflecting the unique hybrid of love and rivalry that can exist between siblings, and the notion that it’s the people closest to us that we’re capable of hurting the most.

The timeline shifts between the present day, and the past, starting from the first meeting of the sisters’ parents, Marilyn and David. These two timelines move ever closer, and though the structure serves to eke out the reveal of certain details, and to emphasise the various obstacles they’ve all been forced to weather (even Marilyn and David, whom their children have always regarded as the epitome of love and happiness), it does make the book feel bloated at times. At more than 500 pages, there is a feeling of diminished returns when we see the same thematic point being made time and time again. In that regard, I felt the book could have been edited down significantly, allowing key moments to hit home with more punch, rather than feeling swamped by a meandering pace and extraneous detail.

In the end, I found the book very readable, and felt it had a lot of potential in its plot points, character dynamics, and themes. It was simply too long and lacking in focus to land with the level of impact it could have had.

---

You can pick up a copy of The Most Fun We Ever Had from Book Depository by clicking here.

---

WOMEN’S PRIZE 2020 REVIEWS SO FAR:

1. Girl, Woman, Other | 2. Hamnet | 3. Fleishman Is in Trouble | 4. Girl | 5. A Thousand Ships | 6. Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line | 7. Dominicana 

---

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Dominicana by Angie Cruz | Book Review

Dominicana by Angie Cruz
Published by John Murray, 2020
My rating: ⭐ ⭐

My biggest issue with Dominicana is its paint-by-numbers approach to reflecting the immigrant experience. We follow 15-year-old Ana, who moves to New York from the Dominican Republic in the 1960s following an arranged marriage, with the hope that her family will soon be able to follow. Instead, she finds herself trapped in a loveless relationship, largely confined to a cold apartment.

From there, we hit pretty much every narrative beat you’d expect, with the story adhering to a very predictable and uninspiring trajectory. Harmful stereotypes (like Ana’s abusive, immigrant husband) go frustratingly unexplored; historical details (like the assassination of Malcom X, which takes place right outside Ana’s door) are so plonked in and glossed over they feel like a lazy attempt to establish emotional resonance; and the supporting characters are entirely one dimensional, resulting in a lot of untapped potential.

This may have been easier to contend with if the prose had been outstanding, but sadly this wasn’t the case either. Though Cruz’s prose is certainly readable on a technical level, it’s also very clumsy at times, weighed down by overblown metaphors (“César [is] the color of the crunchy skin off of juicy roast chicken thigh, creamy hot chocolate, buttered toast, dark honey, the broth of slow-cooked sancocho.”).

The one thread that holds initial promise is Ana’s sense of isolation and cultural bewilderment when she first arrives in the US. But as with everything else, it feels underdeveloped – and it’s arguably undone when Ana falls for another man with whom she quickly finds the connection and company she lacked.

I’d like to give this the benefit of the doubt and say my mind wasn’t best equipped to engage with it given everything that’s going on right now, but I suspect even that is being generous. In truth, this just wasn’t for me, unfortunately. Perhaps those with experiences closer aligned with Ana’s will feel a connection to the story; for me, it felt familiar, flat, and underwhelming.

---

If you think you’ll have better luck with it, or if you’re also making your way through the Women’s Prize longlist, you can pick up a copy of Dominicana from Book Depository by clicking here.

---

WOMEN’S PRIZE 2020 REVIEWS SO FAR:

1. Girl, Woman, Other | 2. Hamnet | 3. Fleishman Is in Trouble | 4. Girl | 5. A Thousand Ships | 6. Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line

---

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line by Deepa Anappara | Book Review

Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line by Deepa Anappara
Published by Chatto & Windus, 2020
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

When fellow children from his community begin to disappear, 9-year-old Jai resolves to use the skills learned from his beloved detective shows – and the aid of his two best friends – to figure out what’s going on. Anappara uses the naïve yet charming perspective of a child to dive into the underbelly of India’s slums, interlacing a gripping narrative full of intrigue with deft social commentary on class, gender, corruption, and religious division.

Pulling off a convincing child narrator can be tricky, but I felt Anappara handled it very well on the whole. She did a great job of reflecting just how perceptive and intuitive children can be, without having her young protagonists feel like mere mouthpieces for adult ideologies. Choosing to frame everything through the eyes of a 9-year-old was a clever move, in fact. It allowed her to touch on big and potentially upsetting subject matter with suitable reverence and realism, while always maintaining a lightness of touch, and successfully avoiding any trace of gratuity.

As the number of disappearances begins to grow, so too does the tension between Hindus and Muslims living within Jai’s basti; the former singling out the latter as potential suspects. The book thus comments on the societal structures that incite fear of the other, and the violence and segregation born from religious intolerance. With Jai and one of his closest friends being Hindus, and their other friend being a Muslim, Anappara is able to show just how observant children are of the prejudices around them, and how much more tolerant of difference they tend to be than adults.

I thought the commentary on education throughout the novel was interesting without ever feeling heavy-handed. Anappara shows both how an unreliable school system puts children at risk, and how applying yourself to education can grant you a ticket to a better future. I also really appreciated the commentary on gender that was woven into the story. By simply showing the different expectations placed on Jai and his male friend, Faiz, compared to his sister and his female friend, Pari, she manages to say a lot about ingrained societal roles. It’s also very interesting to note how differently the community reacts to the disappearance of younger, ‘innocent’ children in comparison to a 16-year-old girl rumoured to be somewhat promiscuous, and who favours a Westernized style of dress.

In terms of class divides, Anappara reflects how literal a sense of disconnect has become, with the rise of gated communities separating the rich from the poor. The latter struggle to get by in destitute slums that wallow in the shadows of the luxurious tower blocks that house the wealthy. By exploring the money that is to be made from preserving the suffering of the poor, the reasons behind the seeming disinterest of the police concerning missing children become frustratingly clear. It’s also true that the actions of certain characters may prove infuriating given the seriousness of their situation (like adults continuing to leave their children unattended for large chunks of time), but Anappara justifies this by showing the impossible reality they face; if they don’t work, their families don’t eat.

I can’t say the prose itself particularly wowed me, but anything too ornate would have felt unrealistic given the age of the narrator. In that sense, it served its purpose well, driving the narrative forward and painting vivid, immersive pictures of India’s claustrophobic, heady slums.

Without dipping into spoiler territory, I will say I thought the ending was pitched pretty well. It offered a sense of conclusion without falling into the trap of tying up every loose end in a neat bow. Having drawn inspiration from the many unsolved (and often undocumented) cases of missing children who disappear in India every day, it would have felt unjust to imply that every family is granted the happy ending and concrete answers they desperately crave.

There’s a real subtlety to Anappara’s execution that I greatly admired. She has crafted a story so readable and driven by intrigue that you fly through the pages. It’s only upon reaching the end that you realise just how extensively she has dissected modern Indian society and the many struggles faced by its poorest residents.

---

You can pick up a copy of Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line from Book Depository by clicking here.

---

WOMEN’S PRIZE 2020 REVIEWS SO FAR:

1. Girl, Woman, Other | 2. Hamnet | 3. Fleishman Is in Trouble | 4. Girl | 5. A Thousand Ships

---

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes | Book Review

A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes
Published by Mantle, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A Thousand Ships is a paradoxically exciting and underwhelming read; a great example of how the timing of a book’s publication can make or break its impact. Attempting to retell the story of the Trojan War and its aftermath from an entirely female perspective, the novel’s aim is to give voice to those usually pushed to the periphery, and to reframe classic mythology from a more feminist angle. This is an ambitious concept, but its similarity to recent high-profile releases – notably Circe by Madeline Miller and The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker – leaves it open to inevitable comparison, and a frustrating, if unfair, feeling of familiarity.

First off, the book is incredibly readable, and I found myself flying through it. Haynes does a fantastic job of showing the myriad ways a war can be fought beyond physical combat; the upsetting lack of bodily autonomy experienced by most women in times of conflict; the heartbreaks both big and small that must be endured; the sense of sisterhood between friends and enemies alike; and the stoicism shown by those left to pick up the pieces once the dust begins to settle. Her handling of both goddesses and mortals within the same sphere is also effective; the former feeling suitably powerful and ethereal, yet engaging and approachable on an emotional level.

The book’s greatest ambition – to inhabit the voice of almost every major female figure touched by the war – was ironically one of its greatest missteps for me. With so many point-of-view characters, certain perspectives are inevitably more compelling than others. The anguish of Cassandra, doomed to foresee the future but never be believed, and the sorrow of Gaia, the Goddess of the Earth who must watch mankind destroy everything she loves, are particularly well portrayed, for example. I also liked that the initial ingrained misogyny shown towards Helen (by both men and women) was directly challenged by the character herself; Helen asking other women why they hold her solely responsible for the outbreak of the war, and not her abductor or her husband (though I do wish this thread had been pushed much further moving forward).

Other characters, like Calliope and Penelope, are much less convincingly drawn, sadly. The former often feels like a mouthpiece for the author, a character through whom Haynes clumsily declares her book’s themes. The latter’s chapters are presented in the form of letters to her absent husband, recounting in the second person his own adventures (à la, “You did this, then you said that.”). Not only does this make little narrative sense (why would he need a detailed description of his own recent actions?), it also does little to offer Penelope a sense of worth or independence beyond her link to her husband, which feels like the exact opposite of the book’s intention. On the contrary, her contribution comes off as a thinly veiled means of shoehorning the story of The Odyssey into the narrative without utilising a male perspective.

Moving between so many characters at such a fast pace can also lead to some confusion as to the many links between them all, and how everyone slots into the bigger picture. For people completely new to mythology or retellings, I can see it proving more than a little daunting trying to make sense of the intricate web entangling the many players. All that said, I feel the book would have been stronger had it had a greater sense of focus, with Haynes choosing a few key women and homing in on their viewpoints.

I enjoyed this, but never felt wowed or moved by it in the way I – or the book – hoped I would be. A few years ago, this book would arguably have broken ground by offering a very underexplored take on beloved myths. Though not the author’s fault (this will almost certainly have been written long before publication of books like Circe or The Silence of the Girls), it now feels like a solid enough if lukewarm entry in a genre that is at risk of becoming oversaturated.

---

You can pick up a copy of A Thousand Ships from Book Depository by clicking here.

---

WOMEN’S PRIZE 2020 REVIEWS SO FAR:

1. Girl, Woman, Other | 2. Hamnet | 3. Fleishman Is in Trouble | 4. Girl

---

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Girl by Edna O’Brien | Book Review

Girl by Edna O’Brien
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
My rating: ⭐

This novel is inspired by the real-life kidnapping of 276 schoolgirls at the hands of the terrorist organization Boko Haram in Nigeria, 2014. Given the subject matter being explored, and the extremist views of the group responsible for the act, this is understandably an upsetting read, with major trigger warnings for everything from rape and mutilation, to emotional abuse and murder.

From the off, I want to make clear that I found it difficult to reconcile my feelings towards this book. Aside from the obvious fact that the content is horrifying, making this the kind of book you’re never going to ‘enjoy’ anyway, its very authorship is grounds for possible discomfort. On the one hand, I have considerable respect for what O’Brien has set out to do. A vast amount of research has clearly gone into the novel’s creation, and it’s fuelled by anger, empathy, and humanity. Stories like this one need to be told, and I admire her for using her platform to try and spark conversation, and amplify voices that have otherwise been silenced. On the other, part of me will always feel this simply wasn’t her story to tell. For as long as marginalised groups are pushed out of the mainstream, it’s important that allies with the comparative privilege of an audience pave the way for ‘own voice’ literature. But I can’t deny an undercurrent of unease reading a story about real-life, modern-day enslavement, human trafficking, terrorism, and abuse in Nigeria, as interpreted by the gaze of the white, Western world. To justify her decision to write this story, O’Brien’s perspective needed to add some kind of additional insight that amplified things in some way. As it is, I was simply left wondering why a white, Irish author would choose to tackle this subject at all. The right to freedom of expression through fiction is always going to be a complex issue with no easy answers, and I can respect arguments on both sides of the debate. In this particular instance, I felt the author’s intentions were absolutely in the right place, but that she fell short of inhabiting the culture, experiences, and voice of her heroine in an authentic and believable manner.

Even looking beyond these hesitations, I had several issues with the book’s execution, unfortunately. In the first half, the pace is relentless, walking us through a rapid succession of ghastly events at breakneck speed, with no time given over to reflection or analysis. With nothing being granted the necessary space to breathe within the narrative, I was left feeling strangely numb to everything that was happening; the lack of emotional resonance particularly notable given the distressing nature of the subject matter. I can understand that this may have been a deliberate attempt to avoid gratuity, and to reflect the relentless nature of the girls’ suffering, but a book as heavy as this is begging for greater nuance. Indeed, though the pace slows down substantially in the second half, the look at the lasting impact of our heroine’s experiences is still very base level. Any semblance of character development is reserved for her desire to be a mother to the child she conceived in captivity, with little exploration of her own psyche, despite the huge amount of potential that lay in the trauma, PTSD, and survivor’s guilt that were merely hinted at. Without wanting to spoil any plot specifics, I will say the author did at least attempt to explore the ideas of lost innocence, societal stigma, and the long journey to freedom that lies beyond escape. But again, these threads lacked any kind of satisfying emotional connection.

On another negative note, however, O’Brien’s matter-of-fact prose also did little for me. Again, in fairness, the simplistic nature of the language and the dot-to-dot narrative style arguably make sense given context. After all, the book is written in the first-person from the viewpoint of a young woman who was robbed of the chance to even finish her education; it’s unlikely she would be concerned with showcasing much in the way of literary merit. From a reader’s perspective, however, greater linguistic beauty may have helped to counter the narrative’s immense darkness, and to lift the book well above the realm of shock value; something I can see several accusing it of from time to time. It also would have made the book’s listing for this year’s Women’s Prize for Fiction considerably more understandable.

In short, as much as I sympathise with what O’Brien likely set out to achieve, this just didn’t work for me on any level. Whether stylistic choices in search or realism or not, the spare approach to character, plot, and emotion kept me held at too great a distance. For a story that should have kicked me in the gut, I was left feeling frustratingly apathetic.

---

If you think you’ll have better luck with it, or you’re making your way through the Women’s Prize longlist like me, you can pick up a copy of Girl from Book Depository by clicking here.

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Women’s Prize for Fiction 2020 | Reaction and Reading Plans

The 16 books on this year’s longlist.

Last year was the first time I read the entire Women’s Prize for Fiction longlist before the shortlist was announced. Though I didn’t necessarily love all of the titles, I adored the experience of following the prize, and the friendships that were forged from discussing it with fellow bloggers. My initial reaction to seeing this year’s longlist was, “How can I possibly have read so many eligible titles, but only two of them made the list???” Once I calmed down and got over myself, however, I realised it was a pretty interesting selection, nonetheless. So, let’s chat about it!

Ironically, I think one of the most notable things about this year’s list is which books are absent. Whether it’s titles that have had huge media coverage (The Testaments by Margaret Atwood); titles from well-established authors (Frankissstein by Jeanette Winterson); titles that have had previous award success (The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins, 10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World by Elif Shafak); titles that have generated big buzz within the bookish world (Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellmann, Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid); or simply some personal favourites from this year’s eligible titles (The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave, Long Bright River by Liz Moore), to name just a few; there are lots of big hitters that didn’t make the cut. In some ways, avoiding many of the ‘obvious’ picks is exciting, and once I started looking into the list properly, I started feeling more excited and optimistic about the prospect of committing to reading (almost) all of them once again.

The two I’ve read thus far are Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo and Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell (click on the titles if you’d like to check out my reviews). I enjoyed both, and am perfectly happy to see them make the list. Weather by Jenny Offill, and Girl by Edna O’Brien were both already on my TBR, so I’m happy for the excuse to try and pick them up sooner rather than later.

Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams, A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes, The Dutch House by Ann Patchett, and Actress by Anne Enright were already firmly on my radar, and I’ve heard sufficiently good things about each of them to now officially add them to my TBR as well.

I knew next to nothing about Nightingale Point by Luan Goldie, Red at the Bone by Jacqueline Woodson, or How We Disappeared by Jing-Jing Lee before the list was announced. Having looked into them, I’m definitely intrigued enough to want to give them a shot, and I’m really pleased I discovered a few exciting new-to-me books through the prize!

Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line by Deepa Anappara, Dominicana by Angie Cruz, and The Most Fun We Ever Had by Claire Lombardo don’t immediately jump out at me. Depending on how well I get on with the ones I’m planning to prioritise, and the reviews I see coming in for them from fellow bloggers over the coming weeks, I may reach for them.

The only one I don’t want to read is Fleishman is in Trouble by Taffy Brodesser-Akner. It doesn’t sound like my kind of thing at all, and I’ve seen a few ‘meh’ reviews from people I trust. We’ll see…

And last but not least, the only one I definitely won’t be reading is The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel. It’s the third in a trilogy of historical behemoths, none of which I’ve read yet, and none of which particularly appeal to me – despite Mantel’s immense success and reputation (I know, don’t come for me, okay?). With a longlist this extensive already, there’s no way I can commit to making my way through that whole series within the next month or two.

So, taking stock, there are 11 titles that I would ideally like to have read by the time the shortlist/winner is announced, 3 that are maybes, 1 that’s unlikely, and 1 that’s a definite no. Honestly? I’m pretty happy with that. In an ideal world, I’d be able to wholeheartedly commit to the entire list every year, but as it is, I’m looking forward to following this one as best I can, and seeing where it takes me.

---

What about you? How many of the longlisted titles have you read? How many others do you plan to pick up? Which titles are you most surprised and/or sad didn’t make the cut? Let me know your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

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

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

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

THE LONGLIST

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

MY THOUGHTS

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

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

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

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

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

THE ONES THAT GOT AWAY

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

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

HOPES FOR THE WINNER/SHORTLIST

I’m officially backing Ghost Wall!

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

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

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

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

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

SHORTLIST PREDICTIONS

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

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

My prediction for the shortlist

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

LET’S CHAT

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

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

***

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Remembered by Yvonne Battle-Felton | Book Review

Remembered by Yvonne Battle-Felton
Published by Dialogue Books, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I’m glad to say I rounded off my reading of the Women’s Prize longlist with a strong contender. Remembered opens in 1910, as a mother rushes to her son’s hospital bed. Charged with committing a serious crime, and on the brink of death, she vows to tell him the truth of his origins, so that he may ‘find his way home’ in peace. We then travel back to the 1840s, and ultimately follow three generations of this family, showing us how we ended up at this tragic tableau, and highlighting repetitions throughout the timeline of the African-American experience.

The novel is a lot more brutal than I expected, this being a story of slavery, and the struggle that many black people faced to rebuild and find acceptance in the wake of Emancipation. Violence, deprivation, and cruelty are a near constant presence, but that’s not to say the book lacks hope or beauty. On the contrary, the finding of family, and the preservation of joy in the darkest of times are both major threads that run throughout.

The narrative voice feels very authentic. Though the informal approach to grammar takes a little getting used to for those unaccustomed, once you find the rhythm of the prose, it flows beautifully, helping to set the book in its rightful time and place. The characters themselves are richly drawn, and I found myself caring deeply about their fate.

There is an element of magical realism; our heroine able to see and communicate with the ghost of her sister. I sometimes struggle with this kind of thing in an otherwise raw and realistic story, but in this instance, I thought it was handled wonderfully. Not only do the sisters’ scenes together deliver equal parts pathos and snark, but the ghost’s presence serves as a clever symbol of the book’s main theme: the importance of facing up to the past, lest it continue to haunt us. Indeed, there are undeniable parallels between the historical events described, and every generation leading up to the world we live in now. Battle-Felton has written a powerful yet sensitive rallying call, telling the real story between the headlines that so often went untold. In it, she urges us to remember those who have suffered. Together, we can make sure no one need suffer as they did again.

***

If you’d like to read Remembered, 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!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Number One Chinese Restaurant by Lillian Li | Book Review

Number One Chinese Restaurant by Lillian Li
Published by Pushkin Press, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This is where I confess that I was dreading picking up this book. The blurb did little for me, and the lukewarm average rating on Goodreads didn’t exactly fill me with confidence either. With my aim of reading the entire Women’s Prize longlist, however, I was determined to push on regardless. Now, how much my enjoyment was down to it being a genuinely good read, and how much was down to my very low expectations being easily surpassed, I’ll never be sure. But I am both pleased and relieved to say I ended up really liking this book.

The plot centres around several generations of a Chinese immigrant family who run a restaurant together in the US. With one brother having ambitions beyond the family name, and the others each harbouring secrets or desires of their own, conflict and drama begin to unfold. And though I won’t go into specifics, I was surprised by the amount of stuff that actually happens in this book; from organised crime and underhand deals, to love affairs and unlikely friendships.

Li doesn’t strive to make her characters particularly likable, but for that they feel all the more believable. Perhaps not on this scale, admittedly, but what family doesn’t have its own share of secrets, betrayals, rivalries, and resentment to contend with when pressure mounts and the cracks begin to show? I love the way she explores the theme of duty versus desire, with each of the characters wrestling in their own way with honouring the commitments they feel they should uphold, and chasing after what they really want from life. The inescapable ties of familial loyalty, particularly in a culture that puts so much emphasis on lineage, is captured very effectively. So too is the struggle to find your own sense of individuality within the hierarchy of a family or business (or both, as the case may be). Notions of grief and guilt are also touched upon, as is the complexity of language, communication, and cultural identity within an Asian-American family.

The restaurant itself serves as the nucleus of the family, repeatedly drawing them all back together no matter their attempts to leave; like a physical representation of their bond. A sense of longing and quiet loneliness permeates the book, and I found this effective, too. It allows for moments of both black humour and melancholy to help balance out the melodrama that unfolds.

All that said, the novel is far from perfect. The prose, whilst fine at propelling the story forward, neither grabbed nor moved me at any time. There are some sections that feel bloated, and I think the book would have been stronger had it been streamlined in some way; allowing for a more incisive examination of each character’s emotional turmoil.

There is also a fleeting inclusion of the tired disfigurement-as-a-sign-of-evil trope that just doesn’t belong in contemporary fiction. Physical difference (in this instance, a missing finger) is an outdated and lazy way to indicate to the reader that a character is in some way bad, but writers should know by now to show us this through the character’s actions and words, and not to tell us by falling back on harmful stereotypes. In fairness, it’s mentioned only twice (I think), and both times very briefly, so at least it isn’t hammed up. It’s so inconsequential to the plot or the development of the character, however, that it’s clearly only there as an indicator of the man’s ugly personality. Frankly, an editor should have been on it like a hawk.

This, for me, was a good book. But with so much potential thrown up by the various plot points, characters, and themes that were at play, it could have been a great one. It simply needed to be brought together with a little more finesse. Still, given how much I expected to dislike it, I’m counting this one as a resounding success!

***

If you’d like to give Number One Chinese Restaurant 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!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker | Book Review

The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker
Published by Hamish Hamilton, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Put simply, The Silence of the Girls is the story of the Iliad, retold from the perspective of Briseis. Myth retellings are notoriously tricky. You’ve got to honour the timeless nature of much beloved characters and stories, and yet offer a fresh perspective that makes the effort feel worthwhile, enhancing the impact or themes of the original in some way. It must please those who are passionate about the core myths, and yet be accessible for those who are entirely new to them. On all fronts, I thought Barker was very successful.

The handling of the characters was excellent, as she managed to add depth and nuance without contradicting the existing canon. They are each fleshed out in a suitably complex way, Barker showing us that times of conflict can bring out both the best and worst in a person. The brutality of war, the horror of enslavement, and the lack of agency granted to women are all captured with raw vigour.

Briseis herself was a fantastic heroine, and I felt instantly drawn to her narrative voice. The fact that she narrates almost the entire story to us in first person, and yet speaks outwardly only a handful of times throughout the novel, is a stroke of genius, tying in beautifully with the title. Women like Briseis may well have been silenced, but they were still living, breathing, thinking, and feeling; far more perceptive than most of the men around them realised. Barker captures this idea with real flair.

That brings me to my only real critique of the book, which is the third person chapters from Achilles’ point of view. I understand that the context gleaned from these sections was important, but the shift to third person felt jarring, and my investment in Briseis was so great by the first time it happened that I resented any interruption to her telling of this story. As with Circe (another myth retelling with a feminist edge that is on the Women’s Prize longlist), there are also a few particularly modern, colloquial phrases that felt clumsy given the setting and tone – though this is obviously a stylistic choice.

The prose in general is wonderful, however. It’s so readable, and yet is packed with beauty; a balance that must have been especially hard to achieve given both the scale and harshness of the world she was writing about. Indeed, Barker manages to capture the grand, epic moments we expect, and the quiet, introspective character moments we don’t with equal aplomb. The way she brought everything together was so skilful, in fact, the final scenes almost made me emotional.

***

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

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi