Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 24

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo | Book Review

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo

Published by Hamish Hamilton, 2019

My rating:

[image error]Mercifully, Girl, Woman, Other is the kind of critically and commercially successful novel that is able to live up to its own extensive hype. Focussing on the loosely interconnected lives of 12 characters (mostly women, mostly black, and mostly British), it is a heartfelt, moving, and refreshingly vibrant distillation of contemporary womanhood at the intersection of culture, race, class, sexuality, and identity.

In both the parallels and the differences between each character’s experiences, Evaristo gives voice to those who are routinely told they are, indeed, ‘Other’: People of colour, queer people, immigrants, and women. By doing so, she champions the diversity of modern Britain, and honours the resilience it takes to get through life when home doesn’t always feel so welcoming. I very much enjoyed her incisive look at the balancing act children of immigrants face when attempting to embrace their own inherent Britishness while staying connected to the heritage of their ancestors, and the ongoing struggle towards self-acceptance when society has repeatedly tried to convince you you are somehow lesser.

Because we are given so many viewpoints, with each character’s section following a similar trajectory (identity crisis, coming-of-age, finding their place in the world), the already sparse plot did start to feel incidental, with little in the way of climax or conclusion. And whilst I adored how wonderfully diverse the cast of complex characters was, there were moments it threatened to tip into the realm of box ticking, with jarringly woke info-dump conversations about queer labels. These felt more like a vehicle for Evaristo to educate her readership rather than being organically reflective of the lives and loves of her characters. I’m aware that a book feeling ‘too inclusive’ is an odd criticism, and perhaps it says more about the overall state of our media than it does this particular book, but something about its handling felt a little forced to me in certain moments. Or maybe I’m just too woke myself for such conversations to feel revelatory, lol.

So, while my heart wasn’t quite captured by this one, I have a huge amount of respect for the warmth and wisdom it has to impart. I can understand its Booker win, and fully anticipate its inclusion on this year’s longlist for the Women’s Prize for Fiction.

You can find a copy of Girl, Woman, Other on Book Depository by clicking here. (At the time of posting this review, I notice it’s currently half-price, so now may be a good time if you’ve been planning to pick it up!)

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Reading Year in Review & 2020 Goals

As we start to turn our attention to the year ahead, there’s one last opportunity to look back on 2019. I’m going to take stock of how I got on with my reading goals, reflect on my reading year in general, and set some new goals for 2020 accordingly.

My first goal for 2019 was to read 100 books. Having read 124, this one gets a tick.
My second goal was to read more non-fiction. I read 9 non-fiction books in 2018, and upped this to 10 in 2019 (12 if you count a couple of graphic memoirs). It’s a tentative success, but a step in the right direction nonetheless.
My third goal was to read more plays. I did not read a single one. Epic fail.
My fourth goal was to read more Daphne du Maurier. I read one of her novels in 2019, so we’ll call this one a very soft victory.
My final goal was to keep mood reading. This one is hard to quantify. I’d say I managed it fairly well, though committing to a book prize longlist and a month’s worth of translated lit did throw a bit of a spanner in the works in terms of avoiding TBRs and going with the flow.

That brings me on to a couple of supplementary goals I added as the year went on. Alongside an excellent group of blogging friends, I decided to read the entire longlist for the Women’s Prize for Fiction. It was something that had been on my bookish bucket list for a while, and though we arguably didn’t pick the best year to do it, I’m really glad to say I managed to read and review the entire selection before the shortlist/winner was announced.

August is women in translation month. At the very last minute, I decided to read only books that would fall into that category for the whole of the month. Again, I’m glad I did this, and it pushed me to pick up some excellent reads I may otherwise not have prioritised.

Taking a more general look at my reading year, I would describe it as fairly… meh? It certainly wasn’t a bad year for books; I read 124 of them, gave an average rating of 3.5 stars, and certainly uncovered some gems – the best of which I talked about here. I suppose the reason I feel somewhat underwhelmed is that, despite reading lots of great books throughout the year, I didn’t find any new all-time favourites. I know we can’t expect to do so every year, but still, we can’t help but hope.

I never do or don’t read a book based on the author’s gender, but I decided to analyse my reading based on authorship purely out of interest. It showed that I’ve been reading far more books by women than men (which I’m more than happy with), but it also highlighted an obvious lack of books by non-binary authors on my shelves (recommendations to help with this are very welcome!).

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I then decided to break down my 2019 reading based on form. I wasn’t at all surprised to see that novels are my book of choice, but I am sad to see that poetry largely fell by the wayside. That’s something I’d like to address moving forward.

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As for 2020 goals, I’m going to keep it pretty simple:

Read 100 books. It’s a solid number that will help me make a dent in my TBR without feeling too daunting.
Read more poetry. I touched on this already, but I’d definitely like to start reaching for poetry more often again.
Do more buddy reads. I read and chatted about a few past Women’s Prize winners with the same group of aforementioned friends in 2019, and I’m hoping we’ll pick up a few more this year.
Keep reading translated lit. English language literature dominates the market, and it’s sad to think about how many amazing books fly under the radar as a result. I read 17 translated books in 2019 (2 of which made my top 10 of the year), and I’d love if I could match or better that number in 2020.
Pick up my ‘Spotlight’ and ‘Let’s Recommend’ series. This is about blogging more than reading, but a bookish goal nonetheless. I’ve been reviewing everything I read on Goodreads for ages, but 2019 was the first time I reviewed everything in full on this blog, rather than just in monthly wrap ups. I’m so glad I made that switch, but it did mean a few of my previous blog series fell by the wayside a little. In particular, I’d like to do a few more spotlights and themed recommendation posts in 2020.

That’s it for specifics at the moment. I may commit to reading the Women’s Prize longlist again, and I may commit to reading only women in translation in August again. But in the spirit of embracing mood reading, I’ll see how I feel about both of those tentative goals nearer the time.

I’ll end this post as I always end my reading year in review; by bringing together every book I read throughout the past 12 months. If any covers/titles catch your eye, feel free to ask about them. In the meantime, happy reading, and all the best for 2020!

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The books I read in January

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The books I read in February

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The books I read in March

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The books I read in April

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The books I read in May

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The books I read in June

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The books I read in July

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The books I read in August

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The books I read in September

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The books I read in October

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The books I read in November

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The books I read in December

There we have it! Did you have a good reading year in 2019? What are your goals for 2020?

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December Wrap Up

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The books I read in December

We’ve just got time to squeeze one more wrap up out of the year before we head into 2020. I read 9 books throughout December, bringing my total number of reads for 2019 up to 124. Here are some brief thoughts on each of them, with links to my full reviews if you’d like to know more.

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk

[ ] The thriller-esque framing of this unconventional novel about a woman at odds with her community – convinced that animals are murdering people – didn’t quite work for me. The obvious nature of whodunnit (and why) led to a climax and payoff that sadly underwhelmed. On the other hand, I very much enjoyed its strong evocation of setting and atmosphere, the singular narrative voice, and its themes of animal welfare, fate versus free will, the line between defiance and madness, the lamentations of life in an aging body, and society’s dismissal of women.

The Tiger’s Wife by Téa Obreht

[ ] I was left feeling frustratingly apathetic towards this. Whilst I enjoyed the striking imagery, decent prose, and interesting ideas, I was held at too much of a distance by the disjointed narrative structure, heavy use of magical realism, and lack of closure.

Twas the Nightshift Before Christmas by Adam Kay

[ ] The real-life diaries of a former doctor, kept during the 7 consecutive festive periods he worked within the NHS. Kay’s trademark sarcasm brings much-needed levity to what could otherwise be a very upsetting read. With equal poignancy and humour, he highlights the level of personal sacrifice required to work as a junior doctor in times of budget cuts and unfathomable hours; reminding us all why we cannot afford to take frontline staff for granted.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling (illustrated by Jim Kay)

[ ] It’s always a nostalgic delight to revisit the wizarding world, flaws and all – especially at this time of year. Kay’s stunning illustrations add another layer of immersion, making this re-read feel both fresh and familiar all at once. I’ve always loved that Prisoner of Azkaban represented a turning point in the overall tone of the series, whilst Voldemort’s return in Goblet of Fire served as an equivalent turning point in the narrative.

Miss Marley by Vanessa Lafaye

[ ] This prequel to Dickens’ A Christmas Carol chronicles the downfall of Scrooge’s business partner, Jacob Marley, told from the perspective of his sister, Clara. It builds on key themes from the original (like fate versus free will, and the trappings of poverty), whilst also touching on historical female agency. Poignant and charming, this is a very successful tie-in novel that pays homage to the source material, enhancing rather than diminishing its legacy.

The Christmasaurus and the Winter Witch by Tom Fletcher

[ ] As with its predecessor, this is full of fun, festive loveliness. It touches on some good themes without ever distracting from the magic or adventure of the narrative. Christmas joy for any age.

The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen

[ ] This isn’t my favourite of Andersen’s fairy tales, but there is some memorable imagery, and I like that it’s the boy who is helpless and the girl who gets to save the day. This particular edition is greatly enhanced by Sanna Annukka’s gorgeous illustrations.

Wenceslas by Carol Ann Duffy

[ ] This festive poem from Duffy reminds us to extend the hand of human kindness to those less fortunate than ourselves. I love this sentiment, and think Stuart Kolakovic’s accompanying artwork is beautiful, but the poem itself (in terms of language, structure, flow, etc.) didn’t do a huge amount for me.

Waves by Ingrid Chabbert & Carole Maurel, translated from the French by Edward Gauvin

[ ] A suitably poignant look at parental grief, this graphic novel cleverly uses colour as a visual representation of loss and the journey to rekindle hope. It also has fantastic normalized queer representation, with the two women at the heart of the story never presented as anything other than a normal, loving couple.

There we have it! My favourite new reads of the month were Miss Marley and Waves, but I also loved revisiting Harry Potter. What was your favourite pick for December?

Here’s hoping we all have a wonderful reading year in 2020.

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Waves by Ingrid Chabbert & Carole Maruel | Book Review

Waves by Ingrid Chabbert & Carole Maurel, translated from the French by Edward Gauvin

Published by Archaia, 2019

My rating:

[image error]Waves is a graphic novel inspired by the author’s own experiences. We follow two women whose journey to have a child ends in tragedy, and the difficulties they face when trying to navigate their shared grief. As such, there are obvious trigger warnings here for infant death and bereavement.

The upsetting subject matter is handled with due sensitivity, with Maurel’s often dreamlike artwork well suited to the poignant tone of the narrative. Her use of colour is particularly effective, functioning as a visual representation of the book’s main themes. When we first join our characters, their excitement fills the world with vibrant colour. The moment they lose their child, this drains away entirely, leaving everything around them monochrome. As they make sense of their loss, connect with fellow bereaved parents, and begin to look towards the future, accents of colour begin to seep into the world once again; the spark of hope reignited. This simple but powerful creative choice perfectly encapsulates the characters’ devastation, and reflects the notion of finding ways to move forward through the numbness of pain.

With such emotionally charged content, the dialogue did dip into the overly saccharine for me at times, and there was an exchange with a doctor that I found jarringly implausible (I can only hope it was creative licence, and not something Chabbert actually experienced herself). Other than this, I thought the story was given both the reverence and the prevailing optimism it required.

I also very much enjoyed how normalised the queer representation was. This isn’t a story about two women trying to have a child; it’s a story about the pain that any loving couple losing a child would experience. The fact they are both women is purely incidental. There is absolutely a place for stories that put the specific impact of LGBT+ issues at the forefront, but it’s also vital that stories like this exist to highlight the underlying humanity that connects us all; the universal feelings of love and longing that transcend superficial differences.

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

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Top Reads of 2019

Having read 123 books so far in 2019, and loving many of them, it wouldn’t be fair to say I had a bad reading year. On the other hand, putting together a list of favourites didn’t come as naturally as in previous years. That said, I still want to highlight those that did eventually rise to the top of the pile. Some stood out as contenders very quickly, whilst others quietly improved the more time I took to mull them over. I’ll give a quick shout-out to some honourable mentions – A Spell of Winter by Helen Dunmore, A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride, What Red Was by Rosie Price, The Pisces by Melissa Broder, and The Best Awful by Carrie Fisher. But without further ado, here are my top 10 reads of 2019:

10. The White Book by Han Kang

[image error]I’m kicking the list off with a fairly unexpected pick. The White Book is a little more experimental than my usual favourites, but something about its singular pathos and stunning prose has really stayed with me. Masterfully translated from the Korean by Deborah Smith, the book is part novel, part memoir, part prose poetry collection; presented as a series of vignettes that ruminate on the role language plays in navigating grief and pain. I was moved and compelled as I read it, and it has continued to haunt my thoughts ever since, more than earning a place within my top 10.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

9. Liar by Ayelet Gundar-Goshen

[image error]At once a searing social commentary and a gripping page-turner, Liar explores the ease with which our words can take on a life of their own, and our moral responsibility to honour the truth, when a 17-year-old girl falsely accuses a celebrity of sexual assault. The strength of the book is in its characters, all of which are complex, flawed, and believable. The heady atmosphere and genuine stress-inducing tension are palpable, with Gundar-Goshen able to explore a hugely controversial topic without ever undermining the validity of genuine assault accusations. It’s as intelligent as it is readable, and it made me incredibly excited to explore more of the author’s work.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

8. Frankissstein by Jeanette Winterson

[image error]Anything with intelligent thematic and narrative parallels with one of my favourite novels is always going to get me excited, and I’m so pleased that this riff on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein did not disappoint. The book follows the real-life creation of Shelley’s masterpiece in 1818, and a group of fictional characters in modern-day Brexit Britain; the contrast between past and present allowing Winterson to comment on our timeless obsession with the nature of life and death, as well as changing attitudes towards gender roles, sexuality, identity, and the relationship between AI and human beings. At once a biting political satire and a love letter to a creative genius, this offers a truly singular reading experience.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

7. The Chrysalids by John Wyndham

[image error]Congratulations to John Wyndham for bring the only man you will find on this list. That wasn’t deliberate, but I’m not mad about it either. The Chrysalids is at once a gripping post-apocalyptic tale about society’s struggle to deal with the genetic fallout of a nuclear disaster, and a skilfully crafted allegory about the hypocrisy of intolerance and othering. Written well over 60 years ago, it’s remarkable how strongly its themes still resonate; nor has the narrative lost its ability to thrill and captivate.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

6. Normal People by Sally Rooney

[image error]This is a quiet powerhouse of a novel. Shrewdly observant to the point of feeling almost voyeuristic, we follow Connell and Marianne as they attempt to navigate the complexities of life, and to make sense of their feelings for one another. The anxiety of young love, the reality of modern-day class divides, the bewilderment of trying to move between social circles, and the pain of miscommunication are all skilfully explored in understated prose that belies Rooney’s keen perception of human nature.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

5. The Last by Hanna Jameson

[image error]On paper, an apocalyptic-nuclear-survival-story-meets-murder-mystery-meets-social-and-political-commentary shouldn’t work. Somehow, Hanna Jameson pulls it off, resulting in one of the most enjoyable reading experiences I had in 2019. The reason this book can be so many things at once and still work as a cohesive whole is that Jameson gives equal attention to each aspect of the complex narrative. Though this is an utterly engrossing, page-turning read, there is so much depth to examine. I was floored that a book this gripping and fun to read could also have so much to say, with Jameson commenting on everything from women’s reproductive rights to racial tensions, and from victim blaming to political unrest, all within the framing of a thrilling survival story that against all the odds, also manages to pay homage to the golden era of crime.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

4. The Wildlands by Abby Geni

[image error]For the second year running, Geni takes a spot in my top 5. In The Wildlands, we follow four orphaned siblings torn apart by the only brother’s involvement in an extreme act of eco-terrorism. The characters are all distinct and richly drawn; complex, flawed, and utterly believable. There is brilliantly nuanced commentary throughout on the pervasive quality of toxic masculinity, the dichotomy between action and intention, and the way we use storytelling to protect ourselves from the truth. The prose is lovely without ever feeling overdone, and I was consistently enthralled. It’s a powerful look at the bond of siblings; a searing critique of man’s false sense of power over nature; and an exploration of the animal instincts in all of us which can push us to lash out when we no longer understand our place in the world, but also to protect the ones we love.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

3. Wilder Girls by Rory Power

[image error]My experience with Power’s feminist, sci-fi, horror debut was another prime example of picking up the right book at precisely the right time. Wilder Girls is set within an all-girls school on an isolated island which has been put under strict quarantine following the outbreak of a strange new disease that causes mutations within the resident flora and fauna – including the girls themselves. The imagery throughout is haunting, the girls’ fear about what’s happening to them mirrored in their struggles to survive day-to-day. Beyond its exhilarating narrative, the book is elevated by its look at sisterhood, its excellent implementation of normalised queer representation, and its references to society’s weaponization of girls’ bodies, and our assault on the planet. The critic in me can recognise that this book isn’t perfect, but I loved every second I spent with it, and in a reading year that felt largely mediocre, there’s a lot to be said for surrendering yourself to a damn good read.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

2. My Name is Monster by Katie Hale

[image error]Katie Hale’s debut is a thematically complex take on post-apocalyptic fiction that explores the notions of survival, belonging, the enduring influence of societal roles, and the complexities of motherhood. Our heroine is a former research scientist who emerges from an arctic vault, believing herself to be the last human on Earth. Having reverted to animalistic instincts in order to get by, she is forced to redress the balance between surviving and truly living when she finds and takes in a feral young girl. As with another book on this list, My Name is Monster draws on themes and ideas established in Frankenstein. Chiefly, the dynamic between creator and creation, and the wonder of language. A more radical narrative departure than Winterson’s Frankissstein, however, the futuristic setting allows Hale to incorporate some fantastic worldbuilding, while the gender reversal leads to some fascinating commentary on the threat that motherhood poses to a woman’s individual identity, as well as the danger of trying to forge offspring in your own image.

Find out more or pick up a copy .

1. House of Glass by Susan Fletcher

[image error]House of Glass is at once a beguiling gothic mystery, and a poignant piece of historical fiction that examines the devastating ways in which women’s lives were ruled by scandal, rumour, and reputation. In many ways, it’s a book about opposites; of truth versus lies, logic versus faith, and reality versus the supernatural, when a young woman is summoned to establish a glasshouse in the grounds of a manor gripped by whispers of a haunting. House of Glass takes my top spot as it easily embodies almost all of the qualities I look for in my perfect read: An immersive setting, a compelling heroine, brooding intrigue, well established supporting characters, a page-turning plot, nuanced themes, and rich, evocative prose. It was exactly what I needed when I picked it up, and I continue to look back on it with nothing but fondness.

Find out more or pick up a copy here.

There we have it! If there’s a main takeaway from this list, it’s that I need to reach for post-apocalyptic fiction more often, as it’s the genre most strongly represented here, and therefore one that clearly works for me when it’s handled well. There are lots of books that I’m excited to get to in 2020, so here’s hoping we all discover lots of new favourites!

What was your top read of 2019?

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Most Disappointing Reads of 2019

I wasn’t originally planning to do one of these posts, but I’ve seen a few floating around and in the end I couldn’t resist. As with most other people who’ve compiled such a list, I want to stress that these aren’t necessarily the worst books I read this year (some of them were solid 3-star reads, in fact). Rather, they are books I expected to adore, but which ultimately left me feeling lukewarm, hence my presiding feelings of disappointment. So, in no particular order…

1. Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson

[image error]This non-fiction book aims to normalise the struggles of mental health in a warm and candid way. These are admirable intentions, no doubt, but the execution was bad. Really bad. The presence of painfully forced humour, erratic structuring, cultural insensitivity, and potentially problematic relationship dynamics made me cringe throughout. I know Lawson’s work has been popular with a lot of people, but her style is definitely not for me.

2. The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

[image error]The only time the old man ever stops talking about fishing is to talk about baseball, or to club a dolphin over the head. Not my jam. In all seriousness, I found this so dull, repetitive and lifeless that I didn’t even care enough to try and find any deeper allegorical meaning. At least I can now say I’ve tried Hemingway for myself, and know for sure that he and I aren’t going to be friends.

3. The Sealwoman’s Gift by Sally Magnusson

[image error]This is one that feels particularly harsh to include here, because it’s a pretty good book overall and there are certainly things about it that I liked. BUT, on paper it sounds like my ideal read (historical fiction set partly in Iceland, with themes of female agency and the power of storytelling). Plus, it got glowing reviews from readers and critics alike. My high expectations simply couldn’t be met, with the uneven pacing stopping me from ever feeling fully invested.

4. The Word for World is Forest by Ursula K. Le Guin

[image error]Science fiction from a pioneer of the genre that explores themes of colonisation, war, environmental destruction, othering, and cultural erasure sounded so promising. Sadly, this ended up being a huge slog, especially for such a slim novel. The glut of invented terminology was so exaggerated – the effort to constantly contextualise every piece of information we were given so great – that I felt no investment whatsoever in the plot or characters. What initially held great promise became dry and frustrating; a particular shame given how much I hoped to love this author’s work.

5. The Iliac Crest by Cristina Rivera Garza

[image error]I loved this book’s singular concept, and was excited by its claims of a gothic, mysterious tone, but if a novel requires notes from both the author and the translator for the reader to stand a chance of discerning any kind of narrative or thematic sense, I’d argue that the book hasn’t worked. Any interesting ideas about gender roles and suchlike were danced around so ambiguously that I was left feeling cold and perplexed; any fleeting moments of brilliance swallowed up by alienating tangents and nonsensical goings on.

6. Things We Say in the Dark by Kirsty Logan

[image error]This is another one I feel particularly sad to mention here, because I fully expected it to be making an appearance on my list of favourites. Logan is a writer I already love, and a collection of feminist horror stories is so in my wheelhouse it felt like this book had been tailormade for me to love it. Though I thoroughly enjoyed its overall tone, and many of the haunting images it presented, I found the collection bloated; too many of the 20 stories blending into one, and too many of them dipping into the weird-for-the-sake-of-being-weird territory that I’m not a big fan of. It’s a shame, as when this book is good, it’s very, very good; it just wasn’t the new all-time favourite I so desperately wanted it to be.

7. Lust, Caution by Eileen Chang

[image error]Chang is another author I had wanted to try for years. This collection of short stories was described as ‘gripping’ and ‘intensely atmospheric’, which put me in completely the wrong frame of mind for what I actually got, which was perhaps the quietest, most understated slice-of-life stories I’ve ever read. I enjoyed the post-war setting, and the themes Chang touched on (like the role of women within Chinese society, class divides, national identity, and the shift from a traditional patriarchal society towards a more liberal, Westernised way of living), but the use of a different translator for every story led to a very uneven narrative voice that I found hugely jarring. I haven’t given up on Chang yet, but it seems I picked an unfortunate place to start with her work given how much I hoped to gel with her.

8. The Greatcoat by Helen Dunmore

[image error]I read and loved A Spell of Winter by the same author this year, and rushed out to pick up another of her novels. I was excited to find that she’d written a ghost story, described as a ‘haunting flesh-creeper’. In reality, this was a paranormal romance that lacked any of the evocative prose and arresting atmosphere that made A Spell of Winter so special. I will definitely give this author another try, but if these first two reads are anything to go by, it seems her stuff is going to be very hit or miss.

There we have it! What were some of your most disappointing reads of 2019?

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Three Festive Mini Reviews

The Christmasaurus and the Winter Witch by Tom Fletcher

Published by Puffin, 2019

My rating:

[image error]As with its predecessor, this is full of fun, festive loveliness. It touches on some topical themes (like blended families, fake media, and the true meaning of Christmas) without ever distracting from the magic or adventure of the core narrative. There’s good disability representation courtesy of the main character, and a story that is packed full of Christmas joy, suitable for pretty much any age.

You can pick up a copy of The Christmasaurus and the Winter Witch from Book Depository by clicking here.

The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen

Published by Hutchinson, 2015 (first published in 1844)

My rating:

[image error]This isn’t my favourite of Andersen’s fairy tales, but there is some memorable imagery throughout, and I like the slight reversal from the norm when it comes to its use of gender roles, with the story following a young girl’s journey to rescue her friend from the influence of the eponymous – and enigmatic – Snow Queen.

This particular edition is greatly enhanced by Sanna Annukka’s gorgeous artwork, which is what drew me to it in the first place. A quick, timeless read, the book itself would make a lovely gift at this time of year.

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

Wenceslas by Carol Ann Duffy

Published by Picador, 2012

My rating:

[image error]This is one of Duffy’s annual festive poems, presented as a lovely little hardback. This particular offering is inspired by the carol of King Wenceslas, encouraging us to enjoy the indulgence of the season, whilst remembering to extend the hand of human kindness to those less fortunate than ourselves. I love this sentiment, and think Stuart Kolakovic’s accompanying artwork is beautiful, but the poem itself (in terms of language, structure, flow, etc.) didn’t do a huge amount for me.

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

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J.K. Rowling & Vanessa Lafaye | Mini Reviews

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling, illustrated by Jim Kay

Published by Bloomsbury, 2019 (first published in 2000)

My rating:

[image error]It’s always a nostalgic delight to revisit the wizarding world, flaws and all – especially at this time of year. Kay’s stunning illustrations add another layer of immersion, making this re-read feel both fresh and familiar all at once.

I’ve always loved that Prisoner of Azkaban represented a turning point in the overall tone of the series, whilst Voldemort’s return in Goblet of Fire served as an equivalent turning point in the narrative.

You can pick up a copy of the illustrated edition of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire from Book Depository by clicking here.

Miss Marley by Vanessa Lafaye

Published by HQ, 2018

My rating:

[image error]Jacob Marley plays a key role in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. The chain-clad ghost – once Scrooge’s business partner – is doomed to wander the Earth, lamenting the shame of a life fuelled by greed. In this prequel, Vanessa Lafaye explores the events that led Marley to this tragic state, told from the perspective of his sister, Clara.

The Dickensian setting is evoked well, with the handling of previously established characters in keeping with what readers experienced in A Christmas Carol. By framing this particular story through the eyes of a new character, however, Lafaye is able to pay homage to the original text without ‘trespassing’ – which she explained was her fear in the author’s note.

Important themes from the original are built upon, including the trappings of poverty, the struggle to transcend class, and the battle between fate and freewill. Clara’s viewpoint allows for commentary on female agency at the time, and there’s a real poignancy to watching Marley do all the wrong things for all the right reasons; hardening his heart in order to protect his beloved sister, blind to the harm he himself is causing her.

The best kind of tie-in novel, Miss Marley successfully toes the line between reverence for its predecessor, and innovation within the context of an iconic story’s existing lore.

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

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My Life in Books | 2019

A few of my blogging friends took part in this bookish tag/meme recently (Laura, Naty & Rachel), and I couldn’t resist giving it a go!

The rules are simple: Using only books you have read this year, answer these questions. Try not to repeat a book title.

In high school I was Breaking and Mending (wow, this got deep rather quickly, lol)

People might be surprised by Things We Say in the Dark

I will never be  The True Deceiver

My fantasy job is  The Pumpkin Eater

At the end of a long day I need The Company of Swans

I hate  Turbulence

I Wish I had The House on the Strand

My family reunions are The Best We Could Do

At a party you’d find me with Literary Witches

I’ve never been to Orkney

A happy day includes Enduring love

Motto I live by: You Should Have Left

On my bucket list is Transformation

In my next life, I want to have  Dinosaurs on Other Planets

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Books mentioned

If you’d like to give this a shot, consider yourself tagged!

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Téa Obreht & Adam Kay | Mini Reviews

The Tiger’s Wife by Téa Obreht

Published by Random House, 2011

My rating:

[image error]I was left feeling largely apathetic towards this, with almost everything I enjoyed about it being cancelled out by something I didn’t. Obreht’s prose is very nice at times, but the disjointed narrative structure stopped me from getting into the flow of the story. The heavy use of magical realism and allegory allowed for some striking imagery, but kept me at arms’ length with regards to the characters; often lacking enough thematic parallels to feel justified. And whilst there were lots of interesting ideas and plot threads at play, I came away from the book lacking a satisfying sense of closure for most of them. Altogether, I found this overly long and too elusive to feel any kind of emotional attachment, becoming a book I was reading to get through, rather than one I felt compelled to explore or contemplate.

You can pick up a copy of The Tiger’s Wife from Book Depository by clicking here.

Twas the Nightshift Before Christmas by Adam Kay

Published by Picador, 2019

My rating:

[image error]This follow up to This is Going to Hurt collects more diaries from Kay’s time as a junior doctor, only this time the entries are taken specifically from the seven festive periods he worked. I actually enjoyed this one more than its predecessor. It sets out to make the same core points (that NHS staff are fallible human beings; that their work requires huge amounts of personal sacrifice; that better emotional support systems need to be put in place for doctors; and that the system itself is being criminally underfunded). Being more compact this time, however, these points were unaffected by the blight of diminishing returns.

The ties to the festive period also add extra poignancy; reminding us that life – and indeed death – go on as normal on hospital wards across the country while the rest of us relax, indulge, and celebrate. If there’s ever a time of year we should remember to be grateful to those propping up the NHS from the frontline, it’s Christmastime. Kay’s trademark sarcasm continues to add some much-needed light to the darkness, but in this case, I found the humour less forced – another bonus! This is well worth picking up if you enjoyed This is Going to Hurt, or if you fancy a more condensed version of the same ideas, with a festive twist and an extra dash of resonance.

This would make an ideal stocking stuffer this Christmas! You can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here.

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