September 2020 Books

The Great

Love and Other Thought Experiments by Sophie Ward

This book went places I could never have guessed, and for that reason I don't want to say too much about it or its plot so as to preserve the wonderful surprise of a book that defies all expectations. I read it in one heady afternoon and found it to be a fun, experimental and sometimes moving ride.

It starts with a couple, Rachel and Eliza, who are trying to decide whether to start a family together. Eliza is the down-to-earth, clearheaded scientist of the pairing, and she is disturbed one night when Rachel begins to complain about ants on her side of the bed and then even more worryingly, when she urgently insists one has crawled inside her head. From there we have chapters that at times relate back to this origin story, and at times seem like completely separate narratives (though I don't think it would be going too far to tell you that they are, in fact, interconnected). Each one is prefaced by a famous thought experiment, typically from the philosophy of mind.

This is a messy little book that takes you on a rollicking journey through these thought experiments and many (though not all) of their implications across a narrative that is much grander than it first appears. Whilst its execution is not perfect, nor do I think some of its narrative points were always connected quite as successfully as they might have been, I couldn't help but admire Ward's scope of vision for this book and her unique approach. I think had the book been longer and more detailed and more 'perfect', it might not have worked quite so well, and would have taken itself too seriously. As it is, it is a surprisingly wonderful read that is touching as well as thoughtful. I would definitely recommend it if you like ambitious books that require a little bit of attention, a healthy suspension of disbelief and more than a touch of philosophy.

The Fire This Time ed. By Jesmyn Ward

This is a collection of essays and poems about race and racism in America, written by a wide range of acclaimed writers and I found it to be an informative, if heartwrending, contemporary collection which looks both quite specifically at what was relevant in 2016 at the time of its publication (i.e. the Charleston church shooting and Ferguson are referenced in multiple works), as well as more general issues. All of the essays are written in accomplished and engaging prose that demands your attention, and I found it to be a really fantastic collection. Many of them are personal writings, and all are obviously written in the legacy of Baldwin, who inspired the title of the book.

There are essays about police brutality; about how Northern states cover up their history with the Black population and slavery (sometimes literally by covering up old gravesites); about Outkast and being black and Southern; about Phillis Wheatley-Peters, an African-American woman who published a book of poetry in 1773; about white rage; about walking while Black. These are just a small sample of the many topics that are packed into this book, and I highly recommend it to everyone as I think it is illuminating and also a beautifully written and edited collection.

The Good

Shuggie Bain by Douglas Stuart

This book follows Shuggie Bain - a young boy growing up in 1980s Glasgow - as he tries to save his mother from her debilitating alcoholism, as well as grow up himself under immensely difficult circumstances. Naturally this novel looks at the impact of Thatcherism on Glasgow, and the unceasing burden of poverty that tries to strip its victims of all dignity. This is all made more complicated for Shuggie because he is different from the other children, being both somewhat effeminate and also gay. In a society where straight-laced masculinity is a vital layer of protection, this makes him that much more vulnerable.

This book had an excruciatingly slow start, and I wondered a few times if I would ever get into a flow with it, but luckily after the hundred page mark I began to get pulled into Shuggie's world. It is a novel that could probably have done with a little editing as it felt overlong without really going anywhere, but it was a heart-breaking portrait of poverty and alcoholism and growing up queer rendered in unfussy prose. I was concerned at times with its portrayal of women or alcoholism and addiction in general. This novel is semi-autobiographical and it was clear it was approaching addiction very much from Shuggie's (/Stuart's) point of view, without wanting to get too much closer to what it really means to be an addict beyond the behavioural aspects, and of course the utterly devastating impact on close family members.

Overall I thought this was an accomplished debut and I'm very interested to see what Stuart writes next now that this semi-autobiographical work ten years in the making has been published (and Booker nominated!) However I don't think I would go out of my way to recommend it, as I think there are novels that treat with these issues a little less unevenly.

(Please be warned that this book is deeply upsetting and contains scenes of sexual assault and abuse.)

Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid

Here is a book that surprised me, because (forgive me) I sort of thought I'd hate it. I generally try to avoid books about bloggers and social media because something about it just makes me feel funny inside. I think part of it is that the problem with writing books about right now is that you have to get it so right - the dialogue, the authentic 'text speak', the real way you use tech and not just the way that would most aid the plot and writing choices of the author (these were things that Anne Tyler really fell down on in Redhead by the Side of the Road). More often than not, it all ends up sounding too contrived. However, I think this book mostly hits the mark without being too cringey. I know not everyone finds this sort of stuff cringey, and I'm sure I could go into a long digression interrogating why it is for me, but it would likely be very boring for you so we'll just swiftly move on.

As I was saying, I was surprised by this book. I found it to be a comprehensive look at a complex and weird situation which brings race, privilege and performative wokeness to the fore in a clever and entertaining way. It follows Emira, a Black sitter working for a white family, the mother Alix being a semi-famous blogger feminist who is supposed to be writing her first book. One night Alix calls Emira late at night to look after her daughter as there's been an emergency, and while the two of them go to the grocery store to waste some time Emira is questioned by security and accused of kidnapping the child. This triggers a sort of insecurity bomb in Alix, and sets in motion an odd series of events which shows just how harmful actions of even well-meaning white people can be, as well as how they can also be blatantly self-serving and performative even when doing the 'right' thing (or what is most definitely the wrong thing). Neither Alix nor Emira's white boyfriend Kelley (who has a whole host of issues of his own) are portrayed as downright evil and both sometimes make (somewhat) astute points or attempts to help Emira, but they also try to wield Emira's proximity to them and her Blackness for their own benefit. It's a book which will hopefully and quite deservedly embarrass a lot of white people who may recognise themselves in its pages, and I think it quite brilliantly captures a lot of the pitfalls of contemporary conversations about race and how they play out both in day to day life and online. Reid's writing felt both light and accessible, as well as being sharp and incisive. This is not the heavy literary hitter that we might expect from the Booker, but I think it deserves its place on the list for deftly merging difficult conversations with an engaging plot and eminently readable writing style.

The Good but With More Confusion

The Book of Not by Tsitsi Dangarembga

Here's a novel that I thought was well executed and achieved all it set out to do, but I nonetheless could not enjoy it. I find myself constantly correcting myself over the use of 'enjoy' because the content of some books is not really to be 'enjoyed' per se (including this one) but it seems to me to be true that the majority of fiction is surely there to keep you engaged on some level, and for me, this one felt a little like a slog.

As you may know, this is the second novel in what is now a trilogy, with Nervous Conditions coming first in 1989, and the third book This Mournable Body being published this year and subsequently becoming Booker-nominated. Now I read Nervous Conditions quite a few years ago, so my memory of it is somewhat hazy, but this book still felt markedly different from Dangarembga's first, and I felt like it lacked a lot of its energy and pacing. I'm very intrigued as to whether the final instalment will be different again now that it has been another fourteen years since The Book of Not was published.

However, I think the monotony was not unintentional here, and it certainly serves a purpose. The book mostly follows our protagonist Tambu at a prestigious school in which she is one of few Black students there on a scholarship (and required by quotas), hoping once again for a brighter, more educated future despite the fact that Zimbabwe is in the middle of a war for independence. The novel opens with an explosive scene whereby Tambu, on leave from school, witnesses her sister's leg get blown off in front of her. But like with the death of her brother in Nervous Conditions, Tambu feels disconnected from the scene and unable to care, hoping only that this will not get back to the white nuns and students at the Young Ladies' College of the Sacred Heart.

Throughout a large part of the book, Tambu obsessively worries about school and her education. Despite being one of the top-performing students, she is passed over for the yearly prize for best results in favour of the closest white competitor, obviously for the optics. She finds herself unable to find her place either amongst the white students or the Black students, the latter because she is disdainful of them and wants to distance herself from them. The spirit of colonialism has fully invaded Tambu's mind like a virus, and in the process makes her so confused and tangled up that she ends up in a much worse position than she ever would have imagined for herself in the hopeful spirit of sections of Nervous Conditions. This serves to show how difficult the concept of (Western) education in this colonial Zimbabwean society is, particularly for a girl. From my limited perspective, I feel this novel probably does an excellent job of showing the sheer amount of daily paranoia, thought and effort that went into being Black in a white institution like Sacred Heart, particularly at the time when the students were not allowed to touch across race lines, had separate toilets (an impossible situation when nature calls), and had to outperform everyone else. However, all of this, as well as Tambu's behaviour towards her peers makes her quite unlikable and also like I said it makes for quite mundane reading, even if it is totally understandable and intentional.

Furthermore, alongside Tambu, we as readers turn our faces from the day to day violence and action of Zimbabwe's war for Independence. Instead, by concentrating on Tambu and the goings-on at her school, we see how colonialism and the war have far-reaching psychological effects beyond just its physical conflicts. We also see how colonialism intersects specifically with Tambu's relationship to her womanhood, particularly in her relationship with her mother, who represents one kind, and to her wealthy white educated peers, which represents another.

The pacing of this novel is odd; we can spend pages and pages on one dinner at the school and the minutiae of life in this difficult and confusing environment, but then suddenly Tambu is out of school and in various jobs and Independence arrives rather randomly. Again, I feel Nervous Conditions (from what I remember!) had more control and focus on some of these elements than this instalment. The in-betweenness of Tambu means that she ends up on a lonely road by the end of the book, unable to successfully integrate and become a 'new Zimbabwean' as a Black woman who was highly educated through a colonial system, a system that is now changing to neocolonialism through capitalism and globalisation. I'm very interested to see where Dangarembga goes next in this series, and whether we will see any hope return in Tambu's future. But yes, whilst this novel works through a lot of complex ideas (as you can see from the amount I've written about it), it was nonetheless a pretty slow read. But I am glad I read it and I think Dangarembga is still very much worth reading.

The Shadow King by Maaza Mengiste

I almost put this book down around eighty pages because I was struggling with its prose style so much. However, I'm glad I ended up pushing through as I think I came to appreciate the book for what it was, and not so much for what I wanted it to be, or what I might have preferred. It is about the 1935 Italian invasion of Ethiopia, and it was specifically inspired by Mengiste's discovery that there were women soldiers who fought alongside the men for their country.

We start off with three characters, Kidane and his wife Aster, and their maid Hirut. At first, there is much conflict between Aster and Hirut, with Kidane often coming to the rescue of the latter. However, when Kidane becomes an important leader within the Ethiopian army and goes off to war, Aster and Hirut eventually find common ground. I actually think their relationship was underrepresented and got lost somewhat as the cast of characters became (sometimes needlessly) bigger - I would have liked to see more of them and their development! Also important is Jewish Italian soldier Ettore, a photographer who at first participates in the atrocities of war until he begins to hear reports of anti-Semitism back home and starts to see the humanity of the people whose country he is invading.

As I said, my main struggle with this book was with its prose. For me, it was just too florid and too overwrought. Every single moment - particularly towards the beginning - was described in an intensely dramatic way, which for me generally undermines those moments which are actually pivotal and noteworthy. I'm definitely a less-is-more kind of reader. It seemed like Mengiste was really manufacturing an atmosphere in the first hundred pages or so, without allowing it to come naturally from the engaging narrative concept, or a few more carefully chosen descriptive passages. In lots of ways, I think both these things really obscured the plot and some of the more beautiful, almost cinematic moments that Mengiste created. Furthermore, there were just too many other stylistic things going on as well - there were the Greek elements of the chorus and the interludes, there were the descriptions of various photos taken by Ettore, there was a huge cast and the inclusion of big historical figures like Haile Selassie himself, as well as the framing narrative that by the end seemed unimportant. In addition, there was a lot less of the women than I thought there would be and after the first sections dedicated to Hirut and Aster, they were mostly seen through the male gaze, which I thought was a missed opportunity. And there were some - to my mind - gratuitous scenes of sexual assault, too. I know it’s a part of war and this world, but it needs to be done in the correct way.

However, as I kept reading I saw the flashes of brilliance in Mengiste's writing, and also in her chosen themes and storyline. I just wished she had dialled back some of the other elements so that these could have shined more. However, that is just me as a reader and what I prefer, and many people absolutely love this book. If you like more 'flowery' prose and are less of a quiet novel kind of reader like I am, I definitely think this book is worth looking into. Just because I don't like that kind of thing doesn't mean I'm right! It's definitely a personal preference. And I am interested to see what she writes next, though I will be a little warier next time perhaps.

The Fine

The New Wilderness by Diane Cook

I think we all know by now that I love a bit of nature writing so I was very excited by the prospect of this dystopia which follows a mother and daughter who have left the 'City' to take part in a study in the 'Wilderness' and live a (sort of) primitive and nomadic existence in the last remaining nature reserve. The mother Bea did not really want to give up the comforts of the City but her daughter Agnes was becoming increasingly sick because of the air pollution there so the two of them join eighteen others to live off the land. However, this naturally creates a tension between the two, especially as Agnes now has few memories of the City and is becoming wild in ways that are bewildering for her mother.

This book is best on the mother-daughter relationship, which is wrought in all its complexity. I enjoyed its slow plodding through the Wilderness, but I can see that for many this book would drag and seem almost plotless until we approach the final few pages. Naturally, it’s looking at our relationship with nature, climate change and our relentless destruction of the environment, though there was actually much less of this than I thought there would be as it mostly focussed on the people and their interpersonal relations in this new world that also at times seems sort of like a pointless theme park (making me think of George Saunders' Pastoralia!)

This book was worst on its whiteness or whitewashing, despite seeming to have a Northern American setting. In the acknowledgements, Cook says that she studied (existing?) 'tribal populations' and earlier 'primitive cultures' for inspiration for the actions of her characters, and in the next breath acknowledges various Native American tribes 'whose ancestral lands [my emphasis] provided inspiration for where these characters lived and walked'. Something about this (and the juxtaposition of the two things) makes me pretty uncomfortable, especially as no such acknowledgement of any of that exists in the text at all, a text which features what seems to me to be a selection of characters largely coded as white. All the characters seem culturally similar (and culturally deficient), but then Cook will throw in the occasional use of Spanish, which suggests there exists at least some cultural difference still, even if her rebuttal would be that through the blankness of her characters she was showing total cultural homogenisation within the 'City'. Indeed, if your point is that you are showing such homogenisation, is it important to point out and acknowledge that that dominant culture is coded as white (as a result presumably of Western capitalism as it stands today?) I think there should maybe have been some more thought put into this especially as she acknowledges she looked to other cultures for inspiration. I think an acknowledgement of race and the whiteness of her world might have really elevated the work. So all in all whilst I found it quite engaging throughout, I think there is certainly more creative dystopian nature writing out there that would be a better use of your time.