Tag: fiction

SARAH THORNHILL by Kate Greville

I enjoyed Kate Greville’s THE SECRET RIVER so much that I had to go almost instantly to its sequel, SARAH THORNHILL.  The first one covered the life of a English convict transported to Australia, and the terrible things he did to build himself a life there.  The second one tells the story of his daughter, who has to deal with these terrible things.  

Sarah, the daughter, falls in love with a man, Jack, who is mixed race.  All is going well until her parents find out, and then they reveal SPOILER ALERT their part in the killing of ten Aborigines some twenty years before. Horrified, he leaves her.  Then she does a lot of suffering, both over being left and over guilt about what her parents did.  

I wanted to buy it, but I just didn’t.  The author seems to live in a moral universe where people are naturally going to be tortured over stuff done before they are born.  I would like to live in this moral universe, but the challenge is I just don’t think it exists.  I don’t think it exists today, and I definitely don’t think it existed for the Victorians, especially not in that context.  

That said, Greville is a banging writer and it’s a great book.  Perhaps it is a failure of my own cynicism that I was not able to enjoy it more.  

I’M A FAN by Sheena Patel

Here’s hair-rising story of a romantic obsession that includes such hilarious chapter headings as:

first of all i didn’t miss the red flags i looked at them and thought yeah that’s sexy

Here she is stalking someone:

(The woman) doesn’t pull her phone out of her pocket as she’s probably one of those technologically ethical mothers, but I bet she’s dying to scroll.

And when she visits a wealthy person’s home:

The scene is lit from one of the large windows opposite me, which lends the table this romantic Modern-meets-seventeenth century Dutch still life vibe and I think how the fuck do you know how to do this

But really it is mostly very sad. The obsession is so strong, and the object of it so undeserving, that it is basically self-harm. It then leads to a further, even worse obsession with one of his other girlfriends, and especially with her online persona. Eventually, it becomes a story that asks the question: what would it be like if Instagram finally did manage to totally take over your life? What if you actually did lose the battle against social media? It’s kind of hair-raising, because it seems all too possible

THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY by Thornton Wilder

In this strange book, a bridge collapses in 18th century Peru.  The focus is on the lives of the five people who die,  which, according to the author is trying to answer the question: “Is there a direction and meaning in lives beyond the individual’s own will?”  

This is hardly a burning question, you don’t need a whole book, answer is clearly no.  

In any case it won the Pulitzer in 1929, showing people had some very different concerns back in the day.  That said, it does have some gorgeous bizarre writing. I know Thornton Wilder as the writer of the exceedingly sweet, very American, and rather wonderful play OUR TOWN.  Clearly I had no idea of the scope of his interests, because this one is a real wild ride through metaphysics, South America, twins, nuns, and smallpox ridden actresses.

THE CITY AND THE STARS by Arthur C Clarke

Here is a book set in the incredibly far future. I was not too sure on the plot, but the vision was interesting. It shows a city governed by a huge Central Computer that generates all their needs and keeps them all eternally young. This is what humans think is the only place left that humans live, but then the protagonist finds another settlement of humans, who have decided to accept mortality. This sounds like it is going to be an interesting discussion of the question of : would you like to live forever if you could? To me the answer is OF COURSE.

Anyway, that is not where the book goes, it goes into robot worms and stuff. But I still enjoyed it. And I loved learning about the life of Arthur C Clarke, who peaced out of the UK at forty to go live in Sri Lanka and scuba and be gay and write books.

IT ENDS WITH US by Colleen Hoover

I bought this book because it has a billion hashtags on TikTok. People like to be dismissive of it, because it is romance, and it is wildly popular with young women, and to be fair because main characters have names such as ‘Ryle Kincaid’ and ‘Atlas Corrigan.’

It tells the story of a woman who falls in love with a neurosurgeon (LOL). It slowly emerges he struggles to control his temper and is violent. What is interesting is that he is presented very sympathetically, so you understand how hard it could be to leave.

What I found interesting is the story of the author, Hoover, who was living in a trailer when she started to self-publish her romances which then by word-of-mouth go on to be on the NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER? I mean SRSLY anything can happen.

THE SECRET RIVER by Kate Grenville

From the first paragraph of this book I knew I was in safe hands. There is no nicer feeling than opening a book and knowing you can give up your own thoughts immediately. It’s like you give yourself over.

This was a story of a man who grew up very poor in seventeenth century London, was transported to Australia as a convict, and the battles – moral and otherwise – he fought in trying to build a new life there. One forgets how rough people had it in Europe, and how recently. At one point his wife and he discuss quite pragmatically how she can start prostituting herself. It gives me hope for the developing world. It also helps you understand in some ways the context of the terrible things these Europeans did to the Aboriginal people. This conflict with the local people is really a stomach-churningly horrible part of this book.

I am surprised there are not more books like this. This meeting of two worlds in fantastically interesting. I’m surprised I haven’t seen much of it. I can’t for example think of a single example in African lit. You wouldn’t think at this late stage there would be any white space left, but here it is, I guess.

FOR THY GREAT PAIN HAVE MERCY ON MY LITTLE PAIN by Victoria Mackenzie

Here is a novel where the backstory is better than the story. It weaves together the stories of two real women from the 14th century. One is an anchoress, Julian of Norwich. She lost her siblings and father to the plague, and then her husband and child. She decided to become an anchoress, which involves you going into a room in the church, and then them BRICKING YOU INSIDE. There is a window to the outside world, through which she gets food and can see people who come to ask her advice, but that’s it. CAN YOU IMAGINE YOUR ISSUES.

The other woman, Margery Kempe is arguably even stranger. She is the wife of a wealthy businesswoman. She has the number of children you have when you don’t have bodily autonomy, and she is suddenly overwhelmed with weeping at Christ’s suffering. She cries a lot, she preaches a lot, all the while being threatened with being burned alive for the revolutionary idea that she can have a personal relationship with Christ (ie., the basis for all contemporary Christianity). She ends up travelling the world doing all sorts.

What makes the book dull is that we have to hear a lot about their religious visions, which is as boring as hearing about people’s dreams. Actually probably more boring, because at least dreams can be new (an octopus ate my pasta) whereas Christian religious visions are not (man gives out fish, etc).

What I did find interesting was how we come to know about these women. For example, the housewife Margery Kempe is the first person to write an autobiography in English – a pretty major deal. And her wild and improbable story would have been totally lost to us, were it not for a houseguest, who in 1934 was searching in a closet for a pingpong ball, and dislodged a pile of papers which turns out to be the only surviving manuscript! It’s just wild to think how many lives are completely lost to us. Thank god we now have social media so every minute of important lives are minutely documented!

THE TWO KINDS OF DECAY by Sarah Manguso

A fine memoir about a rare illness. The author has an autoimmune disease which begins by paralyzing your feet and slowly moves up your body, killing you if it gets to your diaphragm (so you can’t breath). As treatment she has all the blood in her body replaced every other day (!!!). This goes on at various periods for years, until she goes to a new doctor who prescribes her massive doses of steroids. This stops the problem but gives her profound depression.

It’s a pretty horrifying story, especially as it begins pretty randomly, with a head cold, in her early 20s, and then dominates the next ten years of her life. What I particularly enjoyed was the fact that she avoided giving it a clean ‘narrative’ – she writes it to us sort of in bits, as she remembers it, which I found very affecting. It was less factually true but seemed closer somehow to how real experience is.

REALLY GOOD, ACTUALLY by Monica Heisey

This is a comic novel about a short marriage and a long painful divorce. The writer has previously written for TV shows (Schitt’s Creek) and magazines. You can kind of tell: this novel is absolutely packed with jokes and cleverness. It’s like reading an entire novel of one liners. I can only imagine the immense effort this must have taken. Here for example is her taking up buying self help books:

I would open one and put a flower on top of it, then take a picture and imagine changing everything about my personality and core friendship group to allow myself to post that image online.

Or at one of many efforts to have hobbies or interests – at a gaming arcade:

. . . I watched a group of twentysomething girls cheering while one of their friends whacked a pinball machine. They were having a level of fun I’d never seen outside of a commercial for a chain restaurant.

I have read three novels recently about women and breakups and I am delighted once again to have not grown up in the developed world. I’m not saying I feel amazing about my body, but I just can’t get over how much women from developed countries seem to worry about how they look. Truly I wonder if it is patriarchy at work – how much mental real estate is being used on Spanx rather than on seizing the means of production.

I’M SORRY YOU FEEL THAT WAY by Rebecca Wait

Speaking as a middle class person who lives in London I think I have had about as much as I can handle of novels by middle class people who live in London. I know this is not fair, but this book annoyed me. London has 10 million people in it, more than some countries (less than mid-sized Chinese cites), all of whom are I am sure very interesting and worthy of novels and etc. In any case, to this book.

It tells the story of a couple of generations of a family, each from their own perspective. This isa promising idea, and some of the he-said she-said of this I enjoyed. One sister in particular is uncertain of herself and yet helpful to everyone, without getting much appreciation. The framing was that we were supposed to feel for her, but I just wanted to smack her. I don’t know if this makes me a bad person, but honestly here’s how I feel: it’s not everyone else’s problem if you choose to be a doormat. That’s on you.