Clean by Alia Trabucco Zerán (translated by Sophie Hughes)

I was captivated by the narrator of this novel who immediately declares that her name is Estela Garcia. She is locked in a room (initially we don't know where this is or why she is being held there) and delivers a monologue about her life to unknown listener(s) on the other side of the wall. She's spent the past seven years working as a maid, cook and nanny to a well-to-do couple in Santiago ever since the birth of their daughter Julia. However, Julia has been found dead and through Estela's circuitous narrative we discover the circumstances and events leading up to the girl's demise. The suspense about whether she was murdered by Estela or someone else or died because of some other reason persists throughout the novel. But the more compelling mystery is about the psychology and point of view of this domestic worker who has been a near-silent presence amongst this family. There is tremendous strength in her charismatic voice though she's obediently followed orders for years. Now she is finally having her say and her observations about the uneasy balance of power in this household is riveting.

There's a sense throughout the book that larger social, economic and political troubles are brewing in the country. News of protests and public disturbances reach the household. At one point their home is invaded by thieves who cruelly humiliate Estela while she demonstrates great fortitude. Though Chile's larger conflicts aren't specifically named or deeply explored their presence adds to the sense that, like Leila Slimani's “Lullaby”, this novel is really a sly social critique dressed as a thriller. Estela initially moved to the city from the near-impoverished countryside seeking better work opportunities and a way to help support her ailing mother. She's worked six days a week for this family for years and been reduced to an anonymous being who is painfully isolated and taken for granted. The parents' rigidly formal manner towards her is gradually soul destroying so that Estela's small transgressions such as putting on the mother's new dress or feeding a stray dog feel like triumphant declarations of autonomy. Sinister descriptions of ordinary objects and actions within the house deftly add to the sense of uneasy atmosphere and building tension of this compelling story. “Clean” is a much more commercial book and less experimental than Zeran's previous novel “The Remainder”, but it's no less politically engaged and maintains an ardent commitment to centring marginalized voices.

Butcher by Joyce Carol Oates

Oates does not shrink from depicting violence in her fiction. From her haunting fictionalisation of the Chappaquiddick incident in “Black Water” to a representation of the mind of a Jeffrey Dahmer-like serial killer in “Zombie”, this literature exposes not only horrendous events but the warped reasoning of the perpetrators of these crimes. However, JCO is also a strong advocate for giving a voice to the voiceless by writing about those who are abused, marginalized and discarded. Such is the case for this new novel which is dedicated “For all the Brigits – the unnamed as well as the named, the muted as well as those whose voices were heard, the forgotten as well as those enshrined in history.” Brigit is an indentured servant working at the New Jersey Asylum for Female Lunatics in the mid-1800s. She becomes a patient and assistant to the asylum's director Silas Aloysius Weir, M.D. whose “chronicle of a physician's life” makes up the bulk of this narrative. The novel is a fictional biography by Weir's son as he's gathered testimonies to account for how his father became known as the 'Father of Gyno-Psychiatry'. But, rather than presenting a distinguished career, the book shows how Weir was really an ambitious man whose experimental operations on the bodies of women makes him more of a butcher than a doctor.

In Silas' own words we see how he arrogantly attempts to justify his actions for the sake of science and his version of Christian duty when really it is about proving himself to his father, enhancing his own reputation/wealth, kowtowing to those in power, taking credit for the knowledge/discoveries of others and perpetuating the assumed superiority of white men. Not only are the inept surgical procedures he performs stomach-turning but so is his attitude, egotism and arrogance. I felt so deeply for all the women who he was assigned to see and were forced (sometimes drugged) to receive his inept ministrations. Weir ruthlessly plots to have access to a wider choice of subjects to conduct experiments on with as minimal accountability as possible. Alongside the horrendous violence inflicted upon his subjects' minds and bodies is Weir's total repugnance of the female body. The only thing which impinges upon Weir's sense of narcissistic self-belief is the figure of Brigit. It's curious and fascinating how their relationship evolves as Silas becomes increasingly convinced that this initially deaf/mute individual is speaking to him and they engage in several (imagined) arguments as she becomes the voice of reason and his conscience.

Oates shows how misogyny is built into the medical profession leading to a near total ignorance about how the human body actually works, wrongful treatments and the sense of shame put upon women about their own bodies and natural functions. In the background are the midwives/nurses (Betje and Gretel) who often have much more practical knowledge and applications to treat the issues that women face. Yet they are often dismissed or treated as uneducated amateurs. Gretel is a nurse at the asylum and it's fascinating how she cunningly plays up to Silas' ego suggesting options which he can dismiss and then come back claiming as his own as this is the only way to help the female patients get anything close to practical treatments. It's perhaps Gretel's only viable option working in such an unjust system. This also allows her to achieve more favour under Silas' authority and hence be able to better care for the women.

It's so interesting how the story expands upon the history of indentured servants in America running parallel to the practice of slavery showing how there was a whole other class of people with no rights and no financial resources to turn anywhere else. Of course, even women with more means and status who suffered from physical/mental conditions which the medical profession didn't understand were also vulnerable as women were basically treated as the property of fathers/husbands. Nevertheless, when the bodies begin stacking up through mistreatment or suicide there is a sense of growing outcry and charges begin forming against those in power. This builds up to a dramatic conclusion which is foreshadowed at the beginning of the novel. Oates is particularly skilled at portraying a frenzied consciousness or mob mentality to convey scenes where there is fast action and heated feelings at play.

It's notable how Oates' novel is set in a similar time period and setting to Jayne Anne Phillips' recent Pulitzer Prize winning novel “Night Watch”, but “Butcher” presents a corrupt and terrifying institution rather than the progressive one which Phillips portrayed. Though Oates highlights the way many women in history have been butchered and killed under the guise of advancing science and a misguided version of Christian values, the novel is also commenting on what happens when decisions about women's bodies are left in the hands of men. It feels intentional that Oates has produced this historical novel now when the rights of women are being more constricted in some states in America and continue being minimised in some other countries around the world. I feel like this gives the story a relevance and urgency which makes the violence portrayed have meaning beyond simply being horrific. Oates is so skilled at evoking a psychological intensity with her narrative style which makes it gripping and mesmerising to read. However, there are some sections of this novel which feel less convincing especially in the mantra of a female patient from a higher social class which feels too self-conscious and knowing to be believable as a diary entry. Also some of Silas' sections seem so hopelessly naïve it reads more like Oates is overtly building criticism against him into the story rather than mimicking his voice. Nevertheless, as a fictional amalgam of doctors from this period of history which Oates researched, Weir typifies a kind of arrogant man who will do anything to maintain his own position and dominance so he must believe wholeheartedly in his righteousness no matter how ludicrous.

“Butcher” is a haunting account of the kinds of early experiments performed on human subjects which led to the medical knowledge we have today. It's also a striking representation of a misogynistic mind which is motivated more by self-belief and personal gain than caring for his patients. It's an arresting, horrifying and impactful novel.

Hagstone by Sinéad Gleeson

I've been greatly anticipating Sinéad Gleeson's debut novel having read her powerful book of essays/memoir “Constellations” and the enlightening collections of stories by Irish women writers she edited “The Long Gaze Back” and “The Glass Shore”. Gleeson is highly attuned to the ways art, songs, writing and storytelling not only capture a place and the different personalities who inhabit it, but stand as a testimony for those whose narratives are often ignored, erased or suppressed. Therefore it's fitting this unique and captivating novel evokes the lives of a community and individuals who reside on the margins.

“Hagstone” follows artist Nell who resides on a remote rocky island. She's highly independent enjoying swims off the coast and occasionally takes lovers. Both she and the small populace there rely on the income from tourists who arrive during the warmer months. To make ends meet, she acts as a guide to these visitors who hunger for salacious stories of shipwrecks and tantalising folklore. So Nell is cognizant of the way true stories can become sensationalised. Her artwork reaches for a more subtle understanding and connection with the past. The pieces she creates are often meant to be ephemeral and work as touchstones to the lives of women who were maligned or misunderstood.

She receives an unexpected invitation to make a specially commissioned artwork for a reclusive commune known as the Iníons. This is a group formed of diverse women who have moved here from all over the world and, until now, their lives have been shrouded in secrecy. But Nell's presence isn't welcome by all who reside there. She gradually becomes familiar with several members and the uneasy structure of their commune in the lead up to a celebration – a climatic event with unintended consequences. A strange feature of the island is that there is a mysterious sound which emanates from the landscape and the Iníons have a reverence for it. Not everyone can hear this sound, but it drives some to madness and other to a kind of spiritual awakening or connection with this singular location.

This is a story which wrestles with the tension between independence and community. It asks what advantages can be found in building a life in relative isolation and what is sacrificed by removing oneself from the larger society: “Solitude can be its own kind of loss.” It especially focuses on the plight of women and those who understandably want to escape from the patriarchy. However, any group inevitably forms its own hierarchy and involves power struggles. The novel cleverly feels out the levels of compromise required when seeking to achieve a truly peaceful existence. It’s also fascinating how it explores the relationship between artist and subject. In what ways does art memorialise the lives of others and how does it intrude upon their privacy? Nick, a famous actor visiting the island, seeks to make a film about the Iníons and becomes another suspicious presence in this commune. Tensions mount from both inside and outside this community resulting is a horrific clash.

I deeply connected with this novel's story and appreciate the complex way it engages with these issues while also delivering a highly entertaining, compellingly gothic, occasionally sexy and meaningful tale.

If I Survive You by Jonathan Escoffery

Imagine being constantly asked by strangers “What are you?” as if your existence isn't valid until you can be properly categorized within a particular ethnicity and racial identity. Of course, many people don't need to imagine this because it's a daily reality. 'In Flux', the opening story of Jonathan Escoffery's debut book of fiction, conveys how demoralizing and exhausting it is for a boy named Trelawny to grow up in America being persistently quizzed about this. It's especially frustrating for him because he doesn't know the “correct” answer since his skin tone and accent don't fit into any one group or people's common conceptions about individuals from his background. Neither his family, friends or a blood test are able to provide a definite conclusion which will satisfyingly answer this question. With sharp-toothed wit and tremendous feeling, the story reveals the truth of his experience using the second person. In doing so, it's as if Trelawny is condemned to not only be plagued by this question but to internalize it and turn it outward. Though this book branches out to sympathetically portray other members of his family, it's bookended by this viewpoint and rooted in his experience.

Family dramas often involve siblings battling for favour and the inheritance of property, but this book gives such a uniquely structured and vividly personal view of one such struggle. It revolves around Jamaicans Topper and Sanya whose move to Miami in the late 1970s eventually results in a self-built home and the birth of sons Delano and Trelawny. However, the lives of these characters are related in pieces showing how their experiences and perspectives leave them physically and psychologically distant from each other. It also builds a larger plot concerning patriarch Topper's dream house which is plagued by hurricane conditions, subsidence issues and an ackee tree whose growth has been stunted by his axe-wielding progeny. Along the way it traces Trelawny's pressing economic struggles as he lives out of his car while finding various work teaching, raising rent for elderly individuals in subsidised senior housing and catering to the masochistic/narcissistic fetishes of people from classified ads. The struggle for money and acceptance often leads to exploitation and violence. It's impactful how these stories show the barefaced reality of racism which becomes something to be weaponized in plays for power while the lived experience of it must be passively accepted.

In consciously choosing not to write a more traditionally structured linear tale through a single voice, Escoffery allows the reader to imaginatively build a larger story and meaning. I understand why some readers find it an uneven book as being offered such slivers can feel jarring and not all its sections have the same powerful effect. But personally I enjoyed following the surprising pathways this fiction takes to explore a variety of points of view and the growing tensions between these family members. Individual characters often fail to understand the challenges and disappointments the others face leading to conflict. I only wish there had been a story focusing on the mother Sanya whose progression we learn about in bits and pieces, but it would have been interesting to get her own perspective and how she is also unaware of aspects about her family's struggle – such as Trelawny's desperate circumstances which he conceals from her. However, it makes sense that this series of interconnected short stories focuses primarily on Trelawny himself as he feels like the heart of the book. Though he's sympathetic he has his own prejudices and shortcomings. There are also a number of peripheral characters whose fleeting presence is distinct and memorable. Together these stories build to a larger portrait of a unique multi-cultural landscape at a particular time. Though oppressive issues weigh heavily upon the inhabitants' daily lives, survival is achieved through cunning, compromise and a wry sense of humour.

Zero-Sum by Joyce Carol Oates

I'm continuously impressed by the creative flair of Oates' writing which fearlessly treads into forbidden areas of our psychological reality. She dares to reveal what we don't want to look at and asks questions which won't permit polite answers. Her new collection moves through three distinct sections from intimate stories of family life and young adulthood to a novella about the collapsing mental health of a modern literary “genius” to dark dystopian tales. There is a group of teenage girls who set a wicked trap for lascivious men, a mother who becomes intent on taking her baby off-grid and a privileged teacher secure in his home while the world outside literally goes to hell. These stories present a sense of uneasy progression where fulfilment seems just out of reach and unspeakable horror may wait around the corner. Oates has a mesmerising way of drawing the reader into her stories and deep into her characters' point of view to show an entirely new perspective. This is fiction which delves into the dynamics of love and personality with courageous intensity.

One story explains “In game theory, a zero-sum game is one in which there is a winner and there is a loser and the spoils go to the winner and nothing to the loser.” Throughout the book this sense of competition plays out between men and women as well as different individuals, friends and spouses. It's expressed as a particularly American sentiment which frequently leads to terrible violence. In some stories the characters recognize a double who might supercede them as only one can be victorious. For instance, in the title story a philosophy student who longs for the favour of her esteemed teacher envies his physically disabled daughter and in 'Monstersister' a growth on an adolescent girl's head develops into a feeble twin who becomes the focus of her family's attention. Yet, throughout these tales there are also hints that contentment can be found when equality is truly achieved and egoless love is offered. An ill-fated academic remarks that “To G___, life was not a game of who might win. Love was certainly not a game.” This suggests that the secret to real success might be in striving for mutual support rather than domination.

In the longest story within this collection the famous writer at the centre is simply referred to as “The Suicide” rather than being given a character name. His draw towards self-immolation as a kind of sacrifice to higher art becomes the defining characteristic of his identity. He struggles with mental illness, bouts of medical treatment and increasing paranoia. In following his manic logic we become increasingly aware of how his supportive wife's identity and health becomes completely subsumed to his own. Oates is scathing in portraying his selfish behaviour but also expresses sympathy for the author's dilemma. His longstanding plan for suicide is wrapped up in his egotism about his reputation as a great writer. This is a veiled portrait of the later part of David Foster Wallace's life. In her previous work, Oates has demonstrated a talent for fictionally paying tribute to revered writers such as Edgar Allan Poe, Mark Twain, Robert Frost, Henry James, Ernest Hemingway and H.P. Lovecraft by simultaneously recognizing their accomplishments as artists while severely critiquing them as fallible men. It seems apt there's reference to Hitchcock within “The Suicide” because the masculine drive of certain artists is also scrutinized by a character much like the actress Tippi Hedren in Oates' story 'Fat Man My Love' from her collection “High Lonesome”.

As well as interpersonal conflicts, these stories also focus on the heartrending internal dilemmas of characters who struggle with a sense of belonging and being wanted. In the very short tale 'Take Me, I Am Free' a child is literally left by the curbside with other unwanted items to be taken by anyone. Alternatively, in 'Sparrow' a woman learns from her mother who suffers from memory loss that she might have been adopted to replace a deceased child. The highly imaginative 'M A R T H E: A Referendum' contemplates a dominant race of computers that debate whether to keep alive the last remaining homo sapien whose life has been artificially extended. It's powerful how these different situations contemplate whether an individual's inherent value can be quantified and the ways that this becomes measured through their relationships with others in the world. Such vibrant storytelling pulses with life and has the ability to haunt the reader with urgent dilemmas that feel all too real.

You can watch me discuss “Zero-Sum” with Joyce Carol Oates here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hL1BB1hKPq4

Mrs S by K Patrick

This novel is awash with so much sexual anticipation and sensuality it perfectly encapsulates the heady experience of falling in love. It's that feeling when passion becomes all consuming it infuses everything and time is measured by encounters with the desired individual. At the beginning of K Patrick's debut novel its Australian narrator has just arrived in England to work as a matron at a rural girls' boarding school. As she gradually acclimates to the environment and traditions of this old institution, she develops a deep attraction for the Headmaster's wife known simply as Mrs S. The story follows their interactions while building tantalizing suspense with the question of “Will they or won't they?” But it's also an excellent invocation of this emotionally charged environment with the budding egos of the girls and cloistered routines. As more is revealed about the narrator's difficult history with her family and her own discomfort within her own body, her yearning becomes movingly layered with a rich level of psychological complexity. Desire is truly shown in a new light which is both very specific and universal.

The writing in this novel shines with straightforward prose which are so precise and perfectly encapsulate the emotion and personality of the narrator. It's also satisfying how classic the story appears in its texture but how revelatory and new it feels in its meaning. The setting of the boarding school is filled with so many antiquated procedures it's groaning with centuries of routine. Details such as radiators which can't be turned off even when it's hot outside and soggy breakfast toast add to the all-consuming atmosphere of this place. There are also uptight figures such as the Nurse and the local Vicar as well as the doddering Headmaster. Everywhere are the tender personalities of the schoolgirls who sometimes cluster into antagonistic groups and other times drift in melancholy isolation. Their fiery energy is directed at boys, each other and sometimes the narrator: “The girls know about humiliation. They trade in it.” Other than Mrs S, perhaps the narrator's only true point of connection is with the Headmistress who becomes an ally in being a confirmed lesbian. However, their friendship is tinged with the resignation of knowing they only really have each other to rely upon being the most outwardly queer people at the school. Rising above all these other figures is Mrs S whose canny wisdom and prestige allows her to freely move throughout this environment. But she also has a mystery and air of dissatisfaction about her circumstances which adds to the total charm she casts over the narrator.

The narrator's infatuation with Mrs S becomes clear not only through the focus placed upon her, but in the way she describes her relationship with time. She details encounters with Mrs S and how she knows she will compulsively mull over them while mourning for any small detail of that experience which has been lost. This reminded me of Annie Ernaux's book “Simple Passion” in which the author recounts being so swept up in the heat of romance she is thrown out of the present. The mind becomes consumed with memories of past meetings and the anticipation of when they might meet next. Also, certain objects become laced with significance. At one point the narrator furtively conceals a portion of a smashed stained glass window depicting the figure of a woman which she makes a gift to Mrs S. This is filled with unspoken meaning about giving someone's independence back to themselves which may be misjudged by the narrator or misunderstood by Mrs S. Throughout the school there are also reminders of a deceased famous author who once attended this institution. Her strong presence is everywhere but she's essentially unattainable.

Though the novel functions as a romance, its deeper impact is about the question of how fully someone can inhabit themselves in such a location. It's a place which is intended to allow individuals to grow but only within the confines of certain borders. Though there's little opportunity for the kind of self expression which would allow the narrator to test out different ways of being she nevertheless finds opportunities to transcend the limitations of how she might be seen. When Mrs S takes her swimming at one point she remarks “If I could choose a different body, I choose this water”. Her expression of self is indelibly linked to her sincere desire and wish to completely envelop Mrs S. Many other characters such as the Headmistress, the girls and Mrs S struggle to find any such outlet so rebel in small and large ways against the constraints of their circumstances. It's a conflict which is thrillingly teased out in this story which is so compelling that reading it becomes its own kind of obsession.

The Dog of the North by Elizabeth McKenzie

What better way to avoid the mess your life has become than by trying to clean up everyone else's messy life? Penny is in her mid-30s with a broken marriage and without anywhere to live. She's unemployed and her small amount of savings is swiftly dwindling. However, her irascible hoarder grandmother Dr Pincer is in an even more perilous situation. Adult Protective Services have warned that they'll step in if something isn't done about her filthy house and the possible weapon she uses to threaten strangers. As Penny journeys to help she becomes embroiled in other people's troubles including Dr Pincer's sickly accountant, her bullying biological father and her grandfather Arlo whose second wife can't stand to live with him any longer. Added to that is the fact that Penny's mother and stepfather disappeared in the Australian Outback five years ago and she can't accept that they're really gone.

We follow her journey stumbling through misadventures and desperate situations. She gets caught in hijinks such as washing a sticky toupee in an office bathroom, looking after a cute Pomeranian dog and retrieving her lost phone from the sinkhole her vehicle collapsed into. Her good intentions often only lead her into more trouble. In witnessing these eccentric characters and outlandish dilemmas through Penny's eyes we gradually become aware of just how little her own emotional and physical needs are being attended to. I appreciate the way Elizabeth McKenzie approaches the complexity of family entanglements with absurdist humour as demonstrated in her novel “The Portable Veblen”.

It was a pleasure reading this wacky story as it zips through farcical encounters and veers around unpredictable corners. Being so steeped in Penny's consciousness and questionable logic it's easy to forget just how perilous her own situation is becoming until she's practically broken and destitute. Equally her self-effacing and eager to please manner mean her voice is almost drowned out by the strong-willed and colourful personalities that surround her. I found it moving how towards the end of the book we get a deeper understanding of her own deprivations. Though the idiosyncratic figures and madcap circumstances come perilously close to outright silliness, there's a warm heart to this story which makes it ultimately endearing.

Wandering Souls by Cecile Pin

In the past several years there have been many nuanced novels describing instances of displacement and migration. Some examples of moving stories about families in transit I've read include “America is Not the Heart”, “Kololo Hill” and “The Hungry Ghosts”. However, especially after the heated public debate about the novel “American Dirt”, there's a heightened awareness concerning the sensitivity needed when portraying the lives of people forced to leave their country of birth. This is an issue author Cecile Pin is conscious of in her exquisite debut novel “Wandering Souls” which describes the fates of a Vietnamese family who embark on a perilous journey to flee persecution. The most central character is Anh, the eldest sibling who must suddenly take on a great deal of responsibility. Although it's a relatively short book there are different narratives which are all deftly handled and combine to form an affecting complex tale. One strand is an authorial voice who struggles to decide how such a chronicle should be told and declares “I am trying to carve out a story between the macabre and the fairy tale, so that a glimmer of truth can appear.” What emerges is a unique form of fiction which is both joyous and tragic and it shines with heartfelt sincerity.

The novel is so carefully calibrated to include historical and political accounts ranging from the tragedy of The Koh Kra massacre to Thatcher's policies to American military tactics. However, this doesn't distract from the emotional power of this being a story about family life. I think the balance works so well because of the evocative details used which leave a memorable impression. There are moments of pure happiness such as the siblings sledging during their first English snowfall and the lingering taste of caramelized braised pork which the family shared on their final meal together before departing Vietnam. And there are feelings of fear, grief and trauma which emerge in different ways through the distinct personalities of the siblings. Alongside the story of the children who survive and find a new country to call home there's also the voice of their sensitive younger brother Dao who died in transit. His charismatic spectral presence is very touching while also being a reminder of how fate is so cruelly fickle. The lives that the survivors build for themselves is hard won with a melancholy awareness of the family they've lost.

Really Good, Actually by Monica Heisey

Heisey's debut novel is a lighthearted and funny modern story with the kind of high “relatability” factor found in the tradition of “Bridget Jones's Diary” and “Heartburn”. Maggie is fast approaching 30 and her marriage to Jon has just ended. There was no big dramatic breakdown in their relationship; it just stopped working. And while Maggie wants to strive for a “Good Divorce” her life slowly spirals out of control even as she desperately tries to hold it together. Plans for self improvement with mental and physical wellbeing regimes frequently falter. Her experiences on dating apps veer from amusing to cringe. She engages in late-night online shopping binges which result in unsustainable hits to her dwindling bank account and her need to return many items. She is pursuing a post-graduate degree in Shakespearean studies, but isn't so devoted to it or her teaching to find them fulfilling. Maggie's loyal circle of friends and a new fellow divorcee bestie grow impatient with her. And the more she strives for an amicable break from Jon the more distant and silent he becomes. In essence, her story captures how she's approaching a time in her life when everything should be coming together but instead it appears to be rapidly falling apart.

As a former screenwriter on the excellent sitcom 'Schitt's Creek', Heisey's skills at writing awkward comedy really come through in the narrative. There's plenty of bad logic humour with lines such as “Tragically I was the victim of a supportive home life” and Maggie's musing that her brief romantic forays with other women mean “I’m not sure I’m bisexual enough to count.” Personally, I feel there's no better comedy than a sad blundering threesome scene and this novel contains an excellent one. There is plenty in this story which made me chuckle in appreciation – if not laugh out loud. I enjoyed the creative approach of interspersing Maggie's account with revealing text exchanges, Google searches and fantasy interludes which further reinforce how little control she has while trying to keep it together. Also, there are some wonderfully cutting scenes where other characters reveal just how wacky Maggie's behaviour has become in a way that she herself hasn't divulged to readers.

The trouble is that the novel begins to feel too drawn out as Maggie becomes eminently unlikeable with an increasingly unbelievable lack of self-awareness. This partially undercuts the more meaningful message of the book about a newly independent woman learning to love herself. As sympathetic as Maggie is with her restlessness, body issues and contemporary romantic problems, I wanted to like her more. Certainly unlikeable central characters are a stalwart of great stories and offer a lot of potential for great comedy, but it ultimately felt like Heisey sacrificed her protagonist's integrity by striving to get more jokes in. It's an issue similar to what I found in reading “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine”. I definitely found Heisey's novel funny and enjoyable, but while it's unquestionably heartfelt it doesn't quite capture all the emotion it could have.

Treacle Walker by Alan Garner

This slender fable-like novel was a bit of a head scratcher. Having seen the baffled responses from a number of readers I was prepared for a cryptic tale going into this book and I think it's fair to be warned that it's not a standard narrative. At its centre is a boy with a lazy eye named Joseph Coppock who lives on his own reading comics, collecting odd bits from nature and playing with marbles. One day the eponymous Treacle Walker, a rag-and-bone man (someone who travels around a certain area collecting unwanted household items and clothing) approaches his house. Joseph barters with this pungent man exchanging a literal rag (old pyjamas) and bone for some mysterious items that provoke magical occurrences. The boy enters into a journey through time, the imagination and possibly beyond the boundaries of life. Along the way he interacts with some odd figures from a time guardian who dwells in a bog to characters from his Knockout comic to a summoned cuckoo to a double of himself. Though the primary drive for this story is Joseph's shift in seeing and a quest to prevent magical elements from entering into his dimension, the overall meaning of this fantastical story remains open to interpretation.

In a way I admire how Garner excavates elements from English folklore to entirely refashion them in a tale that seems to literally exist out of time. The novel is unapologetically strewn with antiquated terms, references to items specific to Cheshire, elements from Garner's previous books and entirely invented words. However, those not familiar with any of these things will be quite disorientated throughout much of the novel. Fiction shouldn't necessarily define its terminology and it can be a pleasure using stories as a springboard to learn more about a particular culture and locale. Looking up colloquialisms and vernacular language such as a donkey stone and terms like “shufti” yields a bit more understanding, but I doubt this book will be comprehensible to anyone who doesn't originate from this area of England and hasn't grown up reading Garner's children books. So it's no wonder that some readers have been impatient with it.

This novel certainly has charm. The sections I found most striking were when characters from the comic break out from the boundaries of their black boxes and Joseph races through multiple mirrors. This sort of captivating imagery makes me feel a childish wonder again. I can imagine being completely compelled by this novel if I'd read it as an adolescent. Larger themes to do with local history/mythology and questions to do with the boundaries of the imagination and the way our brains organize time make the story intellectually engaging. It's a fable whose meaning would morph if it were read and reread over the course of a lifetime. However, my initial impression is more of curious amusement like experiencing a disorientating dream that makes little obvious sense. Maybe it'll haunt me over time and I'm sure the next time I hear the sound of a cuckoo I'll feel a shiver down my spine.

Babysitter by Joyce Carol Oates

The opening of “Babysitter” obsessively focuses on a few moments in time as a woman ascends in a glass hotel elevator to the 61st floor and walks down a corridor to a room with a sign on the door that loudly declares “PRIVACY PLEASE! DO NOT DISTURB”. Hannah is a wealthy wife and mother living in a Detroit suburb in the 1970s. She has arrived for an assignation and to engage in an affair with a mysterious man she met briefly at a party. Like in a fairy tale, violating the message on this door and entering the room will irrevocably alter her life to liberate or destroy it. However, this story isn't as concerned with consequences as it is in moments in our life when there is a profound shift from one stage to another. So the narrative catches in a time loop like a snippet of film which plays over and over: “The vision overcame her. And this, too, cinematic, in a flash. Yet, strangely, not a vision so much as a memory.” The style of detailing the minutiae of a seemingly ordinary action is reminiscent of Nicholson Baker's “The Mezzanine” and by following Hannah in these brief moments we come to understand her position in life and her milieu of white upper class privilege. She is a passive woman living amongst deadly powerful men who make their own rules and dominate the people around them. This novel presents a vivid, hallucinatory and thought-provoking portrait of those whose lives brush against an elusive serial killer preying upon children.

It's easy to criticise a character such as Hannah who is preoccupied with brand labels and social status. She takes her housekeeper Ismelda for granted as she's frequently left to care for Hannah's children and Hannah's grand house. Hannah neglects her children unless she's being hysterically attentive to them. But she also had a difficult upbringing with a possibly violent/abusive father. Her husband is frequently absent and callous towards her. She seems to have no close friends and she becomes trapped in a perilous or even deadly situation. As she gradually becomes aware of the danger of the men around her, she becomes trapped in a circumstance where she's completely lost control. The story also focuses on a young man named Mikey who was an orphan and comes from a troubled background. He's a sort of fixer that takes care of dodgy jobs for nefarious men. Just like Hannah, he underestimates the absolute power and sway of these men who only show favour to Hannah and Mikey when they can use them. However, Mikey is a chameleon who reinvents himself and develops a psychological armour to shield himself from the world. He's lawless but has a moral centre from which he deals out his own sense of justice. It feels tragic that there is a deep disconnect between Hannah and Mikey because they could be natural allies, but they have such different personalities and ways of coping.

The story doesn't only report on the murder of children by a deranged serial killer, but also the state sanctioned murder of an innocent black man who is targeted by police after Hannah returns to her home in a dishevelled and damaged state. Yet the public accept this as justified and it quickly passes out of their minds. Oates' National Book Award winning 1969 novel “them” is partly about the racial tensions which led to a “riot” or “rebellion” in Detroit in 1967. The endemic racism in the city is still very present during the later 1970s when “Babysitter” is set and the shadow of these events loom over the characters. In his racist paranoia, Hannah's husband is quick to persecute a black man regardless of his total innocence. As always in Oates' fiction, notions of justice don't naturally align with the law as the ideologies governing these characters' lives are the truly ruling factor. It's hypnotic how this novel captures the resulting psychological chaos of living in a world of predators and prey. The tension of whether this horrific serial killer will be stopped is depicted alongside a woman whose reality is broken as she's trapped in a perpetual nightmare.

You can watch me discuss “Babysitter” with Joyce Carol Oates here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=StX-dEuDo3A

The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers

There's a particular reading pleasure which comes from getting lost in a great family saga and “The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois” certainly counts as one of the greatest. Part of the resonance of this form of writing comes from the question: how much can we ever know about the lives of generations who've proceeded us? There are unique challenges associated with African American genealogy due to the slave practices of the Antebellum South and North which resulted in a lack of birth or death records, name changes and a conscious erasure of family histories. Honorée Fanonne Jeffers' triumphant debut is in part about directly facing this struggle as the story's protagonist Ailey grows up to be a student researching Indigenous, Black and White generations past who've inhabited the small town of Chicasetta, Georgia. This is her own family and her study is a process of gathering tales and uncovering the truth about the betrayals, triumphs and savvy reinvention individuals from the past experienced while enduring the injustices of the past. Scenes from previous generations are interspersed with Ailey's coming of age tale in a way which shows how the past bleeds into the present. This novel gives an entirely new view of history while also telling an exquisitely detailed, enthralling, inventive and utterly immersive story. 

The novel engages seriously with the ideas of the great sociologist and historian W.E.B. Du Bois, but the reader doesn't need to be aware of his work to appreciate and enjoy Jeffers' story. However, it does help and add to the meaning of the book to understand his concept of double consciousness in subordinated or colonized groups. Du Bois himself plays a small part in the novel through anecdotes told to Ailey. This serves as a remind that seminal figures such as Du Bois were only human despite their significant contribution to society. In fact, Jeffers' story is a critique as well as a tribute to Du Bois as she brings a more modern and feminist perspective to his important concepts. Similarly, Jeffers takes to task the way the past is perceived and interpreted by current academia and at historic sites. There's a dark humour as well as a rigorous seriousness to the way in which the author takes to task the way African American history can be wilfully misrepresented and dangerously disassociated from issues to do with racism today. But Jeffers shows in her story that reckoning with the past doesn't mean that we need to be trammelled by guilt as we proceed into the future. As the character of Uncle Root states: “The truth can be both horrible and lovely at the same time... It's important to know what the truth is even if you only say it to yourself.”

There's a tremendous momentum to the novel which is built over hundreds of pages as the past is revealed alongside Ailey's discovery of it. Though I know many people are hesitant to read a book that's so long its length does feel necessary to show the full complexity of this epic tale. There are many surprising twists which develop over the generations as well as in Ailey's own immediate tale – especially to do with her relationship with her two sisters and the secret they share between them. It's meaningful how Jeffers shows that though the same trauma might occur for multiple people it will inevitably affect them all differently as everyone has their own methods of dealing with it. The way this plays out in the story is so insightful and meaningful. At the same time, this tale is infused with such warmheartedness and humour. I found certain scenes so endearing such as when Ailey drinks too much orange juice before going to church and then struggles to sit still as she needs the toilet, but the ladies around her assume that her fidgeting means she's possessed by the spirit. Similarly, it's amusing how disappointed she is at being given a first edition of “The Souls of Black Folks” for her teenage birthday. It's only natural a teen would rather receive anything other than a dusty old book for her birthday, but it's touching knowing how it will go on to inspire her. Similarly, I hope the importance of Jeffers' novel is something we will continue to recognize in the years to come.

Breathe by Joyce Carol Oates

How do we maintain self-worth when we lose those we value the most? This is one of the arresting questions at the centre of Joyce Carol Oates' heart-wrenching novel “Breathe”. Gerard and Michaela are academics who have temporarily moved from their home in Massachusetts to New Mexico in order to work at a distinguished institute. They consider this trip to be like the honeymoon they never had time to experience when they first married twelve years ago. However, when Gerard becomes terminally ill, Michaela's life spirals into chaos and she's left alone struggling to continue. Oates' novels often concern the question of survival for those in challenging situations where the individual faces vast obstacles of oppression, violence and prejudice. They chronicle the irrepressible will of the human spirit to overcome challenging circumstances. This novel describes the journey of a woman confronted with the insurmountable reality of death and the solemn fact that we will eventually lose those we love. Unable to face the fact of Gerard's death, she becomes lost in a fever dream where time is looped and she's plagued by wrathful gods eager to consume her. It's a tense, sobering and artfully-composed tale full of insight and tender feeling. 

The landscape and atmosphere of this south-west location is vividly described: “Skies of sharp-chiseled clouds wounding to the eye, such beauty unknown in the East where the cityscape devours three-quarters of the sky and the air is porous with haze.” This desert and open environment takes on great symbolic value amidst Michaela's existential crisis. It also physically constrains her being at an altitude she's not accustomed to where breathing is more difficult. It's fairly unusual for Oates to set her stories somewhere other than New England or New Jersey so this alien location adds to the character's sense of being alarmingly out of place. It's touching how she stubbornly remains here in self-imposed exile out of a sense of duty and because departing would mean admitting that she's really lost her beloved husband. 

Being in this region of America, Michaela also encounters a Native American influence where this culture has been reduced down into rather inauthentic and tawdry decorative pieces for the institute-owned home which the couple inhabit. However, in Michaela's destabilized state of being the god-figures depicted in these “art” pieces become the spectres which haunt her – particularly the figure of Ishtikini who is a trickster that not only antagonizes her but might shape shift to appear as an apparently helpful figure intent upon deceiving her. These nightmare manifestations are a mark of her paranoia and her desire to sacrifice herself if it means she might be reunited with her husband. She has the opposite of an empowering religious experience. Rather than finding comfort and structure to help her persist through adversity, the fervour of these visions plague her. Equally, she seems damned to play out a scenario of fateful love as described in the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

The narrative often slides between second and third person as Michaela becomes increasingly disorientated. She is unable to find solace in religion or science: “you have lost faith not only in the cutting-edge research but in faith itself. Yet, you register hope in your smiling face. You reflect hope, as in a reflective surface.” This is such a poignant way of describing how we often persist through adversity even when it feels like we've lost our foundation and purpose in being. We bravely face the world simply because life continues on around us. The very notion of hope is begrudgingly worn and Emily Dickinson's famous line is transmogrified in this story to “Hope is the poisoned bait. Men eat of it and die.” 

Because Michaela loses her belief in life's purpose she is thrown out of time: “In her entranced state time moves unpredictably: with glacial-slowness, then in quick leaps and pleats, as if someone is leafing impatiently through the pages of a book.” Time also becomes for her like a mobius strip “NO END. NO BEGINNING. Except of course there is: an end.” As such the narrative gradually diverges in two directions simultaneously. On one side Michaela experiences an increasing diminution of being where she is subjected to persistent humiliations and the threat of evisceration. On the other side she carries out the laboriously hollow duties of a widow seeing to her husband's cremation, editing his unfinished manuscript sardonically titled “The Human Brain and Its Discontents” and completing her duties teaching a course in memoir writing. Interestingly, the fates of other characters such as a student who is a victim of rape and a student with a chronic medical condition are also subject to two possible fates. These mutually exclusive dual timelines appear illogical but they accurately reflect the limits of Michaela's state of mind: “How to give meaning to a narrative. When the nature of what has happened isn't clear even to the person to whom it has happened.” Therefore the conclusion is ambiguous with elements that are concurrently inspiring and tragic. It's a truly innovative approach to writing about the painful dilemma of an individual who has been pushed to the limits of endurance and experiences insurmountable grief. Following Michaela's journey is a mesmerising and haunting experience. 

You can watch me discuss “Babysitter” with Joyce Carol Oates here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NElkoUXn2Nc

Still Life by Sarah Winman

I find something very moving about stories of intergenerational friendships. Novels such as “Autumn” by Ali Smith and “The Offing” by Benjamin Myers describe profound connections between individuals who are at very different stages of life but establish a rapport that obliterates traditional social divides based on age, gender or sexuality. Sarah Winman has explored such a relationship before in her novel “A Year of Marvellous Ways” where an eccentric ninety-year-old woman and a soldier who just returned from fighting in France form an unlikely bond. In her new novel “Still Life” a similar dynamic is established at the beginning of the story when Evelyn Skinner, a 60-something art historian and Ulysses Temper, a young British soldier meet in Tuscany during wartime. This fleeting but profound encounter sticks with them both over the years. When he returns to England Ulysses discovers his early love affair and marriage to free-spirited Peg has inalterably changed during the time he's been away at war. Meanwhile, Evelyn fights for the preservation of art while musing upon the early years of her life when she fell in love with Florence and a woman who taught her more than Italian. We follow their lives over the decades from the mid-40s to the late 70s as their lives separately develop and society changes. 

While I found the interactions between Ulysses and Evelyn (and, later on, between Peg's daughter Alys and Evelyn) touching, I felt somewhat ambivalent about the way the narrative keeps them separated and then draws them together again through coincidence. There was something artificial and controlled about this device which makes a game of how they come close to encountering each other on numerous occasions before finally reuniting. Similarly, there's a whimsical nature to Winman's style of characterisation which kept me at a bit of a distance from many of the personalities in this story and meant I never fully believed in them. This was especially true when it came to a blue-feathered parrot named Claude who likes to quote Shakespeare and performs near-fantastical feats. I wanted to love them yet never found myself completely falling for them. This was dismaying because I love to read about unconventional personalities in historical novels which bring colour to a history which too often feels black and white. People who break social boundaries and live their own truth aren't often memorialised so I appreciate how stories like this try to forge connections across time.

One of the most dramatic and striking sections of the book concerns the 1966 flood of the Arno in Florence. This is brought vividly to life as people hastened to preserve themselves and the vast treasures of art the city holds. It also reinforced the moving sentiment of the book concerning how life and culture can be so quickly obliterated due to war or natural disasters. However, I felt the most successful and poignant section of the novel is the final part which suddenly switches back to the beginning of the century when a young Evelyn first arrives in Florence. Here we see the details of a past she anecdotally recalled at the novel's start concerning the sentimental importance of a pressed flower and her fleeting interactions with the writer E.M. Forster. After following Evelyn as an endearingly eccentric older lady throughout the bulk of the novel to suddenly see her as a naïve love-struck expat who discovers herself in a foreign city was very moving and beautifully rendered. It was a very good way to end this predominantly enjoyable novel that breathes new life into the past.

Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen by Amrou Al-Kadhi

Coming out stories will always be an important part of LGBT literature since the way we arrive at a queer identity is a unique journey for every individual growing up in a predominantly heterosexual society. Sometimes I'll idly wonder if we've had enough of them and then come across a tale which is so moving and says something vital about how difficult it is to grow up feeling different in the world today. Amrou Al-Kadhi's memoir is like none I've read before as it describes their life growing up in a strict Iraqui Muslim household, moving to England and developing a fearless drag queen persona named Glamrou. 

Even though Amrou's life is very different from my own there were so many aspects of their feelings of alienation and moments of solace that I found relatable. From fancying a cartoon fox to intensely identifying with bizarre undersea lifeforms, I connected strongly with the experiences described. Other parts of this story felt new and surprising to me especially how Amrou became a perfectionist in their studies as a way of dealing with being rejected from their family. From the outside it's difficult to understand a mania to get everything exactly right but when a child feels like they have no value it makes perfect sense.

Amrou brings a meaningful level of context and critique to their own story – not simply describing the extraordinary experiences of their life but the meaning and reasoning behind their actions. A justified level of criticism is directed at their family as well as the patriarchal society and Islamophobia in Britain, but also at how Amrou participated in that prejudice after internalizing these sentiments. This self-critique shows an admirable level of maturity and understanding. There's also something so lively and playful about Amrou's tale which finds humour in the many missteps and confusion there has been along the way while taking seriously the blistering pain of growing up queer and misunderstood.

This is such an absorbing and emotional story which carries a heartening message that connections can be found in the most unexpected places.