Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 23

Tear Tracks, & Frida: The Story of Her Life | Mini Reviews

Tear Tracks by Malka Ann Older

Published by Tor Books, 2015

My rating:

[image error]This short from Tor Books is about a mission to make contact – and attempt to draw up a peace treaty – with the first newly discovered alien race. It has many hallmarks of classic sci-fi, and is a quick, engaging read, but it’s the subtext that helps this one stand out – even if it does become a little heavy-handed by the end. Essentially, the story is a riff on the idea of what constitutes power, and where, as a society, we place credence. Chiefly, Older asks the reader to consider why we feel compelled to supress pain.

The lack of a proper denouement is interesting. It certainly left me wanting more, but I can’t quite decide if it did so in the good way or not. Still, I enjoyed the quieter, more contemplative approach to a sci-fi/first contact narrative, and would read more from the author.

You can read Tear Tracks for free online by clicking here.

Frida: The Story of Her Life by Vanna Vinci (translated from the Italian by Katharine Cofer)

Published by Prestel Publishing, 2017

My rating:

[image error]This graphic memoir of Frida Kahlo offers a particularly insightful look into life with chronic pain, and the transformative power of art. It’s very interestingly structured, both in its forgoing of traditional panels in favour of a freeform layout, and in its narrative framing, with the book presented as though a first-person discussion between Kahlo and Death. Having suffered many losses throughout her life, and flirted dangerously close to death many times herself, this has effective thematic resonance.

I appreciate that Vinci chose to present Kahlo as the complex being she was, rightfully celebrating her genius and magnetism, but refusing to shy away from her prejudices and infidelities. Vinci’s artwork is also perfectly suited to the task at hand, drawing clear inspiration from Kahlo’s work, and incorporating motifs that dominated her subject’s own style. It’s a great example of where the graphic memoir form can really enhance the material; the beautiful, vivid, sensual, and often surreal imagery adding an immersive quality while also paying additional homage to the life and work of a fascinating artist.

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Examples of Vinci’s art style

You can pick up a copy of Frida: The Story of Her Life by clicking here.

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10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World by Elif Shafak | Book Review

10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World by Elif Shafak

Published by Viking, 2019

My rating:

[image error]Reading this novel was an odd experience, in that I flipped between immensely enjoying it and finding it incredibly frustrating on multiple occasions. Put simply, it’s full of excellent themes, ideas, and characters, but the execution is almost uniformly clumsy, leaving me with the distinct impression that it’s a brilliant book trapped inside a good one.

The story is presented largely in two parts. In the first, Leila has just been murdered, and though her body has already shut down, her brain has precisely 10 minutes and 38 seconds of activity left, during which time she is able to revisit key memories from throughout her lifetime. At first, though a striking concept, this proved somewhat tedious. Not only do we have the main character recounting her own birth (a very specific pet peeve of mine), but these early scenes are described in excruciating, unnecessary detail, the author’s push for ‘beautiful’ writing awkwardly apparent. Once the narrative finds its focus, however, things really start to improve.

The bulk of Leila’s memories centre around why she became estranged from her birth family, and how she came to meet each of her five closest friends, who, like her, are all societal outcasts. In the novel’s second half, the focus shifts to these five friends as they attempt to claim Leila’s body for burial. Since none of them are blood relatives, they are refused, with Leila’s body destined for the Cemetery of the Companionless instead. As much as I loved Shafak’s commentary on the injustice of this, and her exploration of the power of found family, this section was also not without its flaws. Firstly, though each character is interesting in their own right, the group feels ragtag to the point of caricature, and prior to Leila’s death, we see little to no interaction between them as a combined group. This makes it hard to buy them as a united front straight away. Secondly, their attempts to reclaim Leila’s body and give her a proper funeral – though compellingly readable and full of heartfelt intention – err dangerously close to farce, with the latter section of the book reading strangely like a slapstick buddy flick at times.

That said, there are consistently moments of excellence throughout. I love the way the group navigate the diversity of religious and political beliefs amongst them. There’s a particularly brilliant exchange between a devout believer and a non-believing transgender character. The former puts little stock into what happens to Leila’s body, believing the importance lies in setting her soul free, while the latter, who has had to fight her whole life to craft the body she desires, feels quite the opposite. It’s in these quieter, nuanced explorations of difference, tolerance, and understanding that the book really shines.

I’m definitely glad I read this, as even when certain elements were exaggerated to the point of frustration, I remained invested in the overall narrative throughout. That has to speak for something. If Shafak’s style didn’t wholly work for me, I certainly admired the warmth, wisdom, and purpose behind her words.

You can pick up a copy of 10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World from Book Depository by clicking here.

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The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins | Book Review

The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins

Published by Penguin, 2019

My rating:

[image error]Frannie Langton has been called many things throughout her life. ‘Mulatta’, slave, whore, seductress. And now murderer. Facing the death penalty for the supposed killing of her white master and mistress, Frannie vows she remembers nothing of the fateful night in question, though maintains she could never have murdered Mrs Benham, the woman with whom she was deeply in love. This novel is her testimony, taking us all the way from her birth on a plantation in Jamaica to her incarceration in London, as she attempts to make sense of the life she has lived, and to prove her innocence – to the jury as much as to herself.

Frannie is a phenomenally well-drawn character. Complex, intelligent, passionate, and unfalteringly human, Collins has created a character whose flaws make her all the more compelling. As we learn ever-more about her chequered past, Collins explores the burden of internalised shame and trauma, and asks us to consider where we draw the line on culpability. She does so by laying bare the trappings of race, class, gender, and sexuality, and the admirable though often morally ambiguous fight to gain autonomy in a world that will only ever see you as lesser.

Collins’ prose is also fantastic. She evokes the balmy heat of Jamaica and the opium-fuelled musk of Georgian London with equal aplomb. Visceral and transporting, I was drawn into the rich, seedy world of her heroine from the very beginning; the beauty of the writing itself serving as the perfect foil for the pain of Frannie’s story.

There is also a wonderfully playful, meta element to the book. The whole thing is written in the second person, addressed to the lawyer defending Frannie in court. She sees this as her literal confession, and hopes he may one day be able to get it published. As a woman of colour, she is well aware that her story will be twisted to fit existing narratives informed by misogynistic, racist stereotypes. This is Frannie reclaiming her story; the implication that we are now holding that successfully published manuscript adding a deeply poignant layer of realism to the reading experience.

I flew through this novel in a mere few sittings. There are as many unexpected turns in the narrative as there are tragically inevitable ones, and a consistent thread about the power of books to impart knowledge – and offer escapism – that I adored. Frannie is a heroine I know will continue to haunt my thoughts for quite some time; Collins an author whose career I can’t wait to follow.

You can pick up a copy of The Confessions of Frannie Langton with free shipping from Book Depository by clicking here.

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January Wrap Up

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The books I read in January

The first month of 2020 may have passed in a weird haze, but I did pick up some great books along the way. I read 9 in all, making a solid start towards my annual goal of 100. Here are some brief thoughts on each of them, with links to full reviews in case you’d like to know more.

The Bees by Carol Ann Duffy

[ ] This collection was a mixed bag, the poems oscillating between the clumsily blatant and the impenetrably obscure. When Duffy strikes the sweet spot between the two, there’s no denying her ability to pack a punch. The highlights here were the poems that explored the loss of her mother.

The Girls with No Names by Serena Burdick

[ ] Full review to come for BookBrowse next month!

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo

[ ] This is a heartfelt, moving, and refreshingly vibrant distillation of contemporary womanhood at the intersection of culture, race, class, sexuality, and identity. Evaristo gives voice to those who are routinely told they are, indeed, ‘Other’, celebrating the diversity of contemporary British society, and the resilience it takes to face the daily prejudices of ingrained racism. The structure and character trajectory become a little repetitive, but there’s so much warmth and wisdom to be imparted.

Disappearing Earth by Julia Phillips

[ ] A very interesting look at the ingrained social prejudices that cause communities to close ranks during times of conflict. There was much to admire here, but I was left feeling lukewarm due to mis-marketing pushing a needless thriller-esque framing, and the use of a few too many perspectives, which left several tangential threads unresolved.

Mythologica by Steve Kershaw & Victoria Topping

[ ] This encyclopaedia serves as a condensed, handy reference point on key figures and events from Ancient Greek mythology. The highlight is undoubtedly Topping’s stunning artwork, with each of the 50 figures covered receiving a full-page portrait that cleverly draws on iconography from their respective stories.

Follow Me To Ground by Sue Rainsford

[ ] Highly metaphorical and elusive in approach, this startlingly singular novel about a woman born of the earth with remarkable healing powers can be interpreted in a number of ways. To me it speaks about the cost of intimacy, wilful blindness and the folly of trying to change those we love, the vilification of female bodies and power, and a desire for women to shape their own futures. Rainsford’s prose is visceral and earthy, creating a compellingly dark, ethereal tone that kept me gripped throughout.

Without Ever Reaching the Summit by Paolo Cognetti

[ ] This journal-esque memoir translated from the Italian chronicles Cognetti’s voyage in the Himalayas, as he seeks to escape the rush of everyday life, and explore the remote landscapes and cultures under increasing threat of erasure from outside forces. It has a gentle quality, evoking a reverence for the natural world, and though I enjoyed my time with it, I felt it lacked a little bit of punch.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

[ ] In stunning prose, Vuong explores a complex web of themes, including cultural identity, sexuality, the inheritance of shame, the lingering effects of war throughout immigrant families, toxic masculinity, drug addiction, and the healing power of love and acceptance when society has repeatedly deemed you ‘other’. It’s a lot to tackle in one book, but Vuong pulls it off with a rawness and a poignancy that is to be greatly admired.

Tear Tracks by Malka Ann Older

[ ] A quieter, more contemplative take on a first contact sci-fi narrative, Older asks us to consider why we suffer in silence, and what truly constitutes power. It’s short and highly readable, but lacks a proper denouement, and feels a little heavy-handed at times.

There we have it! This was a pretty solid start to my reading year. My favourite pick of the month was Follow Me To Ground, but I was also thrilled to discover Victoria Topping’s artwork via Mythologica. What was your favourite read in January?

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On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong | Book Review

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

Published by Jonathan Cape, 2019

My rating:

[image error]Vuong’s prior experience as a poet shines from every inch of this debut novel. His command over language, imagery, and the flow of words across a page is phenomenal; undoubtedly the main reason to seek this book out.

That said, there is still a plot to guide us through. Chiefly, our narrator’s efforts to reconcile with his own identity, and to make sense of the fraught relationship dynamics he shares with both his mother and his first love. And though the narrative itself always felt somewhat secondary, it remained no less poignant and emotionally compelling throughout. Indeed, it served as the perfect vehicle to show off Vuong’s writerly prowess, and functioned as an ideal in to the book’s many themes; that of cultural identity, sexuality, toxic masculinity, the inheritance of shame, the pain of intergenerational trauma, the lingering effects of war throughout immigrant families, drug addiction, and the healing power of finding love and acceptance when society has always deemed you ‘other’.

That’s a lot of big, complex issues to tackle in a book that clocks in at around 250 pages, but Vuong’s incisive, eloquent, and compellingly human approach allows him to imbue all of the ideas tackled with suitable nuance and reverence, with nothing feeling forced or underdeveloped. Framed as though an extended letter to his illiterate mother, our narrator is able to pour his heart out in a way otherwise unthinkable. In this respect, there’s a brutality and a rawness to the narration that acts as a perfect foil to the author’s linguistic beauty.

Given the numerous rave reviews I’ve seen for this, it’s fair to say I picked it up with very high expectations, and whilst it was always going to be tough to meet them in every respect, boy did this come close. I can’t wait to try more of Vuong’s work.

You can pick up a copy of On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Without Ever Reaching the Summit by Paolo Cognetti | Book Review

Without Ever Reaching the Summit by Paolo Cognetti (translated from the Italian by Stash Luczkiw)

Published by HarperOne, 2020

My rating:

[image error]This journal-esque memoir chronicles Cognetti’s voyage in the Himalayas. His intention was never to reach the summit or ‘conquer the mountains’, but to follow the trail laid out in Peter Matthiesen’s The Snow Leopard; to escape the rush of everyday life, and explore the remote landscapes and cultures under increasing threat of erasure from outside sources.

There’s a calming quality to Cognetti’s prose, the translation from Italian having been handled seamlessly. He evokes the wonder and tranquillity of the natural world, and a reverence for the comparatively simple ways of life he encounters during his journey. Though the author never resorts to preaching, there’s a clear and important message to be learned here; that there’s a wellbeing to be found in stripping away contemporary distractions and remaining closer to nature, and that ancient cultures and customs are worth protecting.

Despite the book’s gentle feel, Cognetti doesn’t shy away from depicting the physical and mental demands of mountaineering (an aspect I really liked), while recurring references to Matthiesen’s aforementioned The Snow Leopard mean this also serves as an homage to the comfort and inspiration of a beloved read.

I very much enjoyed the time I spent with the book, though I did feel it came to a rather abrupt end. The overall tone and intention of Cognetti’s writing may have resonated, but I was left wanting for a more concrete moment of epiphany or revelation, considering the book’s claim to be a ‘journey of self-discovery’. Perhaps this was intentional, mirroring the lack of a final destination in Cognetti’s physical journey and thus tying in nicely with the book’s title. From a reader’s perspective, however, the quiet fizzling out felt a little underwhelming.

Nonetheless, this is pleasant little love letter to a remarkable and singular place, well worth checking out if you enjoy unconventional travel memoirs, nature writing, and literary tributes.

Thank you to the publisher for an uncorrected proof via Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review. You can pre-order a copy of Without Ever Reaching the Summit by clicking here.

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Follow Me To Ground by Sue Rainsford | Book Review

Follow Me To Ground by Sue Rainsford

Published by Doubleday, 2019

My rating:

[image error]From its beguiling synopsis, I expected something more than a little odd when I ventured into Follow Me To Ground, but I was certainly not prepared for a reading experience so startlingly singular.

The fabulist elements found here are far more literal than I was anticipating, and this may prove alienating for some. Ada and her father are not quite human. Though her father’s genesis remains mysterious, Ada was born of the earth, but moulded, literally and figuratively, by her father. They live on the edge of a village, where they are regularly sought out by the locals for their remarkable healing powers. Able to reach inside people to remove sickness and pain, Ada’s gift begins to manifest in erratic and unreliable ways when she strikes up a relationship with a mortal man; a man with a dark nature that could be Ada’s undoing.

There are lots of interesting themes to unpack in this novel. Rainsford is clearly preoccupied with the language used to describe women’s bodies, and the vilification of female power – both of which are made very literal via striking imagery that tilts into body horror at times. There are lots of biblical references, in both events and character names, and an overall tone that draws heavily from folk tales.

With such a metaphorical approach to narrative and character, it seems almost inevitable that the book remains open to interpretation. To me, it speaks about the cost of intimacy, and wilful blindness where love and lust are concerned. It speaks about the misguided ways in which we try to ‘fix’ or ‘change’ others, and the magic of communing with the natural world. Most of all, it feels like a rallying call to women, imploring them to trust their natural instincts; to follow their own desires and sacrifice their talents for no man.

I do feel there was some wasted potential here, however. Far from wanting everything served up to the reader on a silver platter with a neat little bow on top, too many fascinating ideas were merely flirted with; the possibility of greater narrative and thematic impact lost to the book’s ever elusive nature. It felt like the author was always on the cusp of saying something powerful and profound, but never quite found the nerve to bring the reader close enough.

On a more positive note, however, Rainsford’s prose is excellent. There’s a visceral, earthy quality to her writing that establishes a suitably otherworldly atmosphere. It was this that kept me hooked; a mood so darkly compelling and images so arresting that I’m sure the book will linger in my mind for quite some time.

You can pick up a copy of Follow Me To Ground from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Poetry & Mythology | Mini Reviews

The Bees by Carol Ann Duffy

Published by Picador, 2011

My rating:

[image error]Reading a collection of Duffy’s poetry is an odd experience, in that her work often oscillates between the clumsily blatant and the impenetrably obscure. When she strikes the sweet spot between the two, there’s no denying her ability to pack a punch with a limited word count. The highlights here were the poems that explored the loss of her mother, particularly the pieces, ‘Water’ and ‘Cold’.

You can pick up a copy of The Bees from Book Depository by clicking here.

Mythologica by Dr. Steve Kershaw & Victoria Topping

Published by Wide Eyed Editions, 2019

My rating:

[image error]This encyclopaedia of gods, monsters, and mortals from Ancient Greece serves as a fantastic entry point or reference guide for those at all interested in mythology. The book highlights 50 key figures, and though the text for each character isn’t exactly exhaustive, we’re given a condensed snapshot of their role within the canon, and a few interesting facts about them. Seasoned myth enthusiasts are unlikely to learn anything new, as such, but having been written by a Classics scholar and Greek mythology expert, the information is succinct and reliable.

The real draw here is undoubtedly going to be Victoria Topping’s stunning artwork. Each figure is given a full-page portrait that cleverly draws on iconography from that particular character’s story. Topping’s style is bold, stylised, and perfectly suited to the powerful yet enigmatic nature of her subjects. It really is one of those ‘I could happily have every page of this framed on my wall’ kind of books, and I know I’m going to flick through it time and time again, in awe of just how gorgeous it is.

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A few examples of Topping’s wonderful artwork.

It would make a fantastic gift for any lover of mythology, but by all means treat yourself!

You can pick up a copy of Mythologica from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Mary Toft; or, The Rabbit Queen by Dexter Palmer | Book Review

Mary Toft; or, The Rabbit Queen by Dexter Palmer

Published by Pantheon Books, 2019

My rating:

[image error]When a young woman claims to have given birth to a dead rabbit, the eyes of a nation descend upon her. Through the framework of this true story, Palmer examines the conflict between science and superstition in 18th century England.

The year is 1726 and the sleepy town of Godalming has been rocked by scandal. Called to the bedside of Mary Toft, surgeon John Howard watches in horror as she appears to give birth to the dismembered body of a rabbit. Miracle or abomination, the events draw attention from respected doctors and tongue-wagging gossips alike. Worse still, the birth proves to be the first of many. Summoned to London by the King himself, there is only so long Mary can insist upon the integrity of her story; just as those who offer to help her cannot mask their own pursuits of fame and fortune indefinitely.

Despite being the book’s eponymous heroine, and the nucleus around which the entire narrative revolves, it’s important to note that Mary is not the one telling us her story. Her weary perspective is confined to a couple of chapters — the rest being relayed to us by a chorus of male doctors and clergymen who claim knowledge of the female body far beyond their means.

Read my full review over at BookBrowse by clicking here. I also wrote a piece for BookBrowse about exploitation as a means of entertainment in the Georgian era, to hopefully provide extra context for the book’s setting and themes. You can find it by clicking here.

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Disappearing Earth by Julia Phillips | Book Review

Disappearing Earth by Julia Phillips

Published by Scribner, 2019

My rating:

[image error]Though I had been pre-warned to go into this expecting something that erred more towards literary fiction than your typical thriller, I can’t deny I was still left a little perplexed by the way the book has been presented and marketed. Words like, ‘propulsive’, ‘compelling’, and ‘riveting page-turner’ adorn the cover, and the basic setup has all the hallmarks of an addictive whodunnit: two young sisters are kidnapped, and we see the ripple effect this crime has on their remote Russian community.

In reality, this book is very much a slow burn – to the extent that I actually found some sections a bit of a slog to get through. The supposed lynchpin of the novel – the disappearance of the young girls – takes a backseat for the vast majority of the novel, barely even mentioned in most chapters. It serves more as a plot device for Phillips to explore the themes this book really set out to tackle: the engrained racism, misogyny, and homophobia that cause certain communities to close ranks and cast suspicion at those considered ‘other’. In particular, the book is concerned with the hypocrisy of the hostility shown towards a country’s indigenous population, when their culture has been so marginalized that they are made to feel like the intruders.

The main stumbling block that stopped me from fully investing in the narrative was how disjointed it was. This was due in large part to the sheer number of point-of-view characters we follow – a different one in every chapter. Some are directly linked to others; some marginally so; others are highly removed from the main story arc and are never so much as mentioned again. For me, the most interesting and successful chapters by far were the ones that opened and closed the book. It seems no coincidence that these are the only chapters that focus directly on the core plot point. The former follows the sisters themselves on the day of their kidnap – an opening chapter that was phenomenally well executed; tense, anxiety inducing, and heartbreaking all at once – while the latter follows their mother almost a year after their disappearance, as clues to their fate finally start to fall into place.

Though a couple of seemingly disparate plot threads and characters did gain additional context in the final chapter, creating a considerably more impressive and satisfying bigger picture, a few too many chapters along the way just felt extraneous to me, with almost every subplot introduced in these narrative off-shoots remaining unresolved.

Ultimately, the book ending up feeling more like a series of loosely interconnected short stories that placed this community, its many prejudices, and the daily sorrows of its people under the microscope. That, in itself, is an interesting enough setup with plenty of scope for Phillips to explore her themes and show off her excellent prose. It’s in that respect (and feel free to call me cynical) that the thriller-esque framing came off predominantly like a push to make the book more marketable.

This is one of those reviews that feels more negative than I’d like it to, simply because I went into the book with high hopes of loving it. Phillips is a talented writer who explores complex themes with the nuance they warrant, and presents her characters as realistically flawed and human. The narrative structure may not have worked for me in this instance, but I will certainly keep an eye out for whatever she does next.

If you’d like to pick up a copy of Disappearing Earth, you can find it on Book Depository with free shipping by clicking here.

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