Katheryn Thompson's Blog, page 6

Prize Reading Round-Up

Alongside catching up on some older books (you can check out my latest reading round-up here), I've been continuing to read my way through some of this year's literary prize nominees.

You can find out which nominees I've already read here.

First up was My Darling from the Lions by Rachel Long, a poetry collection shortlisted for the Jhalak Prize, which seeks to celebrate books by British/British resident BAME writers.



My Darling from the Lions feels like a very personal collection of poetry; not just exploring issues close to Rachel Long's heart, but also building up a consistent sense of her family. I like, in this context, that Long shows self-awareness in her poems; I especially enjoyed the poems where she is observed sleeping, and we see how her opinion of herself differs from that of an outsider. I also like the sense of humour which shines through her writing. I have no doubt that everyone will come at these poems from a slightly different place, and have their own favourites for their own reasons. I think it's a strength of My Darling from the Lions that this is the case.

Next came When We Cease to Understand the World by Benjamín Labatut, shortlisted for the International Booker Prize.



When We Cease to Understand the World is a fascinating and highly readable book, which is a work of fiction but based on real life. The book is separated into sections, but is remarkable for its coherence. I loved the way this one was written; it felt like someone telling me a story, and the craftsmanship is such that I could just sit back and watch as everything fell into place. Benjamín Labatut draws connections and parallels within and between the sections, and always seems to end in exactly the right place. I practically read this book in one sitting, and am tempted to start all over again right away.

Having really enjoyed the other books I've read from the Women's Prize for Fiction longlist, I chose Consent by Annabel Lyon next.



Consent was very different from what I expected from a book longlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction. I was expecting something more original or literary, but I don't mind at all that it wasn't. Consent is one of the most readable books I've read this year, and I tore through this book, which had me hooked from page one. I enjoyed reading about the affluent lifestyles of its characters, as well as their addictive habits. I also thought Consent raised some interesting questions, as you might expect from that title, and perhaps if it had explored them more fully this might have been closer to the book I was expecting.

I continued to make my way through the Women's Prize for Fiction nominees with Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi, which made the shortlist.



Yaa Gyasi's approach to postgraduate study feels fresh, as Gifty (our protagonist) turns to science for answers after addiction destroys her brother's life. I loved the details of Gifty's experiments, and the heart-breaking idea that her brother's addiction is the spark of inspiration behind her work. Transcendent Kingdom is a gorgeous title, and I loved the way Yaa Gyasi talked about science and religion, as well as Gifty's ferocious curiosity. I liked the way the story flowed between past and present, and I think that format worked really well. But, despite the engaging storyline, I found the oddly detached writing style stopped me completely losing myself in this one.

Next up was Inferno: A Memoir of Motherhood and Madness by Catherine Cho, another one from the Jhalak Prize shortlist.



I tore through this story of a woman's time on a psychiatric ward, having being involuntary committed following a harrowing bout of postpartum psychosis. The story's tension didn't ease as Cho dwelt on past traumas, not searching for any simple cause and effect, but nonetheless finding resonances in her past and her present. I love the way Cho lets us see how the understandable feelings of anxiety and paranoia, as a new mother feeling the scrutiny of her family, builds to something unrecognisable to most of us. I also love that Cho's racial identity is interwoven into her narrative, giving nuance to more commonly experienced situations. Catherine Cho is clearly a natural storyteller, and I am in awe of her bravery in choosing to tell this story.

There are still lots of nominated books on my to-read list, so watch this space!

I Belong Here by Anita Sethi

I Belong Here: A Journey Along the Backbone of Britain by Anita Sethi was one of my most anticipated books of the year. I can't remember where I first heard about it, probably as I searched for 2021 book releases, but I was immediately intrigued by the book's premise.



After suffering a racially-motivated hate crime, Anita Sethi resolved to make a journey across the Pennines, the 'backbone of Britain', as an act of healing and reclamation. I think this is a fantastic idea, and a great concept for a book.

I Belong Here is more than a simple chronological account of Sethi's physical journey across the Pennines; while she outlines the different stages of her journey, and shares precious moments with us, there is also an overarching story of Sethi's emotional journey. Sethi also makes numerous digressions, as the flow of writing follows her thoughts, and Sethi's eloquent and impassioned arguments about the future of our world were some of my favourite sections.

While there is so much to treasure in this book, I did find myself wishing that I Belong Here had a stronger structure. This is something I have often found myself wishing for when reading autobiographical non-fiction, and is purely a personal preference.

I was moved by how much of herself Sethi shared with the reader, and I am so glad that she was able to make something so beautiful out of her pain. I Belong Here is definitely worth your time, and deserves to be widely read and appreciated.

Reading Round-Up

Now that my local library has reopened, I'm enjoying catching up with my to-read list. Here's what I've been reading recently:

The Lesser Bohemians by Eimear McBride was one of those books at the back of my mind to read at some point, and I couldn't resist this gorgeous cover.



Eimear McBride's writing style took some getting used to, and I was never fully convinced by what it was achieving. Once I did get used to it, I fell into a comfortable reading rhythm. There is lots to like about this story, which is focused on the first sexual relationship of a young drama student, and there are moments when, writing about raw emotions or physicality, the writing style makes perfect sense. Both characters have a history of abuse, and I was less convinced by the section which simply describes his experiences with abuse and addiction. The Lesser Bohemians is an interesting and engaging story, but I don't think this is an author I will return to.

I had been meaning to read Virginia Woolf for a long time, so I was pleased when I spotted Mrs. Dalloway on the shelves.



I was surprised to discover that Mrs Dalloway doesn't follow its eponymous character through the day on which this novel is set, but instead follows several characters. At first I was excited by this unexpected move between characters, but when I realised that it was the same group of characters we drifted between, my excitement lessened. It remains an interesting idea, and I liked the sense of everydayness which Woolf captures, as well as the way she presents people as ultimately alone, despite their myriad connections. But I wasn't fully convinced by the writing style, which I found a little tiresome. I'm glad to have finally read something by Virginia Woolf, but I didn't enjoy Mrs Dalloway as much as I would have liked to.

My next choice was another classic, The Time Machine by H.G. Wells, which I was curious to read as someone with an interest in science-fiction.



I didn't know what to expect from The Time Machine, and I enjoyed it all the more for it. I enjoyed the crisp style of writing, and I loved the format the story is told in as much as the story itself. Innovative, exciting, and (at only 99 pages) definitely worth a read!

I chose Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid, which I'd heard only good things about, next because I wanted something published a little more recently.



I completely understand why so many people enjoyed Daisy Jones and The Six. It is the story of a fictional, legendary rock band, set in 60s and 70s California, and told through interviews with the surviving band members and their friends/family. The concept of telling a fictional story as if it is non-fiction is one that often appeals to me, and I think the playfulness works really well here. I like the way Taylor Jenkins Reid plays with unreliable narrators, without overdoing it. Daisy Jones and The Six is pure escapism, and I was always reluctant to stop reading.

My next choice was The Haunting of Hill House by the iconic Shirley Jackson, who I had been wanting to read for a while.



I really enjoyed this one. The characters are interesting, the descriptions of the house are fantastic, and I love the creeping menace which builds up throughout this book. I've read ghost stories before, which I couldn't get into because I just found them too unrealistic. I had no such problem with The Haunting of Hill House. Shirley Jackson builds up a fascinating relationship between the main character and the house, so that we're never quite sure who's haunting whom. This is a clever little story, wholly absorbing, and with delightfully comic touches.

I was craving some non-fiction, so my last pick was The Face of Britain: The Nation Through its Portraits by Simon Schama.



The Face of Britain is a collection of short histories, illustrated by portraits from the National Portrait Gallery, and separated into five thematic sections. It reads almost like a guided tour around the gallery. I enjoyed learning more about some immediately recognisable portraits, as well as about some household names in British art. There were also some enjoyable and moving stories about art and artists previously unknown to me. I think that The Face of Britain would have benefitted from more illustrations, especially as paintings are often described which the reader cannot see, and a more coherent structure. Although it is not surprising that a book with such a sweeping title lacks a strong structure and occasionally resorts to generalisations, it is still disappointing in a book of this size. Ultimately I got what I wanted out of this book, but I think that there was definitely more to get out of the source material.

What have you been reading recently?

April in Books

I read The Secret Barrister: Stories of the Law and How It's Broken in February (you can check out my review here), and enjoyed it enough to add Fake Law: The Truth About Justice in an Age of Lies to my to-read list.



Fake Law is interested in myth-busting. Focusing on some of the biggest legal stories of recent years, this book shows time and again how society's ignorance of the law makes us vulnerable to misinformation from the media and the government. The Secret Barrister writes for a general audience, and Fake Law, like The Secret Barrister, is accessible and engaging. The author's passion for their subject is evident, and The Secret Barrister's acerbic wit makes the book. Fascinating, enraging, and highly concerning, Fake Law is an important and timely book that is definitely worth reading.

I continued to make my way through this year's Women's Prize longlist, in April, with Nothing But Blue Sky by Kathleen MacMahon.



This is a character-driven book, which nonetheless has a clear storyline, set against a vividly imagined backdrop, and peopled with realistic characters. These are all things I love in a book. I especially love the characters Kathleen MacMahon has created, and I was repeatedly able to recognise facets of myself and others I know in them. Nothing But Blue Sky is a somewhat slow book; one to spend time with rather than rush through, but it is also an engaging book, and definitely worth your time.

You can find out what I thought about all the nominated books I've read so far here.

My next read was The Prophets by Robert Jones Jr., which was only published at the start of the year.



The Prophets is, at its heart, the love story of two enslaved men. But in telling this story, Robert Jones Jr. encompasses the voices of a whole cast of characters on the plantation, slave and slaver alike, as well as the voices of their ancestors. I particularly loved the chapters which brought to life the Kosongo people. The Prophets is certainly an ambitious book, but also a successful one. Despite the amount of perspectives it encompasses, the story never loses its cohesion. All the characters are vividly brought to life, and I was impressed by how sympathetically Jones Jr. portrays each character's viewpoint. I felt myself wanting to side with each character as they told their story. Words fail me as I try to describe the spiritualism which imbues this novel, so you will simply have to read it for yourself to experience Jones Jr.'s lyrical writing and epic imagination. I look forward to seeing what he writes next.

I chose The First Woman by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi next, because it was shortlisted for this year's Jhalak Prize.



The First Woman is a coming-of-age story, set in Uganda during Idi Amin's dictatorship. What makes this story special is the way it blends the familiar and the unfamiliar. I love the way Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi writes about gender; the way she interrogates the myths and misconceptions that belong to her story's setting, but are still recognisable as part of our world today.

You can find out what I thought about all the nominated books I've read so far here.

Next up was The Girl in the Spider's Web by David Lagercrantz, which continues the Millennium series.



The Girl in the Spider's Web continues the Millennium series with a new story, with links to the previous book. All the old favourites are back, and David Lagercrantz does a good job of reminding us who's who and what's what, without boring the reader with repetitions. This is a highly readable book, which I was reluctant to put down. Not essential reading for lovers of the original trilogy, but a solid, page-turning thriller, bound to please fans of Lisbeth Salander.

I finally got round to reading Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders this month, after hearing such great reviews.



I liked the conceit of this one; the setting felt fresh and interesting, and I particularly liked the way George Saunders wrote about not being ready to accept your own death. Once I got used to it, I also liked the writing style, which mimics an academic format of writing. I particularly liked the effect this had on the chapters describing events, as if through historical sources, but I think the format worked less well for the chapters in the so-called Bardo. In the latter, the character's name being cited only at the end of their speech sometimes made it difficult to follow, and envisage, the story. Lincoln in the Bardo didn't blow me away, but it nevertheless did justice to its many rave reviews.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by John le Carré was another one that had been on my to-read list for too long.



I put off reading John le Carré several times, because I was unsure about (what I understood to be) the Cold War setting. However, I found Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy to be a very engaging, and surprisingly accessible, book. This one is worth reading for its content, as much as for its reputation as a 'classic'. I loved the way Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was written, especially the visceral way le Carré sets his scenes. I don't know whether I will return to George Smiley (and Karla), but I do think I will return to John le Carré.

I ticked off another classic this month, and read A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess.



The language takes some getting used to, but I found that the story was always clear, and I quite enjoyed the process of becoming familiar with the invented slang. I thought it was interesting that the story is told from the perspective of a villain, and I liked the way this played into the main character's lack of empathy. A Clockwork Orange explores some interesting ideas, and I'm glad to have finally ticked it off my to-read list.

The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry was another one I had heard great things about, but not yet found the time to read.



The Essex Serpent is, more or less, the gothic novel I was expecting - beautifully written, with impressive historical detail, an engaging plot, and interesting characters. But Sarah Perry's bold questioning of the period's assumptions and expectations makes the story feel fresh and new. I love the way Perry writes an authentically historical novel, which is nonetheless invested in modern ideas. I love her boldness in exposing the period's (and often our own) hypocrisies.

My next read was another one from the Jhalak Prize shortlist: My Darling from the Lions by Rachel Long.



My Darling from the Lions feels like a very personal collection of poetry; not just exploring issues close to Rachel Long's heart, but also building up a consistent sense of her family. I like, in this context, that Long shows self-awareness in her poems; I especially enjoyed the poems where she is observed sleeping, and we see how her opinion of herself differs from that of an outsider. I also like the sense of humour which shines through her writing. I have no doubt that everyone will come at these poems from a slightly different place, and have their own favourites for their own reasons. I think it's a strength of My Darling from the Lions that this is the case.

Eimear McBride was an author I'd heard a lot about but hadn't found the time to try for myself, so I chose to read The Lesser Bohemians next.



Eimear McBride's writing style took some getting used to, and I was never fully convinced by what it was achieving. Once I did get used to it, I fell into a comfortable reading rhythm. There is lots to like about this story, which is focused on the first sexual relationship of a young drama student, and there are moments when, writing about raw emotions or physicality, the writing style makes perfect sense. Both characters have a history of abuse, and I was less convinced by the section which simply describes his experiences with abuse and addiction. I'm glad to have finally read something from McBride, although I find it unlikely that I will read anything else by her.

After this came one from the International Booker Prize shortlist, When We Cease to Understand the World by Benjamín Labatut.



When We Cease to Understand the World is a fascinating and highly readable book, which is a work of fiction but based on real life. The book is separated into sections, but is remarkable for its coherence. I loved the way this one was written; it felt like someone telling me a story, and the craftsmanship is such that I could just sit back and watch as everything fell into place. Benjamín Labatut draws connections and parallels within and between the sections, and always seems to end in exactly the right place. I practically read this book in one sitting, and am tempted to start all over again right away.

I finally read my first Virginia Woolf this month, with Mrs. Dalloway.



I expected Mrs Dalloway to follow its eponymous character through the day on which this novel is set, so I was excited when the narrator first moved away from her to alight on another character. However, when I realised that it was the same group of characters the narrator moves between, my excitement lessened. It remains an interesting idea, and I liked the sense of everydayness which Woolf captures, as well as the way she presents people as ultimately alone, despite their myriad connections. But I wasn't fully convinced by the writing style, which I found a little tiresome. I'm glad to have finally read something by Virginia Woolf, and To the Lighthouse remains on my to-read list, but I didn't enjoy Mrs Dalloway as much as I would have liked to.

My next read was another classic, The Time Machine by H.G. Wells, which I was curious to read as someone with an interest in science-fiction.



I didn't know what to expect from The Time Machine, and I enjoyed it all the more for it. I enjoyed the crisp style of writing, and I loved the format the story is told in as much as the story itself. Innovative, exciting, and (at only 99 pages) definitely worth a read!

Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid is another book I had heard only good things about, but hadn't found time to read before this month.



I completely understand why so many people enjoyed Daisy Jones and The Six. It is the story of a fictional, legendary rock band, set in 60s and 70s California, and told through interviews with the surviving band members and their friends/family. The concept of telling a fictional story as if it is non-fiction is one that often appeals to me, and I think the playfulness works really well here. I like the way Taylor Jenkins Reid plays with unreliable narrators, without overdoing it. Daisy Jones and The Six is pure escapism, and I was always reluctant to stop reading.

Reading Round-Up

My local library has recently reopened, so I thought it would be rude not to drop by and borrow some books. Although I've been enjoying reading new releases recently, I decided to use the opportunity to catch up on some books I really should have read by now.

My first choice was The Girl in the Spider's Web by David Lagercrantz, which continues the Millennium trilogy by the late Stieg Larsson. I wanted to read this one mainly because I have my eye on the film adaptation, starring Claire Foy, which looks like a lot of fun.



The Girl in the Spider's Web continues the Millennium series with a new story, with links to the previous book. All the old favourites are back, and David Lagercrantz does a good job of reminding us who's who and what's what, without boring the reader with repetitions. This is a highly readable book, which I was reluctant to put down. Not essential reading for lovers of the original trilogy, but a solid, page-turning thriller, bound to please fans of Lisbeth Salander.

Next up was Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders, winner of the 2017 Booker Prize. I've heard such great things about this one that I couldn't just walk past it.



I liked the conceit of this one; the setting felt fresh and interesting, and I particularly liked the way George Saunders wrote about not being ready to accept your own death. Once I got used to it, I also liked the writing style, which mimics an academic format of writing. I particularly liked the effect this had on the chapters describing events, as if through historical sources, but I think the format worked less well for the chapters in the so-called Bardo. In the latter, the character's name being cited only at the end of their speech sometimes made it difficult to follow, and envisage, the story. Lincoln in the Bardo didn't blow me away, but it nevertheless did justice to its many rave reviews.

I've wanted to read John le Carré for a while now, but never managed to get round to it. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy seemed as good a place to start as any.



I put off reading John le Carré several times, because I was unsure about (what I understood to be) the Cold War setting. However, I found Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy to be a very engaging, and surprisingly accessible, book. This one is worth reading for its content, as much as for its reputation as a 'classic'. I loved the way Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was written, especially the visceral way le Carré sets his scenes. I don't know whether I will return to George Smiley (and Karla), but I do think I will return to John le Carré.

There are still plenty of classics on my to-read list, one of which is the much-cited A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. Since I'd already picked out a few books by this point, it helped that this edition is very slim!



The language takes some getting used to, but I found that the story was always clear, and I quite enjoyed the process of becoming familiar with the invented slang. I thought it was interesting that the story is told from the perspective of a villain, and I liked the way this played into the main character's lack of empathy. A Clockwork Orange explores some interesting ideas, and I'm glad to have finally ticked it off my to-read list.

The last book I picked up was The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry - another one I had heard great things about, but not yet found the time to read.



The Essex Serpent is, more or less, the gothic novel I was expecting - beautifully written, with impressive historical detail, an engaging plot, and interesting characters. But Sarah Perry's bold questioning of the period's assumptions and expectations makes the story feel fresh and new. I love the way Perry writes an authentically historical novel, which is nonetheless invested in modern ideas. I love her boldness in exposing the period's (and often our own) hypocrisies.

I'll be back to the library soon to return these books and pick out some more, so look out for my next blog post!

Prize Reading Round-Up

Literary prize season is in full swing, and I've been trying to get my hands on as many nominated books as possible. Check out what I've read so far:

First up was No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood, from the Women's Prize longlist.



A powerful meditation on the value of human connection, poet Patricia Lockwood’s mordantly funny debut novel explores the pitfalls of social media in an entirely original fashion.

I really like what Patricia Lockwood is doing here, the way she writes about online culture, and there are plenty of great moments in No One Is Talking About This. It's not always the clearest or most coherent of books, but, especially in this particular moment, I think it's worth reading.

Next came A Ghost in the Throat by Doireann Ní Ghríofa, from the Republic of Consciousness shortlist.



Effortlessly combining both ravishing style and intellectual substance, A Ghost in the Throat traces the passage of a real-life classic of Irish poetry across the centuries, affirming the connections that great art instils in those willing to listen.

A Ghost in the Throat sits in the grey area between fiction and non-fiction, which might partly explain why the story feels so real, but this is evidently also a credit to the writing. It was the protagonist's academic work that resounded with me the most, but I have no doubt that others will recognise themselves in other aspects of this story. I love the way our protagonist imagines the life of the Irish Gaelic poet Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill, weaving a story out of small details, and I imagine that Doireann Ní Ghríofa does something similar with her own story.

You can read my full review here.

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters came next, from the Women's Prize longlist.



Navigating the complicated waters of family-making and motherhood in the twenty-first century, this exciting and very funny debut follows the lives of three trans and cis women living in New York.

I've never read anything like Detransition, Baby before. I love the frankness with which Torrey Peters portrays her transgender characters; she makes so simple, even obvious, the realities of their lives, and I love that. There's so much depth to this story; so much to learn from, and to feel a part of. I'm thrilled that this one has made the Women's Prize longlist.

Next up was Luster by Raven Leilani, from the Women's Prize longlist and the Dylan Thomas Prize shortlist.



Audacious and provocative, Leilani’s firecracker of a debut charts Edie’s awkward slalom through modern life, from dead-end hook ups and crushed ambitions to a romantic liaison that has disaster written all over it.

I didn't actually know what the story was about, so the plot itself came as something of a surprise, especially considering how unusual the situation is that Edie finds herself in. For me, however, Luster was less about plot and more about characters. The world that Raven Leilani creates feels utterly real, and I love that her characters remain slightly inscrutable - like real people. That is not to say, however, that there is no plot. It was the progression of the story, driven by its characters, that kept me reading this one. I finished it in a day.

Nothing But Blue Sky by Kathleen MacMahon is another one from the Women's Prize longlist.



Dissecting the mechanics of a marriage with rich psychological insight, Nothing But Blue Sky finds a bereaved husband questioning the truth about the woman he thought he knew inside out.

This is a character-driven book, which nonetheless has a clear storyline, set against a vividly imagined backdrop, and peopled with realistic characters. These are all things I love in a book. I especially love the characters Kathleen MacMahon has created, and I was repeatedly able to recognise facets of myself and others I know in them. Nothing But Blue Sky is a somewhat slow book; one to spend time with rather than rush through, but it is also an engaging book, and definitely worth your time.

The First Woman by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi, from the Jhalak Prize shortlist, is my most recent nominated read.



An intoxicating coming-of-age tale set amidst the brutality of Idi Amin’s Uganda, The First Woman is a hymn to survival, rebellion and the enduring power of the female spirit.

What makes this story special is the way it blends the familiar and the unfamiliar. I love the way Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi writes about gender; the way she interrogates the myths and misconceptions that belong to her story's setting, but are still recognisable as part of our world today. I was a bit concerned about the length of this book, as I was looking for a shorter read, but the pages practically turned themselves.

There are still plenty of nominated books on my to-read list, so look out for a follow-up to this post!

March in Books

I've been a fan of the Vera TV series for a long time, so I decided to finally try the books, starting with The Crow Trap by Ann Cleeves.



Vera is a fascinating character, vividly brought to life, and even after only one book I feel like I have a better, rounder understanding of her character than can be gained from watching the TV series alone. But although Vera steals the show, she isn't the only aspect of the book worth reading it for; I was particularly impressed by how well-crafted the plot is. I would definitely be happy to read more of the series.

You can read my full review here.

I recently discovered a love for the poetry of Eavan Boland, so was excited to get my hands on her final collection, The Historians.



Eavan Boland made an immediate impression on me, and to read The Historians is to remember why. This is a fitting final collection, musing on memory and history, lost and silenced voices, and the craft of poetry. This is a book to sit and savour, to read and reread. I feel a genuine sense of loss at Boland's passing.

In the wake of the Shamima Begum case, I chose Guest House for Young Widows: Among the Women of ISIS by Azadeh Moaveni as my next read.



Through the stories of individual women, coupled with relevant snippets of historical context, Azadeh Moaveni explains how so many women came to leave their lives behind and join the Islamic State. I was impressed by how clearly Moaveni has organised what must have been an enormous amount of research, in order to tell a compelling and coherent story. This was definitely the right book for me to read, to challenge my beliefs and broaden my understanding. I encourage you to do the same.

The newly-released edition of Bridget Jones's Diary (And Other Writing): 25th Anniversary Edition by Helen Fielding gave me the perfect excuse to finally tick Bridget Jones's Diary off my to-read list.



Much as I'd expected to, I found this one a highly engaging and entertaining read, if a little outdated. I wasn't convinced by the additional writing; although I liked finding out a bit more about how Bridget Jones came about, I found the updated entries about Brexit and Coronavirus a little forced (as such things often are). While I don't personally think the extra writing in this edition adds much to the original book, I definitely think Bridget Jones's Diary is worth your time.

Brown Baby: A Memoir of Race, Family and Home by Nikesh Shukla was one of my most anticipated books of 2021.



Nikesh Shukla is a wonderful, and very funny, writer, and Brown Baby is a delightful, engaging, and important book. Brown Baby doesn't shy away from the realities of the world we live in, but offers hope and encouragement - if only from knowing that you are not alone. This is one of those books you can't help but tell others about, filled as it is with funny and insightful anecdotes, and the voice it is written in confirmed for me that Shukla is a writer I want to hear more from.

You can read my full review here.

Everyone suddenly seemed to be talking about Ruthless Women by Melanie Blake, so I decided to give it a go.



Ruthless Women is set behind the scenes of a soap opera, and reads rather like a soap opera itself. The story's twists and turns forced me to constantly change allegiances between characters - a testament both to the ingenuity of the plot and the brilliance of its female characters. I loved how female-centred this book was; living up to its title's promise. Any other fans of so-called unlikable female characters will not be disappointed. Ruthless Women is a highly entertaining book, and I could barely tear myself away from the denouement.

After No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood made the Women's Prize longlist for this year, I decided it was the perfect time to read this much-hyped book.



I really like what Patricia Lockwood is doing here, the way she writes about online culture, and there are plenty of great moments in No One Is Talking About This. It's not always the clearest or most coherent of books, but, especially in this particular moment, I think it's worth reading.

I came across Hanif Kureishi in Nikesh Shukla's Brown Baby, and decided to read his Collected Stories.



Every time I read a collection of short stories, I'm reminded of how much I like them and left wondering why I don't read more. Reading Kureishi's Collected Stories felt like being able to temporarily inhabit the lives of all these different people. I feel almost as if I know them. This is definitely a book I recommend, and I am grateful to Nikesh Shukla for introducing me to its author.

One of my reading goals for 2021 was to read the rest of William Shakespeare's plays, so I chose Henry VIII as my next read.



I can see why this isn't one of Shakespeare's most popular plays, but I did enjoy it more than other people seemed to have (judging by the reviews). I particularly liked the way the play focuses on the successive falls of historical characters, and in so doing alludes to the future falls of others. While I didn't particularly like the ending in the BBC adaptation I watched, which seemed to suggest that all is resolved by the birth of Elizabeth I, I found the ending of the play itself much more interesting and thought-provoking.

Next up was Girl Gurl Grrrl: On Womanhood and Belonging in the Age of Black Girl Magic by Kenya Hunt.



I really enjoyed this one. I appreciated how up-to-date it was, as well as the fact that its author is British (both make for more relatable references, for this reader), but what really made it work was the way the writing flowed. Despite the personal content, Kenya Hunt has a talent for organising her thoughts on the page, and the result is a collection of genuinely interesting, relatable, and easy-to-follow essays. There is so much of value in this book, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.

When it made this year's Republic of Consciousness longlist, A Ghost in the Throat by Doireann Ní Ghríofa also made my to-read list.



A Ghost in the Throat sits in the grey area between fiction and non-fiction, which might partly explain why the story feels so real, but this is evidently also a credit to the writing. It was the protagonist's academic work that resounded with me the most, but I have no doubt that others will recognise themselves in other aspects of this story. I love the way our protagonist imagines the life of the Irish Gaelic poet Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill, weaving a story out of small details, and I imagine that Doireann Ní Ghríofa does something similar with her own story.

You can read my full review here.

After hearing so much praise for Real Life by Brandon Taylor, shortlisted for the Booker Prize last year, I was excited when it became available at my library.



Real Life is the perfect title for this book about the intermediary position you feel in as a postgraduate student, no longer a child but not quite ready to join the adult world. The way Brandon Taylor writes about postgraduate study and academic life really resounded with me, and it may well be that I received this book more favourably than others because it speaks so well to my current situation. But Taylor has a talent for expression of thought; time and again, I found myself thinking about how he summed up a particular feeling perfectly. I particularly loved the way he wrote about racism, and the the experience of being Black in a predominantly white environment. I wouldn't be surprised if most people who read this book see themselves in some part of it, and, in turn, feel seen.

For some much-needed comfort reading, I returned to Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.



This was the perfect choice, not only because the story is practically the definition of comfort-reading, but also because it turns out (I realised when I logged this reread on Goodreads) that I first read Pride and Prejudice exactly a year ago to the day. I loved this book even more on a reread - the only problem is that now I want to rewatch the BBC adaptation too.

You can read my original review here.

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters is another one from this year's Women's Prize longlist.



I've never read anything like Detransition, Baby before. I love the frankness with which Torrey Peters portrays her transgender characters; she makes so simple, even obvious, the realities of their lives, and I love that. There's so much depth to this story; so much to learn from, and to feel a part of. I'm thrilled that this one has made the Women's Prize longlist.

I continued with my goal of reading all of William Shakespeare's plays, by ending the month with Pericles.



I found this play much more coherent and engaging than the BBC adaptation I watched, since the various sections of the play are more neatly demarcated, and since there is none of the necessary padding-out of a production. While Pericles is undoubtedly a play of parts, the story doesn't drag on in the same way when read rather than watched.

I finished the month with Luster by Raven Leilani, a book which has made both the Women's Prize longlist and the Dylan Thomas Prize shortlist.



I didn't actually know what the story was about, so the plot itself came as something of a surprise, especially considering how unusual the situation is that Edie (our protagonist) finds herself in. For me, however, Luster was less about plot and more about characters. The world that Raven Leilani creates feels utterly real, and I love that her characters remain slightly inscrutable - like real people. That is not to say, however, that there is no plot. It was the progression of the story, driven by its characters, that kept me reading this one. I finished it in a day.

A Ghost in the Throat by Doireann Ní Ghríofa

When it made this year's Republic of Consciousness longlist, A Ghost in the Throat by Doireann Ní Ghríofa also made my to-read list.



A Ghost in the Throat sculpts essay and autofiction to explore inner life and the deep connection felt between two writers centuries apart. In the 1700s, an Irish noblewoman, on discovering her husband has been murdered, drinks handfuls of his blood and composes an extraordinary poem. In the present day, a young mother narrowly avoids tragedy. On encountering the poem, she becomes obsessed with its parallels with her own life, and sets out to track down the rest of the story. A devastating and timeless tale about one woman freeing her voice by reaching into the past and finding another's.

I feel like there have been a lot of great books published recently about motherhood, and I'm struck by how female authors are still having to demonstrate how difficult the work of motherhood can be, how important it is that we talk about those difficulties, and how motherhood is a fit topic for literature. Motherhood is key to A Ghost in the Throat, whose protagonist is a stay-at-home mother, who first begins spending time with the Irish Gaelic poet Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill while using a breast pump. I love the way Doireann Ní Ghríofa talks about the body of her protagonist, and the physical changes she undergoes as a result of motherhood. I also love the way she talks about her protagonist giving away something of herself, and gaining something in return - in relation to nourishing her children, but also to acts of perceived selflessness and selfishness, and to her obsessive searching for details of the life of Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill.

It was the protagonist's academic work that resounded with me the most. I know how it feels to read something which sparks an obsession, to search records for the women who have been erased, and to constantly find women described by men according to their relationship with other men. I love the way Doireann Ní Ghríofa talks about female texts, a term which she applies with brilliance. If there were moments where the story repeated itself slightly, or dwelt on something for a little too long, I felt this was appropriate for the obsessive, often cyclical, nature of our protagonist's search.

A Ghost in the Throat sits in the grey area between fiction and non-fiction, which might partly explain why the story feels so real, but this is evidently also a credit to the writing. I recognise myself in the protagonist's academic work, but I have no doubt that others will recognise themselves in other aspects of this story. I love the way our protagonist imagines the lives of Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill and her family members, weaving a story out of small details, and I imagine that Doireann Ní Ghríofa does something similar with her own story.

Reading Round-Up

The newly-released edition of Bridget Jones's Diary (And Other Writing): 25th Anniversary Edition by Helen Fielding gave me the perfect excuse to finally tick Bridget Jones's Diary off my to-read list.



Much as I'd expected to, I found this one a highly engaging and entertaining read, if a little outdated. I wasn't convinced by the additional writing; although I liked finding out a bit more about how Bridget Jones came about, I found the updated entries about Brexit and Coronavirus a little forced (as such things often are). While I don't personally think the extra writing in this edition adds much to the original book, I definitely think Bridget Jones's Diary is worth your time.

I wasn't exactly sure what to expect of Ruthless Women by Melanie Blake, but I couldn't resist that title.



Ruthless Women is set behind the scenes of a soap opera, and reads rather like a soap opera itself. The story's twists and turns forced me to constantly change allegiances between characters - a testament both to the ingenuity of the plot and the brilliance of its female characters. I loved how female-centred this book was; living up to its title's promise. Any other fans of so-called unlikable female characters will not be disappointed. Ruthless Women is a highly entertaining book, and I could barely tear myself away from the denouement.

Ironically, I wanted to read No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood because everyone was talking about it.



I really like what Patricia Lockwood is doing here, the way she writes about online culture, and there are plenty of great moments in No One Is Talking About This. It's not always the clearest or most coherent of books, but, especially in this particular moment, I think it's worth reading. I definitely think it deserves a spot on the Women's Prize longlist, and I look forward to reading the rest of the nominees.

Brown Baby by Nikesh Shukla

Brown Baby: A Memoir of Race, Family and Home by Nikesh Shukla was one of my most anticipated books of 2021. If it was one of yours too, you'll be pleased to hear that it lived up to my expectations.



I knew I'd picked the right book almost as soon as I'd started reading. Nikesh Shukla is a wonderful, and very funny, writer, and his writing style is perfect for this kind of personal book, which doesn't shy away from the realities of the world we live in. At its simplest, Brown Baby is a book addressed to Shukla's eldest daughter, about how best to raise a child in a world that is racist, sexist, and facing an environmental crisis. The types of questions Shukla asks are ones that I often find myself thinking about, because even though he frames these questions around parenthood, they are essentially about life. Shukla talks about these questions in interesting, insightful, and often amusing ways, offering hope and encouragement to the reader - if only from knowing that you are not alone in your quest.

This is one of those books you can't help but tell others about, filled as it is with funny and insightful anecdotes. Insightful seems a particularly useful word to describe this book, not just because of the elucidating way Shukla writes about the familiar, but also because of the elucidating way he writes about the unfamiliar. These moments will obviously differ from reader to reader, but for me it is certain discussions Shukla has about race that will stay with me the longest. I think it's important to add, however, that Shukla writes equally powerfully on parenthood and on loss.

Brown Baby is a delightful, engaging, and important book, and the voice it is written in confirmed for me that Nikesh Shukla is a writer I want to hear more from.