Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 29

The Iliac Crest by Cristina Rivera Garza | Book Review

The Iliac Crest by Cristina Rivera Garza (translated from the Spanish by Sarah Booker)

Published by And Other Stories, 2018 (first published in 2002)

My rating:

[image error]The Iliac Crest is the kind of book that is so singular in concept and approach that you’re either going to click with it, or you’re not. Sadly, in my case, it just wasn’t meant to be. Though I suspected from the off it was going to be hit or miss, I couldn’t resist giving it a go when I read the blurb and got a taste for the bizarre setup and fascinating themes that lay in wait. The book opens on a ‘dark and stormy night’, as all the best stories do, with two women arriving at the home of our unnamed narrator. One of these women claims to be a famous Mexican author searching for a missing manuscript, whilst the other is the homeowner’s former lover, known only as The Betrayed. They essentially move themselves in, quickly developing their own secret language, and repeatedly claiming that they know their reluctant host’s secret; that he is, in fact, a woman.

If it weren’t for the author’s note preceding the novel, and the translator’s note at the end, I do suspect a lot of the book’s highly allegorical meaning would have been lost on me. Even with them, I was left feeling at sea for much of my time with the book. Rivera Garza does not concern herself with telling a cohesive narrative, nor crafting characters that feel in any way real. Instead, she uses them as archetypes to explore her primary themes. They are, as I interpreted it, the way we use language to discern and divide the sexes, and the concept of borders – both real and imagined. Whilst there is undoubtedly huge potential in these ideas, I felt held at such a distance throughout that any impact was vague and muted at best.

For me, the book was at its strongest when the author commented on the toxic masculinity that can erupt when someone feels their ‘manhood’ has been called into question – a theme that feels all the more relevant in today’s world, and the reason why this book’s translation into English feels so timely. These moments of brilliance were fleeting, however, swallowed up by the novel’s otherwise alienating tangents and nonsensical goings on.

An interesting read, no doubt, but one that danced around its ideas so ambiguously that I was simply left wanting more – and not in the good way.

***

If you’d like to give The Iliac Crest a go, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here.

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The Unit by Ninni Holmqvist | Book Review

The Unit by Ninni Holmqvist (translated from the Swedish by Marlaine Delargy)

Published by Oneworld Publications, 2018 (first published in 2006)

My rating:

[image error]There’s an unexpected gentleness to this speculative dystopian tale. Though the contextual justification is only ever hinted at, all women and men who remain unmarried and childless by the time they reach 50 or 60 respectively must enter a Unit. Here, they will be treated to a life of luxury, with their own apartments, and access to unlimited spa facilities and leisure activities. In addition to this, however, they must partake in clinical trials and serve as organ donors, until the time comes for their Final Donation – the procedure that will end their lives.

Our narrator, Dorrit, is a new arrival at one such Unit. She has largely resigned herself to this fate, but when she begins to form meaningful friendships, and to fall for a fellow inmate, her resolve is called into question. This setup presents a lot of potential for melodrama, and though the narrative presents us with a number of twists, it never tips into farce. There’s a calmness to Dorrit’s worldview that remains largely consistent throughout her story. This is befitting of the clinical environment she finds herself in, and her presumed role as a somewhat passive, submissive test subject. It also goes a long way to show how normalised the disturbing practice has become for the inhabitants of this imagined future.

As gripping and easy to fly through as it is, the book ruminates on a number of interesting themes. Namely, how we as a society define success and value in life. Only those who have children, or who have risen to the top in a ‘respected’ profession, are guaranteed exemption from The Unit. There is obvious commentary here on the likes of class snobbery and the role of women. I also loved how much emphasis was placed on highlighting the importance of different types of love. Romantic and parental love are clearly given priority, but our narrator often discusses her love for her sister, her love for her friends, and perhaps most importantly, her love for the dog she was forced to give up upon entering The Unit. She views all of these bonds as equally formative and valuable, and wonders why they don’t constitute being ‘needed’ within society the way other relationships do. This, to me, was the real heart of the novel.

As Dorrit’s situation becomes more complex and she inches ever closer to the reality of her Final Donation, the book also examines the will of the people versus the will of the state, and asks what true body autonomy may look like in this new world.

I hope more of Holmqvist’s work has been translated into English. Delargy has done a fantastic job of preserving our heroine’s singular sense of poise and humanity in the face of great sadness.

***

If you’d like to read The Unit, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Blue is the Warmest Color by Julie Maroh | Book Review

Blue is the Warmest Color by Julie Maroh (translated from the French by Ivanka Hahnenberger)

Published by Arsenal Pulp Press, 2013 (first published in 2010)

My rating:

[image error]It has to be said that this queer coming of age graphic novel isn’t exactly the most original offering when it comes to its narrative arc. On the contrary, it hits pretty much every clichéd beat that you’d expect: A charismatic and proud lesbian helps a repressed, closeted girl to come out; they embark on a passionate love affair; life tears them apart, and just as they are about to reunite and live happily ever after, one of them dies. And don’t worry, that’s not a spoiler. Page one opens with Emma reading a letter left to her by the recently deceased Clementine, asking her to read through her diaries. The rest of the story is thus framed as Emma looking back on their time together from her late lover’s perspective.

Why, then, have I rated this so highly? First off, the artwork is a major factor in the impact and lasting impression of any graphic novel, and in this case, it’s excellent. The images are rich and expressive; the use of colour smart and highly effective. I also love the thematic emphasis the book puts on the importance of good allies. Most queer stories focus purely on self-acceptance, and whilst that is a significant aspect of Clementine’s journey, Maroh shows us that true self-acceptance isn’t possible unless we feel valued and accepted by those around us. Though a couple of threads feel somewhat rushed or underdeveloped, she explores the idea of self-destruction brought about through a lack of inner peace with ourselves and our loved ones. As such, the emotional payoff feels earned, even if it’s not the freshest take on a gay love story.

Ultimately, Blue is the Warmest Color works because it’s presented with a lot of heart. Having first picked it up a few years back, I’m glad I decided to revisit it.

***

If you’d like to read Blue is the Warmest Color, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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Liar by Ayelet Gundar-Goshen | Book Review

Liar by Ayelet Gundar-Goshen (translated from the Hebrew by Sondra Silverston)

Published by Pushkin Press, 2019 (first published in 2017)

My rating:

[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. 17-year-old Nofar feels lonely and directionless. Following an intense altercation, a B-list celebrity is falsely accused of attempted sexual assault against her. Nofar, blided by the attention, allows the lie to take root. A media scandal ensues and events quickly spiral beyond her control. As Nofar becomes the poster girl for ‘brave women’, the police plan to make an example of the unlikable victim of her lies, to serve as a warning to any potential rapists. But the more she is drawn into her own lies, the greater her struggle to finally tell the truth.

The strength of this story is in its characters. Each one is complex and flawed in their own ways, and this makes them all the more believable. Gundar-Goshen forces us to ask powerful moral questions, ensuring that no situation is simply black or white. Should we side with the sympathetic young girl who stands to inspire victims and deter criminals by convicting someone who is cruel and egotistical, or should we always stand on the side of justice? I felt the author was able to present her characters and their perspectives without bias or judgement, allowing the reader to interpret things in their own ways. On that note, I think this would make a fantastic book club pick, sure to invite heated debate.

As the lies build up and more people begin to wheedle out the truth, the book explores the snowball effect that can see one lie give birth to a whole host of others, with people choosing to keep or expose secrets for all sorts of reasons; be it to protect those they love, or to further their own selfish desires. Along this vein, there’s a fantastic thread throughout concerning sisterhood, loyalty, and jealousy that I thoroughly enjoyed watching play out.

The significance of this book’s publication in the era of the #MeToo movement also cannot be underestimated. Not once did I feel Gundar-Goshen was questioning the validity and seriousness of sexual assault accusations, but she delivers a powerful reminder that there are always those who will abuse the system, deliberately or otherwise. It’s an upsetting and ugly truth, but one she forces us to confront.

Gundar-Goshen’s prose is stunning, and the translation into English has been handled beautifully. I found myself rereading whole passages just to soak in the fantastic flow of words, but it’s in the small moments that her writing really shines. From gorgeous turns of phrase (“Even broken glass can glitter like a diamond if the sun treats it kindly”), to evocative imagery (“Like a beating heart, the bus stop filled up and emptied out and filled up and emptied out”), and perceptive observations (“Sometimes fiction is written in the ink of truth”), I was consistently impressed.

There was only one slight blip that held me back from a full five-star rating. Around two thirds into the book, we are introduced to a new character; an elderly woman who essentially assumes her deceased friend’s identity. Pretending to be a holocaust survivor, she travels to concentration camps, giving talks to children about the horrors of the past. Her subplot serves to enhance the idea that liars come in many unexpected forms, and that the motivation and justification for certain lies can be incredibly varied and complex. That said, her involvement in the main narrative was too fleeting and convenient; her introduction coming too late for her to feel properly woven into the bigger picture. Given how invested I was in Nofar’s story, I found the sudden perspective switch a little jarring.

That said, I loved every moment I spent with this book. The heady atmosphere and genuine stress-inducing tension were palpable. It was as thrilling as it was thought-provoking; as readable as it was intelligent. I suspect this is one that will really stay with me, and I can’t wait to read more of Gundar-Goshen’s work.

***

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

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The Literary Fiction Book Tag

I was kindly tagged by Rachel to do The Literary Fiction Book Tag, which was started over on booktube by Jasmine’s Reads. All books I mention are linked, in case you’d like to know more, but without further ado, let’s jump right into the questions!

1. How do you define literary fiction?

Ah, yes, the million-dollar question. Put very simply, if genre fiction’s primary focus is plot, then literary fiction favours language, form, and structure. Of course, this is a generalisation: genre fiction can be beautifully written, and literary fiction can tell a thrilling story. I suppose it comes down to nuance. Genre fiction is inherently tied to certain conventions (even if it explores them from unexpected angles), whilst literary fiction has a certain sense of freedom when it comes to the themes it explores, and the techniques it employs to do so; often with a focus on the human experience.

I also think it can simply serve as a handy umbrella term for well-crafted fiction that defies categorization.

2. Name a literary fiction novel with a brilliant character study

[image error]I’m going to go with a recent read for this, in the hope that more people will pick it up. What Red Was by Rosie Price is one of the most comprehensive looks at the impact of sexual assault, both physical and mental, that I’ve ever read. Kate’s reaction to her ordeal is heartbreaking in its honesty, and by placing such a heavy focus on the toll her experience takes on her most treasured friendship, Price is able to show us the ripple effect of trauma from one person to the next.

3. Name a literary fiction novel that has experimental or unique writing

[image error]In many ways, Max Porter’s Lanny reads like an extended prose poem. One of the book’s prominent forces, Dead Papa Toothwort (a mysterious, folkloric being tied to nature), looms over a small commuter village, knitting random snatches of mundane goings on into a symphony of everyday life that literally weaves its way across the page. In another section, we observe a series of vignettes, with the perspective shifting seamlessly from villager to villager. In another, we descend into a full-blown fever dream of magical realism. It’s a book that is constantly reinventing itself stylistically; the kind that really has to be experienced to appreciate.

4. Name a literary fiction novel with an interesting structure

[image error]The Lightkeepers by Abby Geni follows a nature photographer during her year-long residency on the remote and rugged Farallon Islands. Taking place throughout that year, the book is split into four seasons, with each section named for the animal species that dominates during that time (Shark Season, Whale Season, Seal Season, and Bird Season). The idea of a natural cycle ties into several prominent themes, including the organic process of coming to terms with grief and trauma; the animalistic survival instinct in all of us; and our crucial ties to the natural world.

5. Name a literary fiction novel that explores social themes

[image error]Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss is a little powerhouse of a novel. In a time of Brexit division and anti-immigration rhetoric, the author explores the notions of nationalism, violence, toxic masculinity, gender, class, and power; all of which are incredibly pressing social themes.

6. Name a literary fiction novel that explores the human condition

[image error]Trumpet by Jackie Kay is the story of a celebrated male musician who, upon his death, is discovered to have been born biologically female. By following the impact this revelation going public has on his widow and son, Kay examines the most human condition of all; the universal question of what it means to love someone, regardless of issues like gender, class, and skin tone.

7. Name a brilliant literary-hybrid genre novel

[image error]The Last by Hanna Jameson instantly comes to mind for this. It manages to incorporate the hallmarks of many distinct and disparate genres, but her focus on the psychology of her characters throughout ties everything together. At once a murder mystery, a post-apocalyptic survival tale, and a political satire; on paper this book shouldn’t work, but Jameson pulls it off thanks to her strong prose and the deft handling of her many plot threads.

8. What genre do you wish was mixed with literary fiction more?

If I see the words ‘gothic literary fiction’ or ‘literary horror’ written on a book, I will buy it. Simple as that.

***

Thanks again to Rachel for tagging me! Since she tagged many of my favourite literary fiction bloggers (and because I’m lazy), I will leave this open to anyone who would like to get involved. Let me know if you do it – I’d love to check out your answers!

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The Good Lover by Steinunn Sigurðardóttir | Book Review

The Good Lover by Steinunn Sigurðardóttir (translated from the Icelandic by Philip Roughton)

Published by World Editions, 2016 (first published in 2009)

My rating:

[image error]This offbeat, contemplative novel is a rumination on various kinds of unrequited love, and the pain of yearning for the unattainable. We follow Karl Ástuson, a successful businessman and serial womaniser living in New York. Consistently failing to maintain a relationship beyond a brief fling, he decides on a whim to return to his native Iceland in the hopes of reconnecting with his first girlfriend, Una – the only true love of his life.

It has to be said that the book is concerned with its themes more than its plot, with characters often speaking and acting in inexplicable ways. In this respect, they can sometimes feel like hypothetical case studies in a psychology textbook rather than believable human beings. If you can submit yourself to these oddities, however, there are undoubtedly some interesting ideas regarding love, relationships, and grief to be unpacked.

Each of the characters craves a kind of love that feels in some way out of reach: Karl longs for the mother who died when he was just eighteen, and the childhood sweetheart who epitomises simpler times; in her dying days, his mother, Ásta, knits a sweater for the imagined grandchild she will never have the chance to meet; Una finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage, dreaming of escape; Doreen falls for Karl, knowing his heart belongs to another; Doreen’s partner, Liina, dotes on the girlfriend she knows desires another. Through this tangled yarn, the author shows us how messy love can be, and ponders whether we are doomed to always want what we cannot have.

There are some lovely turns of phrase in the prose itself, and there’s a general tone of melancholy that hangs over the whole thing. As such, the translation into English has evidently been handled well. The book cruised along for the first three quarters, interesting but largely unaffecting. Then came an unexpected gut punch, which led to a conclusion that I thought really worked.

I’ve found myself thinking about this one quite a bit since I put it down, which is testament to how stimulating it is, despite its unassumingly quiet and unconventional approach.

***

If you’d like to read The Good Lover, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Lust, Caution by Eileen Chang | Book Review

Lust, Caution by Eileen Chang (translated from the Chinese by Julia Lovell, et al.)

Published by Penguin, 2016 (first published in 1972)

My rating:

[image error]The title story in this collection promises to be ‘gripping’ and ‘intensely atmospheric’. I’m not sure those descriptors put readers in the right frame of mind for what they’re really going to get, which is five of the quietest, most understated slice-of-life stories I’ve ever read.

Set in post-war China, they all play out against the backdrop of political, financial, and social unrest, but these wider issues are never the focus of the narrative. Instead, Chang uses them as a catalyst to shine a light on the entirely domestic affairs of love, family, and friendship. By doing so, she examines the idea (albeit subtly) that it’s the quiet, mundane interactions of everyday life that occupy the greatest part of people’s focus and attention – even in times of great unrest.

As a collection, the stories do work well together, as each of them is concerned to a greater or lesser extent with the role of women within Chinese society, class divides, national identity, and the post-war shift from a traditional patriarchal society towards a more liberal, Westernised way of living. It was the translation itself that became a stumbling block, however. Given how many stylistic choices are necessary when converting prose from one language to another, I found it very odd that Penguin chose to compile stories that have all been translated by a different person. With six people in all having worked on the conversion from Chinese, there is a jarring inconsistency to the narrative voice, which reads as dry and pragmatic in one story, and evocative and flowery in the next. I strongly suspect that newly commissioned, cohesive translations would have worked better.

I can’t say I got a huge amount of enjoyment out of reading this book. With very little plot to grapple with, and an uneven writing style, it was difficult to feel any kind of emotional connection to the characters. That said, I was consistently intrigued by the themes Chang was touching on; there were some fantastic passages dotted throughout (with particularly good use of imagery); and I’m willing to give her some benefit of the doubt where the erratic translation is concerned. Perhaps I’d have better luck with one of her novels.

***

If you’d like to read Lust, Caution, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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July Wrap Up

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The books I read in July

It’s time for another wrap up already! Throughout July, I finished 11 books, taking my total for the year so far up to 73. Here are some very brief thoughts on each of them, with links to my full reviews if you’d like to know more.

My Lovely Wife by Samantha Downing

[ ] A very readable and deliciously dark thriller that follows a married couple’s attempts to quite literally get away with murder. I flew through this, and enjoyed the interesting moral dynamic that Downing explored by putting us inside the head of such an abhorrent yet weirdly sympathetic narrator.

The Company of Swans by Jim Crumley

[ ] A brief yet charming piece of non-fiction that chronicles the struggles of a single pair of mute swans to survive the harshness of the natural world. Crumley writes with passion and flair, his adoration for the landscape clear to see through his words.

The Girls by Emma Cline

[ ] An intriguing setup with some interesting ideas, looking at how a young and impressionable person can be drawn into the wrong crowd. I enjoyed the heady atmosphere, but felt Cline had a tendency to overwrite, and played all her cards too early, meaning the book floundered with little in the way of development.

Pan’s Labyrinth by Guillermo del Toro & Cornelia Funke

[ ] A faithful novelisation of del Toro’s brilliant film, this reflects the tone of the story well. By pitching the prose at a middle grade/YA level, however, I felt it was unable to fully embrace the dark, visceral quality of the original. Gorgeous illustrations and a sense of nostalgia made this a fun reading experience nonetheless.

On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden

[ ] This epic sci-fi graphic novel about reconnecting with your first love has some brilliant ideas regarding gender and sexuality, as well as a gorgeous colour palette, but I felt the world-building left us with too many unanswered questions.

What Red Was by Rosie Price

[ ] This offers one of the most nuanced, honest, and thought-provoking explorations of sexual assault and coping with trauma that I’ve ever read. It has its small flaws, but this imperfection lends it an extra layer of realism.

Daughters of Passion by Julia O’Faolain

[ ] A great setup, some fantastic themes, and brief flashes of brilliance in the prose weren’t quite enough to make up for the lack of emotional resonance in this short story, unfortunately.

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

[ ] I loved the concept of this one (the native species of a distant planet fighting back against the humans who have enslaved them), and was very intrigued by its exploration of themes like colonisation, war, environmental destruction, and cultural erasure. But sadly, the glut of invented terminology slowed the pace down to such an extent that I just couldn’t get invested.

A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride

[ ] Disorientating, fragmented prose shows us the mental decline of a traumatised young woman throughout her journey to find a sense of self. Showcasing language and emotion in their most distilled form, it’s a gut-punch of a novel that is as rewarding as it is linguistically and emotionally challenging.

Sweetlings by Lucy Taylor

[ ] This unsettling novella sits on the intersection between speculative science-fiction and body horror. After a shaky start, Taylor creates a vivid and disturbingly plausible future, in which evolution takes a nasty turn.

Ponies by Kij Johnson

[ ] This slight tale is a rather unsubtle metaphor about the cruel, selfish steps many of us take – particularly as children – in order to fit in. It was certainly striking, but too brief and underdeveloped to make any lasting impact.

***

There we have it! My favourite reads of the month were What Red Was and A Girl is a Half-formed Thing. What was your favourite read?

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Lucy Taylor & Kij Johnson | Two Mini Reviews

Sweetlings by Lucy Taylor

Published by Tor Books, 2017

My rating:

[image error]Ah, yes. This hit the exact sweet spot between speculative science-fiction and body horror that I love. This unsettling novella is set in an all too plausible future, where sea levels have risen to swallow much of the Earth, and evolution has taken a frightening turn in response to the changing climate. Strange creatures drag themselves aground, and some of the surviving humans begin to show worrying signs of sickness and mutation. Our heroine must decide whether to stay with her small community by the coast and face a slow decline, or venture into the unknown inlands in search of safer climes.

Things started a little rocky, with some clumsy dialogue and a couple of overdone similes. Taylor soon hit her stride, however, creating a visceral and evocative setting that arrested my attention. There’s a consistently discomforting atmosphere throughout, and a swelling tension that underpins the narrative on its route to a suitably disturbing climax. The vivid imagery is sure to haunt my thoughts for quite some time.

For me, the best kind of horror is always that which combines the physical and the psychological, which this does very well. It’s all the more disturbing when, for all its flirtations with the darkly fantastical, it hits a little too close to home. I hope Taylor has ventured into this genre some more; I would happily reach for her work again when I want to feel my skin crawl.

Sweetlings can be purchased for Kindle from your usual retailer, or read online for free over on Tor’s website.

***

Ponies by Kij Johnson

Published by Tor Books, 2010

My rating:

[image error]This even slighter offering, also from Tor, won the Nebula award for best short story, and was nominated for a string of other major prizes. Perhaps this set my expectations a little too high. It’s a concept presented as an unsettling tableau, more than it is a developed story. Young girls all have their own magical talking ponies. They must attend a ritual ‘cutting-out’ party, where the girls have to remove two of the three things that make their companions special (their wings, their horn, or their voice).

The whole thing is a very unsubtle metaphor for the cruelty that children are capable of, and the sacrifices we make in order to fit in. I didn’t dislike anything about it, per se, but it was too brief and surface level to make any kind of emotional impact.

As before, Ponies can be purchased for Kindle, or read online for free over on Tor’s website.

***

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A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride | Book Review

A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride

Published by Faber & Faber, 2014 (first published by Galley Beggar Press, 2013)

My rating:

[image error]I’ve seen this book described as being light on plot. I respectfully disagree. On the contrary, our unnamed narrator’s narrative journey is one of consistent physical and emotional turmoil, as she attempts to process her brother’s ailing health, her mother’s emotional abuse, and her complex attitude towards sexuality – triggered by sexual assault. In that sense, this is not a book to be entered lightly; McBride’s raw portrayal of such harrowing subject matter making for an intense and draining reading experience.

The author plays with language and structure in a way I’ve never seen before. Sentences go unfinished, verbs are often omitted, words trip over each other, and thoughts bleed together in a style that can only be compared to stream of consciousness. This can be disorientating at first – and is sure to alienate some readers – but once you find the rhythm of McBride’s singular prose, it is a wonder to witness language and emotion in their most distilled form.

This fragmented approach is representative of our heroine’s mindset, and ties in beautifully with the book’s title. In her scatter-brained, erratic voice, we see the insecurities of a young woman desperate to find meaning and comfort through an elusive sense of self. Emotionally unmoored by her experiences, and chasing physical pain in an attempt to match and make sense of her inner suffering, McBride shows us what can happen to those who have not been equipped to deal with the cruelties of the real world.

For much of the book, the narrator (whose unwillingness to divulge her name is another nod to her unformed identity) uses direct address aimed at her terminally ill brother. Her love for him is the one thing anchoring her to reality, and in many ways, his decline is mirrored in her own; only where his scars are physical, hers are mental. In moments of distress and panic, the prose is at its most kaleidoscopic, leading us to a climax that feels as inevitable as it is devastating.

Linguistically challenging and emotionally exhausting, it’s a book I would hesitate to recommend casually. That said, I have an immense amount of respect for the uniquely rewarding literary feat that McBride has managed to pull off.

***

If you’d like to read A Girl is a Half-formed Thing, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here.

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