Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 14

His Only Wife by Peace Adzo Medie | Book Review

His Only Wife by Peace Adzo Medie

Published by Algonquin Books, 2020

Rating:

[image error]Addictive melodrama reminiscent of a soap opera masks incisive commentary on finding independence, the pitfalls of polygamy and the reality of Ghanaian class divides in this hugely readable debut novel.

21-year-old Afi is a talented Ghanaian seamstress eager to study fashion design, but her life is upturned when her mother agrees to an arranged marriage with a virtual stranger, the son of a wealthy local businesswoman, on her behalf. Afi is whisked from her small town and placed in a luxury apartment in the capital of Accra. It soon becomes clear that Afi’s husband Eli is already in love with someone else, a woman his family disapproves of, and that his family has set up his marriage to Afi to lure him away from her.

This “other woman” lingers on the periphery for almost the entire novel, and I thought this was a very clever narrative decision. It allows her, the rival who is never seen but whose presence is always felt, to remain as elusive to the reader as she is to Afi. It also emphasizes that the contention between her and Afi is born wholly from the influence of others, and not through any fault of their own.

You can read my full review over on BookBrowse . I also wrote a piece highlighting contemporary Ghanaian women writers, which you can read here .

Connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Malorie by Josh Malerman | Book Review

Malorie by Josh Malerman

Published by Orion, 2020

Rating:

[image error]One of your favourite books getting a previously unplanned sequel is always going to be met with a strange mix of excitement and nerves. Though this never reaches the same level of dread as the original Bird Box, and requires more than a little suspension of disbelief, it is still a fun, thrilling read that successfully builds on the first book’s strongest themes and ideas, thus making it feel like a worthwhile, if flawed, follow up.

The time jump of ten years between the end of Bird Box and the beginning of Malorie works well in several ways. Chiefly, it allows Malerman to explore the same key question established in book one from a newer, more nuanced perspective: Is it enough to merely survive if you cannot truly live? One of my favourite aspects of the original book was the complex moral dilemmas its heroine was forced to navigate in order to keep her children alive. Did her extreme measures make her cruel or simply a good mother in the new, dangerous world? Now teenagers, her children are well equipped to survive in their post-apocalyptic setting, but they are also resentful and less willing to follow Malorie’s rule unquestioningly. Pushing back against their mother’s strict regime, and captivated by rumours of a different, freer way of living, tensions rise between the trio when they are once again forced to traverse the barren landscape, populated by mysterious creatures, the mere sight of which drives the viewer to instant, murderous insanity.

There’s also a great sense of continuity in Malorie’s character development, facilitated in part by the passage of time between books. By now, she is clearly a hardened survivor, but so too is she haunted by the very specific horrors she endured throughout the first book. Trust issues and extreme paranoia add yet more complexity to her situation, and I think Malerman wove in this look at PTSD and living with trauma well.

Malorie has fewer standout set pieces than Bird Box, and so never quite managed to get beneath my skin in the same way. But it does still use sensory deprivation and our fear of the unknown very well to create a feeling of vulnerability and threat. It’s utterly compelling, and I flew through it, but this paciness does mean there are several instances of conveniently dramatic timing. Essentially, if something can go wrong for the characters, it will, and it’s best to just submit yourself to the wild ride that is their story if you can. That said, I do think the climax could have been a lot stronger overall; one major thread in particular feeling disappointingly rushed at the end.

Considering how worried I was that this would feel more like a cash-grab-sequel to the (meh) movie adaptation of Bird Box than it would a genuine sequel to the book, I was very pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed my time with this. Gripping, creepy, fascinating conceptually, and with interesting things to say about family and hope, it really does have a lot going for it. I’m still not wholly convinced it’s a sequel we necessarily needed, but it’s one that in no way damages the impact of its predecessor either.

Connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Sisters by Daisy Johnson | Book Review

Sisters by Daisy Johnson

Published by Jonathan Cape, 2020

Rating:

[image error]Two teenage sisters flee with their mother to a remote family-owned property following the girls’ involvement in a terrible incident. The insidious relationship between the sisters, and the mystery of precisely what unfolded between them and a group of school bullies form the core of this atmospheric chiller.

Johnson does a fantastic job of capturing both the fierce love and the cruelty that teenage girls are capable of, and the strange ways they are often compelled by society to place themselves in competition with each other. At times, sisters July and September read like adults, while at others they seem incredibly immature. This does well not only to highlight the oddity (and the sinister undertones) of childhood games, but also the precarious tipping point of adolescence, when no matter how eager you are to grow up, fundamentally you remain a child; hampered by much of the naivety and vulnerability that come with youth.

Initially, I thought the prose felt overdone, but there’s no denying that Johnson writes well. The headiness of the text quickly won me round, adding to the book’s oppressive, stifling atmosphere.

It always sounds a little pretentious when someone says of a book that hinges around a crucial twist, “I predicted it from the off”, but the truth is I really did in this case. As much as I loved the themes at play and the overall feeling Johnson was evoking, there’s no denying that the book just doesn’t land with the same impact when you’re several steps ahead of the big reveal. It’s hard to talk about any of the other slight quibbles I had without resorting to spoilers, so I’ll simply say I wish a couple of plot points had been followed up on more, I felt the author took the easy way out concerning a certain trope, and the use of a fake-out ending didn’t wholly work for me.

Still, I enjoyed the time I spent with this one, and its look at obsession, guilt, and autonomy is really compelling. There are also a couple of deeply unsettling moments that will stick with me. In fact, I’d love to see Johnson write a novel that leans even further into horror; this was definitely at its strongest when she did so. Richly atmospheric, it is certainly a read I’d recommend; but I’d urge you to go in knowing as little as possible, in the hope it is able to catch you off-guard.

Connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Leave the World Behind by Rumaan Alam | Book Review

Leave the World Behind by Rumaan Alam

Published by Ecco, 2020

Rating:

[image error]Asking critical questions about trust, family and power, Leave the World Behind is a masterclass in delayed tension, as two families seek to overcome their differences and survive what may be the end of days.

Amanda, Clay and their two teenage children have rented a remote vacation home in Long Island to escape the stresses of daily life. In the dead of night, the spell is broken by a knock at the door. It heralds the arrival of Ruth and G.H., an older Black couple who claim to own the property. They explain that New York has been hit by a blackout and that something strange is going on in the city, so they’ve returned to Long Island seeking shelter. Amanda and Clay warily let them in, though they have no WiFi, phone or TV signal to corroborate the couple’s story. As events take ever stranger turns, they will all be pushed to consider the fragile nature of safety and togetherness.

The opening chapters establish Amanda, Clay and their children as a typical middle-class, white American family, as eager to maintain their carefully curated image as they are prone to casual racism. It’s clear they are not bad people, and we sympathize with them later in the narrative, but it does well to highlight just how ingrained society’s prejudices surrounding race and class have become.

The arrival of Ruth and G.H. forces them to confront these biases within themselves. Amanda and Clay’s initial play for dominance and mistrust of the homeowners is rooted in harmful stereotypes and their misguided belief that a Black couple could never afford to own such a beautiful home.

You can read my full review over on BookBrowse. I also wrote a piece highlighting books that combine dystopia with an element of mystery, in a similar vein to this novel, which you can read here.

Connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Some Are Always Hungry by Jihyun Yun | Book Review

Some Are Always Hungry by Jihyun Yun

Published by University of Nebraska Press, 2020

Rating:

[image error]This collection of poetry is predominantly focussed on the physical and emotional hardships of the immigrant experience, and the ways this trauma can be passed from one generation to the next. The use of language is visceral, the structure playful, and several lines throughout hit me like a sucker punch.

There is such reverence for food in this collection, and I thought this recurring motif was used really effectively. Yun explores the art and ritual of food preparation, celebrating its ability to connect families with their heritage; tastes and smells transporting them to their homeland. But she also comments on the intense, animalistic consumption that is often inherent to those who have known true hunger.

Though deeply personal, the collection pulls back at times to take in wider contextual details, exploring the various factors that can push people to relocate in the first place. War, Occupation, abuse, and poverty are all touched upon, as are the various issues that await immigrants when they reach their new homes, such as racism, language barriers, and a pressure to shed aspects of their identities – even down to their birthnames.

While it’s fair to say there isn’t a huge amount of light to balance the themes’ innate melancholy, it’s an impressive collection overall, and Yun is a poet I’m glad to have discovered.

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

Connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

September Wrap Up

[image error] The books I read in September

September was a strange month (but aren’t they all, these days?). I kicked things off with some fantastic reads, and though I hit a bit of a wall and felt like I was barely reading at all for the second half of the month, I still ended up finishing 9 books overall, which I’m happy with all things considered! My yearly total currently stands at 94, so with any luck I should hit my 100 book target within the next month. In the meantime, here are some brief thoughts on what I read in September with links to full reviews if you’d like to know more.

Strange Flowers by Donal Ryan

[ ] In his latest novel, Ryan has created a sweeping family saga that chronicles three generations’ worth of secrets and longing, looking at how love can help us overcome even the greatest losses and the most fundamental of differences. The diversity of love and the duality of religion are also placed beneath the microscope, all tied together by Ryan’s characteristically beautiful prose.

His Only Wife by Peace Adzo Medie

[ ] Full review to come for BookBrowse.

Peach by Emma Glass

[ ] With its truly singular approach, this intense, captivating novella explores the physical and psychological fallout of sexual assault like no other fiction I’ve encountered. Written in short, staccato sentences and regularly employing surreal imagery, the book’s unorthodox, bewildering style will certainly divide readers, but I thought it was a visceral sucker punch.

Leave the World Behind by Rumaan Alam

[ ] Full review to come for BookBrowse.

Here Is the Beehive by Sarah Crossan

[ ] Ana and Connor have been having an affair for three years when the latter dies abruptly in a traffic accident. Unable to grieve for a man no one knew she loved, and forced to properly confront her lover’s wife for the first time, Ana’s situation is fraught with moral dilemmas, and Crossan does an excellent job of fleshing out a complex character without ever sitting in judgement.

The Shielding of Mrs Forbes by Alan Bennett

[ ] This humorous yet cutting short looks at the folly of trying to keep up appearances, as a closeted gay man marries a woman to ‘protect’ his prim and proper mother. A tangled web of secrets and blackmail ensues, and though I enjoyed the core themes at play, I thought it edged a little too close to farce.

Anything Resembling Love by S. Qiouyi Lu

[ ] Set in a world where unwanted or intense physical contact can cause insects to erupt from our skin, this short serves as powerful allegory for body autonomy, sexuality, and trauma. Lu does an excellent job of commenting on the way society conditions people (particularly girls) to fear and detest their own bodies’ natural functions, and to force themselves to placate the desires of men.

The Seep by Chana Porter

[ ] Set in a future where a strange alien presence has infected mankind, making time and existence fluid, we follow a trans woman who resents and resists this supposed utopia. It asks lots of big questions, being primarily concerned with what makes us human; if we are not comprised of our past and our memories, then what are we? It’s striking and stimulating, but with characters often becoming clumsy mouthpieces for the book’s themes, I failed to connect emotionally.

The Harpy by Megan Hunter

[ ] The inclusion of superfluous magical realism elements hampers this otherwise brilliant look at marriage, revenge, violence, and forgiveness. Following a woman who has been given permission to hurt her husband three times after she learns of his affair, there are several interesting themes at play. Chiefly, the disparity in society’s reaction to physical and emotional pain.

There we have it! My favourite read of the month was Leave the World Behind. What was yours?

Connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

The Harpy by Megan Hunter | Book Review

The Harpy by Megan Hunter

Published by Grove Press, 2020

Rating:

[image error]When Lucy discovers that her husband has been having an affair with one of his colleagues, they agree that she will be allowed to hurt him three times as penance. This look at marriage, revenge, violence, and forgiveness is at times brilliant, but it suffers from a desire to work in a fabulist subplot that ultimately feels superfluous.

The novel really shines when it plants itself firmly in the real world, focusing on Lucy’s mental anguish and the endurance of domesticity in the face of life shattering news. She manages to capture the contrasting comfort and resentment that can stem from parental responsibility, especially where mothers are concerned. Indeed, Hunter does an excellent job of making Lucy and her husband Jake feel like complex, three dimensional characters, with both being capable of great tenderness and savage cruelty.

Glimpses of Lucy’s childhood – during which she was exposed to extreme domestic abuse between her parents – show the ripple effect that trauma can have throughout a person’s life, warping her perception of violence and atonement. This thread builds on one of the book’s best and most prominent themes, which is the disparity in society’s response to emotional and physical pain. If we know it’s wrong to inflict physical suffering on our spouses, why does the emotional pain of betrayal invite little more than gossip and sneering from those around us?

All of this, and a sense of building tension, make for a truly gripping read. And though it could be argued that the prose is overdone, something about the narrative voice really worked for me. Running in parallel with Lucy’s story, however, we are given occasional snippets of a magical-realism-esque perspective that plays with the mythology surrounding harpies. There is obvious and interesting thematic intent here – about the demonisation of women and the potential monster that lurks within all of us – but they never felt integrated enough to add anything that wasn’t already being explored through the core narrative. These asides were always brief enough not to distract too much. That is, until we reach the book’s climax. Hunter chooses to abandon her realist approach and lean fully into the strangeness and ambiguity of the harpy side plot. Though part of me appreciated the dual interpretations this ultimately offered up regarding the conclusion of Lucy’s story, either outcome feels unearned when framed in this way.

Uneven but always compelling, it’s possible this suffered all the more for its imperfections, simply because of how brilliant it proved it could be.

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

C onnect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

The Seep by Chana Porter | Book Review

The Seep by Chana Porter

Published by Soho Press, 2020

Rating:

[image error]The Seep has a striking concept and plays with lots of interesting ideas. Set in the future, Earth has been ‘gently’ invaded by a strange alien presence known as The Seep. Under The Seep’s intoxicating power, all humans have become connected, hierarchy has fallen, and existence has become fluid, allowing people to change their bodies at will. Trina, a 50-year-old trans woman, tries largely to reject The Seep’s influence, embittered by her wife’s decision to be reborn as an infant so she can live her life again, thus ending their relationship.

I won’t say much else about the plot, because it’s fair to say there isn’t a lot of it. Indeed, what little plot there is always feels secondary, serving as a loose framework around which the author can explore the book’s themes.

As a trans woman, Trina has had to fight to create the body she desires, and so it seems entirely understandable that she would resent the flippancy with which people can now morph into anyone or anything they want without question or resistance. And though The Seep would be capable of erasing all memory of her wife to spare her the pain of having lost her, Trina refuses, choosing instead to weather her grief as proof of what they once had. As such, The Seep is fundamentally concerned with asking us to consider what makes us human; if we are not comprised of our past and our memories, then what are we? Do we not need to suffer pain in order to know the joy of love and happiness? Is a future without death truly a utopia?

These are all big questions, but Porter explores them from a unique perspective, and though the world building is kept somewhat scant, what we are given is fascinating. That said, there are several instances in which things feel quite heavy-handed; the characters becoming mouthpieces that spell out the author’s every intention a tad too clearly. In a novel that already prioritises theme over plot and character, this clumsiness stands out all the more.

Though it didn’t engage me on an emotional level, I found it intellectually stimulating nonetheless. If you’re drawn to books that explore the psychology of the human experience, and our relationship with our bodies, then The Seep is certainly worth checking out.

C onnect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Alan Bennett & S. Qiouyi Lu | Mini Reviews

The Shielding of Mrs Forbes by Alan Bennett

Published by Faber & Faber, 2019

Rating:

[image error]I really like the central idea being explored in this short from the Faber Stories range. Wishing to protect his seemingly naïve and prim mother from scandal, Graham marries a woman to keep his sexuality a secret. But when his lover starts blackmailing him, it becomes clear that no one is quite as oblivious – or as innocent – as they’re leading others to believe.

The tone is largely humorous and cutting, with none of the characters being particularly likeable. With everyone tangled up in different aspects of the same lie, it’s clear that Bennett is commenting on the folly of trying to keep up appearances. Still, a few too many twists towards the end tipped things into the realms of farce for me, making the narrative itself feel too contrived to be believable.

In the age-old debate of concept versus execution, I definitely preferred the former here.

Anything Resembling Love by S. Qiouyi Lu

Published by Tor Books, 2020

Rating:

[image error]The concept of this short is so striking; its magical realism elements serving as powerful allegory concerning body autonomy, sexuality, and trauma. In this world, any kind of physical contact that incites pain, stress or discomfort can cause insects to erupt from beneath your skin. Despite it being a completely normal occurrence, it often triggers shame and revulsion, with Lu commenting on the way society conditions people (particularly girls) to fear and detest their own bodies’ natural functions, and to force themselves to placate the desires of men.

I won’t say anything about the plot itself, since it’s so short, but I thought the body horror was used to explore the story’s themes with due sensitivity, being suitably distressing without tipping into gratuity.

In addition to an Asian-American protagonist, there’s also some great, normalised representation of a non-binary, ace character which I thought was handled really well, with Lu using our heroine’s relationship with her roommate to look at the importance of friendship and solidarity. Yet more reasons to check this one out!

You can read Anything Resembling Love online for free by clicking here.

C onnect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi

Here Is the Beehive by Sarah Crossan | Book Review

Here Is the Beehive by Sarah Crossan

Published by Bloomsbury, 2020

Rating:

[image error]Ana and Connor have been having an affair for three years when the latter dies abruptly in a traffic accident. Having always conducted their relationship in secret, Ana feels completely unable to grieve publicly. Making matters even more complicated, as Connor’s lawyer, Ana has been designated the executor of his Will, meaning she must finally confront Rebecca, the wife whose presence always loomed between them.

Crossan does an excellent job of fleshing out a complex narrator who is deeply flawed yet sympathetic, neither glorifying nor sitting in judgement of the poor moral choices Ana has made. Shifting back and forth through time to explore Ana and Connor’s relationships – with each other and with their respective partners – Crossan explores the importance of honest communication, the pain of keeping secrets, the need for closure, and the struggle to find love when fundamentally, you don’t believe you deserve it.

The novel is written in verse, but that’s not to say it opts for poeticism over narrative or character depth. Linguistically, it very much reads like standard prose – though Crosson does have a lovely turn of phrase. Instead, the verse structure is used to give the novel a sense of brevity and flow; with Ana’s thoughts continuously jumping between past and present in a fleeting and fragmented way, reflective of her struggle to navigate her grief and confusion. It also lends the whole thing the feeling of a diary, helping us get inside Ana’s head as she wrestles with her grief, guilt, anger, and burgeoning obsession with Rebecca, the “other woman” who seems to defy her every expectation.

Opting for an approach that feels surprisingly understated given the potential melodrama inherent to its setup, the novel attempts to see a horrible situation from a perspective that is typically overlooked; reminding us to choose happiness when we can, for others’ sake as much as for our own.

You can pick up a copy of Here Is the Beehive by clicking here.

C onnect: Twitter | Goodreads | Ko-fi