The Vaster Wilds by Lauren Groff

It's striking when the mere act of reading a vividly written novel can provoke a physical reaction. Groff's new book is so atmospheric in its depiction of a spirited girl gradually starving while seeking shelter and running through a snowy forest that I felt the urge to wrap myself in a blanket while hoarding a provision of food. It's set in 17th century Virginia and follows the unnamed protagonist as she flees an English settlement after committing murder. The story of her life and reason for making this perilous journey into the unknown are gradually revealed as we follow the daily struggles she encounters while being subjected to the harsh elements of winter. Moments of reprieve when shelter or a bit of food are found feel all the more precious because she's so intensely vulnerable. While it charts her rapid physical deterioration it also captures her process of self discovery as she's experiencing the first true independence of her life. Having been born into impoverished circumstances and worked as a servant, she gradually forms a sense of self separate from the religious and social strictures she had to endure up until this point. It's a historical tale that has the tone of a timeless fable. I found it thoroughly absorbing, moving and breathtaking.

There are many stunning descriptions of the natural world throughout the story. Groff conveys the feeling of waking up to snow covered scenery, the chill of a freezing stream and the taste pine tea, but also the terror of rural night time when predators lurk. This is a season of desperate survival for every creature in this forest and the tragedies experienced by an enraged squirrel and sleeping ducks are also evocatively described. The author doesn't shy from bodily descriptions when conveying what starvation does to the girl's digestion or how fleas plague her. Though conditions in her present circumstances are dire, her life growing up in England and experiences in the colony were also horrifically perilous. She survived through a plague in her youth and starvation in the settlement where residents resorted to cannibalism. Even the journey to North America was fraught with danger and her memory of that stormy sea voyage is one of the most powerful scenes in the novel.

Though the girl had one good romantic relationship which she recalls as a precious memory, Groff also meaningfully describes her protagonist's sense of peril as a woman and alludes to how men have taken sexual advantage of her. She conveys how this is an ongoing experience any woman can relate to when she writes “For what woman has not, walking in the dark of the street or along a path deep in the countryside, sensed the brutal imaginings of a man watching her from his hidden place, and felt the same chills chasing over her skin, and quickened her steps to get away.” Though this is a historically set story, elements such as this indicate how some of the issues she experiences are timeless. She was once preyed upon by her mistress' odious son and his friends. The minister her mistress marries is terrifyingly sadistic. Life cast out in the wilderness may be fraught with danger, but so is being a penniless young woman in a male dominated society. Additionally, the girl possesses a natural intelligence and determined manner so it's sobering to think how if she'd been born into a different time period and circumstances she might have flourished.

In interviews Groff has described how she wanted to write a female version of “Robinson Crusoe”. It's effective in paying homage to Defoe's book because it's not only an adventurous tale of survival, but a philosophical journey towards a new understanding of oneself. Spending so much time on her own she develops her own language for the world around her “Naming, she understood, made things more visible” and contemplates a name for herself as “She thought sadly of all her own many names, none of them had ever felt fully hers: Lamentations Callat, Girl, Wench, Zed.” It's impactful how she gradually claims a sense of independent identity. Being so intensely alone she also starts to hear a voice which might be god, nature or a conversation with herself. Through this dialogue she becomes attuned to how she can shrug off inherited notions of the social and cultural order to reclaim and recast the world around her. Yet, at the same time, there's the question of whether life is worth living if you're not part of a community and connected with other people.

Though the story is centred on her perspective, the narrative occasionally shifts to other points of view such as the native Powhatan tribe who observe her from afar or other individuals who form a hermit existence in this wilderness. This broadens the novel into a larger story of how history is made up of many people who fought for survival – some who thrived and some who faltered. It's effective how there are also brief flashes of an authorial viewpoint to describe circumstances the girl doesn't know about and supply some important context. This novel is the second in a proposed thematic trilogy about the uneasy progression of our society across centuries from different women's points of view. It's noted at one point in this novel that “empire has no pity and is never sated.” The first novel in this group was “Matrix” which similarly charted a woman's process of self discovery and sense of community, but in a very different context and different conclusions. I'm so intrigued to see how Groff continues this project, but her immersive and powerful writing is always such a pleasure to read.

The Booker Prize 2023 Winner

It's been quite a journey reading the books listed for this year's Booker Prize! I've enjoyed all the discussion and debate about the novels. It's really deepened my appreciation and understanding of them. I was lucky enough to have been invited to the award ceremony last night and give my opinions before and after the winner was announced on the Booker's Livestream with Jack Edwards and Jo Hamya. It was a fantastic night as I also got to chat with Shehan Karunatilaka, Esi Edugyan, Eleanor Catton, Elif Shafak and Chetna Maroo. You can watch my vlog about the evening here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSdy1PH7qGw

I truly thought all six books on the shortlist were excellent. My tip to win was “Western Lane”. “The Bee Sting” recently won the Eason Novel of the Year Prize in Ireland and “Study for Obedience” recently won the Giller Prize in Canada. However, the winner of the Booker Prize is “Prophet Song”. It's such a powerful novel with a lot of contemporary and historical resonance. I'm glad more people will be reading and discussing this unsettling and insightful novel.

What do you think about the result? Did your favourite win? I'm looking forward to even more discussion about Paul Lynch's novel and the other books listed for this year's prize.

Too many books, too little time

I start to stress at this time of year that there are so many recently published books I've still not read. Almost all the books on this packed shelf have been published within the past couple of years and I'd like to read them soon – though I know that's not likely. Not only do I have all these tempting stories waiting but I'm also receiving many advance copies of exciting new titles which will be published in early 2024. So it's difficult not to feel overwhelmed. However, I've learned to take my time and work my way through a prioritized list while still occasionally picking up a book on a whim.

I'm often asked how I choose what to read next. I pick books to read because of a range of reasons: a great review, a personal recommendation, an author I've enjoyed reading before or an intriguing summary. Or I might just like the look of the cover. There are a couple books I'm eager to get to first. I recently re-read “1984” in preparation for Sandra Newman's version of the story from a different character's point of view so I definitely want to get to that. “Blackouts” is also a priority because I've heard nothing but amazing things about this now National Book Award winning novel. If you spot a book on this shelf that you think I should read sooner rather than later let me know!

Despite my intense desire to gluttonously read all these, the great thing about books is that they will patiently wait on the shelf and I can only read one title at a time. As winter is fast approaching and the sunlight fades sooner in the day there's a pleasure in discovering each unique story while being cozy inside and reading with my trusty lamp as a companion. For over a year I've been using this High Definition Table Light from Serious Readers. It illuminates the page beautifully in a way which feels warm and natural. If you're looking for an excellent gift for a literary loved one or for yourself I'd really recommend getting a reading light from Serious Readers. Find out more about what makes their lights so special through this link https://try.seriousreaders.com/pages/sr458 and, if you decide to buy one, be sure to enter the Offer Code SR458 when checking out as this will save you £100 on a High Definition Light and provides you with free delivery.

Let me know the books you're aiming to read before the end of the year and if you have any suggestions of what I should read first from these shelves.

This Other Eden by Paul Harding

It's curious to discover in this novel details about the true history of an island off the Maine coast which isn't far from where I grew up. Previously, I knew nothing about its tragic story. The opening of the book quotes from the Maine Coast Heritage Trust that in 1912 the state evicted a group of 47 mixed-race residents from the homes they'd inhabited for generations on Malaga Island. The subsequent story fictionalises an account of these residents through the time of that eviction as well as the cold-hearted and bigoted government process of expelling this group of people. Harding presents poetic descriptions of the islanders' everyday life and reflections on the families' history at this location which they'd inhabited since the Civil War as a haven isolated from the larger country. Passages about the residents are juxtaposed with formal accounts of events leading to the eviction and institutionalisation of some of the residents to emphasize the lack of consideration for the individuals and families whose lives were judged and displaced. It's ironically noted at one point that it's “Terrible how terribly good intentions turn out almost every time.” In this way the novel evokes a tremendous story of a community of unique individuals that forged its own path, but couldn't escape the morals and standards that the larger society imposed upon it.

Though the island community was viscously mistreated by the state, Harding doesn't idealise their lives or history. Any isolated group of people who try to subsist on their own especially on a relatively spare Northern island will encounter a hard life with limited shelter and meagre amounts of food. But there is also no outside help available for residents who experience debilitating illnesses or abuse from within the community. It's a complex situation and I admire how Harding simply presents this story in a way to allow readers to make up their own minds. I grew to care deeply about these characters – especially grandmother Esther Honey with her feisty spirit, the mysterious Zachary Hand To God Proverbs who dedicatedly carves the inside of an oak tree and her grandson Ethan who possesses natural artistic talent. Matthew Diamond is also an interestingly conflicted character. He teaches the children on the island, helps support the residents by delivering charitable donations and advocates on their behalf to the government. But he's also an acknowledged racist. The way he grapples with his own prejudices and religious feelings while interacting with the residents makes him a compelling intermediary between the state and the islanders.

Harding's prose flow beautifully in a way which fully embedded me in the sensory experience of their island life, relationships with each other and memories of the past. There's a gentle dignity to the narrative which makes the dictates of the state and “scientific” experts evicting them feel all the more cruel and hateful. It also makes occasional instances of horrific violence breathtakingly shocking. Being so isolated, the people on the island have also developed their own singular culture and way of communicating. The influence of their mixed European and African heritage through songs, stories, practices and legends is so unique. I enjoyed how this was integrated into their daily lives and dialogue. It left me feeling not only angry about the injustice carried out, but a sense that something very precious and special has been coldly decimated. I really appreciated this quietly dramatic story which says so much about belonging, family, spirituality and prejudice.

The Black Prince by Iris Murdoch

It often takes me a bit to get into a Murdoch novel because usually there are several central characters with complex relationships to each other. But once I get to know them all and into the drama of the story I'm totally gripped. The primary conflict in this tale is between Bradley Pearson, an aspiring writer who has published very little, and his frenemy Arnold Baffin, a bestselling prolific author whose work Bradley looks down upon. Bradley is determined to write his masterwork but finds himself distracted by a group of people's messy issues and he unexpectedly falls in love with a much younger woman. Murdoch shows how ambition, jealousy and desire play out in a highly dramatic scenario with tragic consequences. Though Bradley has lofty ambitions to write a literary masterpiece it's ironic and hilarious that this narrative mostly told from his point of view (with significant forwards and afterwards from other characters' perspectives) focuses on the kind of salacious story he sneers at. However, it's a novel that perfectly demonstrates Murdoch's tremendous ability for writing in a way which is highly entertaining as well as artful.

I enjoyed the way this cleverly structured novel explores the debate and assumed division between “highbrow” literature and popular “readable” books. Arguments in the story concerning quality versus quantity in literary output and criticism made about new literature feel like they must have been close to Murdoch's heart. In her usual temperate manner, she approaches these issues with both great seriousness and a sly smile. The characters often represent sharply divided points of view or embody certain ideas. However, they also come alive as individuals and feel realistic in much of their evocative dialogue. Murdoch was such a master at writing compelling and fun books which also explored profound ideas and made frequent literary references. Shakespeare is an important touchstone in her work and this novel specifically plays upon 'Hamlet' in character parallels and overt discussions about the play's meaning and how it relates to Shakespeare's life as an artist.

It was initially challenging for me to get into this novel because Bradley is in many ways such a loathsome character. He's pretentious, cruel to his friends, dismissive towards his suicidal sister and seduces a woman less than half his age. Given that his voice dominates the narrative I didn't know if I could stomach his story. I often enjoy reading about unlikeable characters but his arrogant and self-centred manner is particularly irksome to me. However, he became a character I loved to hate as Murdoch subtly undermines him through the structure of her plot showing how his world implodes and he's served a delicious form of punishment. At the same time he's presented as thoroughly human and allotted a good measure of integrity. There's a lot more that happens in this story and a large cast of compelling characters from Bradley's wealthy ex-wife Christian to her cash-strapped gay brother Francis who makes the outrageous claim that Shakespeare was “The greatest homosexual of them all.” These figures all play off from one another in an enticing way.

It was especially pleasing that the BT Tower (formerly called the Post Office Tower) plays a role in this novel. It's such a distinct London landmark and there's a fun scene where two characters have dinner at the revolving restaurant at the top (which no longer operates.) Details such as this and the sensibility of the characters bring to life the sensation of 1970s England. It's interesting to contemplate what things have changed and what's stayed the same while also pondering all the universal issues that the author dramatises. I've still only read several books from Murdoch's impressive oeuvre of twenty-six novels. Reading “A Fairly Honourable Defeat” over the summer was such a pleasure, but I think “The Bell” is one of my favourites so far. I look forward to continuing my journey of reading through her complete works.

Study for Obedience by Sarah Bernstein

There are some books which I find difficult or disappointing when I initially try to read them. I don't feel it's necessary to finish reading a book I'm not enjoying or understanding because there are so many more titles waiting to be read. However, some books warrant a second attempt. When I first tried reading “Study for Obedience” late this Summer I found it so arduous I put it down after fifty pages. The protagonist's subservient personality and cryptic narrative frustrated me. However, many readers who've appreciated this novel urged me to give it another try and it's since won the Giller Prize in Canada as well as being shortlisted for the 2023 Booker. But, more than being intrigued by any hype, I primarily picked it up again out of a curiosity to see if I could understand the meaning of Bernstein's book. I'm glad I did because I subsequently appreciated it much more. I can't say it's an enjoyable experience because it's often frustrating and there are elements I still don't understand. However, it's worth persisting with it. I think it partly worked better for me because I went into it without the expectation I'd get a traditionally plotted story.

The premise of this novel is quite straightforward. An unnamed young woman moves to an unnamed northern country to become the housekeeper for her eldest brother. She doesn't speak the language of this rural territory though her ancestors came from this region. As she gradually tries to become part of the community she's treated with suspicion and blamed for unfortunate events which occur. That's really all there is to the story and that's all that happens. Readers who require more drama in their novels will be disappointed by this book. Instead, this tale embeds us in a discomfiting personality and creates a certain mood. It's difficult to sympathise with the protagonist because she makes herself compliant, accepts the blame for things which aren't her fault and remains wilfully ignorant (or appears to do so.) She's not so much a character I want to root for but shake and tell her to stand up for herself. Once I let go of the desire to like her I became more compelled by the alternative perspective she offers.

There is little overt violence in this story but there is a sinister edge and a building tension. She is perilously isolated and her best efforts to integrate only further ostracise her from the local population. In fact, actions such as spreading decorative twigs around the town and volunteering instead make her a target for the villagers frustrations. We're limited to her perspective so it may be that her actual interactions might be different from how she presents them. There's a question about how innocent she really is because she realises that “it seemed to me that my obedience had itself taken on a kind of mysterious power. And if I had been granted this power, by some grace, against my wishes, must I not then make use of it in some way?” The villagers overreact to her presence in an exaggerated way. This highlights the absurdity of groupthink in certain communities which needlessly ostracise people who are different or who aren't native to the region. It also shows how fear and superstition often lead to violence.

This meaning is underpinned by the fact that the narrator's ancestors from this area were persecuted for being Jewish and there are overt references to the Holocaust. However, the lack of names used for locations or people only emphasizes the universal nature of this struggle. It's easy to think of contemporary parallels where large groups are forced out of their homes or killed because another group of people believe they are entitled to that space. The narrator doesn't see herself as blameless in these ongoing struggles. Rather, she states “Every single one of us on this ruined earth exhibited a perfect obedience to our local forces of gravity, daily choosing the path of least resistance, which while entirely and understandably human was at the same time the most barbaric, the most abominable course of action. So, listen. I am not blameless. I played my part.” This naturally caused me to reflect on the ways I might minimize myself in order to comfortably get by or remain blind to horrors unfolding around me on both a local and global scale.

In this way, the novel compelled a level of self-reflection and contemplation that I wasn't expecting after first trying and failing to read the book. I believe there's a special power and uniqueness in this novel. However, unlike some difficult books which took me a lot of time to appreciate this isn't one I'll be eager to revisit anytime soon. It's unrelentingly bleak and the protagonist still aggravates me. Her meandering perspective is like listening to someone who has been isolated in a cabin for years that I want to make a stealthy escape from, but I suppose in that way it's faithfully representing what this character goes through. Despite all this, I found reading the entire novel a worthwhile experience and expect it will have a lasting effect upon me.

Papyrus by Irene Vallejo (translated by Charlotte Whittle)

It's a solace knowing that my propensity for acquiring vast shelves of books isn't an oddball impulse because book hoarding and the cultivation of large private libraries has been around since the first book was created. Vallejo has composed an ambitious and fascinating history of physical books from scrolls initially created using papyrus plants in ancient Egypt to the development of digital books. The story follows not only evolution of books as objects but the way they've been an integral part of building our culture and civilisation over the centuries. It emphasizes how fragile books are as objects being prone to deterioration, loss and purposeful destruction. While the author mourns the loss of certain texts and writing which now only exists in fragments, she also celebrates the miraculous way certain key books have survived over the centuries.

I found it especially fascinating that creating essential reading lists is also a process as ancient as books themselves and such hierarchies created by dedicated readers heavily contributed to why certain books have survived the weather of time over others. She gives fascinating examples of how female authors have been de-prioritised over male authors over the centuries and she makes a compellingly strong case for why original texts shouldn't be revised to remove offensive ideas and terminology. Alongside accounts of intriguing historical figures from literate leaders to scribes to book traders to fearless librarians, Vallejo occasionally interjects the personal role books have played in her own life. I appreciated how this added an emotional undercurrent to this well-researched and knowledgeable history of my favourite object.

Forbidden Notebook by Alba De Cespedes (translated by Ann Goldstein)

There's a deceptively simple premise to Alba De Cespedes' 1952 novel which has recently been published in a new English translation. Office worker and housewife Valeria Cossati impulsively purchases a notebook to secretly record her thoughts and reflections. She has the sense that this is a transgressive act and when her family consider the possibility of her keeping a diary they find it laughable because they assume she'd have nothing to write about. So the notebook is kept hidden and she becomes increasingly anxious it might be found. It's challenging to keep it concealed because her lower-middle class family live in a small apartment. This adds to the feeling that this is an individual with no space of her own and the notebook becomes her refuge. We're the only ones privy to her writings which become a journey of self discovery as well as a record of the transition her family is going through over a period of several months. It's profoundly moving following how Valeria articulates her desires and negotiates her position in the world through this conversation with herself.

There's an increasing dramatic tension as there are developments within her family but there's also an increasing fear this notebook might be found and read by a family member. Of course, it's possible someone else might be reading her notebook without her knowing about it. She becomes increasingly candid discussing her thoughts about her husband, children and romantic feelings that develop between Valeria and her boss at work. Her children are almost adults so she must re-negotiate her position as a wife and mother. It's significant her own husband Michele now calls her “mamma” instead of her name as if her identity is only centred around her being a mother. It's fascinating how she wants to break free of the constraints of this role, but she also embraces and loves her position within her family. Yet the very act of secretly writing the notebook means she must stay up late at night. This adds to her sense of fatigue on top of keeping a job as well as cleaning and cooking for her family.

So many thoughts and feelings have been building inside her for years. Now that she's found an outlet for them through the notebook it becomes almost an obsession to her. She remarks that “It's strange: our inner life is what counts most for each of us and yet we have to pretend to live it as if we paid no attention to it, with inhuman security.” It's stunning how meaningfully this narrative presents the divide between her inner and outer life. The act of writing is like dipping deeper and deeper into a well of suppressed emotion. It also presents her specific position as an Italian post-war woman grappling with financial pressures. She's caught between her more liberal daughter Mirella and more conservative son Riccardo. Even though the diaries are necessarily only from her perspective, the narrative also gives a sense that her husband and boss have their own private lives whose expression is being suppressed. Her husband Michele has written a racy film manuscript and her boss Guido goes into the office on Saturdays as a respite from the demands of family life. In this way the novel illuminates how this tension between the inner and outer life is universal.

I naturally felt very sympathetic towards Valeria and the position she maintains. But I can also see why her family would grow impatient and fearful of her. Scenes she recollects in the notebook show how she often presents quite a strict and steely exterior. It's understandable she feels the need to conceal her notebook but it also feels like a tragedy that her family can't understand her as fully as the reader does because she won't allow them to know about her inner life. At times I almost wished they would discover it in order to get a better insight into Valeria's struggles. The situation raises poignant questions about how close we really are to the people we think we know the most and what levels of honesty are possible within the structure of our familial and romantic lives. Since this novel was written over fifty years ago it also makes me reflect upon past generations of my own family and consider the secret inner lives my grandparents led which I won't ever know about. This novel is a testament to those lost interior worlds but it's also a highly compelling story which describes the human condition with candour and insight.