Osebol by Marit Kapla (translated by Peter Graves)

Marit Kapla was born in the small village of Osebol situated in the dense forests of rural Sweden. Though she's often lived elsewhere she's continuously returned to this humble location whose adult population is only about forty. In 2016/17 she conducted a series of interviews with the village's residents about their lives, the history of this location and their points of view. They range in age between 18 and 92 years old. Their accounts are presented in this book in short statements. While it's detailed at the bottom of each page who is speaking and their date of birth (in some cases there is also a date of death because some have since died), the way these narratives are arranged allows them to flow together as a continuous stream of speech. Gradually a larger picture of village life and its past emerges. Reading this book feels partly like watching a documentary about a single obscure location and partly like reading a highly accessible prose poem. It's both surprisingly compelling and comforting. In listening to the multiplicity of voices from this small Swedish village we come to understand the full spectrum of our society in microcosm - as well as getting to know the unique personalities and histories of an endearing group of people.

Though there are some young people still in the village the majority of its residents are much older. Fewer educational and employment opportunities mean the younger population has been moving away for years. Trees are no longer farmed in this region for timber and other industries such as tourism have been flailing which has left both the locals and regional government worse off. As such the public resources are crumbling – in particular a double arch bridge which can now only be used by pedestrians. The only way to drive in or out of the village is over a potholed dirt road leaving it almost cut off from the rest of the country. It's touching how this location comes to feel like a quiet island with its last remaining voices relating stories about a near-forgotten past and people who have long since died. Yet there is so much life and humanity in their stories it makes for compulsive reading. It's also not as melancholy as it might seem because of the humour which emerges from petty grievances which have played out over generations and droll observations such as “You don't see youngsters out on their bikes these days. They've started going out a bit more thanks to Pokemon Go.”

A wide range of points of view are presented concerning how both the shrinking village and the larger country should be governed. There's a more radical liberal who was a leader in a commune that existed in the village in the 1970s and a conservative family who blame a lack of funding for the community on an influx of refugees. There's someone who keeps a holiday home in Osebol and a relatively young person who moved to the village because they prefer small town living to city life. Some residents have family who have lived here for many generations and others are recent immigrants. There's a general sense that the village has gone from having a more communal spirit “when potatoes were grown who actually owned them became irrelevant and people took what they needed” to possessing a more insular nature “People used to get together in their homes and chat. Now you have to be invited before you go.” Naturally, the residents all have very different opinions about the quality of local life and characteristics of the region. The community is small enough that there is no one personality to an Osebol resident. As Istvan Foth observes: “In a place like this you don't have people around you you have individuals. You get closer to one another.” The book presents a beautiful portrait of a village which isn't very distinct on the surface but is filled with meaning because of the diverse people who inhabit it.

The Rabbit Hutch by Tess Gunty

Before I read “The Rabbit Hutch” I was very drawn to the story because the synopsis describes how teenage central character Blandine dreams of becoming a female mystic. This instantly made me think of the 1990 film 'Mermaids' and the pious Charlotte Flax played by Winona Ryder. However, once Blandine's appearance is described in the book I couldn't help picturing her more like the actress Anya Taylor-Joy. Film references aside, I was instantly delighted by the structure Tess Gunty chose for this narrative which alights upon the stories of several residents of a low-cost apartment complex in the financially depressed town of Vacca Vale. We witness different individuals' preoccupations watching television, struggling to care for a baby and performing naked on a webcam for money. Though the many characters are in close proximity to each other and can hear each other through the thin walls and ceilings they have little or no physical interactions. Blandine herself lives with three teenage boys who are also products of the state foster system. They are attracted to her but know little about Blandine as she is mysterious in her habits and what she divulges about her past. She is a complex and damaged character who also possesses an ethereal beauty and high intelligence. The novel describes a series of events one summer leading up to the ominously foreshadowed event where “she exits her body”. Whether this is through spiritual transcendence or death is left tantalizingly unclear until the story's dramatic conclusion.

It's interesting how the novel presents larger issues going on in the community as reflected by the individual perspectives of different residents. A controversial renewal plan is disrupted by creepy protest actions. The motor industry which employed many of the area's residents has departed and left behind unemployment and pollution. An egocentric actress dies in old age but is still remembered as the beloved child star of a schmaltzy sitcom. I enjoyed how these subjects touch the characters' lives like all the ambient noise in the apartment complex so they are involved but at a remove. It's intriguing how a larger picture of life gradually unfolds through this constellation of points of view. However, the primary figures Gunty focuses on throughout the novel didn't feel as compelling as the potential of this narrative design. Both Blandine and a figure named Moses who is the son of the deceased actress Elsie are imbued with a lot of eccentricities which begin to feel more grating than endearingly quirky. I felt much more invested in the relatively down-to-earth figure of Joan whose job is to monitor public comments on a memorial website. But even her character becomes slightly burdened by overtly idiosyncratic detail such as her ability to consume limitless amount of watermelon, the freckles on her eyelids and her penchant for eating jars of maraschino cherries in bed. These descriptions come to feel more whimsical rather than realistically building upon the circumscribed world of Vacca Vale.

I did appreciate the way in which Blandine's near other-worldliness is gradually deflated as we come to understand the truth about her background and a tumultuous affair she had with a former teacher. Given the way in which she's been used and manipulated her flirtation with fervent religious practices begins to feel entirely natural and logical. However, the larger plot in regards to animal sacrifice, obstructions to redevelopment plans and Blandine's radical intervention felt a little contrived. So I was left feeling somewhat unsatisfied. Where this novel really shined for me were in the small moments in the lives of individuals as viewed through Gunty's prismatic lens: a couple's indignity at finding a mouse corpse which has been dropped on their balcony, a woman named Penny who plants herself outside a convenience story with a shopping cart full of Beanie Babies and a young man whose online self exposure leads to empty connections. Our brief time with these characters lead to small glimpses into experience which is both unique and relatable. This is Tess Gunty's debut and it's won the coveted National Book Award, but I get the feeling she'd be a much better short story writer than a novelist.

Birnam Wood by Eleanor Catton

Eleanor Catton's prize-winning and best-selling novel “The Luminaries” has a special place in my heart – not only because it's a tremendous story which is brilliantly written – but because it partly inspired me to start this blog in the first place. When I finished reading that intricate and impressive book I felt so compelled to discuss it with other people I went online. It's the first book I posted about here and the conversations which followed encouraged me to continue engaging with the virtual book community. So naturally I'm thrilled that now (nearly 10 years after that novel first came out) she's finally published a new novel “Birnam Wood”. The title is taken from a line in the play 'Macbeth' when the weird sisters predict that “Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill shall come against him.” It's certainly not necessary to know the implications and meaning of this to appreciate Catton's new novel. The story plays upon themes of ambition and power, but I don’t think the Shakespearian influence is explicit until very late in the book.

At the centre of the book is a New Zealand guerrilla gardening group or farming collective who use the name Birnam Wood. They utilize unused land to cultivate crops to be distributed to those in need. This is both a political act and environmental/humanitarian initiative whose methods aren't often strictly legal. So when the group's founder Mira researches a large tract of land bordering a national forest which has been seemingly abandoned following a natural disaster she sees an opportunity for a large-scale planting project. However, an American billionaire and pioneer in drone technology named Robert Lemoine is under negotiations with the land owners to purchase this tract of land – purportedly to build a doomsday bunker. When Lemoine proposes to the collective that he can charitably fund their activities some members of the group feel that they are making a deal with the devil. What follows is an ecological thriller, in-depth psychological study and social commentary about modern day politics/technology.

Many readers may grapple with getting into this book because Catton front loads the story with a lot of character detail. Long sections describe the primary characters' backgrounds, ideologies, mentalities and conflicts. This means that most of the initial scenes of the novel occur internally as a psycho-drama concerning members of Birnam Wood (especially central members Mira and Shelley), renegade journalist Tony, scheming Lemoine and newly anointed Lord and Lady Darvish who own the property. Reading such a rich portrait of these individuals and their relationship to each other is interesting but there is little action involved until some of the later parts of the novel. It's like spending a long time sitting in a revving car before it launches forward at great speed. But when it does get going the story is absolutely gripping – especially in the final 150 pages. The trouble is that there are 275 pages before getting to that point. I think some readers' patience will have worn thin by then. Again, that's not to say these early sections aren't interesting but they are slow moving. However, I found the thrilling ending and the larger meaning of the book that I was left with extremely compelling. So overall I think it's a worthwhile reading experience and I was glad I went on this journey.

I'm not sure why Catton chose to structure the novel in this way. Typically the information which she relates in great big chunks would be integrated more into scenes where the characters interact and more dramatic action occurs. Yet in this story most of their psychological makeup is related while they scan the internet or their phones or surveillance footage. Characters spend a lot of time justifying their points of view to themselves or projecting into the future how they want events to play out. When verbal exchanges occur such as in a group meeting (hui) or telephone conversation or a dinner party it's more like the characters are delivering monologues without really listening to others. This occurs in a Jane Austen style which makes sense given that Catton recently wrote a screenplay for a new film version of “Emma”.

I think perhaps Catton might be commenting on the way our online lives are so internally focused. When we think we're communicating on the internet we're actually talking more to ourselves or within a narrow group of likeminded people whose opinions are all in agreement. Catton has also commented that when planning the novel each character could be seen as Macbeth as it revolves between their perspectives. This is an intriguing idea to consider in regards to each character's ambition and their relationships to each other and power. However, if these were the things that the author was trying to convey it unfortunately sacrifices the theatrical impetus of a large section of the story. As a result I felt more intellectually involved with this novel rather than emotionally invested. Nevertheless, it's an interesting modern day tale that engages with many environmental and political issues. If Catton weren't an author I had read before I probably wouldn't have finished reading this novel, but this is a book that possesses a subtle power which means that it's worth sticking with till the end.

How Strange a Season by Megan Mayhew Bergman

I absolutely loved Megan Mayhew Bergman's stories in “Almost Famous Women” so I've been greatly anticipating this new collection. One of my bookish resolutions for this year was to read a short story at the very beginning of each morning. That's what I did for the past week with these eight tales and it's been one of the highlights of each day losing myself in Bergman's compelling fictional landscape. These stories focus on the lives of different female characters grappling with desire and dealing with fear. Many are caught between the burdens of the past and the uncertainty of the future because of issues to do with the changing environment, economic inequality and strained familial circumstances. It's extremely moving how Bergman shows how these characters struggle to deal with these larger issues while fulfilling their own ambitions. As a way of not feeling overwhelmed one character suggests “The trick was to believe in your choices.” The author has a wonderful ability to quickly immerse the reader in her characters' reality which meant I was immediately gripped by their dilemmas and emotionally invested in their outcomes.

Bergman builds environments in her stories with rich atmospheric descriptions from a glass-walled seafront property in California to the lazy heat and rotting fruit on a South Carolina farm. Some tales focus on quiet intermediary periods where characters contemplate big decisions which will affect the rest of their lives. Others maintain an immediate dramatic tension as in 'Peaches, 1979' where a serial killer “strangler” is in the area and the culprit might be a part of the protagonist's own family. There's biting inbuilt comedy in the story 'Heirloom' where a woman turns her inherited barren desert ranch into a business where wealthy men can work out their emotional blockages by operating heavy machinery. In 'Wife Days' a woman negotiates a degree of autonomy with her husband by declaring she will only play her role as wife on certain days of the week. However, her ritual of rejuvenation through swimming and washing her face becomes like a circular nightmare rather than a path towards physical/spiritual renewal.

The most sustained and ambitious tale in this collection is the novella 'Indigo Run' (which took me more than a morning to complete as I had to read it in between work demands throughout my day.) It's set on a Southern plantation and primarily involves the tempestuous marriage between Helena and Win and their daughter Skip. Here “The past felt uncomfortably close... as if it were being kept at bay but ready to rush in at any moment and take root again.” It's so compelling how the characters feel duty bound by expectations and the burden of history to play certain roles. However, this impedes their growth and potential for personal happiness. It feels like a metaphor for the larger country. As an extension of this novella there is the compelling final fable-like tale in this collection 'The Night Hag' which charts the life of a figure born from a fish egg who takes “the shape of a woman”. After being used and discarded by a man, she physically and mentally deteriorates until she takes on monstrous properties (both in appearance and her actions.) Aside from this intriguing flirtation with the fantastical, Bergman's stories exquisitely capture the realistic dilemmas of different individuals with great wisdom and psychologically insightful detail.

Memorial, 29 June by Tine Høeg (translated by Misha Hoekstra)

I really enjoy it when novels deviate from using traditional narrative structures to tell emotionally impactful stories in a way which is utterly unique. Danish author Tine Høeg's intriguing “Memorial, 29 June” is a tale told from the point of view of Asta, a young author working on a novel and a book about semi-obscure Polish sculptor Lysander Milo. Her account is related in fragments which feel somewhere between poetry and a non-linear first person account with occasional text message exchanges. Dialogue, observations, thoughts and written communication blend together. This may sound disorientating and it requires a heightened level of attention to keep track of who is speaking and how to situate this information. However, it quickly builds to a meaningful sense of Asta's personality and a more fluid sense of time. In this way it conveys a highly distinct new view of the complexity of youthful bonds, friendships, romance and rivalry.

The novel begins when Asta is invited to a memorial service commemorating the tenth anniversary of her friend August's death. This disrupts her literary work and her longstanding friendship with Mai who is a single mother. It also leads to a blending of the past and present as the text moves between her current circumstances and the heady days of her university life with a tight-knit social group. There's a mystery surrounding August's demise but also the nature of Asta's relationship with him. Intimate scenes between them are related in pieces giving clues concerning what happened to him and the love triangle involving August, Asta and Mai. I enjoyed how this presents a different way of understanding the ambiguity between people when their connection to each other can't necessarily be defined or classified. Small exchanges between them feel all the more poignant when surrounded by so much empty space on the page.

There's also a wonderful use of symbolism in certain details. The sculptor Milo worked clandestinely during his lifetime to memorialise the working class people around him. In a similar way, Asta has preserved her memories of August to solidify their intensely private moments together and maintain his unique personality. Their friendship group had a number of themed parties which descend into debauchery but they also inspire a sense of the carnivalesque which tests the boundaries of gender and sexuality. Asta's friend keeps a perpetual calendar which doesn't specify any particular year. Her account in this novel also defies a sense of linear time as it morphs from past to present. Though Asta's first book was relatively successful and has led to her receiving a residency and invitations to give readings, she humorously observes the shallowness with which some of the public interact with the literary world. It's one of the things which drives her to create new forms of narrative just as this book presents an enjoyable, surprising and meaningful new way to read a story.

The World and All That It Holds by Aleksandar Hemon

The vivid intensity of both love and war are majestically captured in Aleksandar Hemon's sweeping historical novel “The World and All That It Holds”. The story begins with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, the incident which famously initiated WWI. This is witnessed by pharmacist Rafael Pinto who goes out into the streets after making a romantic overture towards a calvary officer. It's an occurrence which permanently changes the course of this poetic and fanciful man's life as thereafter he's conscripted and thrust into battle. There he meets and begins a passionate affair with fellow soldier Osman. We follow Pinto's rootless existence over multiple decades as he is nationless and desperately struggles to survive. The gritty details of conflict are paired with the ardor and enduring bond between these two men in an evocative way. These accounts are infused with Pinto's religious sensibility as a Sephardic Jew – not in a dogmatic way but which expresses the soulful feeling of this emotional individual. It's an integral part of his heritage so informs the way he frames events and the world around him. In doing so, we view this period of history through a striking new lens and witness the story of a uniquely epic romance.

The act of storytelling takes a central role in the novel. This occurs on multiple levels from Osman's charismatic ability to entrance fellow soldiers with his tales to the frame surrounding this book explained in the epilogue. Though Pinto only briefly glimpsed the shooting of Franz Ferdinand he eventually tells and retells the story so many times it acquires many dramatic flourishes. This is a natural consequence when any lived moment subsequently becomes one of historical importance. He comments “I can confirm, from personal experience, that we are always late to the history in which we live.” What might have felt random and fleeting at the time takes on a seismic meaning when we understand what followed. So we follow Pinto as he's haplessly swept into events to do with migration and civil unrest over the decades. As the burden of exile mounts he falls into despair reasoning “God was invented by the lonely people, by those who could not bear to think that no one would ever care about them, spend a thought on their loneliness. We are not chosen, what we are is terribly lonely and unloved.” Rather than faith, the only thing which prevents him from becoming completely disconsolate is his enduring loving connection to Osman and the duty he feels to care for the girl who might be Osman's daughter.

It's refreshing to gain a different view of such large scale conflicts from a point of view not often explored in historical accounts. This is especially true when it focuses on individuals without any particular political conviction who nevertheless become the casualties of war as in the novel “At Night All Blood is Black”. Hemon's novel posits that alongside the bloodshed and madness, passion was also possible. This is portrayed in the encampments where such clandestine sexual meetings between men occur as an open secret or something which is unimaginable to others. Rather than fetishising such experiences, the novel shows Pinto's fierce longing for such sensuality amidst the brutality. It seems only natural that intense encounters between soldiers might turn into loving and sustained relationships. Sebastian Barry also portrayed a same sex relationship which blossoms amidst battle in his novel “Days Without End”. Though that story came with a welcome message of hope, it's more likely true that most homosexual love affairs which occurred in such circumstances ended in tragedy. Though Hemon's novel fully embraces the likely fate of his characters it also shows how transcendence can be found in beauty and passion.

The Hungry Ghosts by Shyam Selvadurai

I'm a sucker for a story involving a fabulous but sinister grandmother and “The Hungry Ghosts” has one who is absolutely fascinating to read about. Set in Sri Lanka during a time of civil war, the protagonist Shivan describes his early life when he and his impoverished mother and sister were forced to move in with his grandmother Daya Nona. This is an intimidating older woman who is kind of a cross between Ebenezer Scrooge and Miss Havisham. The story plays out a bit like a Dickensian tale as Shivan becomes the favoured grandson of this irascible and tightfisted lady who begins instructing him on how to manage her many rental properties. He appears to have good future prospects but as he becomes a teenager the political unrest in the country reaches a degree where it becomes unsafe for Shivan and his sister to remain living there. Though their mother is Sinhalese their deceased father was Tamil, an ethnic minority who were severely persecuted amidst the conflict. Added to this is Shivan growing awareness of his own homosexuality. Despite Daya Nona's objections, the trio move to Toronto where they experience difficulty establishing new lives as immigrants. The narrative relates the story of Shivan's life from a point where he's independently established a good job, apartment and relationship but he must make a crucial decision between his hard-won present day existence and the country he's left behind with all its painful memories.

I was glad to already have some understanding of the recent conflicts in Sri Lanka after reading novels such as “The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida” and “A Passage North” which encouraged me to research more about the deep-set political divisions in the country which led to much bloodshed. The complex and tragic situation has been fought for decades with periods of egregious discord and genocide. Though it mostly occurs in the background of Selvadurai's novel it influences and effects the lives of its characters to such a degree it's necessary to be aware of the stakes involved. The novel explains this somewhat and helped broaden my understanding even further. It's extremely effective how the larger conflicts within the country suddenly become very personal at a certain point in the story and how some individuals used the larger political strife for their own personal gain and advancement. This increases the characters' complexity as they find themselves caught between opportunity, loyalty and justice.

At the centre of this tale is Shivan's conflicted sense of being as he obtains certain freedom and safety in Canada, but longs for his homeland. At one point he remarks: “Rising in me was a great longing to be back in Sri Lanka and also, paradoxically, a revulsion against being there. These two irreconcilable feelings pressed tight against each other.” These feelings are very connected with his grandmother who is both his supporter and partly responsible for inhibiting his freedom. It's impressive how their relationship develops more and more layers as revelations are uncovered and events dramatically unfold. Equally, it's poignant how the novel shows that parts of the gay community in Canada which Shivan desperately wants to join is plagued by racism which makes him feel even more cruelly ostracised. Though it's moving how the story roots the reader so strongly in Shivan's first person point of view, the narrative wobbles somewhat as we switch in some sections to the mother and grandmother's perspectives. I'm not sure if we're meant to believe these are their actual thoughts/experiences or Shivan's projection of their points of view. While I understand the author wanted to give a balance to the story and delineate these figures' states of mind it confuses the novel somewhat.

Another aspect of the novel running alongside Shivan's personal account are Buddhist stories which his grandmother relates to him. These act as parables which comment upon the characters' actions and decisions. I enjoyed how this sense of storytelling becomes so infused with his sense of being. Of course, I felt very sympathetic to Shivan since he is naturally bookish and it's pleasurable how he drops in the names of many titles and authors he reads. Alongside the strength of his character, the evolving dynamics of his relationship to his mother and grandmother are very compelling. However, the tensions between Shivan and his longterm boyfriend feel more inscrutable. This becomes the most prominent aspect of the later part of the novel and makes the book less satisfying than if it had stuck more closely to Shivan's immediate family. Nevertheless, I greatly enjoyed this tale which evocatively brings to life two very different and distinct environments and a boy caught between them.

The Shards by Bret Easton Ellis

It was useful reading Bret Easton Ellis' debut novel “Less Than Zero” before diving into his latest “The Shards”. In this new novel a fictional version of 17 year old Bret is working on that first book and in this autofictional mode presents the story of his early life as a confession about the dramatic events which occurred during that formative period. (At the conclusion of the novel we're assured that this book is entirely a work of fiction.) It's 1981 and Bret is entering his senior year of high school in this uber-privleged side of LA with its mansions, servants, flashy cars, easy access to drugs and designer backpacks. Like in “Less Than Zero” we bear witness to this extremely beautiful and wealthy set of youth engaging in endless parties and sex. However, there is also a serial killer who has been dubbed “The Trawler” stalking the city's elite and murdering them (and their pets) in a gruesomely ritualistic fashion. The perpetrator(s) could be a deranged loner, a satanic cult prowling the city or the mysterious new boy at school, Robert Mallory, who charismatically worms his way into Bret's friendship group. Worrying signs reveal that the killer is getting closer and closer to Bret who becomes increasingly anxious and unhinged as his world of entitled excess implodes.

At its core, this novel is a very effective thriller with a rich atmosphere of suspense and tension. Real hazardous signs of violence appear even as we grow increasingly mistrustful of our narrator, a progressively paranoid (and medicated) Bret. As a writer for the large and small screen, Ellis is very adept at integrating elements such as creepy telephone calls, suspect vans which follow characters and a carefully judged release of information to consistently surprise and titillate readers. Bret's obsession over Robert is both intensely erotic and full of dread which builds a powerful sense of salacious danger. There's a clear propulsion to the story which builds towards its much foreshadowed “ironic and tragic conclusion”. The novel does feel overlong which is probably a hangover from it being initially written and released in serial form on Ellis' podcast. Though the author has stated a large chunk was edited out for the physical publication it still feels bloated as we get the back and forth gossipy details of these rich teenagers' vapid lives. The overly dramatic and cinematic denouement also feels a bit forced and unsatisfying with its gallons of bloodshed. Nevertheless, I felt mostly engaged throughout the bulk of the novel.

The book is also a kind of revisionist teen fantasy where Bret casts himself as being part of the most popular social group at his school. He's with a rich beautiful girlfriend whose father is a studio executive and he also gets to have lots of sex with two incredibly handsome guys on the side – details of which are related in highly descriptive detail. Though it doesn't actually happen, Bret even has a possibility of lunching with one of his literary idols Joan Didion. In this way, the novel feels like a curious blend of wish-fulfilment and nostalgia. Interestingly this pull toward the past was also present in “Less Than Zero” as Clay gazes longingly at buildings from his personal history. “The Shards” also reveals the degree to which Bret was inhibited by the sexual norms of the time. He felt pressured to have a girlfriend though he really longed for sex and a relationship with another man. There's an aching resentment over this but, of course, Ellis isn't the kind of writer who'd directly address this kind of oppression as a societal issue because it would involve engaging in identity politics – something I assume he rolls his eyes at.

It feels like a missed opportunity for emotional sincerity and showing the importance of gay rights as a means of attaining personal fulfilment. Of course, one could argue novels shouldn't have to engage in politics in this way but I believe if Ellis had done this the novel would have been more striking as it'd show growth and maturity. Instead what we get is very competent suspenseful fiction which refashions the same subject matter he first dealt with forty years ago. Only this time we get much more explicit detail about hot young guys and hot sex with those hot young guys from an author pushing 60. Sex positivity is one thing but it feels to me like this falls into yet more wish fulfilment by a man recasting his youth. On another level, Ellis does address a political issue but in a darker way. In one scene Bret accepts an invitation to lunch with Terry Schaffer, a powerful studio executive, about potentially writing a film script. However, it's abundantly clear that this is really an opportunity for this much older lecherous man to have it off with sexy 17 year old Bret. They do have hot sex and Bret walks away with a bleeding anus. Though he realises that he probably won't get the chance to put forward his script he comments when glancing in the mirror “I looked not only remarkably composed but as if I'd actually accomplished something – it wasn't what I wanted but it wasn't so bad. I was okay.” Given the very prominent discussions surrounding the MeToo movement in the past several years, it feels like this a direct rejoinder to this conscious fight to make accountable those who abuse their power.

Sure, it was a different time and it's just one character's personal experience but the way it's presented feels callous and disregards the vulnerability of younger individuals involved in a situation where the physical and emotional consequences can't always be anticipated. Instead of actually engaging with the complexity of this issue which has provoked many nuanced debates, Ellis presents a situation which blithely dismisses it. The larger consequences and meaning of such an exploitative exchange aren't addressed in “The Shards” any more than they are in “Less Than Zero” when protagonist Clay passively watches his best friend prostitute himself to pay off his drug debts. Certainly fiction should encompass all points of view, but personally I prefer them to be more sophisticated and artfully presented as in the novel “Vladimir” which shows the effects of power dynamics in cross-generational sexual relationships with more complexity. You could argue that Ellis shows the karmic consequences of this instance because Terry Schaffer gets his comeuppance but only in a melodramatic way that's not actually concerned with justice.

The annoying thing is that Ellis would probably eye any such critiques of his novel with a wry smile because I'm playing his game; I'm reading and discussing his novel; I'm making it all about Bret Easton Ellis because that's the subject matter Bret Easton Ellis is most interested in. In “The Shards” he comments that in writing “Less Than Zero” “it was about mebut there was no story”. So in this new novel he makes himself the protagonist as well as giving us a plot. It's effective on that level but the more I ponder this book and consider the way Ellis publicly presents his opinions the more it feels like a hollow egotistical exercise. I guess he wants to generate divisive opinions because it keeps him as the focus of attention – a technique successfully used by many populist leaders and megalomaniacs. So I'll sum this up by saying I'd recommend this novel if you're looking for a competent thriller, but bypass it if you're looking for anything more substantial.