The books I read in November
November was a bit of an odd month. I read 8 books, bringing my total for the year so far up to 113. Not only is this slightly lower than my average, but most of them were fairly short, meaning I didn’t actually do a whole lot of reading. I’m not going to beat myself up about it. Firstly, I was definitely hit by a general slump/burnout, which was inevitably going to happen at some point this year. More randomly, I also really fell in love with embroidery this month. A lot of the time I would normally have spent reading was spent embroidering, but given how much I enjoy both, I can make my peace with that.
The pieces I embroidered this month
That said, here are some brief thoughts on what I did read, with links to my full reviews if you’d like to know more.
Stillicide by Cynan Jones
[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] This series of linked short stories is set in a dystopian future, with the climate crisis meaning water is now a commodity transported around the country via an armoured train. Jones writes beautifully, and there are some great ideas present, but its fragmented nature and lack of a driving force in the plot meant I failed to connect emotionally.
Hearts in the Hard Ground by G.V. Anderson
[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] Following the death of her mother, Fiona moves into a new house, but the ghosts of former residents haunt her new home as much as Fiona’s guilt and grief haunt her. Evoking hauntings both real and self-inflicted, with some striking imagery and a lot of heart throughout, this is an emotionally complex story that says a lot in few words about the frustration of dementia and the pain of letting go.
Pew by Catherine Lacey
[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] An enigmatic, unknowable stranger is found on a church pew in a conservative American town. Offers of help and open-mindedness are increasingly tested by the stranger’s refusal to adhere to strict societal roles regarding gender and ethnicity. This meditation on the idea of the body versus the person, and the individual versus the community simmers with tension and intrigue, but is let down by an info-dump ending that hints at so much untapped potential.
Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson & Emily Carroll
[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] This graphic novel adaptation of Anderson’s original novel emphasises the story’s look at the importance that art can play in processing trauma. Encompassing the fallout of sexual assault, emotional trauma, depression, and social isolation, all carried by a realistically flawed heroine, this is as relevant now as it was when it was published in its original form back in 1999.
The Dreamkeeper by Robert Ingpen
[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] An original tale from the renowned illustrator about an enigmatic character responsible for capturing the creatures that attempt to escape from our dreams. It’s brief, and there’s no real plot, but Ingpen’s accompanying artwork is as charming as ever.
People from My Neighbourhood by Hiromi Kawakami, translated from the Japanese by Ted Goossen
[ ⭐ ⭐ ] This collection of magical realism micro fiction falls firmly into the ‘weird for the sake of being weird’ category that sadly just doesn’t work for me. There are some visually striking ideas, but it feels like a scrapbook of jumping off points rather than a cohesive collection with any kind of narrative or thematic purpose.
All Boys Aren’t Blue by George M. Johnson
[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] This memoir reflects on Johnson’s experiences growing up Black and gay in modern-day America. He writes beautifully about his family and the coding of society to enforce a strict gender binary, but the essay-like, non-linear structure means it can lack a sense of overall direction at times. Still, it’s heartening that books like this will help the next generation of Black, queer youth feel validated and less alone.
Let Them Eat Chaos by Kae Tempest
[ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ] A beautifully observed and powerfully delivered full-length narrative poem that gives us a snapshot into the lives of seven strangers who all live on the same street. It explores the anxieties of modern life, commenting on our collective sense of disenfranchisement and disconnection. Brilliant, galvanising, and ultimately hopeful.
There we have it! My favourite read in November was Let Them Eat Chaos. What was yours?
This is Johnson’s memoir, reflecting on his experiences as a young Black gay man growing up in America. The book encompasses many big themes, including queerness, family, identity, racism, abuse, and masculinity.
This full-length narrative poem weaves in and out of the homes of seven people who all live on the same street in London, as they lie awake at 4am. They are strangers to each other, but through a series of snapshots into their lives, Tempest captures the universal anxieties of modern life, despite their different circumstances.
Ruminative yet understated, this beguiling novel explores the fine line between life and death, and the elusive nature of the human soul.
I’m a big fan of Ingpen as an artist and particularly like to collect his illustrated editions of children’s classics. This brief original tale started life as a project to entertain his granddaughter.
I knew heading into this one that it would be a gamble, since magical realism doesn’t often work for me. But, when it does it tends to be when it’s in short story format, and having heard such good things about Kawakami’s other work, I decided to give this collection of micro fiction a shot.
Anderson’s novel, Speak, follows a teenage girl in the wake of sexual assault as she attempts to handle depression, navigate social isolation, and find the confidence to speak her truth. First published back in 1999, it is highly revered by many and had been on my radar for years. When I heard that Anderson was working with artist Emily Carroll (whose work I’m a big fan of) to adapt the story into a graphic novel, I knew it was the edition I wanted to get hold of.
A person of indeterminate age, gender and race, with apparent amnesia and an unwillingness to speak, is found sleeping on a church pew in an unnamed American town. A local family offers to take them in, giving them the nickname Pew. Although claiming to be charitable, the town grows increasingly impatient with Pew the more they refuse to answer questions or conform to strict societal roles.
Set in an unnervingly believable dystopian future, the climate crisis means water is now commodified; the vast armoured trains that transport it around the country often attacked by frustrated, displaced citizens. Though not hugely plot driven, we move between various perspectives, gaining insight into the new normal, and the persistence of love, loss, and the will to survive when it feels like hope is lost.
Following the death of her mother, Fiona moves into a new house, but the ghosts of former residents haunt her new home as much as Fiona’s guilt and grief haunt her.
I’m not generally a re-reader, but something seems to compel me to keep returning to this collection of graphic short stories at this time of year. This is the third or fourth time I’ve picked it up now, and my appreciation for it has grown each time. I always explain that as individual pieces, the majority of the stories fizzle out somewhat from a narrative perspective, but the concepts and atmosphere are so consistently creepy that the collection as a whole leaves a very strong lasting impression. If I were to pick a standout piece, however, it would definitely be The Nesting Place.
When he is badly injured in a car crash that kills his wife, Oghi is taken into the care of his mother-in-law. What follows in an understated though unnerving look at grief, isolation, painful truths, and bitter revenge. It does a great job of capturing an atmosphere of claustrophobia and mounting unease, and it certainly taps into our fear of losing autonomy and feeling like a prisoner within our own bodies (Oghi is left paralyzed and largely unable to communicate). I don’t want to say much else, as the core plot follows a very predictable trajectory, but there is more going on beneath the surface than first meets the eye.
Set in 1850s London, this wonderfully evocative debut looks at art, autonomy, love, and obsession. Iris makes her living painting faces onto dolls alongside her twin sister, but she longs to be taken seriously as a true artist. When she is offered the chance to model for up-and-coming pre-Raphaelite artist Louis Frost, she agrees, on the condition that he will tutor her in return. But someone else is watching Iris’s every move. Silas is a lonely collector of curiosities with whom Iris shared a brief, (and for her) quickly forgotten encounter. Entranced by her unique beauty, however, Silas’s longings for friendship will soon develop into something decidedly more sinister.
