Callum McLaughlin's Blog, page 37

The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner | Book Review

The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner

Published by Jonathan Cape, 2018

My rating:

[image error]The Mars Room is an entirely unsentimental look at the US prison system, and those trapped within it. It is told predominantly through the eyes of Romy Hall, a morally complex young woman serving two life sentences for the murder of her stalker.

Though Romy is the focus of the book (and I found her both believable and fascinating as an anti-heroine), Kushner weaves other characters’ perspectives into the story as well. By humanising individuals in this way, yet creating the sense of a collective narrative voice, Kushner did an excellent job of reflecting the way people are swallowed up by the system, making escape from it almost impossible. The narrative is also non-linear, shifting back and forth in time in an almost stream of consciousness manner. This suggested to me the idea that, having lost everything else, memories and stories are all these people have left to sustain them.

The other real strength of the novel for me was its look at the grey area between victim and criminal; asking the reader to consider when that line is crossed, and if it’s ever possible to be both simultaneously. She also brings into play the idea that the system itself is so poorly constructed that it engenders further illicit behaviour; pushing inmates towards theft, drugs, and violence. Perhaps most interestingly of all, Kushner also explores the kind of socioeconomic conditions that can lead to incarceration, flirting with the notion of fate vs. free will. Romy is often told that it’s her own decisions that led her to prison; Kushner wants us to question the extent to which that is true.

With all that appreciation for its technical and thematic prowess, my middling rating may seem odd. I did feel, however, that a touch of the nuance was lost towards the end, when Kushner arguably became a bit too literal or heavy-handed with her message. And whilst I praised its use of multiple perspectives, there were a couple that I felt were unnecessary; adding nothing to the narrative, and serving largely to interrupt the flow of both the pace and story.

I’d say, on balance, this is the kind of book that I admired more than I ‘enjoyed’. Whilst I sped through it, I was compelled far more from a technical and thematic point of view than I was from an emotional one. But it does offer a refreshingly bold and valuable look at a very topical issue, and I’m glad to have read it.

If you’d like to try The Mars Room for yourself, you can find a copy by clicking here, or on the image above. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick | Book Review

Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick

Published by Scholastic, 2011

My rating:

[image error]With Wonderstruck, Brian Selznick has created something that feels quite special. The story is split into two narratives which run simultaneously. The first is set in 1927 and follows Rose, a deaf girl who is disappointed to learn that her local theatre is to scrap the silent films she loves in favour of ‘talkies’, which she won’t be able to enjoy alongside everyone else. With her favourite actress set to appear on stage in New York, she runs away from home to try and meet her face-to-face. The second is set 50 years later, and follows Ben, a young boy whose mother has just died. When he finds clues about the father he has never known amongst his mother’s things, he too sets off for New York to try and find him.

Though both children are in search of a sense of belonging, it soon becomes clear that there is more than thematic relevance linking the two stories. I loved that they ran parallel to each other, shifting back and forth on-the-fly, rather than alternating chapter-to-chapter. It allowed the ever-increasing narrative connections to really shine, the two initially disparate tales weaving ever closer together.

Stylistically, it is also incredibly clever. Whilst Ben’s half of the story is told through conventional text, Rose’s half is told solely through illustration. Not only does Selznick’s beautiful black-and-white art style mirror the mood of the silent films his heroine adores, but it does so well to reflect the way Rose sees the world as a deaf person, relying on visual cues alone. It’s a simple yet ingenious way to sensitively represent disability in fiction.

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An idea of the contrasting narrative styles.

There were aspects of the story itself which I certainly enjoyed (one in particular that I thought was very well executed – no spoilers though, of course), but I will say, it was never the main draw for me. I felt that Selznick didn’t quite capitalise on the full potential of the excellent setup, and there was a moment towards the end when things became a little info-dumpy. This was a shame given how subtly everything had previously been building towards the emotional climax. Whilst poignant and charming, it wasn’t the gut-punch payoff I had been hoping for.

That said, the uniqueness of the structure and style, and the immersive beauty of the book’s visuals made this a highly original and very memorable reading experience that I thoroughly enjoyed.

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If you’ve read Wonderstruck, I’d love to hear your thoughts! If you’d like to pick up a copy, just click the link above.

The Twisted Tree by Rachel Burge | Book Review

[image error]The Twisted Tree by Rachel Burge

Published by Hot Key Books, 2019

My rating:

***

Hearing this described as ‘part ghost story, part Nordic thriller’ was all I really needed to feel hyped. In fact, I included it amongst my most anticipated releases of the year. It centres around Martha, a teenage girl with the strange supernatural ability to tell things about a person simply by touching their clothes. She sets off to her Grandmother’s home in rural Norway in search of answers, and things take a series of strange and dark turns from there as she delves into her family history.

Though it’s fair to say it didn’t live up to my high expectations, there were certainly aspects of it that I enjoyed. The cold, isolated setting was right up my street; I liked the strong influence of mythology; and there were a few creepy, atmospheric moments, during which the narrative was definitely at its strongest.

There was a decent attempt to flesh out the central characters, Martha and Stig, as both process their respective feelings of grief and trauma. Martha is also blind in one eye, and sustained a facial disfigurement in the same accident that sparked her strange abilities. Though I felt far more could have been done here in the way of emotional growth, there was a slight element of Martha trying to overcome her insecurities and make peace with her physical differences – which is always a positive message to spread, especially in a novel aimed at a predominantly YA audience.

There’s no denying that things get a little far-fetched plot wise, but I was actually able to suspend my disbelief and submit myself to its fantastical oddities, swept up by the brisk pace and its moments of genuine excitement. Ironically, it was the more human elements of the story that I found unbelievable, particularly the angsty romance subplot; which also veered a little too much towards insta-love for my liking. It felt contrived to me; there to adhere to YA conventions rather than for character development or plot progression; not to mention being tonally jarring with the otherwise dark and thrilling story.

I won’t get into spoiler territory, but I will say there was a bit of a twist towards the end which, in fairness, did stop things from becoming the perfectly neat, happily-ever-after conclusion that I feared we were heading towards. It threw up a lot of potential to really shake up the dynamic between Martha and Stig, and to flip reader expectations. But once again, it wasn’t followed up properly, and so its potential impact simmered out.

That, in fact, is a fairly good way to sum up how I felt about the book as a whole. It has lots of potential in a number of areas, and is certainly a fast, fun read, but it never hit the mark as strongly as it could have, landing firmly in ‘meh’ territory for me. Still, I decided to round up to three stars for its original concept and sheer readability.

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If you fancy giving The Twisted Tree a go, you can find it with free international shipping by clicking here, or on the image above. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

War Horse | Theatre Review

Show: War Horse

Venue: SEC Armadillo, Glasgow

Date: 19th January 2019

Director: Marianne Elliot & Tom Morris

Writer: Nick Stafford, adapted from the book by Michael Morpurgo

Music: Adrian Sutton

Principal cast: Thomas Dennis (Albert Narracott), Jo Castleton (Rose Narracott), Gwilym Lloyd (Ted Narracott), Joelle Brabban (Emilie), & Peter Becker (Friedrich)

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The iconic West End show finally made its way to Glasgow as part of a three year UK tour, celebrating the play’s 10th anniversary. Having booked tickets to see it more than two years ago, it’s been a long wait, but I can wholeheartedly say it was worth every moment.

This is easily one of the best and most powerful theatre shows I’ve ever seen. The stunning puppetry work brought the animals to life in a way that was far more captivating that I could ever have imagined. It’s a cliché line, but it really is something that has to be seen to be believed – or at least to be fully appreciated. Really, I can’t praise the horse designers (Adrian Kohler and Basil Jones) or the team of performers that animated them highly enough. It’s of no disservice to the performances of the rest of the cast to say that Joey and his fellow war horse, Topthorn, were far and away the most expressive, enigmatic presences on stage. To pull that off, and to have them provoke genuine pathos, sympathy, fear, and elation during almost every emotional beat of the story (of which there are many), is an incredible achievement.

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Production stills, courtesy of War Horse on Stage.

The show is loyal to the general arc of the book’s narrative, which I was pleased to see. Any changes they made felt entirely justified for a visual medium, and worked well to drive home the play’s themes of the futility of war, and the human capacity for both immense cruelty and genuine kindness in times of conflict.

The quality and attention to detail across all departments enhanced the immersive nature of the production, with perhaps the best use of lighting and sound design I’ve seen; impeccably implemented music; clever projection work; and truly haunting imagery. It really is a feast for the senses; the piercing crack of bullets, the terrified shrieks of horses, and every ominous wisp of fog drawing the viewer further in. Indeed, the brutality of World War I is captured with such intense clarity that it can’t fail to resonate on an emotional level. The Armadillo is a sizable venue, but you could practically feel the tension in the air; every member of the audience equally enthralled by what was playing out on stage.

I could keep gushing, but suffice to say that War Horse is more than just a play; it’s an experience. One I would urge everyone to try for themselves if and when they can.

***

You can find details about the current tour here, or you can pick up a copy of the book that inspired it here. If you’ve already seen the show, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Mr Salary by Sally Rooney | Book Review

[image error]Mr Salary by Sally Rooney

Published by Faber & Faber, 2019

My rating:

***

I was starting to feel like the only person in the bookish community yet to try author-of-the-moment, Sally Rooney. Seeing that she had a short story published as part of the recent Faber Stories series (small and inexpensive volumes released to mark their 90th anniversary), I jumped at the chance to sample her narrative voice. Having now done so, I fully understand the hype.

Being so brief, I won’t go into any specifics regarding plot. But I will say that I was greatly impressed by Rooney’s deceptively simple yet shrewdly observant look at the power dynamic between our central characters – a woman in her early 20s, and a man in his late 30s. From the very first page, I had a clear sense of who these people were as individuals, and the nature of the relationship between them. The tone was almost voyeuristic, and it worked so well.

What’s really interesting, looking through reviews, is the split between those who find Sukie and Nathan’s relationship charming, and those who find it toxic. This discrepancy, and the ability to interpret things so differently is, I think, very deliberate. It reflects the uncertainty that the characters themselves feel about succumbing to the sexual tension between them, and is testament to Rooney’s deft yet subtle execution.

With Sukie also dealing with her father’s illness, this became, to me, a fascinating rumination on the parallel between being on the brink of love, and being in the presence of impending death; and how a closeness to both can blind us to reality. If this is what she can do with a short story, I can’t wait to try one of Rooney’s novels.

***

If you fancy picking up a copy of Mr Salary, you can find it on Book Depository with free international shipping by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

XX by Angela Chadwick | Book Review

From here on, I’ve decided to start posting full, individual reviews on my blog, rather than just combined wrap ups. But without further ado, here are some thoughts on my most recent read.

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[image error]XX by Angela Chadwick

Published by Dialogue Books, 2018

My rating:

XX follows Jules and Rosie as they become the world’s first participants in a new clinical trial that will allow two women to conceive a child, using ovum-to-ovum fertilisation. Hailed by some as a breakthrough for queer couples, others see it as a catalyst for a vast population shift – as, given the genetics involved, the technique can only produce baby girls. Set against a backdrop of fierce political backlash, and media scaremongering, the couple must contend with a tirade of hatred, paranoia, and betrayal, alongside the usual fears that come with looming parenthood.

This is the best kind of speculative fiction, in that the scientific elements of the story feel only just out of reach. The political and social landscape could have been lifted from today’s newspapers; the breakthrough in fertility treatment one that may well be on the horizon. It makes the book’s musings on the morality involved in science versus nature, and the role of the media in shaping the public’s perception all the more topical. I also like that the argument as to whether this advancement is leading us towards a utopia or a dystopia is entirely open to debate.

For all the big questions raised by the subject matter, however, I was pleased that it finds time for an insular look at the central couple’s relationship. This allowed Chadwick to bring a further layer of depth to the narrative, exploring the idea of class divides. Jules, a local journalist, has grafted her entire life to work her way up from poor beginnings, whilst Rosie was born into a decidedly more privileged family. Despite being liberal in their social views, it becomes increasingly clear that both possess their own inherent prejudices against the other’s class, and feel an odd sense of loyalty to their own; a friction that no amount of love or social-ladder climbing can ever fully erase.

Given that this is, in many ways, a book about yearning for parenthood, it was refreshing to see some discussion on the pressure that women feel to become a mother, even if it’s not necessarily what they want. There is, however, a slight whisper of the ‘you just don’t get it until you have kids’ attitude, which can be patronising. Though, I suppose that’s to be expected given the topic at hand, and the circumstances/outlook of certain characters. My other small gripes are an overly neat epilogue that I’m not sure was necessary, and a nod towards the melodramatic at times, with someone holding back tears on just about every other page (a repetition that I feel an editor should have flagged up).

This is an altogether timely and thought-provoking, though surprisingly subtle, character driven story that ultimately asks us to consider what makes a family, and if our beginnings (from where we are born, to our very DNA) truly shape the person we are. I flew through this, and would love to hear other people’s thoughts on it.

***

If you’d like to buy this (or any other book), please feel free to use my Book Depository affiliate link. They have free international shipping, and I’ll receive a small commission at no extra cost to you. Happy reading!

Last 10 Books Tag

I saw this tag over on Kristin’s blog, and couldn’t resist giving it a go. You all know how these things work by now, so let’s just jump right in, shall we?

1. What was the last book you DNF?

Call me a glutton for punishment, but I almost never DNF a book, no matter how much of a slog it is. Thankfully, I pick up very few that I hate enough to want to DNF in the first place, but the last one I can remember being simply unable to suffer beyond the 100-page mark was Being a Beast by Charles Foster; a book of pretentious, self-serving waffle thinly veiled as nature writing.

2. Last book you reread?

I’m not often a big re-reader either. I have been gradually making my way through the Harry Potter series again, as and when the new illustrated editions come out, so it would either be The Prisoner of Azkaban, or else Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, which I’m so glad I revisited in 2017, as it went on to become one of my very favourite books.

3. Last book you bought?

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I’m very pleased with my new purchases!

Mercifully, after not visiting one for about a month (which might be a record for me), I was in a bookshop earlier today, and I more than made up for lost time. I bought The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner, The Twisted Tree by Rachel Burge, and a couple of the new Faber Stories; Mr Salary by Sally Rooney, and Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by Sylvia Plath.

4. Last book you said you read but didn’t?

I don’t think I’ve ever done this, actually. Even back in my school days, I was always pretty good at getting through the required reading. If there was a really well-known book that I hadn’t read yet, but felt like I should have by now, I’d be far more likely to simply admit to it, in an attempt to shame myself into finally picking it up. *cough* Jane Eyre *cough*

5. Last book you wrote in the margins of?

I like to keep my books looking neat and tidy, so when I’m reading for pleasure, I don’t write on them. I can’t call to mind a specific title, but the last book I wrote in would have been a textbook of some kind whilst I was studying.

6. Last book you got signed?

I’ve only had two books signed during a face-to-face meeting with an author, and both were at a book fair years ago. The last book I purchased a pre-signed copy of was Tilly and the Bookwanderers by Anna James, which is a beautiful book inside and out, and one I would recommend to any bookworm.

7. Last book you lost?

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I can’t tell you how many times I read this when I was little, and how glad I am to still have it.

For a while, I thought I’d lost my very battered but much beloved copy of The School Cat, a children’s book that I adored when I was young. Thankfully, it has since resurfaced.

8. Last book you had to replace?

I like to collect a certain edition of Agatha Christie’s novels, and whilst ordering The Mysterious Affair at Styles online, I was sent the wrong copy three times by three different outlets. You better believe I returned each and tried again until I got the right one.

9. Last book you had an argument over?

The ‘disagreements’ I’ve had over books have luckily been few and far between. The most memorable incident is when a straight man (isn’t it always a straight man?) messaged me in response to my positive review of Jenni Fagan’s The Sunlight Pilgrims. He had evidently taken umbrage with the fact that there is a young trans girl in the novel, an element of the story which I felt was handled beautifully. He (as a straight man, don’t forget) proceeded to tell me what kind of representation gay/trans people do and don’t need in books. His main argument was that they should never be the main focus of a book, as most people are straight and cis, and therefore can’t possibly be expected to relate, and that a recent increase in queer rep had become ‘disproportionate’ to the number of actual queer people in the world. I politely explained that, on the contrary, he was simply an idiot.

10. Last book you couldn’t get a hold of?

Tying in nicely with an answer from earlier, I really want to try some of Mary Shelley’s short stories, but previous collections have become tricky to get hold of. Excitingly, I found a new bind-up of three of her gothic tales which is being published later this month by Alma Classics, under the title, Transformation.

***

There we have it! Since I wasn’t tagged myself, I’ll leave this open to anyone who’d like to give it a go. Let me know if you do, so I can check out your answers!

Book to Film | Postcards from the Edge

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Postcards from the Edge’s book cover (left), and film poster (right).

When adapting a book for the big screen, it often makes all the difference to have the same writer involved. Thankfully, that was the case with Carrie Fisher’s Postcards from the Edge.

Famed for being semi-autobiographical, the story focusses on Suzanne Vale, a successful actress who wakes up in a rehab clinic after accidentally overdosing. Once freshly clean, and back out in the world, she must attempt to find her feet and rescue her now struggling career, whilst staying on the wagon. The skill of a good writer is to recognise what works for each medium, and so I was pleased to see that any alterations in plot and pacing made the film stronger, whilst honouring the tone and themes of the source material. The film also allowed for a real focus on Fisher’s brilliant dialogue, which is full of hilarious quips, sharp observations, and clever wordplay.

In both iterations, Suzanne herself is very much the driving force of the narrative; Postcards being, in many ways, a character study of a woman attempting to make peace with herself. She is captured enigmatically in the film by Meryl Streep, who embodies the quick wit, cutting sarcasm, and poignant inner demons of the heroine with all the skill and charisma you’d expect. Shirley MacLaine is also compelling as Doris, Suzanne’s overbearing and brilliantly flamboyant mother. Indeed, the increased focus on their complex relationship is the biggest change Fisher made from page to screen. With both having enjoyed the glow of fame, there is an undercurrent of jealousy that simmers between them; Suzanne keen to step out of her mother’s shadow, and Doris wary of being outshone by her daughter. This adds another layer to one of the primary themes carried over from the book, which is a satirical look at the vain, fickle, image obsessed, and potentially damaging pressures of life in Hollywood; something Fisher and her own mother were very much aware of.

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The film’s principal cast: Meryl Streep, Shirley MacLaine, and Dennis Quaid.

Alongside the big names heading up the cast, there’s an impressive roll call of stars in supporting roles, including Gene Hackman, Richard Dreyfuss, Rob Reiner, Annette Benning, and Simon Callow. This felt pleasingly appropriate given its tongue-in-cheek lambasting of stardom and Hollywood culture.

The book was deliberately inconsistent and unconventional in structure, reflecting Suzanne’s sense of floundering. The film, by contrast, has a clearer sense of climax and resolution, a decision that works when considering broader audience appeal, and which allows things to end on a more hopeful note. Normally I finish watching a screen adaptation of a book with a clear opinion over which was better (usually the book, let’s be honest). But in this case, the strong performances, appropriate and well-implemented tweaks in all the right places, and a deceptively clever and heartfelt screenplay allow both to sit strongly alongside each other.

Book to Film | Bird Box

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Bird Box’s book cover (left), and film poster (right).

The news that one of your favourite books is being adapted into a film is always met with a cocktail of excitement and nerves. Bird Box, the novel, is a masterclass of the less-is-more approach to horror; toying with the reader’s senses and praying on our inherent fear of the unknown. Bird Box, the movie, is a decent if somewhat diluted version of the same ideas.

There were several aspects of the film that I really liked: It is largely faithful to the source material in terms of story, sticking close to the main plot arc; the performances are strong all round; and there are some visually gorgeous shots. I thought the non-linear structure, switching between Malorie and the children alone on the river, and their time within a larger group five years prior, was a nice nod to the structure of the book, and did well to create tension, with an inevitable sense of doom hanging over the other characters. I was also happy to see that one of my favourite themes from the book – Malorie’s moral struggle with the need to be cruel and distant with the children in order to keep them alive, and therefore the difference between living and surviving – was still present.

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Some of the film’s ensemble cast: Sandra Bullock, Trevante Rhodes, John Malkovich, & Sarah Paulson.

On a more negative note, however, I just didn’t find it very scary. Perhaps having read the book, and knowing what fate awaited each character, I simply didn’t feel the same dread that other viewers seem to have experienced. With the book, author Josh Malerman made the most of the form, with the horror, by proxy, always out of sight and left to the reader’s imagination. Trying to replicate this in a visual medium just couldn’t create anywhere near the same level of tension for me. And whilst I thought Sandra Bullock gave a very good performance, at 54, she doesn’t project the kind of energy that Malorie in the book did; that of a young, out-of-her-depth, first-time mother. With a much more mature aura, the difference isn’t necessarily bad; she’s just not the Malorie I always envisioned.

I can understand why those who haven’t read the book have found the film tense and shocking, but the parts of the book that I found the most horrifying, and which continue to haunt me some three years later, were all absent. I’m sure I only have to say, the well, the dog, and the umbilical cord, for readers to know exactly which scenes I’m referring to. As such, this is, for me, another classic case of a perfectly enjoyable movie that had a decent stab at recreating a wonderful book, but which ultimately fell short of capturing its true impact. It’s certainly worth seeing, but I’d recommend the book over the film any day of the week.

Reading Year in Review and 2019 Goals

Before we get swept up by another inevitably fast year, there’s just about time to take stock of how my reading fared throughout the previous 12 months, whilst setting out some new goals for 2019.

According to Goodreads, I read a total of 131 books, the best of which I highlighted in my Top Reads of 2018 post. My average rating for the year was 3.6 stars. This is a little lower than the previous couple of years, but I suppose it’s natural to become a more critical reader over time, and thus harder to please in some respects. It still means I’m picking up more books that I enjoy than I am books I don’t like, and that’s definitely a good thing.

I never read or don’t read a book based on the author’s gender; it’s just not a factor that even computes when I’m deciding what to pick up. Purely out of interest, however, I went through all of my 2018 reads and found that I read more than twice as many books written by women than I did books written by men. This fact is somehow unsurprising yet very pleasing.

My specific goals were:

Read 90 books. At 131, I greatly surpassed that number, so this one gets a big tick.
Pick up the longer books I’ve been putting off for ages. Meh, the success of this is fairly subjective. I did pick up the likes of The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton, and Vixen by Rosie Garland, but I still haven’t read Jane Eyre or The Heart’s Invisible Furies. So, I ticked a few off the ‘long books’ list, but there are others I can roll over to this year.
Read by whim. I definitely did this, which I’m pleased about, as it seems to be the best way to avoid or get out of a reading slump. It’s also part of the reason I still haven’t picked up some of the aforementioned longer reads. The moment I told myself I had to pick one of them up so I’d meet an arbitrary goal, my brain lost interest. Definitely a lesson learned.

In terms of this year, I’m keeping it pretty simple again, with my goals being:

Read 100 books. Pretty self-explanatory.
Read more non-fiction. I don’t pick it up all that often, but when I do, I tend to really enjoy it. I’m not going to set a specific number for this; it’s just something I’d like to consciously reach for a little more often.
Read more plays. Again, I don’t reach for them that often, but for the last two years, a play has ended up being one of my top 10 reads of the year. That has to say something.
Read more Daphne du Maurier. I didn’t read a single full-length du Maurier book in 2018 (just a short story chapbook), and given that I read and adored 5 the previous year, that seems really stupid.
Keep mood reading. The more of my life I spend as a bookworm, the more I come to accept that I’m a mood reader. Set TBRs and suchlike just don’t work for me. As I said, as soon as I tell myself I have to read a certain book, my brain just stops co-operating.

I always like to end these posts by sharing my monthly wrap up pictures from throughout the previous year. It’s a fun way for me (and anyone else who may be interested) to look back at everything I read at a glance. Happy reading in 2019, folks! Here’s hoping lots of good books come our way.

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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