Book Review: Growing Places by Polly Stretton
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of reviewing Alchemy of 42 by Polly Stretton. Growing Places and Alchemy of 42 are very different collections, but this does nothing but show the breadth of Stretton’s poetic ability.
Growing Places is described as a collection ‘based around different locations where Polly grew up, like Malvern, Leigh and others, and also covers her fantasy places, where, she says ‘much of one’s growing is done’. The overlap between the domestic and fantastic is one of the many wonderful aspects of this collection. But at its roots, from the earliest poems, the theme of family is strong. In the opening poems ‘not sorry yet’ and ‘Don’t Swing on the Railings’ Stretton evokes the family sphere from the perspective of a child, observant and innocent all at once. We see the adult world through the lens of childhood antics and discipline, and Stretton seems to reflect on what a child overlooks, or cannot understand until much later
From the child’s understanding of her parents, to the closeness of two sisters, the poems establish a firm ground of loyalty. ‘Her girls’ is one of my favourite poems of the collection, which opens with the lines ‘We do not share blood, / we share memories’. These memories are of an inseparable nature, of makeup experiments and the ‘hottest, burniest’ holidays. Stretton’s poetry seems to speak delight from the page, the short lines and rhymes making it a joy to read as well as feel.
Of course, place is very important in this collection, which is divided into sections accordingly. As part one, ‘Malvern’ moves to part two, ‘Malvern Hills’ we escape into nature, silence, slopes, and echoes. The short poems in this section are like bursts of memory, contained like ‘Moonlight in Jars’, held up one by one to show off something else that is beautiful
Part three is called Worcester. Here we are taken on architectural exploits and through flooded cityscapes from which a gull thrives despite the deluge. We see flower shows and friendship grow, too, and as Stretton puts it, ‘Go to a place / where you can hear your heart’.
In Part four, Crown East, an absence is explored in the first poem, ‘Latent’, continues in ‘Dream On’, and in the subsequent few poems. In the next part, Croome Court, takes a historic look at several figures from the Coventry family. From the student antics of ‘St Joseph’s School for Boys’, to William Dean who wrote a book indexing every plant and tree in the Earl of Coventry’s walled garden, and Anne Somerset, the Countess of Coventry, these poems evoke a grandeur and magic. They combine music, nature and rhyme to really transport the reader into the whirl of a dance, or else to step in the muddy footprints left by William Dean.
Next stop is Droitwich. The opening poem, ‘Curves’ is another of my favourites from the entire collection and is one of several to be inspired by artwork. Perhaps fittingly, this section transitions into the part titled Fantasy Places, the part that most closely resembles Stretton’s poetry from Alchemy 42. ‘Becoming the sea’ and ‘Flawless’ are both poems I read and then immediately re-read, because I loved them so much. Polly Stretton’s language is evocative and powerful, and her talent for conjuring up unfamiliar scenes and yet making them feel familiar is a true strength of her writing.
The final section is titled Leigh. We return to the ‘real’ world, but the magic stays with these poems in the love, the acceptance, the meadows, and even the pungent smell of herrings. Time passes, seasons shift, colours change with temperatures and Polly Stretton reaffirms the growth that happens as change occurs.
Overall, this is a beautiful, personal collection of poetry. Littered with heartfelt and humorous moments, Stretton has the ability to make her reader feel, make them imagine, and quite honestly, to help them grow, too.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 6th October 2021
Growing Places is described as a collection ‘based around different locations where Polly grew up, like Malvern, Leigh and others, and also covers her fantasy places, where, she says ‘much of one’s growing is done’. The overlap between the domestic and fantastic is one of the many wonderful aspects of this collection. But at its roots, from the earliest poems, the theme of family is strong. In the opening poems ‘not sorry yet’ and ‘Don’t Swing on the Railings’ Stretton evokes the family sphere from the perspective of a child, observant and innocent all at once. We see the adult world through the lens of childhood antics and discipline, and Stretton seems to reflect on what a child overlooks, or cannot understand until much later
From the child’s understanding of her parents, to the closeness of two sisters, the poems establish a firm ground of loyalty. ‘Her girls’ is one of my favourite poems of the collection, which opens with the lines ‘We do not share blood, / we share memories’. These memories are of an inseparable nature, of makeup experiments and the ‘hottest, burniest’ holidays. Stretton’s poetry seems to speak delight from the page, the short lines and rhymes making it a joy to read as well as feel.
Of course, place is very important in this collection, which is divided into sections accordingly. As part one, ‘Malvern’ moves to part two, ‘Malvern Hills’ we escape into nature, silence, slopes, and echoes. The short poems in this section are like bursts of memory, contained like ‘Moonlight in Jars’, held up one by one to show off something else that is beautiful
Part three is called Worcester. Here we are taken on architectural exploits and through flooded cityscapes from which a gull thrives despite the deluge. We see flower shows and friendship grow, too, and as Stretton puts it, ‘Go to a place / where you can hear your heart’.
In Part four, Crown East, an absence is explored in the first poem, ‘Latent’, continues in ‘Dream On’, and in the subsequent few poems. In the next part, Croome Court, takes a historic look at several figures from the Coventry family. From the student antics of ‘St Joseph’s School for Boys’, to William Dean who wrote a book indexing every plant and tree in the Earl of Coventry’s walled garden, and Anne Somerset, the Countess of Coventry, these poems evoke a grandeur and magic. They combine music, nature and rhyme to really transport the reader into the whirl of a dance, or else to step in the muddy footprints left by William Dean.
Next stop is Droitwich. The opening poem, ‘Curves’ is another of my favourites from the entire collection and is one of several to be inspired by artwork. Perhaps fittingly, this section transitions into the part titled Fantasy Places, the part that most closely resembles Stretton’s poetry from Alchemy 42. ‘Becoming the sea’ and ‘Flawless’ are both poems I read and then immediately re-read, because I loved them so much. Polly Stretton’s language is evocative and powerful, and her talent for conjuring up unfamiliar scenes and yet making them feel familiar is a true strength of her writing.
The final section is titled Leigh. We return to the ‘real’ world, but the magic stays with these poems in the love, the acceptance, the meadows, and even the pungent smell of herrings. Time passes, seasons shift, colours change with temperatures and Polly Stretton reaffirms the growth that happens as change occurs.
Overall, this is a beautiful, personal collection of poetry. Littered with heartfelt and humorous moments, Stretton has the ability to make her reader feel, make them imagine, and quite honestly, to help them grow, too.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 6th October 2021
Book review: Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe by Beth Gordon
Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe by Beth Gordon was published by Animal Heart Press in 2019. Beth Gordon’s poetry is an amalgamation of the mundane and ethereal, delving into love, loss, grief and mortality as both a frank reality and an abstract sense of the soul.
The pamphlet holds a mix of free verse and prose poems. Gordon makes use of structure and repetition when she uses the final line of one stanza to begin the next stanza. In this way, she makes her reader see the same words in two different ways. The same can be said for the collection as a whole, as Gordon litters her poems with the small but familiar details of the day-to-day, setting them alongside larger thoughts and ideas.
The connectivity between grief and an awareness of mortality comes to the fore in the title poem, ‘Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe’. The poem follows a woman who finds a dead possum on the side of the road as the same time the morning news in her headphones is reporting a body on the Metrolink track. The two deaths take on a greater significance for the synchronised moment the woman in the poem becomes aware of them.
‘I missed the murder by seconds, her surprised soul, rising in confusion of gravel and faulty brakes , the hushed vanishing, steps ahead of mine,
had I not stopped to adjust my head phones, change the podcast from Columbine to Vietnam, rounded this corner two minutes earlier, I would have witnessed the living them, the conversion
from mammal to rock’. (‘Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe’)
The natural is set against the technological, too. In ‘I am inventing a new language’, ‘dormant tulip bulbs’ are placed alongside a ‘missile silo’, and in ‘Pisces / Aries Cusp’, ‘I fall asleep to gunfire and hearts that will explode before morning. To silver nitrate and rising sea waters that will erase the lines I am afraid to cross.’
Gordon also carves out a space for the magical. In the midst of chaos and disaster, or loss and hurt, she casts ordinary life in an extraordinary light.
‘I drop lemons in the kitchen, yellow globes of solar
storm, and search for coffee cups that strangers touched
last week, conjuring hot water and release of the swamp-dirt brew.
I am a witch here, of unrestrained salt and magic
vines, of mimosa blossoms opening like baby pink
flamingos waiting to be fed, of mood-married tides
that mix seaweed and mother-of-pearl beneath the familiar sea. I clean
wine glasses and knives, open windows and let the bees
inside to build their hives in the corner of this house.’ (‘Morning, Bay, St. Louis).
Overall, Beth Gordon’s Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe is a beautifully crafted book of poetry, offering a new perspective on life, death, Earth, and the moments we live through each day that deserve more time than we give them.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 1st September 2021
The pamphlet holds a mix of free verse and prose poems. Gordon makes use of structure and repetition when she uses the final line of one stanza to begin the next stanza. In this way, she makes her reader see the same words in two different ways. The same can be said for the collection as a whole, as Gordon litters her poems with the small but familiar details of the day-to-day, setting them alongside larger thoughts and ideas.
The connectivity between grief and an awareness of mortality comes to the fore in the title poem, ‘Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe’. The poem follows a woman who finds a dead possum on the side of the road as the same time the morning news in her headphones is reporting a body on the Metrolink track. The two deaths take on a greater significance for the synchronised moment the woman in the poem becomes aware of them.
‘I missed the murder by seconds, her surprised soul, rising in confusion of gravel and faulty brakes , the hushed vanishing, steps ahead of mine,
had I not stopped to adjust my head phones, change the podcast from Columbine to Vietnam, rounded this corner two minutes earlier, I would have witnessed the living them, the conversion
from mammal to rock’. (‘Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe’)
The natural is set against the technological, too. In ‘I am inventing a new language’, ‘dormant tulip bulbs’ are placed alongside a ‘missile silo’, and in ‘Pisces / Aries Cusp’, ‘I fall asleep to gunfire and hearts that will explode before morning. To silver nitrate and rising sea waters that will erase the lines I am afraid to cross.’
Gordon also carves out a space for the magical. In the midst of chaos and disaster, or loss and hurt, she casts ordinary life in an extraordinary light.
‘I drop lemons in the kitchen, yellow globes of solar
storm, and search for coffee cups that strangers touched
last week, conjuring hot water and release of the swamp-dirt brew.
I am a witch here, of unrestrained salt and magic
vines, of mimosa blossoms opening like baby pink
flamingos waiting to be fed, of mood-married tides
that mix seaweed and mother-of-pearl beneath the familiar sea. I clean
wine glasses and knives, open windows and let the bees
inside to build their hives in the corner of this house.’ (‘Morning, Bay, St. Louis).
Overall, Beth Gordon’s Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe is a beautifully crafted book of poetry, offering a new perspective on life, death, Earth, and the moments we live through each day that deserve more time than we give them.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 1st September 2021
Book Review: The Alchemy of 42 by Polly Stretton
The Alchemy of 42 (Black Pear Press, 2020) is a collection of genre poetry that takes its reader on a journey through the realms of Gothic, Horror, Sci-fi, and Fantasy. Polly Stretton’s breadth and depth of talent is demonstrated in line after line of crafted poetry, vivid (often grotesque) imagery, gripping her reader with the strange, the mythical, and the magical.
A short preface informs the reader that the poems in this collection are the result of nine years of prompts from 42Worcester, an alternative genre spoken word event. By all accounts Stretton has only shared a sliver of her back catalogue, and yet the collection of 42 (I see what you did there) poems showcase a range of forms, both rhyming and free verse, as well as the genres already mentioned.
Stretton’s Gothic section is crammed with fangs, blood, bats, crescent moons, active shadows and other eerie spectres. The rhyme and rhythm of ‘Haunting’ and ‘’Grotesque’ beg to be read aloud, preferably around a fire. But it is the stories these poems hold that were particularly compelling and found myself rooting for the vengeful ghosts.
Wry
A neck awry,
looked at through
eyes
part sly.
He’s invisible.
A blot on her internal lands
that deserves not
to be there.
She’s been spilled
over and over.
She’s been thrilled
over and over.
She’s been fulfilled
over and over.
But not by him.
In part two, we meet Horror, sapping the blood and bravery from all hearts present. ‘Bridget’s Tea’ is a standout poem simply for making the act of making tea so creepy. Indeed, Stretton has a knack for starting the reader on a path before pulling them off in an unprecedented direction. We meet a mother and son as ‘Geranium scents the pale garret / breeze ruffling his hair’, only to be brought up short with the next line, ‘his dead hair’. There are wolf-women on the hunt for human flesh and murderous young wives armed with poisonous mushrooms and every moment is gloriously horrifying.
Part three, Sci-fi, is the first experience of sci-fi poetry I’ve ever had (or can recall). The cyborgs and aliens are described with short and snappy lines, forcing the reader to pick up their pace as we take in the, ‘Dripping, slipping, gripping, stripping, / unremitting teeth’. For all the terrifying descriptions, Stretton’s empathic emphasis is always on the creatures she’s describing, and when a creature breaks its bonds and flees, I found myself reading faster, urging it to get away from the howling mob of humans.
The final section, Fantasy, was my absolute favourite, which is saying something because I thoroughly enjoyed the first three sections. Stretton introduces the dark side of the ‘Faeric Folk’. Each poem is separate world of dangerous beauty, steeped in nature and power. I would read a whole collection of Stretton’s fantasy poetry, no questions asked.
Ultimately, The Alchemy of 42 is a dark and twisting foray into worlds beyond our reach, but in the hands of Polly Stretton, they leap out of the page to grab you.
You can get your copy of The Alchemy of 42 here.
Polly Stretton’s next collection, Growing Places, is currently available to pre-order here.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 18th August 2021
A short preface informs the reader that the poems in this collection are the result of nine years of prompts from 42Worcester, an alternative genre spoken word event. By all accounts Stretton has only shared a sliver of her back catalogue, and yet the collection of 42 (I see what you did there) poems showcase a range of forms, both rhyming and free verse, as well as the genres already mentioned.
Stretton’s Gothic section is crammed with fangs, blood, bats, crescent moons, active shadows and other eerie spectres. The rhyme and rhythm of ‘Haunting’ and ‘’Grotesque’ beg to be read aloud, preferably around a fire. But it is the stories these poems hold that were particularly compelling and found myself rooting for the vengeful ghosts.
Wry
A neck awry,
looked at through
eyes
part sly.
He’s invisible.
A blot on her internal lands
that deserves not
to be there.
She’s been spilled
over and over.
She’s been thrilled
over and over.
She’s been fulfilled
over and over.
But not by him.
In part two, we meet Horror, sapping the blood and bravery from all hearts present. ‘Bridget’s Tea’ is a standout poem simply for making the act of making tea so creepy. Indeed, Stretton has a knack for starting the reader on a path before pulling them off in an unprecedented direction. We meet a mother and son as ‘Geranium scents the pale garret / breeze ruffling his hair’, only to be brought up short with the next line, ‘his dead hair’. There are wolf-women on the hunt for human flesh and murderous young wives armed with poisonous mushrooms and every moment is gloriously horrifying.
Part three, Sci-fi, is the first experience of sci-fi poetry I’ve ever had (or can recall). The cyborgs and aliens are described with short and snappy lines, forcing the reader to pick up their pace as we take in the, ‘Dripping, slipping, gripping, stripping, / unremitting teeth’. For all the terrifying descriptions, Stretton’s empathic emphasis is always on the creatures she’s describing, and when a creature breaks its bonds and flees, I found myself reading faster, urging it to get away from the howling mob of humans.
The final section, Fantasy, was my absolute favourite, which is saying something because I thoroughly enjoyed the first three sections. Stretton introduces the dark side of the ‘Faeric Folk’. Each poem is separate world of dangerous beauty, steeped in nature and power. I would read a whole collection of Stretton’s fantasy poetry, no questions asked.
Ultimately, The Alchemy of 42 is a dark and twisting foray into worlds beyond our reach, but in the hands of Polly Stretton, they leap out of the page to grab you.
You can get your copy of The Alchemy of 42 here.
Polly Stretton’s next collection, Growing Places, is currently available to pre-order here.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 18th August 2021
Book Review: Shelter In Place by Catherine Kyle
It seems appropriate to be reading Catherine Kyle’s ‘Shelter in Place’ (Spuyten Duyvil) on a screen. This is a collection suffused with memes and viral clips, search engines and wireless connections, with namedrops for Siri and Alexa. There are poems presented in very twenty-first century ways, Thread 1 is relayed in text speak, while Moloch 2 mimics a Twitter thread. Shrug ends with an eponymous \_(“)_/.
However, along with this playfulness comes an awareness of a wider world, into which the web provides only a window. There is interplay between nature and technology, between old worlds and new. Trivia describes wildlife searches on a phone, and the learning of Latin names. This link is made explicit in Communion with Nature:
The majority of living beings
Cannot be touched, just witnessed
Via pixels
But the theme is developed more delicately elsewhere, providing a pervading sense of a world that cannot be controlled. Made for You gives a glimpse into helpless protest “having failed/to change the world/again” while The Age of the Image highlights the issue of ‘awareness’ with a very self-aware irony:
What
If we are aware? We are all so very
Aware now. What if awareness
Is not the balm?
Still, wry wit is never far away, Paywall neatly summaries the interaction between fear and technology, screams and screens:
The article says, “Don’t fear!
There’s hope! If we all just-”
Then we were
Paywalled.
There are other links to modern life here too. Other concerns. The language is rooted in the present: “adult” is used as a verb, “resting bitch face” occurs. And from the first poem, Commute, there is a sense that globalisation and consumerism cast a baleful presence. Personhood alludes with a trademark wit to “friendly neighbourhood corporate overlords,” while the extravagantly titled Seven Reasons to Have Hope for a Better Future. Number Five will Really Get You! requests “Eyeliner not made from crushed-up fish fins,” and resistance to “economies of grindery and pain.”
The threat of male violence is another spectre here, ancient but distressingly current. Whether couched in contemporary comic book terms, or disguised within fables from long ago, wariness is a watchword. Women walk with keys “splicing out/of our hands like knock-off wolverines,” watchful for liars and opportunists, “fairy tale monsters.”
Once again however, there is light to battle the dark. There is humour to be found in the bleakest moments, the key at the close of Personality Test being a prime example, which I won’t spoil here. The language itself brings brightness too, alliteration and vibrancy illuminate thoughts and allusions, “misty jasper” is “bruised with blushing road rash orange,” while steam rises in “pointillism puffs.” And there are always flowers, and colour.
A silver basin is “decked with buttercup and agate blue.” In a violet void, the Earth is a “beam of peony glow.” A sky burns lavender. Mist “pearls our eyelashes.’ Every poem is a rainbow, or an oil spill, of eye-catching shades. Vermillion. Amethyst. Saffron. Whatever the troubles of the world, we are surrounded by beauty.
Much of this colour takes place in the sky, and there are phrases of the moon and stars that fly too, images unfolding “like a constellation.” Structurally, the collection stretches its wings as it progresses, beginning with a series of poems set out in regular couplets. Often lines run together, pulling thoughts along in a rhythmic journey:
We’ve pushed
Our share of strollers watching neighbour ladies’
Babies, and yes, the dappling of sun on plaid
And board books can be sweet.
Themes too are carried from poem to poem. Morals follows Apotropaic with further allusions to wolves and huntsmen. Ordinary Magic ends “What kind of narrative is this?” which then leads, aptly, into Narratives.
Experimentation in form soon begins as the poetry takes off. Tarot Reading for the End of the World is a freer verse, a method maintained in Geode Eaters before the couplets resume. From there, innovations surface when the narrative demands, such as in Narratives itself, where each line begins “The kind of narrative where-”
These innovations mirror the imagery, as Kyle revels in jumps and juxtapositions. The title ‘Shelter in Place’ refers to advice given during an emergency, to a space for taking refuge. And yes, there is a world enclosed here, a world viewed via screens. But the content is not so fixated or limited as to exclude a wider lens. Alongside the tech we have fairy tales, magic and tarot, mixed with references to Milton and Greek mythology. Perhaps that is the message here, that there is always something more. Something hopeful, or fantastical. Maybe something beautiful. If so, Thread 3 provides a fitting conclusion:
A shelter against
This whirlwind, this cyclone.
Shelter open just a crack
To let each other in-
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 11th August 2021
However, along with this playfulness comes an awareness of a wider world, into which the web provides only a window. There is interplay between nature and technology, between old worlds and new. Trivia describes wildlife searches on a phone, and the learning of Latin names. This link is made explicit in Communion with Nature:
The majority of living beings
Cannot be touched, just witnessed
Via pixels
But the theme is developed more delicately elsewhere, providing a pervading sense of a world that cannot be controlled. Made for You gives a glimpse into helpless protest “having failed/to change the world/again” while The Age of the Image highlights the issue of ‘awareness’ with a very self-aware irony:
What
If we are aware? We are all so very
Aware now. What if awareness
Is not the balm?
Still, wry wit is never far away, Paywall neatly summaries the interaction between fear and technology, screams and screens:
The article says, “Don’t fear!
There’s hope! If we all just-”
Then we were
Paywalled.
There are other links to modern life here too. Other concerns. The language is rooted in the present: “adult” is used as a verb, “resting bitch face” occurs. And from the first poem, Commute, there is a sense that globalisation and consumerism cast a baleful presence. Personhood alludes with a trademark wit to “friendly neighbourhood corporate overlords,” while the extravagantly titled Seven Reasons to Have Hope for a Better Future. Number Five will Really Get You! requests “Eyeliner not made from crushed-up fish fins,” and resistance to “economies of grindery and pain.”
The threat of male violence is another spectre here, ancient but distressingly current. Whether couched in contemporary comic book terms, or disguised within fables from long ago, wariness is a watchword. Women walk with keys “splicing out/of our hands like knock-off wolverines,” watchful for liars and opportunists, “fairy tale monsters.”
Once again however, there is light to battle the dark. There is humour to be found in the bleakest moments, the key at the close of Personality Test being a prime example, which I won’t spoil here. The language itself brings brightness too, alliteration and vibrancy illuminate thoughts and allusions, “misty jasper” is “bruised with blushing road rash orange,” while steam rises in “pointillism puffs.” And there are always flowers, and colour.
A silver basin is “decked with buttercup and agate blue.” In a violet void, the Earth is a “beam of peony glow.” A sky burns lavender. Mist “pearls our eyelashes.’ Every poem is a rainbow, or an oil spill, of eye-catching shades. Vermillion. Amethyst. Saffron. Whatever the troubles of the world, we are surrounded by beauty.
Much of this colour takes place in the sky, and there are phrases of the moon and stars that fly too, images unfolding “like a constellation.” Structurally, the collection stretches its wings as it progresses, beginning with a series of poems set out in regular couplets. Often lines run together, pulling thoughts along in a rhythmic journey:
We’ve pushed
Our share of strollers watching neighbour ladies’
Babies, and yes, the dappling of sun on plaid
And board books can be sweet.
Themes too are carried from poem to poem. Morals follows Apotropaic with further allusions to wolves and huntsmen. Ordinary Magic ends “What kind of narrative is this?” which then leads, aptly, into Narratives.
Experimentation in form soon begins as the poetry takes off. Tarot Reading for the End of the World is a freer verse, a method maintained in Geode Eaters before the couplets resume. From there, innovations surface when the narrative demands, such as in Narratives itself, where each line begins “The kind of narrative where-”
These innovations mirror the imagery, as Kyle revels in jumps and juxtapositions. The title ‘Shelter in Place’ refers to advice given during an emergency, to a space for taking refuge. And yes, there is a world enclosed here, a world viewed via screens. But the content is not so fixated or limited as to exclude a wider lens. Alongside the tech we have fairy tales, magic and tarot, mixed with references to Milton and Greek mythology. Perhaps that is the message here, that there is always something more. Something hopeful, or fantastical. Maybe something beautiful. If so, Thread 3 provides a fitting conclusion:
A shelter against
This whirlwind, this cyclone.
Shelter open just a crack
To let each other in-
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 11th August 2021
Book Review: The Streets, Like Flowers, Come Alive in the Rain by Steve Denehan
The Streets, Like Flowers, Come Alive in the Rain (Potter’s Grove Press) is the latest collection from the indefatigable Steve Denehan, but when complimented on his prolific output he laughs it off: “Quantity not quality is my motto!” Well, the awards and nominations he has received for his poems, chapbooks and books rather suggest the two are not mutually exclusive, but perhaps best to let the words speak for themselves.
On the subject of his craft – and much else besides – Denehan’s is an open book. The Unwritten Poem reveals that he aims to ‘write a poem a day,’ though ‘sometimes there are more days than poems/sometimes more poems than days.’ From the title, we might be led to believe that this was one of the days that didn’t work out, where no ‘cooing or crowbars’ would make the magic come. Yet here they are, at the end of a ‘Huckleberry summer day,’ each line a spotlight, illuminating the amdram, the humdrum on centre stage: a square of chocolate, a favourite teddy, a third hot-water bottle. This is Denehan’s bread and butter. Family, everyday life, themes we all understand, lit in such a way that makes us look afresh.
The familiar draws us in, delights us. The Cure pre-empts the Coronavirus vaccine:
We mix water, salt and vinegar
Blackcurrent cordial and a raw egg
My daughter thinks it might be the cure
Coming from a household which concocts magic potions on a daily basis, I strongly relate. Doubtless countless others could to. Reading Wax – ‘just wax and lots of it’ - while lying on the floor on my side to allow olive oil to pool in the ear canal might be a more unique experience, still most readers will find something that resonates particularly with them.
It might be the memory of a tailgating Audi, desperate to pass by ‘sheer tyranny of will,’ or the ‘waking nightmare’ of the work Christmas party. Surely anyone who has set foot in an office will recognise Bottom Lines and Deadlines, likewise we have all returned from holiday to see disembarking passengers ‘stampede slowly past’-
Only to wait
Again
For their luggage
Always baffled.
The thematic thread is petty frustration with the rest of humanity, as Denehan confesses: ‘I don’t hate all people/just most of them.’ Even so, it’s hard not to like him. Partly because he makes us laugh. Common to his previous collections was the twist of humour at the foot of a poem, and that remains in force here. Little Girl in the Hotel Bar sets up for a virtuoso performance, and delivers a comic climax, while the subtle denouement to ‘Have you got a Minute?’ could hardly have been scripted better. Indeed, in another life Denehan might have turned to stand-up. It’s easy to imagine the dry wit of finding sand in the Sahara, or the laugh-out-loud mockery of television advertising being delivered live:
They learn that there is a free pen for signing up
They look absolutely fucking delighted
At the very idea
Of a free pen.
If all this suggests a sort of free-verse Grumpy Old Men, then the book is being undersold. Another Denehan strength is his breadth, as his self-penned blurb puts much better than I can: “The usual things are covered: love, hate, spite, rage, hope, the wonder of small things… but hopefully they are considered and written about in unusual and interesting ways.” The hope is well-founded. If you don’t come for the universality, come for the language, the man talking ‘like a saucepan bubbling over,’ or the sleepy child: ‘drowsy fairies lay on her eyelids/her deepening breaths a lullaby.’ Or come for the wisdom, woven in allegory, as in Branches, where the more they escape ‘the less alone they are.’
There is growth here too, as the poet’s repertoire expands. Descriptive titles, A Rainy Night on Wexford Street, Dublin or Baker’s Lounge, Vicar Street, Fifteen Years Ago, speak of tales to be told. A Phone Call from Morgan Freeman on Christmas Eve runs to seven-pages, beyond vignette and into short story territory. The slow reveal of a Jonas Jonasson style yarn showcases a talent for building a narrative, and the pay-off is golden, even if ‘I hadn’t got a thing to say’ is more unwarranted modesty.
The Middle of the Middle of Nowhere is another hint that Denehan could turn his hand to literary non-fiction if he doesn’t fancy stand-up, and the drama that unfolds in Baker’s Lounge is genuinely suspenseful. When he tells about destination restaurants, ones you must ‘journey to specifically,’ it’s hard not to draw a parallel with this as “destination poetry,” you turn each page hoping to find more of it.
What we discover, ultimately, are words that make us feel. The senses are effortlessly engaged, though curiously, given the collection’s title, it is heat that permeates: ‘We could see the heat,’ is the very first line. Later there is ‘that dead heat smell,’ and in between the feel of heat, or the missing feel, to denote aging. A glut of pop culture references emphasise this pet motif, “the passing of time,” as Denehan puts it. On which note, if passing the time is what you are after, I can recommend this book as a rewarding way to lose a few hours.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 7th April 2021
On the subject of his craft – and much else besides – Denehan’s is an open book. The Unwritten Poem reveals that he aims to ‘write a poem a day,’ though ‘sometimes there are more days than poems/sometimes more poems than days.’ From the title, we might be led to believe that this was one of the days that didn’t work out, where no ‘cooing or crowbars’ would make the magic come. Yet here they are, at the end of a ‘Huckleberry summer day,’ each line a spotlight, illuminating the amdram, the humdrum on centre stage: a square of chocolate, a favourite teddy, a third hot-water bottle. This is Denehan’s bread and butter. Family, everyday life, themes we all understand, lit in such a way that makes us look afresh.
The familiar draws us in, delights us. The Cure pre-empts the Coronavirus vaccine:
We mix water, salt and vinegar
Blackcurrent cordial and a raw egg
My daughter thinks it might be the cure
Coming from a household which concocts magic potions on a daily basis, I strongly relate. Doubtless countless others could to. Reading Wax – ‘just wax and lots of it’ - while lying on the floor on my side to allow olive oil to pool in the ear canal might be a more unique experience, still most readers will find something that resonates particularly with them.
It might be the memory of a tailgating Audi, desperate to pass by ‘sheer tyranny of will,’ or the ‘waking nightmare’ of the work Christmas party. Surely anyone who has set foot in an office will recognise Bottom Lines and Deadlines, likewise we have all returned from holiday to see disembarking passengers ‘stampede slowly past’-
Only to wait
Again
For their luggage
Always baffled.
The thematic thread is petty frustration with the rest of humanity, as Denehan confesses: ‘I don’t hate all people/just most of them.’ Even so, it’s hard not to like him. Partly because he makes us laugh. Common to his previous collections was the twist of humour at the foot of a poem, and that remains in force here. Little Girl in the Hotel Bar sets up for a virtuoso performance, and delivers a comic climax, while the subtle denouement to ‘Have you got a Minute?’ could hardly have been scripted better. Indeed, in another life Denehan might have turned to stand-up. It’s easy to imagine the dry wit of finding sand in the Sahara, or the laugh-out-loud mockery of television advertising being delivered live:
They learn that there is a free pen for signing up
They look absolutely fucking delighted
At the very idea
Of a free pen.
If all this suggests a sort of free-verse Grumpy Old Men, then the book is being undersold. Another Denehan strength is his breadth, as his self-penned blurb puts much better than I can: “The usual things are covered: love, hate, spite, rage, hope, the wonder of small things… but hopefully they are considered and written about in unusual and interesting ways.” The hope is well-founded. If you don’t come for the universality, come for the language, the man talking ‘like a saucepan bubbling over,’ or the sleepy child: ‘drowsy fairies lay on her eyelids/her deepening breaths a lullaby.’ Or come for the wisdom, woven in allegory, as in Branches, where the more they escape ‘the less alone they are.’
There is growth here too, as the poet’s repertoire expands. Descriptive titles, A Rainy Night on Wexford Street, Dublin or Baker’s Lounge, Vicar Street, Fifteen Years Ago, speak of tales to be told. A Phone Call from Morgan Freeman on Christmas Eve runs to seven-pages, beyond vignette and into short story territory. The slow reveal of a Jonas Jonasson style yarn showcases a talent for building a narrative, and the pay-off is golden, even if ‘I hadn’t got a thing to say’ is more unwarranted modesty.
The Middle of the Middle of Nowhere is another hint that Denehan could turn his hand to literary non-fiction if he doesn’t fancy stand-up, and the drama that unfolds in Baker’s Lounge is genuinely suspenseful. When he tells about destination restaurants, ones you must ‘journey to specifically,’ it’s hard not to draw a parallel with this as “destination poetry,” you turn each page hoping to find more of it.
What we discover, ultimately, are words that make us feel. The senses are effortlessly engaged, though curiously, given the collection’s title, it is heat that permeates: ‘We could see the heat,’ is the very first line. Later there is ‘that dead heat smell,’ and in between the feel of heat, or the missing feel, to denote aging. A glut of pop culture references emphasise this pet motif, “the passing of time,” as Denehan puts it. On which note, if passing the time is what you are after, I can recommend this book as a rewarding way to lose a few hours.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 7th April 2021
Book Review: Bluff City by David Lohrey
David Lohrey’s Bluff City offers readers several pleasures simultaneously. One of them is travel through a (mostly) American landscape and American history, from the 1960s to the present day. Another is a subtle engagement with what can be described a ‘progressive’ or ‘woke’ ideology. The third pleasure is to experience in one book different genres: short stories, poetry, a play and what can be labelled as a ‘poetic essay’, yet all following a similar style. Of those, Lohrey’s short stories are my favourite part. Many of them are set in Memphis, Tennessee, but some are in a nondescript America, at least nondescript for this reader. A couple of them present much more exotic locations, Saudi Arabia in ‘Camel Milk and Bedlam’ and Japan in ‘Sayonara’, but these stories are told from the perspective of an American traveller, which we can equate with that of Lohrey, who worked in these countries as a teacher.
Lohrey writes his stories in a seemingly sketchy way, sacrificing a clear storyline to a series of impromptu, personal impressions, whose purpose is to depict a place, rather that tell a story. If drama emerges, it is often in the second part of the narrative and even on these occasions it is meant to add validity to his ethnographic description. Instead of focusing on an individual protagonist who fulfils a specific quest, Lohrey tends to choose a group protagonist, whom he often drags from his memory. Using filmic language, I will describe his stories as docu-dramas.
The purpose of many of these stories is to capture the old America, America of his childhood of the 1960s and 1970s, when, as he puts it in ‘Why We Can’t Have Nice Things’, ‘virtually all Americans were happy, and those who were not pretended’, identify the moment when the country took a turn for the worse and identify its consequences. This is not a new approach to storytelling or, indeed, living. Most middle-aged people (a category to which Lohrey belongs) regard the past as better than the present and of those a significant proportion wallow in nostalgia. However, Lohrey’s writing is far from nostalgic. He does not return uncritically to the ‘good old days’, because he recognises that the old days were in many ways bad. For example, people were poorer, children were treated harshly by their parents and teachers, and there was much overt racism. Yet, he notices that ‘improving’ America on these accounts led to a greater malaise, whose main symptoms are the lack of authenticity and rationality, an appetite for self-destruction, as well as deeper social divisions, camouflaged by a façade of equality and inclusivity. A direct take on these issues is offered in the aforementioned story. In it, he describes the period of his childhood as marked by desire for material goods and getting on with life in a simple way, without questioning why things are the way they are, lest indulging in introspection. ‘As far as I was concerned, happiness was everything to do with money. I figured the more you had of it, the better off you’d be’. Fast forward from this past, when Americans still lived the ‘American dream’, to an unspecified later moment (perhaps late 1970s or 1980s), and we find ourselves in the company of people who rebelled against the materialism of their parents and even their younger selves by rejecting any rules and even common sense, like the couple in this story, who ‘let their children run around the house shitting on the floor like cats. They were in rebellion against the litterboxes.’
While in some cases this rejection was mostly an innocuous rebellion for rebellion’s sake, on other occasions Lohrey shows its more dangerous and sinister side, as in two very short stories, aptly titled ‘Authentic’ and ‘Imperialism’. ‘Authentic’ pictures an affluent couple who travel to the desert and stay in an inn with a magnificent view onto Monument Valley, where they try Hopi cuisine, which stands for the genuine culture of the Navajo people. The point of the story is that what is there on the menu, including ‘roasted blue tortillas accompanied by cactus relish, and the Antelope Valley red squirrel’, is concocted especially for tourists; the local Native children eat hot dogs, candy and drink orange soda in a nearby convenience store. Of course, the desire to consume authentic goods results from a conviction of affluent Americans that one’s own culture lacks authenticity due to being ‘too developed’ and other, ‘more primitive’ cultures are authentic simply because they are primitive, static and immune to corrupting Western influences. By the same token, if they absorb these influences, they lose their authenticity, which forces such ‘native people’ to pretend to tourists that they are whom the tourists want them to be. The same shallow fascination with exoticism we also find in Lohrey’s Japanese story, ‘Sayonara’, who approached the country as a ‘kind of Lourdes.’
Mr. and Mrs. Tremont from ‘Imperialism’ could be protagonists of ‘Authentic’, as they also see themselves as progressive, but this time we see them on their own territory. Their progressive mindset is reflected in their penchant for destroying statues and gravestones of ‘once prominent explorers, scientists and men of letters’ who are now rejected due to being regressive according to their ‘woke’ ideology. Their teenage son, Ben, inherited from their parents this penchant for jolly destruction. He joins his three friends who decide to vandalise a new car parked close to a real estate office. Their bad luck is that their activity is noticed by Fred, ‘a true Yank’, who, when confronted by one of the boys sporting a knife, shoots three of them. Ben manages to escape, but the story finishes with a caution that he might be traced down by Fred. Again, we can see here in plain sight that rejection of consumerism did not lead to creating a better world, but resulted in a senseless appetite for destruction and a moral void. Lohrey also shows that the simplicity which informed American life up to the early 1970s, still appeals to many of his compatriots and, as he hints in one of his pieces, ‘POTUS Interruptus’, it played a major role in Trump’s victory in the 2016 Presidential elections. ‘When he dies, any outpouring of affection will come about because the American people feel he remains in some indefinable way close to them, one of a kind but one of their own – a regular guy who at heart just wants to be rich.’
In many of the stories the narrator works as a teacher, in the States or abroad, as in Saudi Arabia. This reflects the fact that Lohrey himself worked as a teacher in so called challenging schools. However, this job is also symbolic, as a good teacher is meant to teach us to think, namely be critical, do not take for granted what others tell us, but do their own research. Lohrey does not merely advocate such attitude, but leads by example.
Written by: Ewa Mazierska
Published: 24th March 2021
Lohrey writes his stories in a seemingly sketchy way, sacrificing a clear storyline to a series of impromptu, personal impressions, whose purpose is to depict a place, rather that tell a story. If drama emerges, it is often in the second part of the narrative and even on these occasions it is meant to add validity to his ethnographic description. Instead of focusing on an individual protagonist who fulfils a specific quest, Lohrey tends to choose a group protagonist, whom he often drags from his memory. Using filmic language, I will describe his stories as docu-dramas.
The purpose of many of these stories is to capture the old America, America of his childhood of the 1960s and 1970s, when, as he puts it in ‘Why We Can’t Have Nice Things’, ‘virtually all Americans were happy, and those who were not pretended’, identify the moment when the country took a turn for the worse and identify its consequences. This is not a new approach to storytelling or, indeed, living. Most middle-aged people (a category to which Lohrey belongs) regard the past as better than the present and of those a significant proportion wallow in nostalgia. However, Lohrey’s writing is far from nostalgic. He does not return uncritically to the ‘good old days’, because he recognises that the old days were in many ways bad. For example, people were poorer, children were treated harshly by their parents and teachers, and there was much overt racism. Yet, he notices that ‘improving’ America on these accounts led to a greater malaise, whose main symptoms are the lack of authenticity and rationality, an appetite for self-destruction, as well as deeper social divisions, camouflaged by a façade of equality and inclusivity. A direct take on these issues is offered in the aforementioned story. In it, he describes the period of his childhood as marked by desire for material goods and getting on with life in a simple way, without questioning why things are the way they are, lest indulging in introspection. ‘As far as I was concerned, happiness was everything to do with money. I figured the more you had of it, the better off you’d be’. Fast forward from this past, when Americans still lived the ‘American dream’, to an unspecified later moment (perhaps late 1970s or 1980s), and we find ourselves in the company of people who rebelled against the materialism of their parents and even their younger selves by rejecting any rules and even common sense, like the couple in this story, who ‘let their children run around the house shitting on the floor like cats. They were in rebellion against the litterboxes.’
While in some cases this rejection was mostly an innocuous rebellion for rebellion’s sake, on other occasions Lohrey shows its more dangerous and sinister side, as in two very short stories, aptly titled ‘Authentic’ and ‘Imperialism’. ‘Authentic’ pictures an affluent couple who travel to the desert and stay in an inn with a magnificent view onto Monument Valley, where they try Hopi cuisine, which stands for the genuine culture of the Navajo people. The point of the story is that what is there on the menu, including ‘roasted blue tortillas accompanied by cactus relish, and the Antelope Valley red squirrel’, is concocted especially for tourists; the local Native children eat hot dogs, candy and drink orange soda in a nearby convenience store. Of course, the desire to consume authentic goods results from a conviction of affluent Americans that one’s own culture lacks authenticity due to being ‘too developed’ and other, ‘more primitive’ cultures are authentic simply because they are primitive, static and immune to corrupting Western influences. By the same token, if they absorb these influences, they lose their authenticity, which forces such ‘native people’ to pretend to tourists that they are whom the tourists want them to be. The same shallow fascination with exoticism we also find in Lohrey’s Japanese story, ‘Sayonara’, who approached the country as a ‘kind of Lourdes.’
Mr. and Mrs. Tremont from ‘Imperialism’ could be protagonists of ‘Authentic’, as they also see themselves as progressive, but this time we see them on their own territory. Their progressive mindset is reflected in their penchant for destroying statues and gravestones of ‘once prominent explorers, scientists and men of letters’ who are now rejected due to being regressive according to their ‘woke’ ideology. Their teenage son, Ben, inherited from their parents this penchant for jolly destruction. He joins his three friends who decide to vandalise a new car parked close to a real estate office. Their bad luck is that their activity is noticed by Fred, ‘a true Yank’, who, when confronted by one of the boys sporting a knife, shoots three of them. Ben manages to escape, but the story finishes with a caution that he might be traced down by Fred. Again, we can see here in plain sight that rejection of consumerism did not lead to creating a better world, but resulted in a senseless appetite for destruction and a moral void. Lohrey also shows that the simplicity which informed American life up to the early 1970s, still appeals to many of his compatriots and, as he hints in one of his pieces, ‘POTUS Interruptus’, it played a major role in Trump’s victory in the 2016 Presidential elections. ‘When he dies, any outpouring of affection will come about because the American people feel he remains in some indefinable way close to them, one of a kind but one of their own – a regular guy who at heart just wants to be rich.’
In many of the stories the narrator works as a teacher, in the States or abroad, as in Saudi Arabia. This reflects the fact that Lohrey himself worked as a teacher in so called challenging schools. However, this job is also symbolic, as a good teacher is meant to teach us to think, namely be critical, do not take for granted what others tell us, but do their own research. Lohrey does not merely advocate such attitude, but leads by example.
Written by: Ewa Mazierska
Published: 24th March 2021
Book Review: To The End of The World, Travels with Oscar Wilde by Rupert Everett
Rupert Everett returns to form with his third memoir, To The End of The World. He effortlessly drops details of his wonderfully dramatic escapades in and around perhaps his most wonderfully dramatic escapade: writing, directing, starring in, and producing a film about Oscar Wilde. This dream, Everett warns, ‘soon turned into a nightmare’. A fitting turn of events considering its subject matter. The desire to make this film - titled The Happy Prince, and eventually released during the heatwave of 2018 - burnt sometimes to the end of the wick, for over a laborious and tortuous decade. As always, Everett delivers a sharp account, this time of an obsession doomed.
Like most great stories Joan Collins is usually there, and this great story starts no differently. In an attempt to get some momentum going about a possible picture deal, Everett has missed dinner with Collins. He offers to pay for their bill, only to be told they can pay for their own dinner, thank you very much. Oh dear. Not off to a great start. A potential souring of a friendship and no role was offered. On this night, walking home, Everett has an idea, and with that, Oscar Wilde starts to stalk him.
He is introduced to the young Rupert by his mother, who reads him one of Wilde’s stories for children, The Happy Prince. In floods of tears, Everett tells us that ‘it is here that I learn for the first time that there is a thing called love and that it usually has a price’. And then he disappears again, and returns with another haunting shadow. His friend, Lychee, who was murdered, is buried two rows away from Wilde’s grave in Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. He remembers looking at the ‘weird sphinx’ on Wilde’s grave in 1996, two months after her death. But in the present he is there to commemorate Wilde with Merlin Holland, the only grandson of Wilde. Only to discover yet another connection: that his Aunt Peta, was the reason Merlin saw his father for the last time.
There are many instances in this book where Everett’s circumstances may well mirror that of Wilde’s - a sense of exile, being penniless and surrounded by very few true friends - but to do so - and I think even Everrett concedes - would be to set a phony precedent. It’s one thing to don the inflatable fat suit and accompanying cock and balls of a literary legend, quite another to live their life. And despite Everett playing Wilde twice now - in his own production and earlier in the 2012 revival of David Hare’s play The Judas Kiss - there’s no vanity here, no ownership of Wilde by the actor. Instead the book reads as a sort of travel book, one where there’s a glimpse of Wilde in the rear view mirror.
For someone who claims he’s old, Everett’s writing always seems fresh and on the precipice of an explosive energy. It’s sheer honesty breaks through because it is rare to see a celebrity tell it like it is, even rarer to see a celebrity being so self effacing and so willing to never spare himself. In a culture so saturated by a new kind of fame, it may well be easy to say that Everett’s writing is a breath of fresh air - but that isn’t to say it’s a return to the past (though his condemnation of Facebook and iPhone’s suggests an antiquity). No, his words don’t read like anything else, because his perspective is different. He isn’t the misunderstood protagonist, or even the scorned sideliner. He is the go between; whether it be translating for those at a party, sitting between Gregory Peck and Roddy McDowell as they long for the good old days of Hollywood, or as it happens being a dot in the connections of Wilde. It’s the perfect position to be in, and makes for electric lamentations on that business called show: ‘Becoming a star is an addiction and a mirage, a pretty picture at first, but quickly stained by the thick hairspray of power and a paranoia that slowly dulls our features, freezing them into our favourite ‘fuck me’ grimace and calcifying the central plumbing system so that, after a bit, the hot water starts gushing from the cold taps and general disorientation sets in’.
This book is a bit of a no brainer for those who love good writing about a good writer. If, like in Dorian Gray, the yellow book was À rebours and if, like me, your yellow book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, To The End of The World is a reassuring tale of how dizzyingly an obsession can take hold.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 3rd March 2021
Like most great stories Joan Collins is usually there, and this great story starts no differently. In an attempt to get some momentum going about a possible picture deal, Everett has missed dinner with Collins. He offers to pay for their bill, only to be told they can pay for their own dinner, thank you very much. Oh dear. Not off to a great start. A potential souring of a friendship and no role was offered. On this night, walking home, Everett has an idea, and with that, Oscar Wilde starts to stalk him.
He is introduced to the young Rupert by his mother, who reads him one of Wilde’s stories for children, The Happy Prince. In floods of tears, Everett tells us that ‘it is here that I learn for the first time that there is a thing called love and that it usually has a price’. And then he disappears again, and returns with another haunting shadow. His friend, Lychee, who was murdered, is buried two rows away from Wilde’s grave in Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. He remembers looking at the ‘weird sphinx’ on Wilde’s grave in 1996, two months after her death. But in the present he is there to commemorate Wilde with Merlin Holland, the only grandson of Wilde. Only to discover yet another connection: that his Aunt Peta, was the reason Merlin saw his father for the last time.
There are many instances in this book where Everett’s circumstances may well mirror that of Wilde’s - a sense of exile, being penniless and surrounded by very few true friends - but to do so - and I think even Everrett concedes - would be to set a phony precedent. It’s one thing to don the inflatable fat suit and accompanying cock and balls of a literary legend, quite another to live their life. And despite Everett playing Wilde twice now - in his own production and earlier in the 2012 revival of David Hare’s play The Judas Kiss - there’s no vanity here, no ownership of Wilde by the actor. Instead the book reads as a sort of travel book, one where there’s a glimpse of Wilde in the rear view mirror.
For someone who claims he’s old, Everett’s writing always seems fresh and on the precipice of an explosive energy. It’s sheer honesty breaks through because it is rare to see a celebrity tell it like it is, even rarer to see a celebrity being so self effacing and so willing to never spare himself. In a culture so saturated by a new kind of fame, it may well be easy to say that Everett’s writing is a breath of fresh air - but that isn’t to say it’s a return to the past (though his condemnation of Facebook and iPhone’s suggests an antiquity). No, his words don’t read like anything else, because his perspective is different. He isn’t the misunderstood protagonist, or even the scorned sideliner. He is the go between; whether it be translating for those at a party, sitting between Gregory Peck and Roddy McDowell as they long for the good old days of Hollywood, or as it happens being a dot in the connections of Wilde. It’s the perfect position to be in, and makes for electric lamentations on that business called show: ‘Becoming a star is an addiction and a mirage, a pretty picture at first, but quickly stained by the thick hairspray of power and a paranoia that slowly dulls our features, freezing them into our favourite ‘fuck me’ grimace and calcifying the central plumbing system so that, after a bit, the hot water starts gushing from the cold taps and general disorientation sets in’.
This book is a bit of a no brainer for those who love good writing about a good writer. If, like in Dorian Gray, the yellow book was À rebours and if, like me, your yellow book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, To The End of The World is a reassuring tale of how dizzyingly an obsession can take hold.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 3rd March 2021
Book Review: Lore: Folklore, flowers, and footnotes by Charley Barnes
You might think the title, Lore: Folklore, Flowers and Footnotes, tells you everything you can expect from Charley Barnes debut full collection of poetry. In one way, it does. But let’s add feminism, romance, murder, witchcraft, heartache, grief, and love into the mix and you will see just how much breadth and depth this collection holds.
After her year long tenure as Worcestershire Poet Laurette, Charley Barnes has published Lore with Worcester’s own Black Pear Press. Barnes brings the local history of a clearly well-loved county to life, exploring little known and forgotten folktales. That said, this collection, while rooted in Worcester, extends beyond local matters, tackling larger and all-human themes throughout.
Barnes voice is clear and fierce. Her crime writer skills shine in poems about poisonous plants, a the researcher in her emerges in the footnotes. These add an extra dimension to the poems, as not only are we forced to pause just to digest some of Barnes’ stunning final lines, but we are then invited to journey behind the scenes and learn about the fragment of history or plant life that Barnes has transformed into poetry.
An admiration for all things sunflower wends its way through the collection, not unlike the sunflower maze explored in the early poem, ‘Helianthus forest’. On the way, we gather petals and cures, stories and memories, until you are left with the feeling that you been allowed to witness something private and intimate. This intimacy and closeness is created by Barnes’ ability to sculpt beautiful lines of poetry, capturing a spectrum of human emotion, and knowing exactly when and where to place a final heart-wrenching, gut-punching, patriarchy-smashing line.
The collection is cleverly compiled. Although each poem centres on difference speakers and circumstances, they thematically transition from one to the next, not once feeling jarring or disjointed. Poems about the sea are followed by poems about a sea witch, which leads into poems about witchcraft, which leads to poems of cures, and so on. It is masterfully and subtly done, but all the more clever for it.
Lore: Folklore, flowers and footnotes by Charley Barnes is simply beautiful. It is accessible and captivating poetry which is a genuine joy to immerse (or completely lose) yourself in. From the first poem to the last, the reader is transported back and sideways through history to hear voices that were quietened, stories that were secrets, and Barnes' invites us to join her in listening.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 17th February 2021
After her year long tenure as Worcestershire Poet Laurette, Charley Barnes has published Lore with Worcester’s own Black Pear Press. Barnes brings the local history of a clearly well-loved county to life, exploring little known and forgotten folktales. That said, this collection, while rooted in Worcester, extends beyond local matters, tackling larger and all-human themes throughout.
Barnes voice is clear and fierce. Her crime writer skills shine in poems about poisonous plants, a the researcher in her emerges in the footnotes. These add an extra dimension to the poems, as not only are we forced to pause just to digest some of Barnes’ stunning final lines, but we are then invited to journey behind the scenes and learn about the fragment of history or plant life that Barnes has transformed into poetry.
An admiration for all things sunflower wends its way through the collection, not unlike the sunflower maze explored in the early poem, ‘Helianthus forest’. On the way, we gather petals and cures, stories and memories, until you are left with the feeling that you been allowed to witness something private and intimate. This intimacy and closeness is created by Barnes’ ability to sculpt beautiful lines of poetry, capturing a spectrum of human emotion, and knowing exactly when and where to place a final heart-wrenching, gut-punching, patriarchy-smashing line.
The collection is cleverly compiled. Although each poem centres on difference speakers and circumstances, they thematically transition from one to the next, not once feeling jarring or disjointed. Poems about the sea are followed by poems about a sea witch, which leads into poems about witchcraft, which leads to poems of cures, and so on. It is masterfully and subtly done, but all the more clever for it.
Lore: Folklore, flowers and footnotes by Charley Barnes is simply beautiful. It is accessible and captivating poetry which is a genuine joy to immerse (or completely lose) yourself in. From the first poem to the last, the reader is transported back and sideways through history to hear voices that were quietened, stories that were secrets, and Barnes' invites us to join her in listening.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 17th February 2021
Book Review: Small Press Publishing: The Dos and Don'ts by Isabelle Kenyon
As a published writer, an editor, book marketer and consultant – as well as the brains behind Fly on the Wall Press – Isabelle Kenyon is well placed to offer her thoughts on small press publishing, and, with this book of Dos and Don’ts, she does.
The book is primarily aimed at those considering setting up their own press. This might seem like a rather niche target audience, but there is interest for others here too. Those already in the business, or those in related artistic fields for sure, but also writers and would-be writers seeking to understand how publishers think. Perhaps curious readers too, who enjoy a peek behind the curtain of their favourite industry.
Whoever the audience, they are served up a series of short, sharp chapters on Goal Setting, Market Research, Finances and Publicity. Isabelle (the aesthetic here is very much first name terms) dispenses the wisdom garnered from her experience in a straightforward, readable style: to emphasise a point, we get ‘I’m not kidding.’ It comes across as encouragement from a friend, one who wants the reader to consider what they might be getting themselves into, but who ultimately wants them to succeed.
From the first pages, the focus is on practical and thought-provoking messages. The real-world examples, such as on motivation and finding an available position in the market, ground the thoughts in reality.
With insights coming so directly from the inside, a real understanding is given of the industry. It even goes so far as to mention specific sums for first payments and other financial matters, not hedging around the margins, but giving a true account of what to expect.
As the book itself notes, ‘the art of interior design is subtle, but immediately clear when done wrong.’ Able to follow its own advice, the presentation here is a strong point. Information is clear, concise, and broken down into bitesize chunks. Helped by a layout that blocks each salient point into a segment of its own, key messages are highlighted with judicious use of type sizes and styles. The look is smart, sensible and professional, and so is the advice.
If there are any criticisms, they are minor. The example of a spreadsheet might have worked better left in tabular form, and does everyone know what GDPR stands for? These issues are comfortably offset by access to Isabelle’s knowledge base, and her learning.
As well as the Dos and Don’ts, the book contains a case study on collating an anthology, packed with informative examples, while Isabelle’s own networking skills are showcased in a fascinating interview section.
Nine established small press publishers are quizzed on their practices, ethos, marketing and strategies. This is access to experience which most people looking to start their own business would need to work hard to find, and insights into advertising, outsourcing and turnover - not to mention the shear amount of work involved in keeping these businesses running - could prove invaluable to anyone considering entering the market.
There are useful nuggets for writers here too. Each press is asked what they take into account when considering manuscripts, and the responses should interest anyone seeking a home for their work. If there is a common theme to this, it is that most are seeking to promote work that they are passionate about. Translated into advice for submitting, this might come out as ‘do your research.’ Once again, this book would not be a bad place to start.
Interesting too, as a writer published by a small press, is the opinion that Andrew, from HVTN Press, gives on Amazon selling ‘at cost’: ‘it’s not sold at cost because Amazon keeps its profit margin.’ I’ve posted links to Amazon before, because I want to sell my work, but this puts things in a new perspective: I don’t want to hurt my publisher.
There is more than just corporate giants to worry about, of course. When questioned on the challenges of running a small press, the interviewees give fair warning. ‘Don’t do it if you think it will make you money,’ states Andrew, going on to warn ‘you’ll burn out.’ And then ‘You’ll probably burn out anyway.’ It is advice echoed by Louise (Louise Walters Books) ‘Be prepared to be skint but fulfilled.’
There is no negativity here, however. The feel remains relaxed, and the levity is maintained as Isabelle enquires after anecdotes and the panel share their stories. No spoilers, but there are tales of strange submissions, and an accidental new sobriquet for Carol Anne Duffy, which hopefully the esteemed poet took in good humour!
Ultimately, despite the trials and tribulations, each publisher confirms the testimony of the book itself: the business is a gratifying one. As Michael from Mason Jar Press attests: ‘We’re putting art out into the world. What can be more rewarding than that?’
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 10th February 2021
The book is primarily aimed at those considering setting up their own press. This might seem like a rather niche target audience, but there is interest for others here too. Those already in the business, or those in related artistic fields for sure, but also writers and would-be writers seeking to understand how publishers think. Perhaps curious readers too, who enjoy a peek behind the curtain of their favourite industry.
Whoever the audience, they are served up a series of short, sharp chapters on Goal Setting, Market Research, Finances and Publicity. Isabelle (the aesthetic here is very much first name terms) dispenses the wisdom garnered from her experience in a straightforward, readable style: to emphasise a point, we get ‘I’m not kidding.’ It comes across as encouragement from a friend, one who wants the reader to consider what they might be getting themselves into, but who ultimately wants them to succeed.
From the first pages, the focus is on practical and thought-provoking messages. The real-world examples, such as on motivation and finding an available position in the market, ground the thoughts in reality.
With insights coming so directly from the inside, a real understanding is given of the industry. It even goes so far as to mention specific sums for first payments and other financial matters, not hedging around the margins, but giving a true account of what to expect.
As the book itself notes, ‘the art of interior design is subtle, but immediately clear when done wrong.’ Able to follow its own advice, the presentation here is a strong point. Information is clear, concise, and broken down into bitesize chunks. Helped by a layout that blocks each salient point into a segment of its own, key messages are highlighted with judicious use of type sizes and styles. The look is smart, sensible and professional, and so is the advice.
If there are any criticisms, they are minor. The example of a spreadsheet might have worked better left in tabular form, and does everyone know what GDPR stands for? These issues are comfortably offset by access to Isabelle’s knowledge base, and her learning.
As well as the Dos and Don’ts, the book contains a case study on collating an anthology, packed with informative examples, while Isabelle’s own networking skills are showcased in a fascinating interview section.
Nine established small press publishers are quizzed on their practices, ethos, marketing and strategies. This is access to experience which most people looking to start their own business would need to work hard to find, and insights into advertising, outsourcing and turnover - not to mention the shear amount of work involved in keeping these businesses running - could prove invaluable to anyone considering entering the market.
There are useful nuggets for writers here too. Each press is asked what they take into account when considering manuscripts, and the responses should interest anyone seeking a home for their work. If there is a common theme to this, it is that most are seeking to promote work that they are passionate about. Translated into advice for submitting, this might come out as ‘do your research.’ Once again, this book would not be a bad place to start.
Interesting too, as a writer published by a small press, is the opinion that Andrew, from HVTN Press, gives on Amazon selling ‘at cost’: ‘it’s not sold at cost because Amazon keeps its profit margin.’ I’ve posted links to Amazon before, because I want to sell my work, but this puts things in a new perspective: I don’t want to hurt my publisher.
There is more than just corporate giants to worry about, of course. When questioned on the challenges of running a small press, the interviewees give fair warning. ‘Don’t do it if you think it will make you money,’ states Andrew, going on to warn ‘you’ll burn out.’ And then ‘You’ll probably burn out anyway.’ It is advice echoed by Louise (Louise Walters Books) ‘Be prepared to be skint but fulfilled.’
There is no negativity here, however. The feel remains relaxed, and the levity is maintained as Isabelle enquires after anecdotes and the panel share their stories. No spoilers, but there are tales of strange submissions, and an accidental new sobriquet for Carol Anne Duffy, which hopefully the esteemed poet took in good humour!
Ultimately, despite the trials and tribulations, each publisher confirms the testimony of the book itself: the business is a gratifying one. As Michael from Mason Jar Press attests: ‘We’re putting art out into the world. What can be more rewarding than that?’
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 10th February 2021
Book review: Touching Sharks in Monaco by Belinda Rimmer
Touching Sharks in Monaco was the joint winner of the 2019 Indigo Dreams Publishing pamphlet competition. Belinda Rimmer’s poems explore family life and ties, memory, imagination and ecology, capturing small moments and big impacts, and examining these through nature’s quirks.
Rimmer opens the pamphlet with the poem, ‘water’ in which she writes, ‘i shall be friendly and let each gaze / touch my honest surface’. But as memory meets imagination in later poems, Rimmer makes us wonder what is real, and what is invented. Rimmer captures the blurred boundaries between the two in ‘Circle in a Spiral’. The narrator’s brother goes missing but ‘is found at once / in a neighbours garden / lost in a game of make-believe.’ The play on the words ‘lost’, and the distortion of imagination as both play and escapism, are just a taste of the subtle cleverness of this pamphlet.
As is suggested in the title, physical touch is an important motif of these poems. Reading this in a world of corona virus only serves to make these physical connections more significant. On blistering stinging nettles, Rimmer writes, ‘Nothing else has touched her this way’, while human contact similarly ‘blurred and burned’, Rimmer describes reaching out to touch a shark with the palm of a hand and wearing red to deter wasps. All of this plays on the relationship between humans and nature, and the danger of touching.
Another meaning that Rimmer gives to the word touch is ‘theft’. In a short but powerful poem, she describes:
A flash of movement,
hands lifting my skirt –
blue and bought from Chelsea Girl.
A stolen look at my knickers
and fourteen year old legs
dotted with disco-ball light.
I've never quite forgotten it –
The poem ‘swap’ holds two stanzas and stanza two reads with the same lines as stanza one, but in reverse. This poems is deeply clever, and explores a similar theme of stolen touches. I can’t do this poem justice quoting it here, so you will simply have to go and read it for yourself. It’s powerful, and not an easy read, but that brings us back to powerful.
The interplay with humans and nature, their differences, and what we can learn is captured most perfectly in the poem, ‘Belly button’. Rimmer describes, ‘trying to find a fragment of my mother / inside my belly button.’ Instead, she finds a seahorse which teachers her ‘to forget the whole nurturing business / focus on making my own way as his kind must do / or get what you need from books’. Rimmer reminds us that male seahorses give birth to their young, while neither the mother nor father care for the new born. Rather than this being sad, Rimmer transforms this discovery into a way to move forward.
Overall, Touching Sharks in Monaco is an engrossing read that pulls you into tiny moments with each poem, magnifying them into detail you didn’t realise you were missing. Rimmer’s poems each stand out with their own voice, but together there is a story here worth reading and learning.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 27th January 2021
Rimmer opens the pamphlet with the poem, ‘water’ in which she writes, ‘i shall be friendly and let each gaze / touch my honest surface’. But as memory meets imagination in later poems, Rimmer makes us wonder what is real, and what is invented. Rimmer captures the blurred boundaries between the two in ‘Circle in a Spiral’. The narrator’s brother goes missing but ‘is found at once / in a neighbours garden / lost in a game of make-believe.’ The play on the words ‘lost’, and the distortion of imagination as both play and escapism, are just a taste of the subtle cleverness of this pamphlet.
As is suggested in the title, physical touch is an important motif of these poems. Reading this in a world of corona virus only serves to make these physical connections more significant. On blistering stinging nettles, Rimmer writes, ‘Nothing else has touched her this way’, while human contact similarly ‘blurred and burned’, Rimmer describes reaching out to touch a shark with the palm of a hand and wearing red to deter wasps. All of this plays on the relationship between humans and nature, and the danger of touching.
Another meaning that Rimmer gives to the word touch is ‘theft’. In a short but powerful poem, she describes:
A flash of movement,
hands lifting my skirt –
blue and bought from Chelsea Girl.
A stolen look at my knickers
and fourteen year old legs
dotted with disco-ball light.
I've never quite forgotten it –
The poem ‘swap’ holds two stanzas and stanza two reads with the same lines as stanza one, but in reverse. This poems is deeply clever, and explores a similar theme of stolen touches. I can’t do this poem justice quoting it here, so you will simply have to go and read it for yourself. It’s powerful, and not an easy read, but that brings us back to powerful.
The interplay with humans and nature, their differences, and what we can learn is captured most perfectly in the poem, ‘Belly button’. Rimmer describes, ‘trying to find a fragment of my mother / inside my belly button.’ Instead, she finds a seahorse which teachers her ‘to forget the whole nurturing business / focus on making my own way as his kind must do / or get what you need from books’. Rimmer reminds us that male seahorses give birth to their young, while neither the mother nor father care for the new born. Rather than this being sad, Rimmer transforms this discovery into a way to move forward.
Overall, Touching Sharks in Monaco is an engrossing read that pulls you into tiny moments with each poem, magnifying them into detail you didn’t realise you were missing. Rimmer’s poems each stand out with their own voice, but together there is a story here worth reading and learning.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 27th January 2021
Book Review: The Goddess of Macau by Graena Hall
Macau is a liminal space in at least two senses. First, it is a former colony of Portugal, and the Special Administrative Region of the People's Republic of China, hence bears traces of cultures of both countries, without fully belonging to them. When I travelled to Macau from the mainland China in the 1980s, the main impression then was that it was very much unlike China, with its upmarket shops with air conditioning, casinos, clean streets and people dressed in western clothes, unlike those in Beijing, whose appearance was Oriental and largely frozen in the past. Although I was aware that this impression was superficial, it remained in my mind till the present day. The second reason of Macau’s liminality is that it is spread across islands, not unlike Venice. Hence, it is suspended between sea and the stable land and, by the same token, between life and death.
Graeme Hall, the author of the collection The Goddess of Macau, plays on these connotations of Macau, yet without stating them explicitly. They are just weaved into stories of various inhabitants of Macau, representing different generations and classes, as well as people from outside, connected to the indigenous population. For example, water as a promise of escape and as a treacherous element is present in ‘And All Will Be Well’ and ‘River Crossing with Night Herons’.
Apart from the setting, the eight stories collected in this short book are linked by their main subject of loss, understood as a situation when something important cannot be regained or redeemed, but its absence haunts the present. In some cases, this haunting verges on literal. This is the case in ‘River Crossing with Night Herons’, where a young couple escape from the communist Red Guards and arrived in their village by crossing a river, but only the man survived. This led to his continuous replaying of the past events in his head and, ultimately, solitude and waiting for death, so that he could be reunited with his beloved. On other occasions the loss is more subtle. It refers not so much to losing people, as missing an opportunity. Such as the situation we find in ‘The Jade Monkey Laughs’, which is my favourite in the entire collection. Its protagonist, a female servant, has an affair with her boss, hoping that it would lead to marriage. However, the boss changes his mind due to the malicious rumours. she remains in his service for over fifty years, until he decided to leave his home and move in with his niece. His farewell gift is a collection of precious jade animals. Yet in reality this gift is worthless because the woman had already exchanged these animals for fake ones, except for a laughing monkey, whose cheap replacement she failed to find. Coincidently, or perhaps not, the man decides to keep the laughing monkey for himself. In this story the loss is double, as first it is caused by the quashing of the heroine’s romantic hopes and second, by her quashing her hope for a small revenge.
Throughout the stories we get many details, giving us insights into life in Macau. They concern, for example, making tea, which provides the title of the first story, ‘A Short History of Chinese Tea’: ‘I enjoy making tea, a skill I learnt from my aunt, and I take pleasure in the attention to detail that is needed. I know, for example, that for jasmine the water should not be too hot, but instead should have crab eyes. It was my aunt who taught me how to judge the temperature of boiling water from the size of the bubbles. Shrimp eyes the coolest, and then crab eyes, fish eyes, rope of pearls and raging torrent.’
These details point to the difference between inhabitants of Macau and other places, as well as the role of rituals in their lives. Practically all Hall’s characters respect traditions, of which drinking tea is just one example, but women have a duty to pass them on, as is the case with an aunt teaching her niece the art of teamaking. By the same token, these characters respect social hierarchies. This disadvantages women, as they don’t enjoy the privilege of choosing their own partners, but they have to wait for men to choose them (or not) and have to put up with their infidelities, cruelties, addictions, indifference and absence. Whilst they are victims of patriarchy, at the same time they need to live as ‘modern women’, earning their living, on occasion as prostitutes, as is the case of Mei-Wa, the main character of two stories: ‘The Price of Medicine’ and ‘From Somewhere the Scent of Jasmine’, as well as the lady who excelled in tea-making and eventually opened her own tea-house, because her wealthy husband left her almost destitute.
The juxtaposition of tradition and modernity is also reflected in the structure of some of Hall’s stories. They often take place at two temporal orders and include two voices: one belonging to the character living in the present and one to him or her from the past. It takes some time to discover that these are the same people, as time inevitably changed them. However, the usually traumatic past holds a grip on their present. The only way to escape is death and even this is not a final escape, as the dead turn into ghosts, haunting the living, as the wife of the owner of the antique shop, vising her sick husband in ‘From Somewhere the Scent of Jasmine’, before she takes him with her for good.
Given that China changes so much, reading Graeme Hall’s subtle, touching and well-constructed stories, I wondered what he thinks about the future relation between this giant country and this relic from the past. Will it become like other large Chinese cities or preserve its liminal status? Judging on the ending of ‘An Apartment on Coloene’, whose protagonist has a gift of predicting the future, it is better not to know.
The Goddess of Macau by Graeme Hall was published by Fly on the Wall Press in 2020.
Written by: Ewa Mazierska
Published: 13th January 2021
Graeme Hall, the author of the collection The Goddess of Macau, plays on these connotations of Macau, yet without stating them explicitly. They are just weaved into stories of various inhabitants of Macau, representing different generations and classes, as well as people from outside, connected to the indigenous population. For example, water as a promise of escape and as a treacherous element is present in ‘And All Will Be Well’ and ‘River Crossing with Night Herons’.
Apart from the setting, the eight stories collected in this short book are linked by their main subject of loss, understood as a situation when something important cannot be regained or redeemed, but its absence haunts the present. In some cases, this haunting verges on literal. This is the case in ‘River Crossing with Night Herons’, where a young couple escape from the communist Red Guards and arrived in their village by crossing a river, but only the man survived. This led to his continuous replaying of the past events in his head and, ultimately, solitude and waiting for death, so that he could be reunited with his beloved. On other occasions the loss is more subtle. It refers not so much to losing people, as missing an opportunity. Such as the situation we find in ‘The Jade Monkey Laughs’, which is my favourite in the entire collection. Its protagonist, a female servant, has an affair with her boss, hoping that it would lead to marriage. However, the boss changes his mind due to the malicious rumours. she remains in his service for over fifty years, until he decided to leave his home and move in with his niece. His farewell gift is a collection of precious jade animals. Yet in reality this gift is worthless because the woman had already exchanged these animals for fake ones, except for a laughing monkey, whose cheap replacement she failed to find. Coincidently, or perhaps not, the man decides to keep the laughing monkey for himself. In this story the loss is double, as first it is caused by the quashing of the heroine’s romantic hopes and second, by her quashing her hope for a small revenge.
Throughout the stories we get many details, giving us insights into life in Macau. They concern, for example, making tea, which provides the title of the first story, ‘A Short History of Chinese Tea’: ‘I enjoy making tea, a skill I learnt from my aunt, and I take pleasure in the attention to detail that is needed. I know, for example, that for jasmine the water should not be too hot, but instead should have crab eyes. It was my aunt who taught me how to judge the temperature of boiling water from the size of the bubbles. Shrimp eyes the coolest, and then crab eyes, fish eyes, rope of pearls and raging torrent.’
These details point to the difference between inhabitants of Macau and other places, as well as the role of rituals in their lives. Practically all Hall’s characters respect traditions, of which drinking tea is just one example, but women have a duty to pass them on, as is the case with an aunt teaching her niece the art of teamaking. By the same token, these characters respect social hierarchies. This disadvantages women, as they don’t enjoy the privilege of choosing their own partners, but they have to wait for men to choose them (or not) and have to put up with their infidelities, cruelties, addictions, indifference and absence. Whilst they are victims of patriarchy, at the same time they need to live as ‘modern women’, earning their living, on occasion as prostitutes, as is the case of Mei-Wa, the main character of two stories: ‘The Price of Medicine’ and ‘From Somewhere the Scent of Jasmine’, as well as the lady who excelled in tea-making and eventually opened her own tea-house, because her wealthy husband left her almost destitute.
The juxtaposition of tradition and modernity is also reflected in the structure of some of Hall’s stories. They often take place at two temporal orders and include two voices: one belonging to the character living in the present and one to him or her from the past. It takes some time to discover that these are the same people, as time inevitably changed them. However, the usually traumatic past holds a grip on their present. The only way to escape is death and even this is not a final escape, as the dead turn into ghosts, haunting the living, as the wife of the owner of the antique shop, vising her sick husband in ‘From Somewhere the Scent of Jasmine’, before she takes him with her for good.
Given that China changes so much, reading Graeme Hall’s subtle, touching and well-constructed stories, I wondered what he thinks about the future relation between this giant country and this relic from the past. Will it become like other large Chinese cities or preserve its liminal status? Judging on the ending of ‘An Apartment on Coloene’, whose protagonist has a gift of predicting the future, it is better not to know.
The Goddess of Macau by Graeme Hall was published by Fly on the Wall Press in 2020.
Written by: Ewa Mazierska
Published: 13th January 2021
Book Review: Midnight Sun by Stephenie Meyer
When approaching a review I always aim toward objectivity rather than subjectivity, aim to prise out the good and present the - for lack of a better word - bad things fairly and with support. But in the case of Midnight Sun, it is proving hard to be objective, to step away from the thing that shaped a good portion of my teenage years. How could it be? I was that girl. The one with every piece of Twilight memorabilia I could possibly get my hands on. The one that (still to this day) believes they and their best friend introduced the phenomenon of sparkly vampires to their school. The one who went to the printing shop in town to get ‘Team Jasper’ t-shirts made for when New Moon came out. Many years down the line, one might believe me to be embarrassed, nay, mortified by my teenage obsession. And yet, at first, I was so incredibly ecstatic at the news of a new Twilight book.
In 2008, twelve chapters of the unfinished manuscript for Midnight Sun was leaked onto the Internet, which seemed to be the end of it. Yet things got back on track by 2020 and after being tagged in far too many Facebook posts by my best friend about the upcoming addition to the Twilight series, the excitement of getting our hands on the new book was so intense that actually we forgot that it had been released. So by sheer luck, my friend was moving away from home and was in need of not only a moving away present, but a birthday present and a ‘we’re-in a-pandemic-so-here’s-a-book’ present. It seemed as good a time as any to revert back to our twelve year old selves. I signed her copy, and, when she brought me a copy for my birthday, she signed mine, and so began the story of nostalgia.
Midnight Sun is a companion novel to the first book in the series, written from the perspective of Edward Cullen. We see throughout this book that the intense love he has for Bella Swan is coupled with a bloodlust that could not only threaten the love of his life, but his family’s safety and the sanctity of the ancient agreement made by vampires and the shape shifters/werewolves of the Quileute tribe. Furthermore, the themes of agency and destiny are discussed with relation to the powers that the family possess, namely Alice’s precognitive abilities being set up against the moral and evolutionary dilemma of a relationship forming between a mortal and vampire. Alice sees Edward and Bella together in the future: there are two possibilities knotted together - Edward and Bella together but Bella is aging, and Edward and Bella together but Bella has porcelain skin, blood red eyes and a thirst for blood. But just because destiny shows us something, should we aim for that result, or choose a different path?
I make this next statement without being churlish or sarcastic: this book is entertaining. No it’s not Pulitizer or Man Booker Prize winning, but it is entertaining. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe because Edward is a better character to write about. Many details of Edward’s earlier vampire days are revealed in the books but as with many things revealed in conversation, only the surface has been scratched and you want to dig a bit deeper, which this book does. Maybe because Bella Swan is perhaps far too awkward a character and because of her fliminess, the depth of Edward's brooding is a lot more entertaining and engaging, if not for the right reasons. The sheer volume of this book - it is perhaps twice as long as Twilight - is necessary, as the divulgings of around 100 years of vampirism intertwined with the present is hardly going to fit comfortably in a small novel. While some of the past is a little coy, the relationships between Edward and his adopted family are eloquently presented. It is rather touching reading the fatherly concern from Carlisle; he strikes me as a well-rounded character that unfortunately the original series did a disservice to. At times, it is a bit slow, especially when you’re anticipating key moments in the original to show through. Edward and Bella’s first kiss doesn’t happen until near the last half of the book and the showdown between James and the Cullen’s is reserved for page 500 (the book is 756 pages long, and the remaining 100 odd pages doesn’t give anything especially good after that).
Or maybe, as some of the recent critics are less inclined or unwilling to admit, Meyer has become somewhat a better writer. Since her target audience has all grown up they will more than likely want their childhood to be presented to them with a bit more craftsmanship and respect of their literary capabilities, which I believe Meyer succeeds in. This by no means praises the obvious problems with the book, which are less to do with style and more to do with characterization and structural issues. In terms of plot, there are small deviations from the original, which is expected as it is Edward’s life that is being documented but these seem a little incongruent; for example, Edward’s past love interests. Tanya, part of the Denali coven, held a flame for Edward in times gone by, and despite her best efforts, Edward rejects her. Tanya is depicted as somewhat predatory in her pursuit of Edward - which is great to point out because women too can be predatory - but given Edward’s behaviour throughout the book, what could have been a foil or example of wrong behaviour falls flat.
Which brings me to Edward. Maybe it is better that his true thoughts are revealed now, when the audience is a bit older and more aware of disturbing behaviours and the inherent misogynistic undertones that may not have been recognised originally. Reading this book as an adult means that I can now confidently say that under no circumstances is it endearing to have a boy creep into your room and ease up the door using oil which he brought along with him (p.176, go look), be it Robert Pattinson or otherwise. Nor is intense, borderline psychotic jealousy and varying other forms of stalking. It would be a little cheap if Meyer suddenly re-wrote the story as something more conforming but that is a bad case of making one’s toxic bed and having to lie atop of its creepy bed covers.
In addition to this, a point which my friend correctly pointed out to me: Jasper’s bloodlust is beyond control and his desire to kill Bella is actually frightening. Bear in mind that in New Moon, when Bella is attending her birthday party hosted by the Cullen’s, Bella gets a paper cut which sends Jasper into a spiral and he tries to attack her. So why on earth is he at a high school where accidents can happen, such as when Bella faints at the sight of blood during a science class?
Recognising these flaws and taking them to task is part and parcel of being a fan. To those critics that call this book underwhelming I say: don’t read it then. Yes, the Twilight series isn’t up there with Proust and Dostoyevsky, but it doesn’t claim to be. It doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate just how fantastic the series must have been to sell over how many copies and spawn a box office phenomenon, even if you yourself don’t like it.
Midnight Sun isn’t a retelling of the Twilight. It can’t be: Twilight served as exposition, a way of moving the plot along and had very little time for emotions. Midnight Sun gives us emotions, some uncomfortable, some ridiculous, some even down-right disturbing. But credit where credit’s due, Meyer, in some ways better, in other ways not-so-good, delivers in her companion to the teenage phenomenon.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published 14th November 2020
In 2008, twelve chapters of the unfinished manuscript for Midnight Sun was leaked onto the Internet, which seemed to be the end of it. Yet things got back on track by 2020 and after being tagged in far too many Facebook posts by my best friend about the upcoming addition to the Twilight series, the excitement of getting our hands on the new book was so intense that actually we forgot that it had been released. So by sheer luck, my friend was moving away from home and was in need of not only a moving away present, but a birthday present and a ‘we’re-in a-pandemic-so-here’s-a-book’ present. It seemed as good a time as any to revert back to our twelve year old selves. I signed her copy, and, when she brought me a copy for my birthday, she signed mine, and so began the story of nostalgia.
Midnight Sun is a companion novel to the first book in the series, written from the perspective of Edward Cullen. We see throughout this book that the intense love he has for Bella Swan is coupled with a bloodlust that could not only threaten the love of his life, but his family’s safety and the sanctity of the ancient agreement made by vampires and the shape shifters/werewolves of the Quileute tribe. Furthermore, the themes of agency and destiny are discussed with relation to the powers that the family possess, namely Alice’s precognitive abilities being set up against the moral and evolutionary dilemma of a relationship forming between a mortal and vampire. Alice sees Edward and Bella together in the future: there are two possibilities knotted together - Edward and Bella together but Bella is aging, and Edward and Bella together but Bella has porcelain skin, blood red eyes and a thirst for blood. But just because destiny shows us something, should we aim for that result, or choose a different path?
I make this next statement without being churlish or sarcastic: this book is entertaining. No it’s not Pulitizer or Man Booker Prize winning, but it is entertaining. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe because Edward is a better character to write about. Many details of Edward’s earlier vampire days are revealed in the books but as with many things revealed in conversation, only the surface has been scratched and you want to dig a bit deeper, which this book does. Maybe because Bella Swan is perhaps far too awkward a character and because of her fliminess, the depth of Edward's brooding is a lot more entertaining and engaging, if not for the right reasons. The sheer volume of this book - it is perhaps twice as long as Twilight - is necessary, as the divulgings of around 100 years of vampirism intertwined with the present is hardly going to fit comfortably in a small novel. While some of the past is a little coy, the relationships between Edward and his adopted family are eloquently presented. It is rather touching reading the fatherly concern from Carlisle; he strikes me as a well-rounded character that unfortunately the original series did a disservice to. At times, it is a bit slow, especially when you’re anticipating key moments in the original to show through. Edward and Bella’s first kiss doesn’t happen until near the last half of the book and the showdown between James and the Cullen’s is reserved for page 500 (the book is 756 pages long, and the remaining 100 odd pages doesn’t give anything especially good after that).
Or maybe, as some of the recent critics are less inclined or unwilling to admit, Meyer has become somewhat a better writer. Since her target audience has all grown up they will more than likely want their childhood to be presented to them with a bit more craftsmanship and respect of their literary capabilities, which I believe Meyer succeeds in. This by no means praises the obvious problems with the book, which are less to do with style and more to do with characterization and structural issues. In terms of plot, there are small deviations from the original, which is expected as it is Edward’s life that is being documented but these seem a little incongruent; for example, Edward’s past love interests. Tanya, part of the Denali coven, held a flame for Edward in times gone by, and despite her best efforts, Edward rejects her. Tanya is depicted as somewhat predatory in her pursuit of Edward - which is great to point out because women too can be predatory - but given Edward’s behaviour throughout the book, what could have been a foil or example of wrong behaviour falls flat.
Which brings me to Edward. Maybe it is better that his true thoughts are revealed now, when the audience is a bit older and more aware of disturbing behaviours and the inherent misogynistic undertones that may not have been recognised originally. Reading this book as an adult means that I can now confidently say that under no circumstances is it endearing to have a boy creep into your room and ease up the door using oil which he brought along with him (p.176, go look), be it Robert Pattinson or otherwise. Nor is intense, borderline psychotic jealousy and varying other forms of stalking. It would be a little cheap if Meyer suddenly re-wrote the story as something more conforming but that is a bad case of making one’s toxic bed and having to lie atop of its creepy bed covers.
In addition to this, a point which my friend correctly pointed out to me: Jasper’s bloodlust is beyond control and his desire to kill Bella is actually frightening. Bear in mind that in New Moon, when Bella is attending her birthday party hosted by the Cullen’s, Bella gets a paper cut which sends Jasper into a spiral and he tries to attack her. So why on earth is he at a high school where accidents can happen, such as when Bella faints at the sight of blood during a science class?
Recognising these flaws and taking them to task is part and parcel of being a fan. To those critics that call this book underwhelming I say: don’t read it then. Yes, the Twilight series isn’t up there with Proust and Dostoyevsky, but it doesn’t claim to be. It doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate just how fantastic the series must have been to sell over how many copies and spawn a box office phenomenon, even if you yourself don’t like it.
Midnight Sun isn’t a retelling of the Twilight. It can’t be: Twilight served as exposition, a way of moving the plot along and had very little time for emotions. Midnight Sun gives us emotions, some uncomfortable, some ridiculous, some even down-right disturbing. But credit where credit’s due, Meyer, in some ways better, in other ways not-so-good, delivers in her companion to the teenage phenomenon.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published 14th November 2020
Book Review: Days of Falling Flesh and Rising Moons by Steve Denehan
I’ve never met Steve Denehan. I need to start with that for two reasons: firstly, because he is fast becoming one of my favourite poets, and it’s important to be clear that there’s no bias or nepotism here. Secondly, just to remind myself. Because after reading a hundred of his poems, I feel like I’ve known him for years.
As with Denehan’s previous work, Days of Falling Flesh and Rising Moons (Golden Antelope Press) is observed through a close-up lens, with the focus on the small dramas of the human condition. Even small might be overstating it in some instances. Toilet Roll tells of unravelling loo paper, and a mobile phone that drops (spoiler alert!) without breaking. It is not the incident which grabs our interest, but the reaction, the reality:
I felt a lightness
and walked
into the rest of the day
on the balls of my feet
The writing resonates because life is not always ‘breathless, stomach leaping, heart fluttering,’ it is trivial victories, petty defeats. Denehan is everyman, though only if every man could turn a phrase with such Swiss-watch precision. His ability to find pathos and humour in the mundane is, paradoxically, anything but average.
On a serendipitous trip to the supermarket, we are taken along for the ride:
the shopping trolley rolled smoothly along
no wrestling, no squeaking, not today
Again, not a lot happens, only an overheard snippet of conversation, from which the poem takes its title: Why are we really here? And then the pay-off:
I could have told him
why I was there at least
half-price non-bio washing tablets.
There is more at play however, than mere universal truths. Even if you have never encountered ‘talk so small it falls between the floorboards,’ Denehan draws you in with his own experience. It is artfully done, use of ‘you’ and ‘your’ ensuring engagement. You is even a title, as is Us, which begins ‘We see the world through lenses.’ Note again how the poem includes the reader, makes the occurrence a shared one.
‘Your heart. Knock-kneed and cross-eyed’ emotes That Saturday Night, projecting impulses deep inside for us to feel. ‘You hear my thoughts,’ he writes later. We do, Steve, we do.
None of it would work, of course, without the right words. However well one might relate to poring over Christmas lists, penning cards to past acquaintances, the reminiscences would pall if not done with proper panache. Denehan’s style is a quiet one, he makes it clear he has little time for ‘poems crafted/to within half a half inch/of a merciful death,’ no time at all for those ‘theatrically laden/with bizarre inflecTIONS.’ What he does have is an eye for words, and how to make them sing.
Marking every stand-out quotation would soon thicken the book with a thicket of admiring post-its. Examples, picked almost at random, and from five different pieces, reveal wit, and wordplay: swimmers are ‘bobbing/happy apples,’ a galloping heart is calmed by a disk jockey. Then there are the deft and dextrous analogies: ‘worry hot and black as tar,’ a struggling boxer walking as if for the first time. A life that was once an ocean now ‘a glass of water in your thirsty hand.’ Too many more to recount.
Too many? Denehan himself suggests there are ‘too many poems and poets/full stop.’ Free Coffee is his critique of the craft. But does he apply it to himself?
This is a generous collection, but that in itself brings a challenge. The book brims with competing themes, it longs to bask in sunlight, bringing out ‘luminous detail,’ yet there is excess water too. Boats, wading, skies ‘damp with darkness.’ This is not necessarily a contradiction, and there is plenty of room for both. But when does a motif become repetition? Cigar smoke and mercury recur, with other refrains.
Free Coffee itself is a direct descendent of Verdant, from Denehan's previous collection, and there are further similarities. The strength of Miles of Sky Above Us, Miles of Earth Below was the depth of the relationships revealed, the duality of being a father and a son. That is repeated here too, but so successfully that it could never be labelled a weakness. The poignant glimpses of family connections remain vivid and powerful.
It would in any case be incorrect to suggest this new material is limited. The Incredible Disappearing Man and Flesh and Bone branch out from transitory moments and everyday trivia to give dreamlike glimpses into a wider world, perhaps a new direction of travel.
And yet, to me at least, the lower key moments remain highlights. From Salt and Vinegar:
The chipper would serve the chips wrapped in newspaper
headlines and stories blurred with seeping vinegar
and chip edges blackened with bleeding ink
we ate the words
the thoughts
of those brighter than ourselves
Denehan would struggle now, I think, to find words brighter than his own.
Honestly, this is not partiality. I have never met Steve Denehan… but if you pick up his book, it could be the start of a beautiful friendship.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 14th October 2020
As with Denehan’s previous work, Days of Falling Flesh and Rising Moons (Golden Antelope Press) is observed through a close-up lens, with the focus on the small dramas of the human condition. Even small might be overstating it in some instances. Toilet Roll tells of unravelling loo paper, and a mobile phone that drops (spoiler alert!) without breaking. It is not the incident which grabs our interest, but the reaction, the reality:
I felt a lightness
and walked
into the rest of the day
on the balls of my feet
The writing resonates because life is not always ‘breathless, stomach leaping, heart fluttering,’ it is trivial victories, petty defeats. Denehan is everyman, though only if every man could turn a phrase with such Swiss-watch precision. His ability to find pathos and humour in the mundane is, paradoxically, anything but average.
On a serendipitous trip to the supermarket, we are taken along for the ride:
the shopping trolley rolled smoothly along
no wrestling, no squeaking, not today
Again, not a lot happens, only an overheard snippet of conversation, from which the poem takes its title: Why are we really here? And then the pay-off:
I could have told him
why I was there at least
half-price non-bio washing tablets.
There is more at play however, than mere universal truths. Even if you have never encountered ‘talk so small it falls between the floorboards,’ Denehan draws you in with his own experience. It is artfully done, use of ‘you’ and ‘your’ ensuring engagement. You is even a title, as is Us, which begins ‘We see the world through lenses.’ Note again how the poem includes the reader, makes the occurrence a shared one.
‘Your heart. Knock-kneed and cross-eyed’ emotes That Saturday Night, projecting impulses deep inside for us to feel. ‘You hear my thoughts,’ he writes later. We do, Steve, we do.
None of it would work, of course, without the right words. However well one might relate to poring over Christmas lists, penning cards to past acquaintances, the reminiscences would pall if not done with proper panache. Denehan’s style is a quiet one, he makes it clear he has little time for ‘poems crafted/to within half a half inch/of a merciful death,’ no time at all for those ‘theatrically laden/with bizarre inflecTIONS.’ What he does have is an eye for words, and how to make them sing.
Marking every stand-out quotation would soon thicken the book with a thicket of admiring post-its. Examples, picked almost at random, and from five different pieces, reveal wit, and wordplay: swimmers are ‘bobbing/happy apples,’ a galloping heart is calmed by a disk jockey. Then there are the deft and dextrous analogies: ‘worry hot and black as tar,’ a struggling boxer walking as if for the first time. A life that was once an ocean now ‘a glass of water in your thirsty hand.’ Too many more to recount.
Too many? Denehan himself suggests there are ‘too many poems and poets/full stop.’ Free Coffee is his critique of the craft. But does he apply it to himself?
This is a generous collection, but that in itself brings a challenge. The book brims with competing themes, it longs to bask in sunlight, bringing out ‘luminous detail,’ yet there is excess water too. Boats, wading, skies ‘damp with darkness.’ This is not necessarily a contradiction, and there is plenty of room for both. But when does a motif become repetition? Cigar smoke and mercury recur, with other refrains.
Free Coffee itself is a direct descendent of Verdant, from Denehan's previous collection, and there are further similarities. The strength of Miles of Sky Above Us, Miles of Earth Below was the depth of the relationships revealed, the duality of being a father and a son. That is repeated here too, but so successfully that it could never be labelled a weakness. The poignant glimpses of family connections remain vivid and powerful.
It would in any case be incorrect to suggest this new material is limited. The Incredible Disappearing Man and Flesh and Bone branch out from transitory moments and everyday trivia to give dreamlike glimpses into a wider world, perhaps a new direction of travel.
And yet, to me at least, the lower key moments remain highlights. From Salt and Vinegar:
The chipper would serve the chips wrapped in newspaper
headlines and stories blurred with seeping vinegar
and chip edges blackened with bleeding ink
we ate the words
the thoughts
of those brighter than ourselves
Denehan would struggle now, I think, to find words brighter than his own.
Honestly, this is not partiality. I have never met Steve Denehan… but if you pick up his book, it could be the start of a beautiful friendship.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 14th October 2020
Book Review: Tainted Lionheart by Christine Weimer
Christine Weimer’s Tainted Lionheart (2019), published by Our Galaxy Publishing is a poetry collection about heartbreak. It is an all too familiar subject - a subject that those who have been unfortunate enough to suffer either cling to or run away from. Yet Weimer’s approach to the feeling demonstrates that sometimes, to be heartbroken is a privilege, because the experience, while damaging, can, ultimately, revive you. She writes of a ‘tainted lionheart’, a heart so strong yet so fractured by hurt, but a heart that must be honoured. The collection is split into three; the title page explains that ‘it comes in phases’: bruising, brooding and breathing. These three parts detail the devastating experience of what it means to have a heart shattered.
‘We are lions, I want to hear you roar’, Weimer writes in the introduction of the collection. In the first part of this collection, entitled ‘bruising’, this roar is the echo of a once invited and enjoyed seduction. ‘You’, the untitled love, is in this initial phase, a manifestation of otherworldly forces that culminates in that electricity, that spark. ‘Manifest’ warns that there are risks ‘in opposing poles connected’ and yet the voice would ‘rather combust to tiny particles’. ‘Fireflies’ is an admission of the things we do for that spark - ‘i do impulsive things for a touch of luminosity’.
‘Acrobat’ details the stage in a relationship where one is treading on eggshells, and Weimer expertly describes this situation through the metaphor of the circus. The speaker, ‘a master of the tiptoe’, has adapted so well to this role of performer that ‘the balls of [their] feet have lost the padding on their soles/ but somehow, they keep their arch to remain balanced/ on this tightrope’. There’s an incredible image evoked in the following lines, one of heartbreaking anticipation:
‘you and I, we are a circus act.
i cartwheel and leap around the mouth you set aflame
with falsified illusions and this stage keeps on turning
while the crowd cheers each time I am spared the wrath of
your burn.’
There can be a performative element to love; not only between those parties involved but for an audience of others, and the entertainment is sometimes all there is to keep the show going: ‘but because I know that soon the curtain will close/ and I will not have the comfort of my coordination/ or the strength of my strut to keep you on this stage with me./i’d rather put on this act then let the curtain close.’
It is apparent that an infidelity has caused this bruising, and so ‘brooding’ becomes the next phase. ‘For the Record’ is full of anger and frustration at how the narrative of the other’s involvement can skew and misinform. The imagery here isn’t embellished, simple even. The stanzas are split into short clarifying summaries of accusations made. The poem’s simplicity carries with it a fervour. Take this stanza for instance:
you act as if i requested gold,
yet I never even asked for a silver platter.
The final stage of heartache is breathing, which is such a refreshing note on the process. Breathing not only perhaps when it seems so hard to do, but breathing new life into this next stage. ‘My Story’ admits that so much of the other person has come to dominate their life that when asked a personal question the voice is concerned to find that:
I found I had rolled them up into the tale
of who it is I have been living for
and not all that much
about what makes me...me.
That ellipsis reads like a light bulb moment. They talk of the pitiful fear of friends ‘who do not hang me on their walls in a priding display’ and wonders ‘will I become a ghost/ behind the camera of these memories/ without one ounce of proof/ i’ve lived through them?’ So they decide to take themselves on a journey:
find a mountain to climb
while the sun shines just right
and seek the roundest rock
to rest my camera on.
that rock will help me take pictures
of the person who I have been living for lately.
i’ll make memories of my own
and reflect on them scattered across my floor.
This in the hope of finding out what makes ‘me...me’.
When reading poetry, or any fiction, it is a wonderful feeling to back the voice, lend your support to the one writing because it makes you feel better. But Weimer, I think, wants you to back yourself, lend your support to you, honour your tainted lionheart. I recommend this collection to those in a state of heartbreak, it’s a toolkit, an affirmation that everything will be okay.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 13th September 2020
‘We are lions, I want to hear you roar’, Weimer writes in the introduction of the collection. In the first part of this collection, entitled ‘bruising’, this roar is the echo of a once invited and enjoyed seduction. ‘You’, the untitled love, is in this initial phase, a manifestation of otherworldly forces that culminates in that electricity, that spark. ‘Manifest’ warns that there are risks ‘in opposing poles connected’ and yet the voice would ‘rather combust to tiny particles’. ‘Fireflies’ is an admission of the things we do for that spark - ‘i do impulsive things for a touch of luminosity’.
‘Acrobat’ details the stage in a relationship where one is treading on eggshells, and Weimer expertly describes this situation through the metaphor of the circus. The speaker, ‘a master of the tiptoe’, has adapted so well to this role of performer that ‘the balls of [their] feet have lost the padding on their soles/ but somehow, they keep their arch to remain balanced/ on this tightrope’. There’s an incredible image evoked in the following lines, one of heartbreaking anticipation:
‘you and I, we are a circus act.
i cartwheel and leap around the mouth you set aflame
with falsified illusions and this stage keeps on turning
while the crowd cheers each time I am spared the wrath of
your burn.’
There can be a performative element to love; not only between those parties involved but for an audience of others, and the entertainment is sometimes all there is to keep the show going: ‘but because I know that soon the curtain will close/ and I will not have the comfort of my coordination/ or the strength of my strut to keep you on this stage with me./i’d rather put on this act then let the curtain close.’
It is apparent that an infidelity has caused this bruising, and so ‘brooding’ becomes the next phase. ‘For the Record’ is full of anger and frustration at how the narrative of the other’s involvement can skew and misinform. The imagery here isn’t embellished, simple even. The stanzas are split into short clarifying summaries of accusations made. The poem’s simplicity carries with it a fervour. Take this stanza for instance:
you act as if i requested gold,
yet I never even asked for a silver platter.
The final stage of heartache is breathing, which is such a refreshing note on the process. Breathing not only perhaps when it seems so hard to do, but breathing new life into this next stage. ‘My Story’ admits that so much of the other person has come to dominate their life that when asked a personal question the voice is concerned to find that:
I found I had rolled them up into the tale
of who it is I have been living for
and not all that much
about what makes me...me.
That ellipsis reads like a light bulb moment. They talk of the pitiful fear of friends ‘who do not hang me on their walls in a priding display’ and wonders ‘will I become a ghost/ behind the camera of these memories/ without one ounce of proof/ i’ve lived through them?’ So they decide to take themselves on a journey:
find a mountain to climb
while the sun shines just right
and seek the roundest rock
to rest my camera on.
that rock will help me take pictures
of the person who I have been living for lately.
i’ll make memories of my own
and reflect on them scattered across my floor.
This in the hope of finding out what makes ‘me...me’.
When reading poetry, or any fiction, it is a wonderful feeling to back the voice, lend your support to the one writing because it makes you feel better. But Weimer, I think, wants you to back yourself, lend your support to you, honour your tainted lionheart. I recommend this collection to those in a state of heartbreak, it’s a toolkit, an affirmation that everything will be okay.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 13th September 2020
Book Review: Not HUman Enough for the Census by Erik Fuhrer
Where to begin, with Not Human Enough for the Census (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press)?
Erik Fuhrer’s poems could be labelled energetic, experimental, eccentric, ekphrastic… or none of the above, for they utterly defy labels. A few hundred words is not going to be enough to do justice to quite how deep and distinctive this collection is. Almost every page contains enough incident or oddity to deserve in-depth examination.
Even that amount of attention to detail might prove futile, for Fuhrer defies analysis too. And judgement. If that appears to be a reviewer dodging a difficult task, so be it, but a review cannot tell a reader whether they should enjoy a book or not, only provide a flavour.
The only pertinent question is whether this could be a case of the Emperor’s New Clothes, excess of style masking a lack of substance. Is it ground-breaking, or simply revelling in idiosyncrasy for its own sake?
Well, Not Human Enough for the Census certainly breaks new ground. Reminiscent of the dream-state of Ishiguro’s The Unconsoled, or the break-free stream of consciousness of the Illuminatus! Trilogy, it remains something new, different, beyond classification.
This is free verse at its most unfettered, as the opening lines of [shroom destructioom] illustrate:
a tree felled
in the fellshroon
couple of swoons with an oiled
tune-
cluck uck ck k
These devices – a bracketed title and lack of capitals – are typical, along with page breaks, italics, measured spaces and newly-minted words. Except, nothing here is exactly typical. Even within the parameters above, there is room for wild oscillation: [Nightmare Chorus] is a prose-poem in a single tight paragraph, while [a chainwinked spider] gives twenty words the space to make a statement by sprinkling them liberally across a page.
Somewhere close to peak oddity is reached in [speaking light protests,] where punctuation makes a rare appearance, although obviously not in any conventional way:
earlier this/ month ?explain? coming apart_freedom_inequality of meaning *overture
smile*
Quoted in isolation this could seem like the outcome of the infinite monkey theorem, but that is to do Fuhrer a disservice. He hasn’t recreated Shakespeare. He palpably hasn’t tried. What he has shaped is a reading experience, a visual event even. Not a collection of poems to be dipped in and out of, but one to become immersed in.
At times, the scattergun type-setting can overwhelm. The stronger poems are shorter, closely-packed. [thresholds] and [bullet goose] stand out with imagery that is focussed and powerful: “an armadillo in a rainstorm” or “bullets in flesh… where feathers once grew.”
(The ellipsis is mine. These poems even challenge efforts to paraphrase.)
Hard to pigeonhole, then, and hard to quote from. There are some conventions here, however. Themes present themselves, [once there was a tree] alludes to nuclear apocalypse and environmentalism, before transforming into a fresh creation myth “the last body alive … produced a flower from its spine.” Each of these motifs recurs.
There are “carbon atoms that/split/and chatter/pattern upon/the sky” in [god is liquid in the tempest] and the treebutchers is a full-on polemic segment, while nature and conception frequently entwine:
now this tree in my mouth
pulses
through me
trying to create its adam
The e.e.cummings-style affectation that shears away each capital serves almost to highlight names. Adam, here, Mother Mary, Bach and Sisyphus seem to stand-out more clearly for being branded against type, making the reader concentrate, contemplate the connotations of a Biblical reference, a Greek Myth, or a specific Brandenburg Concerto. At least their names appear, Shakespeare and Warhol are only suggested through their work. Eugene Ionescu is namechecked twice in the treebutchers, the second time blessed to keep his upper case ‘I’. Could it be a typo? Surely too much of a coincidence that an avant-garde writer is the only person allowed to retain his emphasis…
Such a small point. But this is what Fuhrer’s words do: encourage you to think about everything, take notice of every detail. This is a book to be returned to, thought about, looked at again. That it is a physical object, rather than words on a page, is accentuated by its illustrations, skilfully supplied by Kimberly Androlowicz. Perhaps, after all, it is meant to be studied. Just not reviewed.
Where to end, then, with Not Human Enough for the Census? Having suggested that this is but a taste, not a measure, not an analysis, there is no way to backtrack, to refer to it as a “must read” or award an arbitrary number of stars.
But, by way of conclusion, an opinion: The Emperor is wearing clothes.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 5th August 2020
Erik Fuhrer’s poems could be labelled energetic, experimental, eccentric, ekphrastic… or none of the above, for they utterly defy labels. A few hundred words is not going to be enough to do justice to quite how deep and distinctive this collection is. Almost every page contains enough incident or oddity to deserve in-depth examination.
Even that amount of attention to detail might prove futile, for Fuhrer defies analysis too. And judgement. If that appears to be a reviewer dodging a difficult task, so be it, but a review cannot tell a reader whether they should enjoy a book or not, only provide a flavour.
The only pertinent question is whether this could be a case of the Emperor’s New Clothes, excess of style masking a lack of substance. Is it ground-breaking, or simply revelling in idiosyncrasy for its own sake?
Well, Not Human Enough for the Census certainly breaks new ground. Reminiscent of the dream-state of Ishiguro’s The Unconsoled, or the break-free stream of consciousness of the Illuminatus! Trilogy, it remains something new, different, beyond classification.
This is free verse at its most unfettered, as the opening lines of [shroom destructioom] illustrate:
a tree felled
in the fellshroon
couple of swoons with an oiled
tune-
cluck uck ck k
These devices – a bracketed title and lack of capitals – are typical, along with page breaks, italics, measured spaces and newly-minted words. Except, nothing here is exactly typical. Even within the parameters above, there is room for wild oscillation: [Nightmare Chorus] is a prose-poem in a single tight paragraph, while [a chainwinked spider] gives twenty words the space to make a statement by sprinkling them liberally across a page.
Somewhere close to peak oddity is reached in [speaking light protests,] where punctuation makes a rare appearance, although obviously not in any conventional way:
earlier this/ month ?explain? coming apart_freedom_inequality of meaning *overture
smile*
Quoted in isolation this could seem like the outcome of the infinite monkey theorem, but that is to do Fuhrer a disservice. He hasn’t recreated Shakespeare. He palpably hasn’t tried. What he has shaped is a reading experience, a visual event even. Not a collection of poems to be dipped in and out of, but one to become immersed in.
At times, the scattergun type-setting can overwhelm. The stronger poems are shorter, closely-packed. [thresholds] and [bullet goose] stand out with imagery that is focussed and powerful: “an armadillo in a rainstorm” or “bullets in flesh… where feathers once grew.”
(The ellipsis is mine. These poems even challenge efforts to paraphrase.)
Hard to pigeonhole, then, and hard to quote from. There are some conventions here, however. Themes present themselves, [once there was a tree] alludes to nuclear apocalypse and environmentalism, before transforming into a fresh creation myth “the last body alive … produced a flower from its spine.” Each of these motifs recurs.
There are “carbon atoms that/split/and chatter/pattern upon/the sky” in [god is liquid in the tempest] and the treebutchers is a full-on polemic segment, while nature and conception frequently entwine:
now this tree in my mouth
pulses
through me
trying to create its adam
The e.e.cummings-style affectation that shears away each capital serves almost to highlight names. Adam, here, Mother Mary, Bach and Sisyphus seem to stand-out more clearly for being branded against type, making the reader concentrate, contemplate the connotations of a Biblical reference, a Greek Myth, or a specific Brandenburg Concerto. At least their names appear, Shakespeare and Warhol are only suggested through their work. Eugene Ionescu is namechecked twice in the treebutchers, the second time blessed to keep his upper case ‘I’. Could it be a typo? Surely too much of a coincidence that an avant-garde writer is the only person allowed to retain his emphasis…
Such a small point. But this is what Fuhrer’s words do: encourage you to think about everything, take notice of every detail. This is a book to be returned to, thought about, looked at again. That it is a physical object, rather than words on a page, is accentuated by its illustrations, skilfully supplied by Kimberly Androlowicz. Perhaps, after all, it is meant to be studied. Just not reviewed.
Where to end, then, with Not Human Enough for the Census? Having suggested that this is but a taste, not a measure, not an analysis, there is no way to backtrack, to refer to it as a “must read” or award an arbitrary number of stars.
But, by way of conclusion, an opinion: The Emperor is wearing clothes.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 5th August 2020
Book Review: OUt of the Sky by Michael Prihoda
Out of the Sky by Michael Prihoda was published by Hester Glock Press in 2019. It is a collection of experimental redacted poems that utilise Don Delillo's Falling Man as the source text, creating poems that deal with 9/11, its aftermath, and the negative transformation the USA has since undergone.
The collection is broken into three parts: Law, Etching, and Ink. Across these sections, Prihoda’s poems, though often sparse and fragmented on the page, come together to acknowledge how ‘everything was precisely trampled’. As often comes with redacted poetry, precision is key in this collection. From poems of no more than six words, to words seemingly placed on the page as they appear in their source text, Out of the Sky pays attention to detail to an ordeal that is overwhelming in scale and consequence.
The smoke, mud, and rubble and the fear of fleeing for shelter are captured in the first part of the collection. Prihoda describes how ‘this otherworldly pall / carried a briefcase’ in ‘Everywhere buried’, and the ‘swaying disbelief’ in the poem ‘sobbing in reverse’, is met with the hauntingly innocent wondering of ‘Aren’t they birds?’ in the poem ‘last time, clouds’. There’s chaos in the undertone of every line, let alone the poems that recall those who jumped, those trapped, and even those who missed their train that day.
The effects of 9/11 are still felt today, whether we are aware of it or not. Increased surveillance of citizens, mistrust, and hate are all part of this. These themes are captured in poems such as ‘Homeland security’ and ‘it’s an old war’. In ‘adjustment’, Prihoda writes:
this modest
program
of ice
following
the dead.
effort was
chaos
Part Two, Etching begins with the line ‘The door was possible’, presumably referring to the people inside the burning towers being told to stay where they were. Throughout the collection, Prihoda confronts us with the trauma of 9/11, while drawing on modern American life and its shortcomings. It is safe to say that this is not an easy read, but it is one that rewards attention and reflection.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published 18th July 2020
The collection is broken into three parts: Law, Etching, and Ink. Across these sections, Prihoda’s poems, though often sparse and fragmented on the page, come together to acknowledge how ‘everything was precisely trampled’. As often comes with redacted poetry, precision is key in this collection. From poems of no more than six words, to words seemingly placed on the page as they appear in their source text, Out of the Sky pays attention to detail to an ordeal that is overwhelming in scale and consequence.
The smoke, mud, and rubble and the fear of fleeing for shelter are captured in the first part of the collection. Prihoda describes how ‘this otherworldly pall / carried a briefcase’ in ‘Everywhere buried’, and the ‘swaying disbelief’ in the poem ‘sobbing in reverse’, is met with the hauntingly innocent wondering of ‘Aren’t they birds?’ in the poem ‘last time, clouds’. There’s chaos in the undertone of every line, let alone the poems that recall those who jumped, those trapped, and even those who missed their train that day.
The effects of 9/11 are still felt today, whether we are aware of it or not. Increased surveillance of citizens, mistrust, and hate are all part of this. These themes are captured in poems such as ‘Homeland security’ and ‘it’s an old war’. In ‘adjustment’, Prihoda writes:
this modest
program
of ice
following
the dead.
effort was
chaos
Part Two, Etching begins with the line ‘The door was possible’, presumably referring to the people inside the burning towers being told to stay where they were. Throughout the collection, Prihoda confronts us with the trauma of 9/11, while drawing on modern American life and its shortcomings. It is safe to say that this is not an easy read, but it is one that rewards attention and reflection.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published 18th July 2020
Book Review: Skeleton Of A Ruined Song by Bola Opaleke
Skeleton Of A Ruined Song by Bola Opaleke was published by Animal Heart Poetry in 2019. Opaleke takes his reader on a journey of remembered trauma and violence, told in a language gentle and beautiful. Although those two concepts may seem at odds, Opaleke highlights how any language can be wholly ineffective to discuss trauma, and he also proves that it can be used to pull something beautiful from the darkest places.
Family, immigration, war, nation, and home are all prevalent themes of this chapbook, all stripped down to their skeletons until all that’s left is the unfiltered truth.
Opaleke opens his chapbook with a request of his reader to ‘Imagine unwrapping the ghost of a trauma / like the unused tuxedo of an abducted groom / just to see how awfully it fits’. This is just a taste of the carefully crafted imagery Opaleke uses to place what is hardest to speak in the most powerful of words.
The power is sometimes staggering. In ‘Home That Would Not Let Us Stay’, Opaleke talks about the fear of living as a refugee in somewhere you plan to call home but that decision is not your own. He describes the fear of seeing police coming to the door, ‘but they have not come / to ask why I cut myself they have come / to ask if I wasn’t a terrorist to bomb / innocent neighbours in no distant future’. The bigotry and presumptions that are at play are terrifying and heartbreaking to read, made more so by the unvarnished frankness of these poems:
The landlord is the god I see
at night. I pray to him for permission
to call his house home. When he touches
my daughter where no man should touch
her, I pull the nonplussed girl by the ear
and warn her to use the kitchen
door henceforth.
The vulnerability of their situation and the horrendous way that manifests will make you stop and think as you read Opaleke’s poetry.
‘Flashlight of abandonment’, written for the Nigerian school girls abducted by terrorists, is an emotional tribute to the suffering of the girls and the utter inadequacy of the world and all its history. Opaleke writes how those girls waited for salvation from ‘
a people calling God's name in vain, not raising
their hands skyward (for Rakat), but raising guns
& machetes to the deity of sorrow and grief
[..]
there is no rain or sunshine either. the book,
from where we read our amazing victories has only blank pages.
we watch as death walks in and out of its blackened chapters.
in our decaying arms, hope died & we couldn't even bury it.
There are so many gut-wrenching, but tender felt moments in this chapbook, you will simply have to buy and read it to get the full experience. What I can say is that Opaleke has written a chapbook that will stay with you beyond the final page, reminding that history books are better blank than full of lies, and better filled with poetic truth than blank.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 4th July 2020
Family, immigration, war, nation, and home are all prevalent themes of this chapbook, all stripped down to their skeletons until all that’s left is the unfiltered truth.
Opaleke opens his chapbook with a request of his reader to ‘Imagine unwrapping the ghost of a trauma / like the unused tuxedo of an abducted groom / just to see how awfully it fits’. This is just a taste of the carefully crafted imagery Opaleke uses to place what is hardest to speak in the most powerful of words.
The power is sometimes staggering. In ‘Home That Would Not Let Us Stay’, Opaleke talks about the fear of living as a refugee in somewhere you plan to call home but that decision is not your own. He describes the fear of seeing police coming to the door, ‘but they have not come / to ask why I cut myself they have come / to ask if I wasn’t a terrorist to bomb / innocent neighbours in no distant future’. The bigotry and presumptions that are at play are terrifying and heartbreaking to read, made more so by the unvarnished frankness of these poems:
The landlord is the god I see
at night. I pray to him for permission
to call his house home. When he touches
my daughter where no man should touch
her, I pull the nonplussed girl by the ear
and warn her to use the kitchen
door henceforth.
The vulnerability of their situation and the horrendous way that manifests will make you stop and think as you read Opaleke’s poetry.
‘Flashlight of abandonment’, written for the Nigerian school girls abducted by terrorists, is an emotional tribute to the suffering of the girls and the utter inadequacy of the world and all its history. Opaleke writes how those girls waited for salvation from ‘
a people calling God's name in vain, not raising
their hands skyward (for Rakat), but raising guns
& machetes to the deity of sorrow and grief
[..]
there is no rain or sunshine either. the book,
from where we read our amazing victories has only blank pages.
we watch as death walks in and out of its blackened chapters.
in our decaying arms, hope died & we couldn't even bury it.
There are so many gut-wrenching, but tender felt moments in this chapbook, you will simply have to buy and read it to get the full experience. What I can say is that Opaleke has written a chapbook that will stay with you beyond the final page, reminding that history books are better blank than full of lies, and better filled with poetic truth than blank.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 4th July 2020
Book Review: Birds Who Eat French Fries by Michael Maul
Birds who Eat French Fries, the second collection of poetry from Florida-based writer Michael Maul, begins with a quoted song lyric, a muse that life has two sides, one dark, the other bright. The book then splits in two along these lines, with each half proving to be thought-provoking, intelligent and entertaining. And neither quite as straight-forward as the initial contrast might suggest.
The first part of the collection deals ostensibly with the ‘Dark and troubled side of life,’ but while the subject matter – which includes death, abuse, and hate speech – certainly leans that way, the tone and language ensure that darkness does not have to mean depressing.
Partly this may be because the poems are so instantly likeable. They possess an almost jaunty quality, full of wit and crafty play.
While not constrained by formal patterns, Maul does appear to enjoy rhyme, a refreshing feeling in a modern collection. This is apparent from the opening piece, the title poem, in which Tater Tots are found in parking lots, and throwaways meet former days.
The final lines read of ‘sophisticated birds’ who, after evolving from dinosaurs:
‘Just took another leap ahead
By becoming us instead’
From here the tone is set, Maul rolls on through the darkness with his droll sense of humour as a flashlight.
From the first lines of Dust, ‘Nature abhors a vacuum/though will tolerate a broom,’ the smart observations continue into Husbands lost in Florida, which is something of a high point for wordplay. Beginning with an analogy of men milling at heaven’s gate ‘like a mass beaching before the Pro-Shop door,’ encompassing a fine line regarding a second story taking place in a one-floor house, and ending with an applause-worthy parody of prayer, ‘Aw Men.’
But it is not just the comic diversions which cast aspersions on the ‘troubled’ nature of the material. Love Song for Melanie Harris focusses on child abuse, an uncomfortable topic, and not initially shied away from. The language engages the reader with difficult truths, evoking bruises as ‘dime-sized thunderheads’ and ‘angry clouds the darkest blue.’ Yet Maul is at heart an optimist. He can’t help but imagine better times, brighter skin, a loving family: ‘a survivor-life.’
Admitting he doesn’t know where the child is today, he still chooses to see proof that God loves his ‘unfair world.’
Loving Memory beseechs a grieving relative to let a loved one go. Things that can Become Projectiles jokes about flying wedding rings. The words themselves veer towards the light: most minds would imagine newspaper clips yellowing with age, here they are ‘turned to gold.’
The section ends with Pâté, unashamedly upbeat as a segue into part two: ‘Damn if this life ain’t a beautiful thing.’
Perhaps Maul’s troubled side just isn’t that dark.
Curiously then, the ‘Bright and sunny side’ of the dichotomy is not the unmitigated joyride one might expect. There is ample evidence to suggest Maul could produce a perky collection of comic verse, but his ambitions cut deeper.
Amish Girl paints a ‘fierce and wild/Amish child/standing strong,’ yet in a mirror of Birds who Eat French Fries, the attention is captured by littering.
Selling an Old Couch on Craigslist is in part a pat little story about second hand furniture, yet feelings of loss are profound. There is genuine umbrage in places too, albeit couched again in wit:
I am the sum.
Surrounded by
an entire moon.
On which (I invite)
you to lay your head
and kiss some night
when next you’re in
another toxic
testosterone swoon.
What makes the sunny side brighter then, is not so much the attitude, as the lighter matter. But all of that is inverted with On My Brother’s Blindness, which sees Maul rooting again for optimism, on a topic far more serious than the pies and Amazon deliveries which comprise the rest of the section.
As in many of the earlier poems, those dealing with death and loss, he shows he has serious words too, words of thoughtful power:
Through his eyes of white
And mine of blue,
For the first time
We will begin to see
The world we live in
Differently.
The world will see us,
Differently, too.
What we learn, as throughout, is that life resists neat categorisation. Death is tragedy, but there is always hope for those left behind. Adversity can be overcome. Comedy can be black. On the flipside, trivialities can unnerve and linger.
Maul is skilled enough to mix and match, to master the complex interplay between events and emotions, to do what a good writer should: show us what we are not expecting to find.
Written by: Jonathan Squirrell
Published: 29th June 2020
The first part of the collection deals ostensibly with the ‘Dark and troubled side of life,’ but while the subject matter – which includes death, abuse, and hate speech – certainly leans that way, the tone and language ensure that darkness does not have to mean depressing.
Partly this may be because the poems are so instantly likeable. They possess an almost jaunty quality, full of wit and crafty play.
While not constrained by formal patterns, Maul does appear to enjoy rhyme, a refreshing feeling in a modern collection. This is apparent from the opening piece, the title poem, in which Tater Tots are found in parking lots, and throwaways meet former days.
The final lines read of ‘sophisticated birds’ who, after evolving from dinosaurs:
‘Just took another leap ahead
By becoming us instead’
From here the tone is set, Maul rolls on through the darkness with his droll sense of humour as a flashlight.
From the first lines of Dust, ‘Nature abhors a vacuum/though will tolerate a broom,’ the smart observations continue into Husbands lost in Florida, which is something of a high point for wordplay. Beginning with an analogy of men milling at heaven’s gate ‘like a mass beaching before the Pro-Shop door,’ encompassing a fine line regarding a second story taking place in a one-floor house, and ending with an applause-worthy parody of prayer, ‘Aw Men.’
But it is not just the comic diversions which cast aspersions on the ‘troubled’ nature of the material. Love Song for Melanie Harris focusses on child abuse, an uncomfortable topic, and not initially shied away from. The language engages the reader with difficult truths, evoking bruises as ‘dime-sized thunderheads’ and ‘angry clouds the darkest blue.’ Yet Maul is at heart an optimist. He can’t help but imagine better times, brighter skin, a loving family: ‘a survivor-life.’
Admitting he doesn’t know where the child is today, he still chooses to see proof that God loves his ‘unfair world.’
Loving Memory beseechs a grieving relative to let a loved one go. Things that can Become Projectiles jokes about flying wedding rings. The words themselves veer towards the light: most minds would imagine newspaper clips yellowing with age, here they are ‘turned to gold.’
The section ends with Pâté, unashamedly upbeat as a segue into part two: ‘Damn if this life ain’t a beautiful thing.’
Perhaps Maul’s troubled side just isn’t that dark.
Curiously then, the ‘Bright and sunny side’ of the dichotomy is not the unmitigated joyride one might expect. There is ample evidence to suggest Maul could produce a perky collection of comic verse, but his ambitions cut deeper.
Amish Girl paints a ‘fierce and wild/Amish child/standing strong,’ yet in a mirror of Birds who Eat French Fries, the attention is captured by littering.
Selling an Old Couch on Craigslist is in part a pat little story about second hand furniture, yet feelings of loss are profound. There is genuine umbrage in places too, albeit couched again in wit:
I am the sum.
Surrounded by
an entire moon.
On which (I invite)
you to lay your head
and kiss some night
when next you’re in
another toxic
testosterone swoon.
What makes the sunny side brighter then, is not so much the attitude, as the lighter matter. But all of that is inverted with On My Brother’s Blindness, which sees Maul rooting again for optimism, on a topic far more serious than the pies and Amazon deliveries which comprise the rest of the section.
As in many of the earlier poems, those dealing with death and loss, he shows he has serious words too, words of thoughtful power:
Through his eyes of white
And mine of blue,
For the first time
We will begin to see
The world we live in
Differently.
The world will see us,
Differently, too.
What we learn, as throughout, is that life resists neat categorisation. Death is tragedy, but there is always hope for those left behind. Adversity can be overcome. Comedy can be black. On the flipside, trivialities can unnerve and linger.
Maul is skilled enough to mix and match, to master the complex interplay between events and emotions, to do what a good writer should: show us what we are not expecting to find.
Written by: Jonathan Squirrell
Published: 29th June 2020
Book Review: Collision by Claire Walker
Claire Walker’s third pamphlet ‘Collision’ was published in 2019 by Against the Grain. The collection of poetry focuses on the thrust and pull between land and seas and the experience we as humans have with nature. Upon reading, I concluded this humble collection aims to do something we are often incapable of doing: grounding us. A hard task, but not only is it well executed, but also incredibly successful.
The pamphlet opens with ‘Like a Lover’ where the sea is characterised as a caring lover. A scandal is compressed into this poem. She is all consuming, leaving her scent on them; those around them know they have been with her. Those who run to her are desperate for her touch, her love, her presence. She’s a cure-all for modern life’s woes, and how could you not be tempted, for ‘She pools around their bodies/ works their ring fingers free of knots’. Who wouldn't want to ‘leave all heaviness behind’ and ‘float weightless’?
The next poem envisions this desire/desperation as an addiction. A customer enters a tattoo shop:
You ask for a mermaid,
so that is what I give you.
My needle draws her slender back,
arching to surf that nibbles her skin.
Her hair red and long, floating
like crimson seaweed out against water.
A pearl ripens in her navel.
Her tail sweeps into existence,
every scale an emerald jewel.
I shade gradual darkness;
a swell around her hips.
If you’ve ever had a tattoo the feeling of awe once it has been set into your flesh is overwhelming. You can’t stop looking at it, no matter how small or how detailed the engraving is, you’ll fight against the clingfilm and ointment because even though the artist wants to protect what they’ve just created the sensation of something looking at you from within your skin is too great. Walker’s intuition is cutting though, for she understands that this mermaid is everything we as the customer have ever wanted. No, not an idealised woman - though that does seem to be a bonus - but a companion. A comfort, etched onto our skin. But companionship can become addictive, as this poem demonstrates, because the customer will ‘return at sunrise, hollow-eyed’; they seem to have been up all night obsessed with this new found void filler, and subsequently ask for ‘starfish, seaglass, oysters; the entire spill of the ocean.’ This gift is simultaneously a curse, the artist has created something too great, too much: this is a tattooist’s mistake.
Nine poems later, a shift occurs. Walker has prepared four poems for Mary Anning. Anning was a fossil collector and paleontologist whose collection would pave the way for scientific improvements upon how we understand prehistoric life. But, as is the sorry state of things, she was rarely credited for her findings, due to her gender. Walker’s poetry is not only a love letter to her work, but also a lesson; I myself knew nothing of Anning until reading this pamphlet, so I would like to thank Walker here for writing of her.
‘She Sells Seashells’ recognises both the mythic and very real narrative attached to Anning. ‘Say it quickly’ Walker instructs, asking the reader to attempt the tongue twisting title that is often thought to be written about Anning. Her reduction to a fun and silly exercise is by no means a reflection of her legacy, Anning suffered financially for years, which Walker references in the line ‘Daytrip ladies browse,/ hand easy pennies over for trinkets that feed me, feed my brother’.
There is an incredible sadness to ‘At the Museum’. We witness Walker’s interpretation of Anning’s encounter with the collections of her work:
In glass cases, bigger than my childhood home,
they display the rock’s of my life’s work.
Together, men caw like gulls over scraps,
applaud their knowledge and its evolutionary weight.
She is confronted by the enormity of her work, and the enormity of the void cast between her and her work. However, she will exact her revenge: They ‘think I gather pretty shells in my bonnet/ for no reason but a pleasing shape’, but ‘they are wrong to try and erase me - an expert in preserving remains’. Walker’s memorial to Anning is not only beautiful, but an important stepping stone in the preservation of important female figures that history has, at times, neglected.
‘Collision’ reminds us of the most exciting things we as humans can do: remember. Remember the good times, and significantly, remember those who before could not be. I shall return to Walker’s collection when I feel disconnected from nature; I recommend that you do so too.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 19th May 2020
The pamphlet opens with ‘Like a Lover’ where the sea is characterised as a caring lover. A scandal is compressed into this poem. She is all consuming, leaving her scent on them; those around them know they have been with her. Those who run to her are desperate for her touch, her love, her presence. She’s a cure-all for modern life’s woes, and how could you not be tempted, for ‘She pools around their bodies/ works their ring fingers free of knots’. Who wouldn't want to ‘leave all heaviness behind’ and ‘float weightless’?
The next poem envisions this desire/desperation as an addiction. A customer enters a tattoo shop:
You ask for a mermaid,
so that is what I give you.
My needle draws her slender back,
arching to surf that nibbles her skin.
Her hair red and long, floating
like crimson seaweed out against water.
A pearl ripens in her navel.
Her tail sweeps into existence,
every scale an emerald jewel.
I shade gradual darkness;
a swell around her hips.
If you’ve ever had a tattoo the feeling of awe once it has been set into your flesh is overwhelming. You can’t stop looking at it, no matter how small or how detailed the engraving is, you’ll fight against the clingfilm and ointment because even though the artist wants to protect what they’ve just created the sensation of something looking at you from within your skin is too great. Walker’s intuition is cutting though, for she understands that this mermaid is everything we as the customer have ever wanted. No, not an idealised woman - though that does seem to be a bonus - but a companion. A comfort, etched onto our skin. But companionship can become addictive, as this poem demonstrates, because the customer will ‘return at sunrise, hollow-eyed’; they seem to have been up all night obsessed with this new found void filler, and subsequently ask for ‘starfish, seaglass, oysters; the entire spill of the ocean.’ This gift is simultaneously a curse, the artist has created something too great, too much: this is a tattooist’s mistake.
Nine poems later, a shift occurs. Walker has prepared four poems for Mary Anning. Anning was a fossil collector and paleontologist whose collection would pave the way for scientific improvements upon how we understand prehistoric life. But, as is the sorry state of things, she was rarely credited for her findings, due to her gender. Walker’s poetry is not only a love letter to her work, but also a lesson; I myself knew nothing of Anning until reading this pamphlet, so I would like to thank Walker here for writing of her.
‘She Sells Seashells’ recognises both the mythic and very real narrative attached to Anning. ‘Say it quickly’ Walker instructs, asking the reader to attempt the tongue twisting title that is often thought to be written about Anning. Her reduction to a fun and silly exercise is by no means a reflection of her legacy, Anning suffered financially for years, which Walker references in the line ‘Daytrip ladies browse,/ hand easy pennies over for trinkets that feed me, feed my brother’.
There is an incredible sadness to ‘At the Museum’. We witness Walker’s interpretation of Anning’s encounter with the collections of her work:
In glass cases, bigger than my childhood home,
they display the rock’s of my life’s work.
Together, men caw like gulls over scraps,
applaud their knowledge and its evolutionary weight.
She is confronted by the enormity of her work, and the enormity of the void cast between her and her work. However, she will exact her revenge: They ‘think I gather pretty shells in my bonnet/ for no reason but a pleasing shape’, but ‘they are wrong to try and erase me - an expert in preserving remains’. Walker’s memorial to Anning is not only beautiful, but an important stepping stone in the preservation of important female figures that history has, at times, neglected.
‘Collision’ reminds us of the most exciting things we as humans can do: remember. Remember the good times, and significantly, remember those who before could not be. I shall return to Walker’s collection when I feel disconnected from nature; I recommend that you do so too.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 19th May 2020
Book Review: Never One For Promises by Sarah Etlinger
Never One for Promises, written by Sarah Etlinger, is a beautiful foray into the complexities of modern relationships. Etlinger describes recognisable feelings of passion, uncertainty and loss whilst acknowledging that, behind every relationship, is an emotional past that makes every connection unique and distinct.
Through vivid and sensual images of nature, Etlinger openly confronts the idealisation of romantic relationships, instead exploring the consuming intensity of desire and underlying forces that threaten relationships. In ‘Pears’, the cutting of a pear reminds the speaker of a past romance thwarted by her lover’s emotional history. The poem explores the female’s desire to heal her lover, ‘to anoint [his] wounds’ from past relationships. However, as she cuts the pear, she observes the ‘white mealy nectar’ and the ‘tears and scars and harsh gashes from hungry teeth of women’. Damage and love are, in this poem, neatly intertwined.
Like ‘Pears’, in ‘Geraniums II’, the speaker relates nature to her lover’s flesh as she observes her flowers:
‘The leaves are soft, soft
like the inside of your thigh’
Yet this image of intimacy is connected with violence as the speaker goes on to discuss cutting her lover:
‘maybe I’d finally cut you back enough
(down to your roots)
so you would have no choice
but to bloom.’
This poem recognizes a deep interconnection between pain and romance, the speaker viewing almost brutal obsession as a necessary ingredient for her lover to flourish. To Etlinger, small and everyday interactions with nature such as cutting a pear or gazing at flowers are gateways into navigating the complicated feelings often involved in romantic relationships.
As much as this collection is preoccupied with images from everyday life, Etlinger also successfully combines the commonplace with the ethereal and spiritual. In ‘Pillow Talk II’, Etlinger blends the human and ethereal through the speaker’s imagining of Venus with the human bodily experience of periods whilst in ‘Before the Flood; Or, What Noah’s Wife Knew’, Etlinger explores ideas of infidelity through characters from the Old Testament. A standout poem in this regard was ‘The Act of God’, a short but powerful poem that describes God as a sinister character walking through the subway. The imagery of the ‘black licorice smile of his eyes’ is magnificently disturbing whilst the dark humour of the final line, a reference to Genesis, will definitely send chills down your body.
One of my favourite poems in this collection, ‘Unpacking The Last Box After Moving In Together’, imbues a moment of expectant joy in a relationship with a feeling of melancholy and uncertainty as the female looks at past photos of her partner’s ex-lover. It is truly breath-taking in its conception, Etlinger sensitively navigates the female’s thoughts as she tries to make sense of her lover’s past and understand how it will manifest in their future together.
It is these depictions of quiet discomfort that deserve the most applause. Etlinger acknowledges the familiar feeling of vulnerability and reassures us that moments of uncertainty are part of being human. In ‘Still Life with Poetry’, the speaker observes with acute detail a couple as they read together in a library. The speaker foresees the end of their relationship but offers strong words of advice to the woman:
‘Keep reading Yeats and Rilke and the sonnets.
Keep their heartbreak on your sleeve
for, when you realize he is not for you,
when you realize that love is enough, but only on these pages,
you’ll want your notes.’
Poetry, for Etlinger, is an open space to be honest and vulnerable, a space to unashamedly expose your feelings and celebrate them…and this collection is a true testament to that.
Overall, Never One for Promises is a delicate read that accepts the complicated and finds lyrical energy in the roots of nature. Etlinger’s command of imagery allows her to create an intimate collection that is attentive to the most natural and intricate aspects of a relationship.
Written by: Michaela O'Callaghan
Published: 30th April 2020
Through vivid and sensual images of nature, Etlinger openly confronts the idealisation of romantic relationships, instead exploring the consuming intensity of desire and underlying forces that threaten relationships. In ‘Pears’, the cutting of a pear reminds the speaker of a past romance thwarted by her lover’s emotional history. The poem explores the female’s desire to heal her lover, ‘to anoint [his] wounds’ from past relationships. However, as she cuts the pear, she observes the ‘white mealy nectar’ and the ‘tears and scars and harsh gashes from hungry teeth of women’. Damage and love are, in this poem, neatly intertwined.
Like ‘Pears’, in ‘Geraniums II’, the speaker relates nature to her lover’s flesh as she observes her flowers:
‘The leaves are soft, soft
like the inside of your thigh’
Yet this image of intimacy is connected with violence as the speaker goes on to discuss cutting her lover:
‘maybe I’d finally cut you back enough
(down to your roots)
so you would have no choice
but to bloom.’
This poem recognizes a deep interconnection between pain and romance, the speaker viewing almost brutal obsession as a necessary ingredient for her lover to flourish. To Etlinger, small and everyday interactions with nature such as cutting a pear or gazing at flowers are gateways into navigating the complicated feelings often involved in romantic relationships.
As much as this collection is preoccupied with images from everyday life, Etlinger also successfully combines the commonplace with the ethereal and spiritual. In ‘Pillow Talk II’, Etlinger blends the human and ethereal through the speaker’s imagining of Venus with the human bodily experience of periods whilst in ‘Before the Flood; Or, What Noah’s Wife Knew’, Etlinger explores ideas of infidelity through characters from the Old Testament. A standout poem in this regard was ‘The Act of God’, a short but powerful poem that describes God as a sinister character walking through the subway. The imagery of the ‘black licorice smile of his eyes’ is magnificently disturbing whilst the dark humour of the final line, a reference to Genesis, will definitely send chills down your body.
One of my favourite poems in this collection, ‘Unpacking The Last Box After Moving In Together’, imbues a moment of expectant joy in a relationship with a feeling of melancholy and uncertainty as the female looks at past photos of her partner’s ex-lover. It is truly breath-taking in its conception, Etlinger sensitively navigates the female’s thoughts as she tries to make sense of her lover’s past and understand how it will manifest in their future together.
It is these depictions of quiet discomfort that deserve the most applause. Etlinger acknowledges the familiar feeling of vulnerability and reassures us that moments of uncertainty are part of being human. In ‘Still Life with Poetry’, the speaker observes with acute detail a couple as they read together in a library. The speaker foresees the end of their relationship but offers strong words of advice to the woman:
‘Keep reading Yeats and Rilke and the sonnets.
Keep their heartbreak on your sleeve
for, when you realize he is not for you,
when you realize that love is enough, but only on these pages,
you’ll want your notes.’
Poetry, for Etlinger, is an open space to be honest and vulnerable, a space to unashamedly expose your feelings and celebrate them…and this collection is a true testament to that.
Overall, Never One for Promises is a delicate read that accepts the complicated and finds lyrical energy in the roots of nature. Etlinger’s command of imagery allows her to create an intimate collection that is attentive to the most natural and intricate aspects of a relationship.
Written by: Michaela O'Callaghan
Published: 30th April 2020
Book Review: Saturday Night Sage by Noah Lekas
Noah Lekas is a writer and music journalist, whose collection Saturday Night Sage, published by Blind Owl throws you into the deep end of jazz. The collection is a forceful examination of the mystic and the menial labour in America.
Lekas opens the collection with the eponymous ‘Saturday Night Sage’, a communication between a ride along and his companions the sage and the sojourner. Crossing borders or waking up in bars, the wise man and the one without a home follow the character, resulting in a kind of manic episode, where if you were to watch this character ‘praying in dank catacombs’ and crying in ‘the slums of the shadow factory’, you may well feel sorry for them. But the experience of this encounter being re-told ignites an almost magical sense that any situation, whether down and out, or merely trying to get along, can be profound and intensely rewarding.
‘Nothing to Live Up To’ certainly celebrates this sentiment. The poem creates tension through the rising anaphora:
When the light bulb is your horizon
& you’re seeing people crying into their drains
& the side street walkers are carrying artist’s names
& the storms are creeping up your window pane
& around the corner there is a shot at fame
& your bedroom window is still filled with rain & your brain is misfiring into a blue fame
It reads like the overwhelming feeling of not being able to get stuff done in the face of poverty, financial hardship while fleeting dreams are all around. But Lesak has a comforting reminder: ‘just remember/The sea & the bath tub hold water just the same’
‘Contrarian’ promises us there is freedom in this hope. A contrarian is someone who rejects popular opinion, and the layout of the poem certainly embodies this - 13 lines, 7 lines recede inwards to the word ‘contrarian’ and expand back out. “Never settling for the metaphors of the dead” the voice declares, a sort of challenge to the mundane language we associate with things past.
This desire to keep fresh the bad things by turning them on their head comes at a cost, something that (what I believe is the standout poem of the collection) ‘Out of the Storm Drain’ realises. In a quasi audience interaction exercise, the voice starts: “Jazz billowed out of the storm drains/ on West 4th Street./ & the subway exhaled her cigarette.” The instruction is as follows, read it in an established voice, like Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, even Patti Smith. Now read it in the voice of an ordinary joe, ‘a crooked cop’ or an ‘unknown writer thumbing at a Bic lighter”. While it might not sound as cool, it will be just as authentic, because that’s the thing, even when the shit hits the fan, always “fight to stay in character”.
Imagine yourself in CBGB’s, fag idly hanging out your mouth, some whiskey down your shirt while the girls swing about you keeping in tune to the beats and the snare and you’re in Saturday Night Sage. This can be hard. My suggestion? Stick on a playlist of blues and jazz and read this collection.
You can listen to Noah Lekas reading ‘Out of the Storm Drains’ accompanied by some cracking music and visuals here.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 19th April 2020
Lekas opens the collection with the eponymous ‘Saturday Night Sage’, a communication between a ride along and his companions the sage and the sojourner. Crossing borders or waking up in bars, the wise man and the one without a home follow the character, resulting in a kind of manic episode, where if you were to watch this character ‘praying in dank catacombs’ and crying in ‘the slums of the shadow factory’, you may well feel sorry for them. But the experience of this encounter being re-told ignites an almost magical sense that any situation, whether down and out, or merely trying to get along, can be profound and intensely rewarding.
‘Nothing to Live Up To’ certainly celebrates this sentiment. The poem creates tension through the rising anaphora:
When the light bulb is your horizon
& you’re seeing people crying into their drains
& the side street walkers are carrying artist’s names
& the storms are creeping up your window pane
& around the corner there is a shot at fame
& your bedroom window is still filled with rain & your brain is misfiring into a blue fame
It reads like the overwhelming feeling of not being able to get stuff done in the face of poverty, financial hardship while fleeting dreams are all around. But Lesak has a comforting reminder: ‘just remember/The sea & the bath tub hold water just the same’
‘Contrarian’ promises us there is freedom in this hope. A contrarian is someone who rejects popular opinion, and the layout of the poem certainly embodies this - 13 lines, 7 lines recede inwards to the word ‘contrarian’ and expand back out. “Never settling for the metaphors of the dead” the voice declares, a sort of challenge to the mundane language we associate with things past.
This desire to keep fresh the bad things by turning them on their head comes at a cost, something that (what I believe is the standout poem of the collection) ‘Out of the Storm Drain’ realises. In a quasi audience interaction exercise, the voice starts: “Jazz billowed out of the storm drains/ on West 4th Street./ & the subway exhaled her cigarette.” The instruction is as follows, read it in an established voice, like Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, even Patti Smith. Now read it in the voice of an ordinary joe, ‘a crooked cop’ or an ‘unknown writer thumbing at a Bic lighter”. While it might not sound as cool, it will be just as authentic, because that’s the thing, even when the shit hits the fan, always “fight to stay in character”.
Imagine yourself in CBGB’s, fag idly hanging out your mouth, some whiskey down your shirt while the girls swing about you keeping in tune to the beats and the snare and you’re in Saturday Night Sage. This can be hard. My suggestion? Stick on a playlist of blues and jazz and read this collection.
You can listen to Noah Lekas reading ‘Out of the Storm Drains’ accompanied by some cracking music and visuals here.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 19th April 2020
Book Review: Ghosts in the Reflection-Letters to Erin by Jim Miller
Ghost in the Reflection-Letters to Erin by Jim Miller was published by Planet Productions Poetry & Press in November 2019. This collection began as two, smaller collections, that eventually merged into one.
Poetry has to be able to make us stop, to listen. Jim Miller knows this. His poetry does exactly that. The topics he writes about add to the immediacy. Other than in his introductory address to readers he makes no apology for what he does, which is to use words to show how hard it can be to live today; just to be alive, aware of all of the dark forces at work in the global atmosphere, and your own mind and hearts, is a tough ask, says Miller.
Ghost in the Reflection
Miller’s first poem, “She Copes in Silence”, sets the scene. The title clearly indicates what’s to come, cope being every bit the operative word. Miller knows the world he is commenting on, all too painfully. Everything happens to the subject, rendering them powerless. A line, almost slap in the middle, states ‘We all come clean, in the end’. So simple a phrase, but powerfully expressive poetry. Meaning, packed in. The line’s duality furthers the poems narrative, as the “vulture’s circling” in the next line show carcasses offered up, but simultaneously depict the rotting of morality in society’s fabric, at the heart of Miller’s collection.
Further into the collection, there’s more devastating observation, as Miller presents us with tangibly difficult scenes, relying on the viscerally dualistic imagery of the ‘fat and rich white man’s seed’ in “the orange”. Concrete and abstract, fused. The disgust is warranted, evoked to illustrate the horror of wanton patriarchal rule, and the callous creatures responsible. It’s this economy of language that cements the world of his poetry as the one recognisable to the poet.
By the time you’re done reading Ghost in the Reflection, you really want to have a good, hard look at yourself and be sure you are doing enough to combat the assault on empathy, decency, and humanity. Yes, it’s a bleak portrait of the current states of affairs, but one that reaches to make a difference. If nothing else, it’s massively comforting to know that you’re not the only one who is horrified by the world, and the utter lack of regard and remorse of some of its most powerful inhabitants.
Letters to Erin
This collection differs greatly from Miller’s Ghost in the Reflection. We’re in much more personally lived experience. Miller’s past is the world on show. Early in Letters to Erin, a line in “Blind Cleanse”, aches to “reduce forthcoming pain”. Only retrospect can come up with a line like that, but Miller makes it poetry by putting the lived experience into a current tone. The writing of difficult experiences is the key, here. Whoever Miller is now is a result of what he went through, making for interesting reading, gleaning feelings of what we have come to call poetry. Perhaps that word, reduce, a careful inclusion, is most telling. Miller seems to know that we have to go through hardships, to know good times. It’s what left that counts.
In “Crystal Ball”, there’s more acceptance that pain is part and parcel of the relationships. “I can feel the resistance dying”, states Miller. Bob Marley once said that everyone you love will hurt you, at some point, it’s just about deciding who’s worth getting hurt for. That seems very apt here, an example of the themes of confusion, frustration and at times depression, prevalent throughout the collection. What Miller captures is the complex nature of emotional transactions, constant between two people, whether soul mates, or just lovers. What one feels, another may not. Miller chooses phrases that at first seem obvious, but upon closer inspection show a considered choice. They invite the reader to question just how true that statement might be, or, is it that they wish it were, badly. Perhaps some of both.
Writing about love is hard; even more so, in poetry. It will always draw comparisons. Miller establishes an authentic voice, one not afraid show the emotional side of modern masculinity. He puts you right there, where he was, at times, boldly attempting to write from “within” love and explain its myriad nature. Of course, no individual can. Yet, in attempting it, a difference is made. It’s hard to be heard. Miller’s efforts are well worth your own, to listen.
Written by: Benjamin Cassidy
Published: 15th April 2020
Poetry has to be able to make us stop, to listen. Jim Miller knows this. His poetry does exactly that. The topics he writes about add to the immediacy. Other than in his introductory address to readers he makes no apology for what he does, which is to use words to show how hard it can be to live today; just to be alive, aware of all of the dark forces at work in the global atmosphere, and your own mind and hearts, is a tough ask, says Miller.
Ghost in the Reflection
Miller’s first poem, “She Copes in Silence”, sets the scene. The title clearly indicates what’s to come, cope being every bit the operative word. Miller knows the world he is commenting on, all too painfully. Everything happens to the subject, rendering them powerless. A line, almost slap in the middle, states ‘We all come clean, in the end’. So simple a phrase, but powerfully expressive poetry. Meaning, packed in. The line’s duality furthers the poems narrative, as the “vulture’s circling” in the next line show carcasses offered up, but simultaneously depict the rotting of morality in society’s fabric, at the heart of Miller’s collection.
Further into the collection, there’s more devastating observation, as Miller presents us with tangibly difficult scenes, relying on the viscerally dualistic imagery of the ‘fat and rich white man’s seed’ in “the orange”. Concrete and abstract, fused. The disgust is warranted, evoked to illustrate the horror of wanton patriarchal rule, and the callous creatures responsible. It’s this economy of language that cements the world of his poetry as the one recognisable to the poet.
By the time you’re done reading Ghost in the Reflection, you really want to have a good, hard look at yourself and be sure you are doing enough to combat the assault on empathy, decency, and humanity. Yes, it’s a bleak portrait of the current states of affairs, but one that reaches to make a difference. If nothing else, it’s massively comforting to know that you’re not the only one who is horrified by the world, and the utter lack of regard and remorse of some of its most powerful inhabitants.
Letters to Erin
This collection differs greatly from Miller’s Ghost in the Reflection. We’re in much more personally lived experience. Miller’s past is the world on show. Early in Letters to Erin, a line in “Blind Cleanse”, aches to “reduce forthcoming pain”. Only retrospect can come up with a line like that, but Miller makes it poetry by putting the lived experience into a current tone. The writing of difficult experiences is the key, here. Whoever Miller is now is a result of what he went through, making for interesting reading, gleaning feelings of what we have come to call poetry. Perhaps that word, reduce, a careful inclusion, is most telling. Miller seems to know that we have to go through hardships, to know good times. It’s what left that counts.
In “Crystal Ball”, there’s more acceptance that pain is part and parcel of the relationships. “I can feel the resistance dying”, states Miller. Bob Marley once said that everyone you love will hurt you, at some point, it’s just about deciding who’s worth getting hurt for. That seems very apt here, an example of the themes of confusion, frustration and at times depression, prevalent throughout the collection. What Miller captures is the complex nature of emotional transactions, constant between two people, whether soul mates, or just lovers. What one feels, another may not. Miller chooses phrases that at first seem obvious, but upon closer inspection show a considered choice. They invite the reader to question just how true that statement might be, or, is it that they wish it were, badly. Perhaps some of both.
Writing about love is hard; even more so, in poetry. It will always draw comparisons. Miller establishes an authentic voice, one not afraid show the emotional side of modern masculinity. He puts you right there, where he was, at times, boldly attempting to write from “within” love and explain its myriad nature. Of course, no individual can. Yet, in attempting it, a difference is made. It’s hard to be heard. Miller’s efforts are well worth your own, to listen.
Written by: Benjamin Cassidy
Published: 15th April 2020
Book Review: Drowning in the Floating World by Meg Eden
It may seem a little ironic, given her surname, but Meg Eden writes about hell. Then again, perhaps it isn’t so strange. After all, Drowning in the Floating World (Press 53 books) is about a world turned upside down.
The hell here is real. The tsunami that struck the east coast of Japan in 2011 wreaked destruction on a devastating scale, and the havoc is explored here in vivid, vivisected detail.
This is a book befitting a natural disaster, brutal and powerful. As the title suggests, the poet submerges herself into the chaos, and the reader is tugged down with her. The immersive impact is achieved not just through strength of language, although that is abundant, but through a level of empathy that pervades throughout.
In Rumiko/A Series of Possessions Eden enters the spirits of her subjects. ‘Yesterday I became a dog’ she begins, translating canine thoughts of starvation and privation. A second stanza adjusts our viewpoint, we overhear an aged husband worrying for his wife. On the poem goes, embodying a litany of lives, multiple tragedies:
‘I looked down at our city,
which spun like dirty laundry’
‘I wake from war, I wake up
wet with seawater’
‘How do I tell Kaori’s father
about the twenty thousand bodies
at the bottom of the ocean,
his daughter perpetually dying
inside my mouth?’
This is the collection encapsulated: Understanding of Japanese culture, sympathy for a people caught in the path of catastrophe, matched with an unwavering gaze, a ruthless confrontation of the reality of suffering, and all bound up in elegant writing and bold structures.
For Rumiko is far from the only example of innovative style. Fukashima Syndrome takes the form of a diary, revisiting the empathetic theme by presenting half of the entries from the perspective of cattle. All Summer I Wore and Poem for the Sneakers Washing Onshore take the form almost of laundry lists, cataloging the clothing of corpses washed up on the shore. Tsunami Debris Found Poem is formatted into a table. There is even a selection of haiku.
Through it all, two constants remain, death and water. The sea invades every page as the lasting impressions of the quake reverberate. A street becomes a ‘charcoal river snake’ and a ‘hungry ocean mouth.’ A town becomes ‘a great washing machine,’ and always the link with destruction is inextricable. Eden begins with dead whales and quickly advances to dead people, pulling no punches. Just pages in, That First Night, the Hospital culminates by placing the reader in the midst of misery, listening to the cries of the dying, and unable to help. From then it is unrelenting. A dead dog is left ‘dried out like a fruit skin,’ a woman’s hand is a place for the maggots to come.
Tsuanmi Girl twists the inseparable themes together. ‘Once the water ate her’ it begins, ‘Seaweed and debris took the body.’ It ends with a rotting corpse. Bodies do not return to dust here, but putrefy, go back to the water. This is not for the faint of heart.
Though there is stark beauty too. In a work with such a clear central focus, Eden manages to keep each new piece fresh, with eye-catching analogies as important as the innovative style. Nervous tension is announced as ‘the dog in my chest just delivered puppies.’ Beached whales are ‘tea leaves at the bottom of a scryer’s glass’.
There are also moments of dark humour, light relief. The image of a boat on top of a building; and a giant, gaudy crab, guzzling energy even as Tokyo tries to save power.
There are broader themes too, as the collection advances. The further fallout from the disaster, nuclear and personal. Contamination. History, lust, power. Arguably - though it seems ungrateful to criticize such breadth - too many layers. Perhaps because nothing quite matches immediacy and impact of the initial stories, there feels no need to widen the lens. But perhaps it is simply because, writing in April 2020, it has become impossible to ignore the shadows of another global disaster.
Certain phrases take on new emphasis. Two months ago, would the simple line ‘we wear cough masks’ have jumped from the page so urgently? The dangers of physical proximity are suddenly, horribly topical: ‘There’s already radiation on your skin, and I can’t risk you rubbing off on me.’
As the Coronavirus changes the world around us, the past affords us glimpses of the future. Coming Home after a Tsunami serves a reminder that time does not quickly heal all wounds: ‘It’s been two years & I still live in a temporary house,’ while NASA Satellite Triolet shares a final, sobering similarity, telling us that whatever happened ‘can’t be undone.’
Eden is a thoughtful and creative poet, while the sheaf of notes included at the end of the collection point to a curious and conscientious researcher. Her book is a literary Tsunami Stone, a lighthouse, a reminder to acknowledge pain and learn from it. At any time it would feel unflinching and influential. In this moment, it has become still more so.
Written by: Jonathan Squirrell
Published: 10th April 2020
The hell here is real. The tsunami that struck the east coast of Japan in 2011 wreaked destruction on a devastating scale, and the havoc is explored here in vivid, vivisected detail.
This is a book befitting a natural disaster, brutal and powerful. As the title suggests, the poet submerges herself into the chaos, and the reader is tugged down with her. The immersive impact is achieved not just through strength of language, although that is abundant, but through a level of empathy that pervades throughout.
In Rumiko/A Series of Possessions Eden enters the spirits of her subjects. ‘Yesterday I became a dog’ she begins, translating canine thoughts of starvation and privation. A second stanza adjusts our viewpoint, we overhear an aged husband worrying for his wife. On the poem goes, embodying a litany of lives, multiple tragedies:
‘I looked down at our city,
which spun like dirty laundry’
‘I wake from war, I wake up
wet with seawater’
‘How do I tell Kaori’s father
about the twenty thousand bodies
at the bottom of the ocean,
his daughter perpetually dying
inside my mouth?’
This is the collection encapsulated: Understanding of Japanese culture, sympathy for a people caught in the path of catastrophe, matched with an unwavering gaze, a ruthless confrontation of the reality of suffering, and all bound up in elegant writing and bold structures.
For Rumiko is far from the only example of innovative style. Fukashima Syndrome takes the form of a diary, revisiting the empathetic theme by presenting half of the entries from the perspective of cattle. All Summer I Wore and Poem for the Sneakers Washing Onshore take the form almost of laundry lists, cataloging the clothing of corpses washed up on the shore. Tsunami Debris Found Poem is formatted into a table. There is even a selection of haiku.
Through it all, two constants remain, death and water. The sea invades every page as the lasting impressions of the quake reverberate. A street becomes a ‘charcoal river snake’ and a ‘hungry ocean mouth.’ A town becomes ‘a great washing machine,’ and always the link with destruction is inextricable. Eden begins with dead whales and quickly advances to dead people, pulling no punches. Just pages in, That First Night, the Hospital culminates by placing the reader in the midst of misery, listening to the cries of the dying, and unable to help. From then it is unrelenting. A dead dog is left ‘dried out like a fruit skin,’ a woman’s hand is a place for the maggots to come.
Tsuanmi Girl twists the inseparable themes together. ‘Once the water ate her’ it begins, ‘Seaweed and debris took the body.’ It ends with a rotting corpse. Bodies do not return to dust here, but putrefy, go back to the water. This is not for the faint of heart.
Though there is stark beauty too. In a work with such a clear central focus, Eden manages to keep each new piece fresh, with eye-catching analogies as important as the innovative style. Nervous tension is announced as ‘the dog in my chest just delivered puppies.’ Beached whales are ‘tea leaves at the bottom of a scryer’s glass’.
There are also moments of dark humour, light relief. The image of a boat on top of a building; and a giant, gaudy crab, guzzling energy even as Tokyo tries to save power.
There are broader themes too, as the collection advances. The further fallout from the disaster, nuclear and personal. Contamination. History, lust, power. Arguably - though it seems ungrateful to criticize such breadth - too many layers. Perhaps because nothing quite matches immediacy and impact of the initial stories, there feels no need to widen the lens. But perhaps it is simply because, writing in April 2020, it has become impossible to ignore the shadows of another global disaster.
Certain phrases take on new emphasis. Two months ago, would the simple line ‘we wear cough masks’ have jumped from the page so urgently? The dangers of physical proximity are suddenly, horribly topical: ‘There’s already radiation on your skin, and I can’t risk you rubbing off on me.’
As the Coronavirus changes the world around us, the past affords us glimpses of the future. Coming Home after a Tsunami serves a reminder that time does not quickly heal all wounds: ‘It’s been two years & I still live in a temporary house,’ while NASA Satellite Triolet shares a final, sobering similarity, telling us that whatever happened ‘can’t be undone.’
Eden is a thoughtful and creative poet, while the sheaf of notes included at the end of the collection point to a curious and conscientious researcher. Her book is a literary Tsunami Stone, a lighthouse, a reminder to acknowledge pain and learn from it. At any time it would feel unflinching and influential. In this moment, it has become still more so.
Written by: Jonathan Squirrell
Published: 10th April 2020
Book review: Our Debatable Bodies by Marisa Crane
Our Debatable Bodies by Marisa Crane was published by Animal Heart Press in 2019. The chapbook explores themes of sexual identity, love, rage, and the fight the world demands, sometimes, just for one’s acknowledged existence.
Crane opens her chapbook with unswerving honesty and self-reflection in ‘In This Robe’. The poem reads like a rock skimming the surface as we are taken through the multifaceted body shrouded in a robe that allow for strength, regret, freedom, love, apologies and self-reflection - themes that recur throughout the chapbook.
The strength of Crane’s voice is distinctively unfiltered and defiantly honest. Her poem, ‘Who is the Boy & Who is the Girl?’, takes on the ignorant question with the lines:
you are just as near-sighted
as the man on the street
who complimented my muscular arms
then reassured me that
I still look like a woman.
Crane takes the trials the world creates for LBGTQ+ people, and responds to them with force. However, this force is shown to be a journey of self-acceptance and perseverance. Homophobia in all its illogicality still transforms words into bullets, no less hurtful not knowing it’s bullsh*t. Crane captures this in multiple poems, such as ‘The Old White Man at OB Noodle House Calls His Son-In-Law a Fag’ and ‘Homophobia’.
Having established language as a more dangerous weapon, that we often admit, the solace found in the language of love is made all the more beautiful.
Taking communication that speaks more than the words themselves mean, a statement that can apply to the hurtful words too. But the tender sensitivity of in the lovers conversations elevates the level of intimacy we feel between them, while we sit I’ll acknowledge the difficulties attempted to be overcome. Crane writes:
“How is your body positioned in space?” my wife
& I take turns asking. It’s our way
of talking about the big things without
talking about the big things.
Crane presents a use of language that can pave the way towards healing. But again, this is something that requires strength of mind and perseverance. This perseverance can be a lifeline at times. In ‘Yapping Dogs’, Crane writes:
it’s common to have to convince
flowers to bloom i know this because as a child
i sat on my grandfather’s lap & asked if giving
up was the same as dying & his response was
a fully-loaded sigh
A tension between past hurt and current happiness can be felt pulling within these poems. One example of this is in the poem, ‘The Night the Sun Wouldn’t Stop Setting’, as Crane describes trying ‘to learn / to become life’s tender moments / so I don’t ever have to name them Gone.’
Crane’s poems read as narratives of their own individual right, but together, the chapbook forms a progressive arc of learning and discovery. There is beauty to be taken from her words and I’ll leave you one such example which come from the poem, We Don’t Get to Choose Who We Love but We Do Get to Choose Whether We Reject or Embrace that Love’ :
I could have stayed
hollow, but instead I chose
a bellyful
of your dreams
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 25th March 2020
Crane opens her chapbook with unswerving honesty and self-reflection in ‘In This Robe’. The poem reads like a rock skimming the surface as we are taken through the multifaceted body shrouded in a robe that allow for strength, regret, freedom, love, apologies and self-reflection - themes that recur throughout the chapbook.
The strength of Crane’s voice is distinctively unfiltered and defiantly honest. Her poem, ‘Who is the Boy & Who is the Girl?’, takes on the ignorant question with the lines:
you are just as near-sighted
as the man on the street
who complimented my muscular arms
then reassured me that
I still look like a woman.
Crane takes the trials the world creates for LBGTQ+ people, and responds to them with force. However, this force is shown to be a journey of self-acceptance and perseverance. Homophobia in all its illogicality still transforms words into bullets, no less hurtful not knowing it’s bullsh*t. Crane captures this in multiple poems, such as ‘The Old White Man at OB Noodle House Calls His Son-In-Law a Fag’ and ‘Homophobia’.
Having established language as a more dangerous weapon, that we often admit, the solace found in the language of love is made all the more beautiful.
Taking communication that speaks more than the words themselves mean, a statement that can apply to the hurtful words too. But the tender sensitivity of in the lovers conversations elevates the level of intimacy we feel between them, while we sit I’ll acknowledge the difficulties attempted to be overcome. Crane writes:
“How is your body positioned in space?” my wife
& I take turns asking. It’s our way
of talking about the big things without
talking about the big things.
Crane presents a use of language that can pave the way towards healing. But again, this is something that requires strength of mind and perseverance. This perseverance can be a lifeline at times. In ‘Yapping Dogs’, Crane writes:
it’s common to have to convince
flowers to bloom i know this because as a child
i sat on my grandfather’s lap & asked if giving
up was the same as dying & his response was
a fully-loaded sigh
A tension between past hurt and current happiness can be felt pulling within these poems. One example of this is in the poem, ‘The Night the Sun Wouldn’t Stop Setting’, as Crane describes trying ‘to learn / to become life’s tender moments / so I don’t ever have to name them Gone.’
Crane’s poems read as narratives of their own individual right, but together, the chapbook forms a progressive arc of learning and discovery. There is beauty to be taken from her words and I’ll leave you one such example which come from the poem, We Don’t Get to Choose Who We Love but We Do Get to Choose Whether We Reject or Embrace that Love’ :
I could have stayed
hollow, but instead I chose
a bellyful
of your dreams
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 25th March 2020
Book Review Awakening by Sam Love
Sam Love is an American poet and writer who lists his interests as ‘teaching yoga and restoring a historic house’. From his collection Awakening (published by Fly on the Wall Press) he might add ‘saving the world.’
The subheading ‘Musings on Planetary Survival’ provides an accurate summation of Love’s philosophy. He frequently laments what ‘our so-called civilization’ has made of the world, in contrast with the more spiritual care of indigenous peoples. The opening poem, Our Legacy imagines Native American potters ‘smiling/knowing their earthen art/will outlast our digital legacy.’ The theme is revisited in Ghost Stumps:
where natives
saw sustenance white men
imagined product yielding profit.
Karmic Revenge speaks of massacred spirits, and puzzlement at ‘immigrant whites/neglecting nature’s rich larder.’
Often the words themselves seem to hanker after a similar, simpler time, and the message can appear to have priority over the language. Love has a tendency towards modest lines, clean and clear pronouncements. Facts and figures are dealt out by rote, and through the collection we learn about the specific mating habits of butterflies; the 6,000 mile commute of Fijian spring water; and the flight speed of a migrating Tundra Swan.
When adjectives do break out, they can be straightforward, sometimes to the point of cliché: flowers are ‘colourful’, cicadas ‘buzz’. There are ‘hooting owls and croaking frogs.’ Movement is ‘arrow straight’ and comes to ‘a grinding halt’. Perhaps the topic is too important to be overshadowed by more ornate verse? Only where an opinion warrants heavy stress is it rewarded with an unrestrained stanza:
May this dystopian symphony
Awaken us from our suicidal slumber
More often points are made with hefty emphasis. Blueberry Mourning, one of a series of poems exploring the carbon footprint of our eating habits, ends in typically forthright style:
Then breakfast will be more enjoyable
when my mind doesn’t have to digest
so many perplexing questions
Certainly these ideas are convincingly argued, and as a polemic Awakening is never less than powerful. As a poetry collection, it grows when the imagery is allowed to take flight. The beat, the rhythm and internal rhyme of Recovering Hope showcase just how moving Love can be:
Water-soaked walls now culture black-mold
behind bead board, flooring, sheet rocka dark growth so gross it can only
be attacked with an army of pry bars.
There is more. Translucent Canaries imagines the Monarch butterfly as a ‘virtual canary/in nature’s coal mine’. This is potent rhetoric, but taken to new heights by the imaginative analogy. Similarly, a plastic bag becomes ‘urban tumbleweed’, and the remnants of a woodland are rendered ‘ghost stumps’ these are stark and haunting evocations.
Thankfully, despite the catastrophic subject matter there is room for levity too, most often when Love turns to sex. He weaves in pithy witticisms throughout the collection (Manure is ‘the Viagra of the soil world’) and on occasion allows the theme to dominate a poem. Nature’s Bacchanal is the tale of ‘X-rated cicada dreams’ giving a ‘new meaning to a quickie.’ Spermageddon tackles falling sperm counts with targeted waspish humour.
Though the focus remains on serious issues, these lighter moments are a necessity throughout the first three quarters of the collection. In segments covering ‘Awakening’, ‘Origins’ and ‘Impacts’ we gain an unsettling insight into the plight of the planet, and the role we all play in perpetuating it. The final instalment, ‘Recovering Hope’, offers respite.
Ecology Symbol still carries a warning, albeit laced again with a comic sting:
Soon they will discover
if everyone lives the American dream
we will need a planet three times
the size of Mother Earth and the last time I looked,
she’s not gaining weight.
But the closing pieces, Mother Earth Meditation, Each Day and Your Legacy all invite us to consider the changes we can make, the ‘rebellious acts’ like ‘refusing a plastic item, Planting a tree,’ which might just help to keep our home habitable.
Time to accept that in the final analysis, however good the poems, the message undoubtedly is more important. We all need awakening.
Written by: Jonathan Squirrell
Published: 25th February 2020.
The subheading ‘Musings on Planetary Survival’ provides an accurate summation of Love’s philosophy. He frequently laments what ‘our so-called civilization’ has made of the world, in contrast with the more spiritual care of indigenous peoples. The opening poem, Our Legacy imagines Native American potters ‘smiling/knowing their earthen art/will outlast our digital legacy.’ The theme is revisited in Ghost Stumps:
where natives
saw sustenance white men
imagined product yielding profit.
Karmic Revenge speaks of massacred spirits, and puzzlement at ‘immigrant whites/neglecting nature’s rich larder.’
Often the words themselves seem to hanker after a similar, simpler time, and the message can appear to have priority over the language. Love has a tendency towards modest lines, clean and clear pronouncements. Facts and figures are dealt out by rote, and through the collection we learn about the specific mating habits of butterflies; the 6,000 mile commute of Fijian spring water; and the flight speed of a migrating Tundra Swan.
When adjectives do break out, they can be straightforward, sometimes to the point of cliché: flowers are ‘colourful’, cicadas ‘buzz’. There are ‘hooting owls and croaking frogs.’ Movement is ‘arrow straight’ and comes to ‘a grinding halt’. Perhaps the topic is too important to be overshadowed by more ornate verse? Only where an opinion warrants heavy stress is it rewarded with an unrestrained stanza:
May this dystopian symphony
Awaken us from our suicidal slumber
More often points are made with hefty emphasis. Blueberry Mourning, one of a series of poems exploring the carbon footprint of our eating habits, ends in typically forthright style:
Then breakfast will be more enjoyable
when my mind doesn’t have to digest
so many perplexing questions
Certainly these ideas are convincingly argued, and as a polemic Awakening is never less than powerful. As a poetry collection, it grows when the imagery is allowed to take flight. The beat, the rhythm and internal rhyme of Recovering Hope showcase just how moving Love can be:
Water-soaked walls now culture black-mold
behind bead board, flooring, sheet rocka dark growth so gross it can only
be attacked with an army of pry bars.
There is more. Translucent Canaries imagines the Monarch butterfly as a ‘virtual canary/in nature’s coal mine’. This is potent rhetoric, but taken to new heights by the imaginative analogy. Similarly, a plastic bag becomes ‘urban tumbleweed’, and the remnants of a woodland are rendered ‘ghost stumps’ these are stark and haunting evocations.
Thankfully, despite the catastrophic subject matter there is room for levity too, most often when Love turns to sex. He weaves in pithy witticisms throughout the collection (Manure is ‘the Viagra of the soil world’) and on occasion allows the theme to dominate a poem. Nature’s Bacchanal is the tale of ‘X-rated cicada dreams’ giving a ‘new meaning to a quickie.’ Spermageddon tackles falling sperm counts with targeted waspish humour.
Though the focus remains on serious issues, these lighter moments are a necessity throughout the first three quarters of the collection. In segments covering ‘Awakening’, ‘Origins’ and ‘Impacts’ we gain an unsettling insight into the plight of the planet, and the role we all play in perpetuating it. The final instalment, ‘Recovering Hope’, offers respite.
Ecology Symbol still carries a warning, albeit laced again with a comic sting:
Soon they will discover
if everyone lives the American dream
we will need a planet three times
the size of Mother Earth and the last time I looked,
she’s not gaining weight.
But the closing pieces, Mother Earth Meditation, Each Day and Your Legacy all invite us to consider the changes we can make, the ‘rebellious acts’ like ‘refusing a plastic item, Planting a tree,’ which might just help to keep our home habitable.
Time to accept that in the final analysis, however good the poems, the message undoubtedly is more important. We all need awakening.
Written by: Jonathan Squirrell
Published: 25th February 2020.
Book Review: Death Magazine by Matthew Haigh
-As the title suggests, ‘Death Magazine’ by Matthew Haigh (Salt Publishing2019) is a poetic dismemberment of the types of sensational and vapid contents of what is sold on supermarket shelves. Poems are curated under the taglines ‘Features’, ‘Fitness’, ‘Lifestyle’, ‘Beauty’, ‘Wellness’ and ‘Advice’. A short quotation from J.G.Ballard kickstarts a takedown of the supposedly necessary products, words of advice and strategies that may well improve our quality of life. But we are resigned to die, so what’s the point? Haigh’s facetious ‘editorial’ prepares us for death, with a satirical investigation into the way young men are made slaves to body image and prescribed notions of masculinity:
‘Sure, some
studies have revealed a connection
between authors and decreased sales
but by keeping young males busy, you
keep them insignificant.’ (‘Bruce Lee’, Haigh).
‘Fitness’ idealises the bodies of celebrity men through brief poems encompassing the habit of reducing a person to their physical appearance. Those mentioned are staple ‘hot’ men: Marlon Brando, Jean Claude Van Damme, Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hardy, Brad Pitt, Christian Bale, Robert De Niro, Will Smith, Bruce Lee, Jake Gyllenahall and Dolph Lungren. Their strength, violent capacities, sexual prowess and ability to transform is momentarily praised, for Bruce Lee ‘invented Grand Theft Auto V’, Chris Hemsworth is literally Thor, and Tom Hardy is ‘hard to kill’. But their transformations are fleeting, encapsulated by Haigh’s brevity of prose. But these short pieces, like headlines or bubbles of information on a front cover, are enough to do damage. Haigh frames the harm these men do to their bodies alongside the harm that advertising these transformations does. In Hardy’s case, ‘having shed 15% of his internal organs’ he is relegated to ‘a lower body weight’.
Some of the poems have incredible insight into the cherry-picked lexical terms that magazines use; ‘Jake Gyllenhall’ reveals the cracks in a perfectly cultivated tagline:
‘Those shots of Gyllenhaal building
the internet, snaked with collective
wounds, hit men like a shitload of
gender-baggage. Having achieved
snarling veins, we ask ‘why?’ We
believe a sledgehammer is for
everybody, but as men we use it to
breathe. Gyllenhaal had six months
to resemble a suit of armour – he did
this by performing 2,000 cultural
expectations a day. When he mistak-
enly ran eight miles, he not only
flipped – he beat Eminem face-down
to a soundtrack of compassion.’
Others hilariously capture the complete lack of tact, like ‘Brad Pitt’ which is filled with flowery language and overblown imagery of googling the phrase: ‘what is that rainbow of moss that runs from Pitt’s hip to his crotch?’ (I did, and the first thing that came up was a picture of Molly Ringwald). But that I suppose is the point; it is all futile.
In this collection, there are moments of tenderness that stand in stark contrast to the vehement distaste on the entertainment industry. ‘Interview with a New Father’ challenges responsibility and expectations in the form of a fictionalised interview with a stressed and sunken father caring for his newborn daughter. The poem feels quiet. Bold headings ask standard questions, ‘How are you finding the arrival?’ ‘Do you find it hard to switch off?’. The responses are heartbreakingly distant and vague. When asked, ‘Did you cry when she was born?’ the father responds:
‘You never understand just
how much you’re going to
lie on the sofa and eat some
chocolate. I made myself
go upstairs in the absence
of light, to my home gym,
and smash the ocean floor.’
The collection is huge; 38 poems across issues such as fatherhood, sexuality and sexual performance and technology make for an emotional sitting. Initially the cynicism in this collection is heavy, but once digested, there does seem some hope. The collection ends with a take on an advice column, where people’s mundane and at times ridiculous questions are answered with equally mundane and ridiculous answers. One reader asks:
Q.
The new ideal is cosmetic rather than functional.
I am metalwork of mirror, lamp and bronze.
Is life empowerment unrealistic? Death is happening.
I am a downloaded copy of my entire life.
Haigh’s character replies:
A
It may be hard to imagine guilt-free gorging.
You are not OK as you are. You are a dense black box.
You are an ocean of pink eggs. We consistently encourage men to get a grip.
Poets like Haigh handle such sensitive and personal issues with a humour and kindness that surely will kickstart society into turning this whole mess around. ‘Death Magazine’ should be available to buy at your nearest newsagents. The contents will upset you, test you, and inspire you.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 25th January 2020
‘Sure, some
studies have revealed a connection
between authors and decreased sales
but by keeping young males busy, you
keep them insignificant.’ (‘Bruce Lee’, Haigh).
‘Fitness’ idealises the bodies of celebrity men through brief poems encompassing the habit of reducing a person to their physical appearance. Those mentioned are staple ‘hot’ men: Marlon Brando, Jean Claude Van Damme, Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hardy, Brad Pitt, Christian Bale, Robert De Niro, Will Smith, Bruce Lee, Jake Gyllenahall and Dolph Lungren. Their strength, violent capacities, sexual prowess and ability to transform is momentarily praised, for Bruce Lee ‘invented Grand Theft Auto V’, Chris Hemsworth is literally Thor, and Tom Hardy is ‘hard to kill’. But their transformations are fleeting, encapsulated by Haigh’s brevity of prose. But these short pieces, like headlines or bubbles of information on a front cover, are enough to do damage. Haigh frames the harm these men do to their bodies alongside the harm that advertising these transformations does. In Hardy’s case, ‘having shed 15% of his internal organs’ he is relegated to ‘a lower body weight’.
Some of the poems have incredible insight into the cherry-picked lexical terms that magazines use; ‘Jake Gyllenhall’ reveals the cracks in a perfectly cultivated tagline:
‘Those shots of Gyllenhaal building
the internet, snaked with collective
wounds, hit men like a shitload of
gender-baggage. Having achieved
snarling veins, we ask ‘why?’ We
believe a sledgehammer is for
everybody, but as men we use it to
breathe. Gyllenhaal had six months
to resemble a suit of armour – he did
this by performing 2,000 cultural
expectations a day. When he mistak-
enly ran eight miles, he not only
flipped – he beat Eminem face-down
to a soundtrack of compassion.’
Others hilariously capture the complete lack of tact, like ‘Brad Pitt’ which is filled with flowery language and overblown imagery of googling the phrase: ‘what is that rainbow of moss that runs from Pitt’s hip to his crotch?’ (I did, and the first thing that came up was a picture of Molly Ringwald). But that I suppose is the point; it is all futile.
In this collection, there are moments of tenderness that stand in stark contrast to the vehement distaste on the entertainment industry. ‘Interview with a New Father’ challenges responsibility and expectations in the form of a fictionalised interview with a stressed and sunken father caring for his newborn daughter. The poem feels quiet. Bold headings ask standard questions, ‘How are you finding the arrival?’ ‘Do you find it hard to switch off?’. The responses are heartbreakingly distant and vague. When asked, ‘Did you cry when she was born?’ the father responds:
‘You never understand just
how much you’re going to
lie on the sofa and eat some
chocolate. I made myself
go upstairs in the absence
of light, to my home gym,
and smash the ocean floor.’
The collection is huge; 38 poems across issues such as fatherhood, sexuality and sexual performance and technology make for an emotional sitting. Initially the cynicism in this collection is heavy, but once digested, there does seem some hope. The collection ends with a take on an advice column, where people’s mundane and at times ridiculous questions are answered with equally mundane and ridiculous answers. One reader asks:
Q.
The new ideal is cosmetic rather than functional.
I am metalwork of mirror, lamp and bronze.
Is life empowerment unrealistic? Death is happening.
I am a downloaded copy of my entire life.
Haigh’s character replies:
A
It may be hard to imagine guilt-free gorging.
You are not OK as you are. You are a dense black box.
You are an ocean of pink eggs. We consistently encourage men to get a grip.
Poets like Haigh handle such sensitive and personal issues with a humour and kindness that surely will kickstart society into turning this whole mess around. ‘Death Magazine’ should be available to buy at your nearest newsagents. The contents will upset you, test you, and inspire you.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 25th January 2020
Book Review: The Whimsy of Dank Ju-Ju by Sascha Akhtar
The Whimsy of Dank Ju-Ju by Sascha Aurora Akhtar, published by The Emma Press, is a cascade of images, sounds and textures that finds beauty and hope in the unknown.
The collection is concerned with the power of language to enchant and delight. ‘Matutinal’ is an excellent example of this, the speaker describing themselves as a ‘chrysalis of expectancy’ with ‘Tri-coloured amorous wings’ and speaking of ‘baby moons’ that ‘sparkle like morello cherries in cloud tress’. Similarly, in ‘With the Faery’, Akhtar writes in absorbing detail of ‘Buttercream-yellow walls of rain’ and ‘Heather wings’ that ‘hang on silken threads’. I am amazed at the ease with which Akhtar creates such vivid images by merging sensory images. Akhtar proves that attention to language can yield something both deliciously rich and magical.
This imagery and sensory detail is often at its best within poems that feature an array of sights, sounds and perspectives. ‘The Universal Mystique of Not Writing’, for instance, combines a range of often juxtaposing images as the speaker tries to understand people’s identity:
‘I am not a Chinese ant
You are not a velvet molar
A feather-edge
A carbuncle
A season’
In ‘All I want Is’, the speaker recites a range of desires from something ‘livid, sometimes violent always tremendous like a skyscraper’ to ‘soft- spoke, edible like houses made of the bread of ginger’, an image that clearly recalls Grimm’s fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel. These alternate perspectives and images do not clash and disrupt the charming flow of the poetry. Instead, the diverse images fuse together in celebration of the multifarious possibilities of the imagination.
Indeed, this collection seems to champion the possibilities of language over the limitations of empirical knowledge and order. In ‘Universe’, Akhtar writes, ‘I find you sharp & sweet/ like numerics’, using the empirical term ‘numerics’ as another tool in her creative toolbox to be transformed to artistic effect. This playfulness with ideas of order extends to the form. In Akhtar’s poetry, lines are fractured with the words often looking like they are dancing on the page. A standout poem in this regard was ‘Line’ in which Akhtar breaks apart the empirical term ‘axis’ by separating the letters of axis on the page:
The collection is concerned with the power of language to enchant and delight. ‘Matutinal’ is an excellent example of this, the speaker describing themselves as a ‘chrysalis of expectancy’ with ‘Tri-coloured amorous wings’ and speaking of ‘baby moons’ that ‘sparkle like morello cherries in cloud tress’. Similarly, in ‘With the Faery’, Akhtar writes in absorbing detail of ‘Buttercream-yellow walls of rain’ and ‘Heather wings’ that ‘hang on silken threads’. I am amazed at the ease with which Akhtar creates such vivid images by merging sensory images. Akhtar proves that attention to language can yield something both deliciously rich and magical.
This imagery and sensory detail is often at its best within poems that feature an array of sights, sounds and perspectives. ‘The Universal Mystique of Not Writing’, for instance, combines a range of often juxtaposing images as the speaker tries to understand people’s identity:
‘I am not a Chinese ant
You are not a velvet molar
A feather-edge
A carbuncle
A season’
In ‘All I want Is’, the speaker recites a range of desires from something ‘livid, sometimes violent always tremendous like a skyscraper’ to ‘soft- spoke, edible like houses made of the bread of ginger’, an image that clearly recalls Grimm’s fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel. These alternate perspectives and images do not clash and disrupt the charming flow of the poetry. Instead, the diverse images fuse together in celebration of the multifarious possibilities of the imagination.
Indeed, this collection seems to champion the possibilities of language over the limitations of empirical knowledge and order. In ‘Universe’, Akhtar writes, ‘I find you sharp & sweet/ like numerics’, using the empirical term ‘numerics’ as another tool in her creative toolbox to be transformed to artistic effect. This playfulness with ideas of order extends to the form. In Akhtar’s poetry, lines are fractured with the words often looking like they are dancing on the page. A standout poem in this regard was ‘Line’ in which Akhtar breaks apart the empirical term ‘axis’ by separating the letters of axis on the page:
Instead of favouring certainty and complete understanding, Whimsy is a playful examination of the endless potential of language and poetry. As Akhtar concludes in ‘Universe’, ‘there is no end to the words I play/ like pilfered pockets’.
This focus on disorder and creativity is enhanced through Akhtar’s deep preoccupation with the disordered world of the in-between seen in poems such as ‘I Miss You’. ‘The Moon on Wednesday’ and ‘Nocturnal Emissions’. In ‘Nocturnal Emissions’, Akhtar describes the liminal period between sleep and consciousness as a space for creativity:
‘I find myself beleaguered
by inquisitive words
Nestling in yakking
notebooks with sultry lines
It is still I, I find
Craving the lucidity of sleep
haunted by mornings of waking dreams’
Akhtar welcomes the open and indeterminate, for it is often here where the magic happens and where the ‘inquisitive words’ and ‘sultry lines’ come to life.
At times, there were words and symbols that I did not understand. Yet it is true testament to Akhtar’s writing that this did not disrupt my enjoyment of the collection. Instead, the collection encouraged me to accept this unknown, and even embrace the fact that not knowing is liberating, even a touch magical.
There is a sense of rebellion that underpins this collection. The opening poem, ‘Girl Child of the Eighties’ reads like an act of defiance against regulation, immediately inviting readers in through an explosion of images. This rumble of rebellion continues throughout in Akhtar’s refusal to adhere to tradition and the expected. Akhtar provides a message of hope, suggesting that embracing the unknown and defying boundaries is a powerful tool for resistance.
Ultimately, The Whimsy of Dank Ju-Ju is an enchanting collection that guides us into a world of endless possibility; a world of language, imagination and magic. It is a truly transformative collection, if only you let the poetry work its magic.
Written by: Michaela O'Callaghan
Published: 22nd December 2019
This focus on disorder and creativity is enhanced through Akhtar’s deep preoccupation with the disordered world of the in-between seen in poems such as ‘I Miss You’. ‘The Moon on Wednesday’ and ‘Nocturnal Emissions’. In ‘Nocturnal Emissions’, Akhtar describes the liminal period between sleep and consciousness as a space for creativity:
‘I find myself beleaguered
by inquisitive words
Nestling in yakking
notebooks with sultry lines
It is still I, I find
Craving the lucidity of sleep
haunted by mornings of waking dreams’
Akhtar welcomes the open and indeterminate, for it is often here where the magic happens and where the ‘inquisitive words’ and ‘sultry lines’ come to life.
At times, there were words and symbols that I did not understand. Yet it is true testament to Akhtar’s writing that this did not disrupt my enjoyment of the collection. Instead, the collection encouraged me to accept this unknown, and even embrace the fact that not knowing is liberating, even a touch magical.
There is a sense of rebellion that underpins this collection. The opening poem, ‘Girl Child of the Eighties’ reads like an act of defiance against regulation, immediately inviting readers in through an explosion of images. This rumble of rebellion continues throughout in Akhtar’s refusal to adhere to tradition and the expected. Akhtar provides a message of hope, suggesting that embracing the unknown and defying boundaries is a powerful tool for resistance.
Ultimately, The Whimsy of Dank Ju-Ju is an enchanting collection that guides us into a world of endless possibility; a world of language, imagination and magic. It is a truly transformative collection, if only you let the poetry work its magic.
Written by: Michaela O'Callaghan
Published: 22nd December 2019
Book Review: Anatomy of A Dress by Juliette van der Molen
tAnatomy of A Dress by Juliette van der Molen, published by Hedgehog Poetry Press in December 2019, is a feminist siren calling through history to the present day. It examines how women have been expected to dress and how this has been interpreted. In short and rapid lines, van der Molen takes everyday moments and deconstructs them into artful poetry in a striking, shocking, yet thought provoking way. .
Beauty standards are, perhaps obviously, a reoccurring theme of these 16 poems. ‘Zip Me’ depicts a man doing up the ‘meshed teeth’ of a woman’s dress and saying it or she is ‘perfect’. Crucially, we are left unsure whether he means the dress or the woman. This act becomes inundated with connotations, an example of how van der Molen untangles the nuance of day-to-day female life.. One element of this is differing notions of perfection. In ‘Eye Let’ van der Molen writes:
‘I am
a puppet of flesh
squeezed in from the
middle--
to perfection.’
This, and ‘Zip Me’ both highlight how a dress, or clothing, is seen to dictate what can and cannot be perfect, and that it does so through restriction.
This becomes further problematised in the attention van der Molen pays to the very existence of female clothing that requires a second person’s help in order to wear it, whether it be the zip in the opening poem, or buttons ‘only he can reach’ in ‘Buttoned Up’. As the zipped teeth close around the woman’s body, ‘secrets, / stowed beneath’, the dress itself becomes an instrument of concealment and silence, and in these instances, at the hand of someone else.
Van der Molen shouts down the stigma and automatic associations externally imposed upon women’s clothing. In ‘My Hem’. Van der Molen writes:
‘My hem is not
the waterline
of marked desire
or intention’
Judged wrong regardless of where it ends, van der Molen beautifully highlights how women’s clothing is often presumed to speak of her own wants and intentions for her, but, as van der Molen states, in fact, ‘it asks / for nothing.’
Learning the rules and where this judgement comes from, is also interrogated. The poem ‘S(mocked)’ describes a photo taken on a sweltering day:
‘i pull at cotton filled
elastic, a sticky hug
clinging without consent
ruffled straps slipped off shoulders
until I am free,
like my brother,
my cousin--
who bare their chests
in blazing June heat.’
Moments of learning include that she cannot be topless, that ‘good girls don’t fidget’ (in ‘Pret-a-Porter’), or, as told by her grandmother, ‘it won’t do […] to show bare legs’ (in ‘Painted Legs’).Yet, in ‘Schooled Pleats’, van der Molen talks of the reverse, of moments of learning what girls should do:
‘a midriff exposed,
belly soft,
sucked in tight
by bulimic conversation
between classes’
Both these examples are unsettling in the early nature and extreme measures girls are expected and / or encouraged to conform to, and the way in which slimness and beauty become bound up in the conventions surrounding female appearance. With this in mind, the short line structure of every poem becomes impossible to ignore, suggesting that this slimness, this tightness of form, is intended to represent the restrictions placed on women, their bodies, and the clothes they are expected to wear.
The closing poem, for which the collection is named, encapsulates all that these poems delve into: what women wear, what they want to wear, the reasons they wear it, and the reasons others believe them to be wearing it, all come together in a poem both strong and poignant. This is a book that will make you think about the choices we make without considering that they are, in fact, choices we have been taught to make throughout our lives, by society, but also by our loved ones.
Overall, van der Molen manages to cover large and complex issues in a condensed form, making Anatomy of A Dress a powerful and thought provoking read. She takes what is often accepted as day-to-day female life, and in talking of her own personal struggles, she voices the unnoticed or undiscussed struggle of many women.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 11th December 2019
Beauty standards are, perhaps obviously, a reoccurring theme of these 16 poems. ‘Zip Me’ depicts a man doing up the ‘meshed teeth’ of a woman’s dress and saying it or she is ‘perfect’. Crucially, we are left unsure whether he means the dress or the woman. This act becomes inundated with connotations, an example of how van der Molen untangles the nuance of day-to-day female life.. One element of this is differing notions of perfection. In ‘Eye Let’ van der Molen writes:
‘I am
a puppet of flesh
squeezed in from the
middle--
to perfection.’
This, and ‘Zip Me’ both highlight how a dress, or clothing, is seen to dictate what can and cannot be perfect, and that it does so through restriction.
This becomes further problematised in the attention van der Molen pays to the very existence of female clothing that requires a second person’s help in order to wear it, whether it be the zip in the opening poem, or buttons ‘only he can reach’ in ‘Buttoned Up’. As the zipped teeth close around the woman’s body, ‘secrets, / stowed beneath’, the dress itself becomes an instrument of concealment and silence, and in these instances, at the hand of someone else.
Van der Molen shouts down the stigma and automatic associations externally imposed upon women’s clothing. In ‘My Hem’. Van der Molen writes:
‘My hem is not
the waterline
of marked desire
or intention’
Judged wrong regardless of where it ends, van der Molen beautifully highlights how women’s clothing is often presumed to speak of her own wants and intentions for her, but, as van der Molen states, in fact, ‘it asks / for nothing.’
Learning the rules and where this judgement comes from, is also interrogated. The poem ‘S(mocked)’ describes a photo taken on a sweltering day:
‘i pull at cotton filled
elastic, a sticky hug
clinging without consent
ruffled straps slipped off shoulders
until I am free,
like my brother,
my cousin--
who bare their chests
in blazing June heat.’
Moments of learning include that she cannot be topless, that ‘good girls don’t fidget’ (in ‘Pret-a-Porter’), or, as told by her grandmother, ‘it won’t do […] to show bare legs’ (in ‘Painted Legs’).Yet, in ‘Schooled Pleats’, van der Molen talks of the reverse, of moments of learning what girls should do:
‘a midriff exposed,
belly soft,
sucked in tight
by bulimic conversation
between classes’
Both these examples are unsettling in the early nature and extreme measures girls are expected and / or encouraged to conform to, and the way in which slimness and beauty become bound up in the conventions surrounding female appearance. With this in mind, the short line structure of every poem becomes impossible to ignore, suggesting that this slimness, this tightness of form, is intended to represent the restrictions placed on women, their bodies, and the clothes they are expected to wear.
The closing poem, for which the collection is named, encapsulates all that these poems delve into: what women wear, what they want to wear, the reasons they wear it, and the reasons others believe them to be wearing it, all come together in a poem both strong and poignant. This is a book that will make you think about the choices we make without considering that they are, in fact, choices we have been taught to make throughout our lives, by society, but also by our loved ones.
Overall, van der Molen manages to cover large and complex issues in a condensed form, making Anatomy of A Dress a powerful and thought provoking read. She takes what is often accepted as day-to-day female life, and in talking of her own personal struggles, she voices the unnoticed or undiscussed struggle of many women.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 11th December 2019
Book Review: The Blue Nib CHapbook Four by Pat Anthony, Mike Farren and Sharon Flynn (edited by Dave Kavanagh)
The 2019 Winter/Spring Chapbook Contest from The Blue Nib brings together twenty-four poems shared equally between three prize winners: Pat Anthony, Mike Farren and Sharon Flynn.
Selected by multi-award winning poet Helen Mort, each collection shows, in the judge’s own words, “a commitment to using poetry as a way of interrogating and understanding the world.”
The winning collection from Pat Anthony provides a masterclass in engaging the senses. These are poems you can taste and touch.
Nestled at the heart of the collection La Tortilleria provides a case in point, effortlessly encompassing every sensation in five short stanzas: We feel the corn dough in our own hands as the baker works to “mix and form perfection between her palms”, we hear it “like bare feet on wet sand slap-slap-slap”. A market place appears before us, we see the ingredients “she’ll scoop into her mesh bag from the rocking scale.” We long to bite into the “precisely diced papaya”, to inhale when the “humid air fills with palest scent of honeydew”.
Each poem has its own piquant flavour and Anthony understands how to share her experiences enticingly. Highlights include “the night air of Madrid wrapping around our shoulders” and the absurdist sight of a cyclist accompanied by his menagerie:
four parrots hug the chipped frame
tether themselves
beaks to shirttale
Frequent use of Spanish snippets need not discombobulate those not overfamiliar with the language. The reader can allow it all - people, places and professions - to wash over them and simply be immersed in musicality and exotica, as each piece brings its own reward: “ardent as a waiting kiss, un beso.”
In contrast Mike Farren, awarded second place in the contest, locates his work in an almost quintessential England. Almost. Heat repeats the refrain “We’re not used to the heat,” and tells of playing Scrabble on the patio, drinking wine; while in the lyricism of Born there are echoes even of the great romantics:
Unfolding into yourself like the rose
that had once been so neatly packed
in the bud to be conjured out, creaseless,
by the magic of water, sun and soil?
Yet while wildlife is touched on with close to reverence – “In the valley we were so happy with the damp and the crawling things” – there is darkness here, a black underbelly. Nature is at war with modernity, urbanisation. The hot sun melts tarmac, the comfort of life on the patio is “spoiled only by the sirens and the smell of the city, burning.” Ill Village appears to pose the question of whether civilisation has made us happy at all: “do we have to wade through blood… to find our way back to the valley?”
The poems derive their power from rhythm, the internal rhyme scheme of Slate ghost – kirk/work, wife/life, ghost/host – draws the reader into a kind of chant, helping to invoke the otherworldly, witches and ghosts and spirits. The standout final instalment The gods zeroes in, as the simmering violence finds epic expression:
they don’t need your worship, they
don’t need your sacrifice, don’t need
your feeble hecatombs: they’ll take it all
themselves, when their methane whip
is freed from the ice, when they swing
their hammer at the heart of the atom.
There is a certain amount of faith - and its tests - in the final selection too. Placed third, Sharon Flynn provides a remarkable set of poems exploring issues of medicine, experimentation, science and faith healing. Each poem feels like a little history, impeccably researched, viscerally realised, and yet all shot through with a generous dash of wit and whimsy.
Receipt for the Somniferous Sponge of Ugone de Lucca sets the tone, providing an anaesthetic shopping list: “Take of opium, of wood ivy fruit, of henbane (poisonous in all its parts,)”
From here Flynn dances between Jesus and Aesculapius “who whispered remedies for ills. His snakes were said to lick wounds clean,” to Valentine Greatrakes, an Irishman, “a Settler’s son with Charles Stuart hair, a thin moustache,” whose healing hands caused a stir in Civil War era England. Each is treated as a specimen under a microscope, examined and prodded and commented upon.
So too Karl Koller and his experiments with cocaine, and, in another rollicking denouement, Horace Wells and is work with nitrous oxide. Oh Excellent Air Bag! frolics along in imitation of a circus ringmaster: “This will amaze you! This will astound you! Ladies and Gentlemen, step inside!”
It is a fitting finale to an absorbing collection. Readers may have a view on placing the top three in any order, certainly it must have been a hard task ranking them. One thing is certain, all three are worthy of the exposure.
Written by Jonathon Squirrell
Published: 10th December 2019
Selected by multi-award winning poet Helen Mort, each collection shows, in the judge’s own words, “a commitment to using poetry as a way of interrogating and understanding the world.”
The winning collection from Pat Anthony provides a masterclass in engaging the senses. These are poems you can taste and touch.
Nestled at the heart of the collection La Tortilleria provides a case in point, effortlessly encompassing every sensation in five short stanzas: We feel the corn dough in our own hands as the baker works to “mix and form perfection between her palms”, we hear it “like bare feet on wet sand slap-slap-slap”. A market place appears before us, we see the ingredients “she’ll scoop into her mesh bag from the rocking scale.” We long to bite into the “precisely diced papaya”, to inhale when the “humid air fills with palest scent of honeydew”.
Each poem has its own piquant flavour and Anthony understands how to share her experiences enticingly. Highlights include “the night air of Madrid wrapping around our shoulders” and the absurdist sight of a cyclist accompanied by his menagerie:
four parrots hug the chipped frame
tether themselves
beaks to shirttale
Frequent use of Spanish snippets need not discombobulate those not overfamiliar with the language. The reader can allow it all - people, places and professions - to wash over them and simply be immersed in musicality and exotica, as each piece brings its own reward: “ardent as a waiting kiss, un beso.”
In contrast Mike Farren, awarded second place in the contest, locates his work in an almost quintessential England. Almost. Heat repeats the refrain “We’re not used to the heat,” and tells of playing Scrabble on the patio, drinking wine; while in the lyricism of Born there are echoes even of the great romantics:
Unfolding into yourself like the rose
that had once been so neatly packed
in the bud to be conjured out, creaseless,
by the magic of water, sun and soil?
Yet while wildlife is touched on with close to reverence – “In the valley we were so happy with the damp and the crawling things” – there is darkness here, a black underbelly. Nature is at war with modernity, urbanisation. The hot sun melts tarmac, the comfort of life on the patio is “spoiled only by the sirens and the smell of the city, burning.” Ill Village appears to pose the question of whether civilisation has made us happy at all: “do we have to wade through blood… to find our way back to the valley?”
The poems derive their power from rhythm, the internal rhyme scheme of Slate ghost – kirk/work, wife/life, ghost/host – draws the reader into a kind of chant, helping to invoke the otherworldly, witches and ghosts and spirits. The standout final instalment The gods zeroes in, as the simmering violence finds epic expression:
they don’t need your worship, they
don’t need your sacrifice, don’t need
your feeble hecatombs: they’ll take it all
themselves, when their methane whip
is freed from the ice, when they swing
their hammer at the heart of the atom.
There is a certain amount of faith - and its tests - in the final selection too. Placed third, Sharon Flynn provides a remarkable set of poems exploring issues of medicine, experimentation, science and faith healing. Each poem feels like a little history, impeccably researched, viscerally realised, and yet all shot through with a generous dash of wit and whimsy.
Receipt for the Somniferous Sponge of Ugone de Lucca sets the tone, providing an anaesthetic shopping list: “Take of opium, of wood ivy fruit, of henbane (poisonous in all its parts,)”
From here Flynn dances between Jesus and Aesculapius “who whispered remedies for ills. His snakes were said to lick wounds clean,” to Valentine Greatrakes, an Irishman, “a Settler’s son with Charles Stuart hair, a thin moustache,” whose healing hands caused a stir in Civil War era England. Each is treated as a specimen under a microscope, examined and prodded and commented upon.
So too Karl Koller and his experiments with cocaine, and, in another rollicking denouement, Horace Wells and is work with nitrous oxide. Oh Excellent Air Bag! frolics along in imitation of a circus ringmaster: “This will amaze you! This will astound you! Ladies and Gentlemen, step inside!”
It is a fitting finale to an absorbing collection. Readers may have a view on placing the top three in any order, certainly it must have been a hard task ranking them. One thing is certain, all three are worthy of the exposure.
Written by Jonathon Squirrell
Published: 10th December 2019
Book Review: Miles of Sky Above Us, Miles of Earth Below by Steve Denehan
‘Make it real,’ rails Steve Denehan in Miles of Sky Above us, Miles of Earth Below, published by Cajun Mutt Press.
‘Verdant’, the poem crying out for reality, sets out his manifesto:
verdant no more
cerulean no more
obsidian no more
enough
enough
enough
give me poems of bile and blood
of finding his toenail clippings under the skirting board
years after
True to his well-crafted word, Denehan delivers in accessible language in a series of vignettes on everyday life, some as mundane as making a cup of tea. This is not to damn the collection with faint praise. Indeed, reality is its strength.
The poems often carry a raw physicality – bile and blood. From the opening pages ‘Ivory’ sets the tone with a tale of pulling teeth to make you wince:
I heard, I felt, the sound of metal on ivory
cracks and creaks finding their way to my ear
by dancing along my jawbone
Physical pain, whether hot and raw or burning softly, recurs. Yet it is emotional pain which exposes deeper wounds and feelings. The description of a child crying ‘open mouthed yet/in silence’ could be said to encapsulate the wider work. Eschewing embellishment and mawkish hyperbole, it simply describes, with scalpel accuracy, the heartfelt sobbing of childhood.
In this example the child is depicted as a stranger, but the beating heart of this book is the poet’s relationship with his own daughter. An acute observer, and willing to place his own experiences beneath the microscope, Denehan shows the unvarnished side of fatherhood. A compulsive, compelling, unashamed love that ought to resonate with all.
In ‘Eye Chart’ we watch the little girl at play, ‘tongue peeking out of the corner of her half-smile,’ such a clear, precise visual. The fine details allow us into the scene, but it is writer’s reaction, the feeling that she could make his heart laugh, which echoes with intensity.
‘School Gate’ describes the child, again in unembellished terms, her hair and eyes, but again it is the emotions stirred in her observer that are important: ‘you know/there is nothing like it.’ The reader never feels voyeuristic or intruding in these moments, only privileged to share glimpses of a family life.
The family focus is broader, too. Denehan is a husband and son as well as a parent, and his relationship with his aging father provides further insightful highlights. ‘Shoulders’ and ‘Dad’ in particular etch out the essence of a changed relationship between father and son, the delicacy of stepping around pride, and the discomfort in witnessing decline. Musings on memories failing, falling ‘in the gentlest of breezes,’ are stark and powerful.
Aging is touched upon repeatedly. In an attitude to the world around, such as in ‘Grass’, where an expanse once ‘ripe and waiting,’ becomes merely something to cross; in grim actuality, in an allusion to rotten apple joints; or comically, as in a conversation relayed between the poet and his daughter:
“Why is it called Newbridge, Dad? It looks old.”
“It was new once.”
“Like you!”
like me.
These, the closing lines to ‘The Summer Blurs by Outside’, demonstrate another Denehan trait: the subtle subversion of expectation to close out a poem. Many end with a twist to comic effect, though these are best left for readers to discover for themselves.
Certainly then there is laughter here, and love, however painful at times. But the collection does not shy away from darker places. This is reality, after all. There is frequent irritation, often at people, and at intervals this spills clearly, viscerally, into hate.
‘I would not like her,’ writes Denehan of a virtual stranger, and later when a group of teenage girls disillusion his daughter he wants to run and scream in their faces, to ‘pull their tongues/from their mouths/and stamp them to a paste.’
More bile, more blood. This is poetry made real, the promise of ‘Verdant’ fulfilled.
Or is it? Yes, we get the everyday, everyman experience, everything but the kitchen sink. And yes, cerulean is shunned for blue, blue shallows, blue eyes, or, just as often, grey. Yet it could be argued that deep down, these are poems ‘about love/and self-loathing/and nature,’ the very themes our author is tired of. There is joy, there is wrath. There is birdsong.
The language escapes at times, and similes fly. Planes are prehistoric, pain moves like a snake. In 'Maynooth, County Kildare’ it is so cold that ‘a cobweb might shatter in the wind.’ Finally, in the ultimate reversal, obsidian eyes blaze.
This criticism, if indeed it is critical to harangue a poet for elegance and eloquence, is somewhat facetious. Verdant is but a poem, not an oath to be sworn to, and the piece itself is likely somewhat tongue-in-cheek. There is more to reality than a façade, there is more to this work than biography, and we can be sure that even ‘Tea’ has a deeper meaning than merely concocting a hot drink. In any event, it is evident from this debut collection why Denehan has won so many plaudits. It seems probable that many more will follow.
Written by: Jonathan Squirrell
Published: 27th November 2019
‘Verdant’, the poem crying out for reality, sets out his manifesto:
verdant no more
cerulean no more
obsidian no more
enough
enough
enough
give me poems of bile and blood
of finding his toenail clippings under the skirting board
years after
True to his well-crafted word, Denehan delivers in accessible language in a series of vignettes on everyday life, some as mundane as making a cup of tea. This is not to damn the collection with faint praise. Indeed, reality is its strength.
The poems often carry a raw physicality – bile and blood. From the opening pages ‘Ivory’ sets the tone with a tale of pulling teeth to make you wince:
I heard, I felt, the sound of metal on ivory
cracks and creaks finding their way to my ear
by dancing along my jawbone
Physical pain, whether hot and raw or burning softly, recurs. Yet it is emotional pain which exposes deeper wounds and feelings. The description of a child crying ‘open mouthed yet/in silence’ could be said to encapsulate the wider work. Eschewing embellishment and mawkish hyperbole, it simply describes, with scalpel accuracy, the heartfelt sobbing of childhood.
In this example the child is depicted as a stranger, but the beating heart of this book is the poet’s relationship with his own daughter. An acute observer, and willing to place his own experiences beneath the microscope, Denehan shows the unvarnished side of fatherhood. A compulsive, compelling, unashamed love that ought to resonate with all.
In ‘Eye Chart’ we watch the little girl at play, ‘tongue peeking out of the corner of her half-smile,’ such a clear, precise visual. The fine details allow us into the scene, but it is writer’s reaction, the feeling that she could make his heart laugh, which echoes with intensity.
‘School Gate’ describes the child, again in unembellished terms, her hair and eyes, but again it is the emotions stirred in her observer that are important: ‘you know/there is nothing like it.’ The reader never feels voyeuristic or intruding in these moments, only privileged to share glimpses of a family life.
The family focus is broader, too. Denehan is a husband and son as well as a parent, and his relationship with his aging father provides further insightful highlights. ‘Shoulders’ and ‘Dad’ in particular etch out the essence of a changed relationship between father and son, the delicacy of stepping around pride, and the discomfort in witnessing decline. Musings on memories failing, falling ‘in the gentlest of breezes,’ are stark and powerful.
Aging is touched upon repeatedly. In an attitude to the world around, such as in ‘Grass’, where an expanse once ‘ripe and waiting,’ becomes merely something to cross; in grim actuality, in an allusion to rotten apple joints; or comically, as in a conversation relayed between the poet and his daughter:
“Why is it called Newbridge, Dad? It looks old.”
“It was new once.”
“Like you!”
like me.
These, the closing lines to ‘The Summer Blurs by Outside’, demonstrate another Denehan trait: the subtle subversion of expectation to close out a poem. Many end with a twist to comic effect, though these are best left for readers to discover for themselves.
Certainly then there is laughter here, and love, however painful at times. But the collection does not shy away from darker places. This is reality, after all. There is frequent irritation, often at people, and at intervals this spills clearly, viscerally, into hate.
‘I would not like her,’ writes Denehan of a virtual stranger, and later when a group of teenage girls disillusion his daughter he wants to run and scream in their faces, to ‘pull their tongues/from their mouths/and stamp them to a paste.’
More bile, more blood. This is poetry made real, the promise of ‘Verdant’ fulfilled.
Or is it? Yes, we get the everyday, everyman experience, everything but the kitchen sink. And yes, cerulean is shunned for blue, blue shallows, blue eyes, or, just as often, grey. Yet it could be argued that deep down, these are poems ‘about love/and self-loathing/and nature,’ the very themes our author is tired of. There is joy, there is wrath. There is birdsong.
The language escapes at times, and similes fly. Planes are prehistoric, pain moves like a snake. In 'Maynooth, County Kildare’ it is so cold that ‘a cobweb might shatter in the wind.’ Finally, in the ultimate reversal, obsidian eyes blaze.
This criticism, if indeed it is critical to harangue a poet for elegance and eloquence, is somewhat facetious. Verdant is but a poem, not an oath to be sworn to, and the piece itself is likely somewhat tongue-in-cheek. There is more to reality than a façade, there is more to this work than biography, and we can be sure that even ‘Tea’ has a deeper meaning than merely concocting a hot drink. In any event, it is evident from this debut collection why Denehan has won so many plaudits. It seems probable that many more will follow.
Written by: Jonathan Squirrell
Published: 27th November 2019
Book Review: Demise of the Undertaker's Wife by Anne Walsh Donnelly
Demise of the Undertaker’s Wife is Anne Walsh Donnelly’s debut short story collection, published by The Blue Nib in October 2019. Donnelly presents a rich tapestry of individuals experiences of isolation, offering an unapologetically and unflinchingly raw examination of loneliness and grief.
From the outset, I was moved by the portrait of Luke, a recent widower, whose nephew claims rights over his land. The presence of the fox that Luke continually arms himself against to protect his farm, alongside Luke’s sense of distance from his family, presents Luke’s life after his husband’s demise as one deep in threat, discomfort and unresolved grief. Donnelly demands that we remember that death happens in life- and that life is messily ongoing.
This preoccupation with the feeling of loss and disconnection continues throughout the collection. In the titular story, a story rich in dark humour, an Undertaker reflects on the demise of his relationship as he prepares a corpse for a funeral. In ‘French Cream’, Donnelly opens with a couple in the midst of a divorce discussing the husband’s funeral arrangements. The final two stories (stories that Donnelly teasingly places under the subheading ‘You want it Darker’) toy with this idea of disconnection even further as prisoners react violently to the feeling of detachment and loss. In a society that often refuses to confront the feeling of loneliness, Donnelly must be praised for her compelling insights into human disconnection.
However, Donnelly also writes of moments of connection. In the charming story ‘WLTM’, a widower begins to online date to overcome his grief after his wife’s death, and, in ‘Permission Granted’, a father contemplates moving on after his wife’s death. Emotionally charged and sensitively written, Donnelly’s collection reminds us of the importance of connection to carry on living.
It is this assortment of experiences that makes this collection such a powerful read. Donnelly remains sensitive to the fact that each person reacts differently to loss, and that the feelings of isolation and grief are seldom uncomplicated and quickly resolved. Here, Donnelly handles the short story form with ease, navigating the complex decisions that individuals face within bite-sized stories that pack a punch whilst remaining open to this sense of the unfinished and incomplete.
Finally, it is important to note that Donnelly does not shrink away from other subjects often considered taboo- namely that of homosexuality. The standout story of the collection for me was ‘In Our Mother’s Lied. That’s the Truth’ in which Elizabeth reminisces on her relationship with recently deceased lover, Teresa. Donnelly writes successfully of the tension Elizabeth feels between her role as a nun, and her homoerotic desires. The question, for Elizabeth, is what part of herself is she willing to lose.
Ultimately, Demise of the Undertaker’s Wife is a collection to make time for specifically because it faces subjects people often shy away from. If you are looking for a calming read before bed, this might not be the collection for you. However, if you want short stories that draw you into the wilderness of the human psyche and confront the pain of human disconnection, I encourage you to read, and get lost in, this strong and haunting collection.
Written by: Michaela O'Callaghan
Published: 19th November 2019
From the outset, I was moved by the portrait of Luke, a recent widower, whose nephew claims rights over his land. The presence of the fox that Luke continually arms himself against to protect his farm, alongside Luke’s sense of distance from his family, presents Luke’s life after his husband’s demise as one deep in threat, discomfort and unresolved grief. Donnelly demands that we remember that death happens in life- and that life is messily ongoing.
This preoccupation with the feeling of loss and disconnection continues throughout the collection. In the titular story, a story rich in dark humour, an Undertaker reflects on the demise of his relationship as he prepares a corpse for a funeral. In ‘French Cream’, Donnelly opens with a couple in the midst of a divorce discussing the husband’s funeral arrangements. The final two stories (stories that Donnelly teasingly places under the subheading ‘You want it Darker’) toy with this idea of disconnection even further as prisoners react violently to the feeling of detachment and loss. In a society that often refuses to confront the feeling of loneliness, Donnelly must be praised for her compelling insights into human disconnection.
However, Donnelly also writes of moments of connection. In the charming story ‘WLTM’, a widower begins to online date to overcome his grief after his wife’s death, and, in ‘Permission Granted’, a father contemplates moving on after his wife’s death. Emotionally charged and sensitively written, Donnelly’s collection reminds us of the importance of connection to carry on living.
It is this assortment of experiences that makes this collection such a powerful read. Donnelly remains sensitive to the fact that each person reacts differently to loss, and that the feelings of isolation and grief are seldom uncomplicated and quickly resolved. Here, Donnelly handles the short story form with ease, navigating the complex decisions that individuals face within bite-sized stories that pack a punch whilst remaining open to this sense of the unfinished and incomplete.
Finally, it is important to note that Donnelly does not shrink away from other subjects often considered taboo- namely that of homosexuality. The standout story of the collection for me was ‘In Our Mother’s Lied. That’s the Truth’ in which Elizabeth reminisces on her relationship with recently deceased lover, Teresa. Donnelly writes successfully of the tension Elizabeth feels between her role as a nun, and her homoerotic desires. The question, for Elizabeth, is what part of herself is she willing to lose.
Ultimately, Demise of the Undertaker’s Wife is a collection to make time for specifically because it faces subjects people often shy away from. If you are looking for a calming read before bed, this might not be the collection for you. However, if you want short stories that draw you into the wilderness of the human psyche and confront the pain of human disconnection, I encourage you to read, and get lost in, this strong and haunting collection.
Written by: Michaela O'Callaghan
Published: 19th November 2019
Book Review: Self-Portrait by Elizabeth Horan
'Self-Portrait by Elizabeth Horan, published by Cephalopress in September 2019, is a poetic honouring of the life and art of Frida Kahlo. In this dual-language collection, Horan allows the art of Frida Kahlo to speak to us of endurance and strength in the face of an unaccepting world. The collection is a hard and steady look at bodies, identity, love, art, disability, womanhood, and more.
Self Portrait holds over 50 poems, each of which is inspired by a different piece of art by the Mexican folk artist, Frida Kahlo. The combination of English and Spanish is made completely accessible to those with horrendous Spanish (like me), although Cephalopress has also released a whole Spanish edition of Horan’s book. Moreover, you do not need to have a detailed knowledge of Kahlo’s art to enjoy this collection, that is certain. However, it was a true heart-leaping-in-chest moment when Horan’s words caused the correct painting to spring to mind. This is, in itself, a testament to how in tune Horan is to Kahlo’s artwork, and her interpretation of this artwork into poetry makes for a powerful, moving read.
The collection itself begins with a crash, literally, in ‘Crash Sonnet 1925’, which references the accident Frida Kahlo and her romantic partner at the time, Alejandro, were involved in, when the bus they were riding collided with a streetcar. Kahlo was severely injured, and it was during her recovery that she began to paint. ‘Crash Sonnet 1925’ ends with the line, ‘Choque, choque - ya me mató. Crash, crash - now I am dead.’ However, the poetry that follows is anything but dead. It is, instead, life in all its harshness and pain, but also strength and sheer persistence.
The injuries Kahlo sustained, on top of suffering from polio would alter her life. But the self is something Kahlo clung onto fiercely. Horan captures a striking defiance in her poem, ‘Proyecto Para Repararme en Tres Etapas, Vol. 2 1931’ in which she writes:
'And I am not,
Nor will I ever be -
Disabled for you.'
Disability is a prevalent and poignant theme throughout this collection. In a world that often ignores disabled women as sexual beings, Horan’s poetry is filled with a fierce, lustful passion. This is shown in ‘Tu Boticeli 1926’:
'The lust within me works much better
no como mis piernas rotas; Not like my broken legs
Las que corrían; which used to run to you;
The ones killing you with desire,
wrapped around your body,
My meat would arrive - along with your hunger
mi carne llegará - con tu hambre
Quiero asfixiarte con amor. I want to smother you with my love'
There is, throughout the collection, a yearning desire to feel whole, or full, especially in one that is viewed by society as someone (or something) fragmented. This is seen in the poem, ‘Miti / Miti (half / half) 1945’, but also in ‘Maternity Coffin 1932’, in which Horan writes, ‘Soy media - mujer I am half of a woman’. The poem title, and this line alone should give an idea of the theme of this poem. Horan depicts the pressure binding womanhood and childbirth together to cause yet another wrench in Kahlo’s sense of self. In ‘Cuando Pierdo (When I Lose) 1932’ she writes, ‘I do not work / I do not produce living things’.
What Kahlo does produce, however, is art, and a fullness appears to stem from this. In ‘Corona de la Cárcel (Lace Jail) 1940’, Horan writes:
'Must I be half
Of anything
[..]
I want to be Frida
Just Frida. Artista.
Not any mix
Of any women
Nor any fantasy
Of your mind.'
Striving to find, or hold onto, the self amid unforeseeable changes and a long recovery is powerfully penned, poem by poem. Art for Kahlo, and poetry for Horan, appear to be an anchoring force for stability at such a time and is captured perfectly in Horan’s lines, ‘To sustain is to paint / Is to use one’s art like a crutch.’ You cannot help but read Self-Portrait as a labour of love. Sensitive and strong, Horan’s efforts to honour the life and art of Frida Kahlo has surely been a success.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 22nd October 2019
Self Portrait holds over 50 poems, each of which is inspired by a different piece of art by the Mexican folk artist, Frida Kahlo. The combination of English and Spanish is made completely accessible to those with horrendous Spanish (like me), although Cephalopress has also released a whole Spanish edition of Horan’s book. Moreover, you do not need to have a detailed knowledge of Kahlo’s art to enjoy this collection, that is certain. However, it was a true heart-leaping-in-chest moment when Horan’s words caused the correct painting to spring to mind. This is, in itself, a testament to how in tune Horan is to Kahlo’s artwork, and her interpretation of this artwork into poetry makes for a powerful, moving read.
The collection itself begins with a crash, literally, in ‘Crash Sonnet 1925’, which references the accident Frida Kahlo and her romantic partner at the time, Alejandro, were involved in, when the bus they were riding collided with a streetcar. Kahlo was severely injured, and it was during her recovery that she began to paint. ‘Crash Sonnet 1925’ ends with the line, ‘Choque, choque - ya me mató. Crash, crash - now I am dead.’ However, the poetry that follows is anything but dead. It is, instead, life in all its harshness and pain, but also strength and sheer persistence.
The injuries Kahlo sustained, on top of suffering from polio would alter her life. But the self is something Kahlo clung onto fiercely. Horan captures a striking defiance in her poem, ‘Proyecto Para Repararme en Tres Etapas, Vol. 2 1931’ in which she writes:
'And I am not,
Nor will I ever be -
Disabled for you.'
Disability is a prevalent and poignant theme throughout this collection. In a world that often ignores disabled women as sexual beings, Horan’s poetry is filled with a fierce, lustful passion. This is shown in ‘Tu Boticeli 1926’:
'The lust within me works much better
no como mis piernas rotas; Not like my broken legs
Las que corrían; which used to run to you;
The ones killing you with desire,
wrapped around your body,
My meat would arrive - along with your hunger
mi carne llegará - con tu hambre
Quiero asfixiarte con amor. I want to smother you with my love'
There is, throughout the collection, a yearning desire to feel whole, or full, especially in one that is viewed by society as someone (or something) fragmented. This is seen in the poem, ‘Miti / Miti (half / half) 1945’, but also in ‘Maternity Coffin 1932’, in which Horan writes, ‘Soy media - mujer I am half of a woman’. The poem title, and this line alone should give an idea of the theme of this poem. Horan depicts the pressure binding womanhood and childbirth together to cause yet another wrench in Kahlo’s sense of self. In ‘Cuando Pierdo (When I Lose) 1932’ she writes, ‘I do not work / I do not produce living things’.
What Kahlo does produce, however, is art, and a fullness appears to stem from this. In ‘Corona de la Cárcel (Lace Jail) 1940’, Horan writes:
'Must I be half
Of anything
[..]
I want to be Frida
Just Frida. Artista.
Not any mix
Of any women
Nor any fantasy
Of your mind.'
Striving to find, or hold onto, the self amid unforeseeable changes and a long recovery is powerfully penned, poem by poem. Art for Kahlo, and poetry for Horan, appear to be an anchoring force for stability at such a time and is captured perfectly in Horan’s lines, ‘To sustain is to paint / Is to use one’s art like a crutch.’ You cannot help but read Self-Portrait as a labour of love. Sensitive and strong, Horan’s efforts to honour the life and art of Frida Kahlo has surely been a success.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 22nd October 2019
Book Review: Eden by Liv Chalmers
Eden by Liv Chalmers is the author’s second self published collection. Her first collection ‘Serendipity’ asked us to be kind to ourselves, especially when navigating the often scary feelings of mental illness. In Eden, Chalmers asks us to be kind to others. True to stylistic form as ‘l.c’ is signed at the end of all poems. In her previous collection, the signed name appeared as the serendipitous claim over a mass of hopeful scribbles - here it seems an instruction, a signed name at the end of a manifesto.
The metaphor of the Garden of Eden is used to make the binary relationship of a nurturing environment and the possibility of that all breaking down. Set in two parts, Eden begins with ‘Genesis’, named after the first book of the Bible and the implied beginning. ‘Leaves’ takes the process of deciduous plants shedding their leaves as a rebirth. She writes:
even when leaves
fall off of trees,
there are still branches
thriving underneath
...your leaves may fall,
it does not make you
wounded.
Chalmers seeks to celebrate growth, and part of that is the celebration of others. ‘Genesis’ features poems to ‘her girls’, Frances, Holly and Ellie. These poems break away from stanzas and are written in free verse. The prose stands as a conscious move away from poetics; these poems are lovely and truly welcoming.
However, part two of the collection, ‘Terminus’, shifts to a violent tone. Gone are the praising and hopeful visions and replaced by biting, stabbings, and ‘white flesh’ tainted. There is also a return to free verse. The line breaks become tense forthcomings, as opposed to the earlier patient pausing of a calm mind. The eponymous poem, ‘eden’, opens ‘terminus’ and suggests a heart-breaking degeneration of something beautiful into something horrible. Chalmers writes:
i didn’t believe you
when you claimed
you brought me to eden
but when you’re tongue left poison
along the nape of my neck
i realised you were
right.
Chalmers shapes a manipulative encounter as a disguised seduction, which when framed in the overarching metaphor of the Garden of Eden, points towards the original sin of Adam and Eve. Sin, in the final part of the collection appears as both the reasoning behind and resulting effect of endurance. Endurance can only exist for so long, before it eventually breaks. ‘she will not live forever’ does appear to explore the notion of one’s own endurance, but it also concerns itself with the endurance of another: our planet. ‘She’, mother earth, is the ‘other’ that Chalmers encourages us to celebrate, praise and protect. She scornfully protests:
how do we expect life on this planet
to last forever?
at most, we merely acknowledge
that earth is dying.
and that apathetic acknowledgement
simply concludes we are
too lazy
or too cowardice
to change our ways
to save her.
These harsh observations not only indicts us, but also (strangely) comforts us. The last poem of the ‘eden’ is titled ‘the process of death’. The hopeful idea of ‘Leaves’ in which our shedding of the past to make way for the future is distilled into a realisation of our own limits. There are so many times that our ‘petals bloom to a degree you think magnificent’, before our personal ‘uprooting’ is eventually just a death: ‘you/ are the process/ of death’ Chalmers writes, but we will bloom again.
Eden feels fuller, and healthier. The collection itself is brighter. It’s beige cover with bright red flowers on them. This stands in stark contrast to the vacant white of ‘serendipity’. Chalmers' second collection bears witness to the harshness of personal growth, but doesn’t for one second give up.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 1st October 2019
The metaphor of the Garden of Eden is used to make the binary relationship of a nurturing environment and the possibility of that all breaking down. Set in two parts, Eden begins with ‘Genesis’, named after the first book of the Bible and the implied beginning. ‘Leaves’ takes the process of deciduous plants shedding their leaves as a rebirth. She writes:
even when leaves
fall off of trees,
there are still branches
thriving underneath
...your leaves may fall,
it does not make you
wounded.
Chalmers seeks to celebrate growth, and part of that is the celebration of others. ‘Genesis’ features poems to ‘her girls’, Frances, Holly and Ellie. These poems break away from stanzas and are written in free verse. The prose stands as a conscious move away from poetics; these poems are lovely and truly welcoming.
However, part two of the collection, ‘Terminus’, shifts to a violent tone. Gone are the praising and hopeful visions and replaced by biting, stabbings, and ‘white flesh’ tainted. There is also a return to free verse. The line breaks become tense forthcomings, as opposed to the earlier patient pausing of a calm mind. The eponymous poem, ‘eden’, opens ‘terminus’ and suggests a heart-breaking degeneration of something beautiful into something horrible. Chalmers writes:
i didn’t believe you
when you claimed
you brought me to eden
but when you’re tongue left poison
along the nape of my neck
i realised you were
right.
Chalmers shapes a manipulative encounter as a disguised seduction, which when framed in the overarching metaphor of the Garden of Eden, points towards the original sin of Adam and Eve. Sin, in the final part of the collection appears as both the reasoning behind and resulting effect of endurance. Endurance can only exist for so long, before it eventually breaks. ‘she will not live forever’ does appear to explore the notion of one’s own endurance, but it also concerns itself with the endurance of another: our planet. ‘She’, mother earth, is the ‘other’ that Chalmers encourages us to celebrate, praise and protect. She scornfully protests:
how do we expect life on this planet
to last forever?
at most, we merely acknowledge
that earth is dying.
and that apathetic acknowledgement
simply concludes we are
too lazy
or too cowardice
to change our ways
to save her.
These harsh observations not only indicts us, but also (strangely) comforts us. The last poem of the ‘eden’ is titled ‘the process of death’. The hopeful idea of ‘Leaves’ in which our shedding of the past to make way for the future is distilled into a realisation of our own limits. There are so many times that our ‘petals bloom to a degree you think magnificent’, before our personal ‘uprooting’ is eventually just a death: ‘you/ are the process/ of death’ Chalmers writes, but we will bloom again.
Eden feels fuller, and healthier. The collection itself is brighter. It’s beige cover with bright red flowers on them. This stands in stark contrast to the vacant white of ‘serendipity’. Chalmers' second collection bears witness to the harshness of personal growth, but doesn’t for one second give up.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 1st October 2019
Book Review: Even Curses End by Catherine Garbinsky
Stories, specifically fairytales, have been around for as long as humans have walked the earth, with some notable authors (Hans Christian Anderson, Brothers Grimm, Angela Carter, etc.) updating and innovating traditional classics to keep them relevant and entertaining for generations to come. CatherineGarbinsky’s chapbook, Even Curses End, is a great example of this tradition, with her efforts focussed on exploring trauma, mental health, and healing through the medium of poetry.
To be published in October 2019 by Animal Heart Press, Garbinsky starts her chapbook of poetry with a familiar fairytale: Hansel and Gretel; this works well to transport us easily into the collection and also sets the tone for the rest of the poems, as Garbinsky tells this tale from the point of view of the Witch who lives in the Gingerbread House, offering mournful testament to the old adage ‘history is told by thevictors’.
In Gingerbread House, Garbinsky impresses upon the reader to look beneath the surface to seek the truth. The woefulness of the Witch-with-no-name bleeds from the sorrowful language Garbinsky wields, imploring the reader to see her“robin’s egg heart”, which is hidden by the “crooked branches of [her] body”, the only thing anyone ever sees. The cold-hearted treachery of the children who promised kindness and mercy is staggering in the eyes of the Witch and the reader, which only furthers the testament that not all is what it may seem both in this poem and the ones that follow.
The poems in this chapbook are written in free verse, a form that lends itself well to Garbinsky’s evocative tone and exploratory pace. The use of white space is especially interesting in this collection, as each poem is made thoroughly unique. This differentiation through style, pace, and white space mimics the distinctiveness of each subject and fairytale setting as can be seen in poems such as ‘The Grey’, ‘I am the Coffin and I am the Stag’, and ‘Once I Was A Nightingale’.
Garbinsky’s The Grey is a poem where she is being particularly experimental with its form, with each segment of text no more than five words long as can be seen by the first two lines:
“ when we metall was blue & hot as hope
skin fell awaypale star-skin tired stones”
The emphasis on the isolated imagery, coupled with the lack of punctuation mimics what it’s like to think with certain mental illnesses. The pace of the poem is stilted, but still evokes the image of the protagonist trying to find her identity, which has been hidden from her by the antagonist, wondering “who she was before” and “who she will become”. This is a very relatable sentiment, and a common experience for most people in the world today.
The protagonists of each poem, while some not explicitly stated, seem to all be female. Whether this is the same singular female protagonist going through a series of struggles, or whether Garbinsky is telling the stories of multiple female protagonists going through their own individual battles, this actually works on both levels. These struggles are something that, regardless of gender identity, everyone can relate to. Both interpretations lend their hand to hope, whether that it is a hope that the singular protagonist can work through everything that is thrown their way, or whether it’s just an acknowledgement that we’re not alone in our individual battles.
While Garbinsky explores the darker side of mental health and trauma within these poems, empowerment is also a reoccurring theme within this collection; in ‘The Princess & the Thorns’ the darkness and harshness of the forest only serves to enhance the beauty and strength of the protagonist; after she “lay[s] down [her] sword” and stops fighting the forest, she becomes not just a part of the forest, but royalty within it: “She wears a crown of twilight and a blanket of thistledown. / Princess of fingers pricked…” This empowering ending is a common theme expressed throughout each poem, one unifying factor that expresses hope for healing and strength after all of the suffering and pain.
This is also expressed brilliantly in the closing poem, ‘The House on Chicken Legs’, where the protagonist is initially “bound by bricks and mortar / tricked and trapped into / a role that she never chose.” Through a series of events, “growing feral and strange” after fleeing her captivity, she “be[comes] the witch” that is inevitably the antagonist in all fairytales; but with the recurring theme of empowerment and the Gingerbread House enlightening us to our misconceptions about witches, we are left wondering whether that is a bad thing to become, especially after the mystical imagery of “the black of night trail[ing] stars behind” the final protagonist.
This sentiment provides a circular narrative on a number of levels, linking back around to the early poems, and then again to the title of the chapbook and the unifying hope from all protagonists that Even Curses End.
Written by: Emily James
Published: 25th September 2019
To be published in October 2019 by Animal Heart Press, Garbinsky starts her chapbook of poetry with a familiar fairytale: Hansel and Gretel; this works well to transport us easily into the collection and also sets the tone for the rest of the poems, as Garbinsky tells this tale from the point of view of the Witch who lives in the Gingerbread House, offering mournful testament to the old adage ‘history is told by thevictors’.
In Gingerbread House, Garbinsky impresses upon the reader to look beneath the surface to seek the truth. The woefulness of the Witch-with-no-name bleeds from the sorrowful language Garbinsky wields, imploring the reader to see her“robin’s egg heart”, which is hidden by the “crooked branches of [her] body”, the only thing anyone ever sees. The cold-hearted treachery of the children who promised kindness and mercy is staggering in the eyes of the Witch and the reader, which only furthers the testament that not all is what it may seem both in this poem and the ones that follow.
The poems in this chapbook are written in free verse, a form that lends itself well to Garbinsky’s evocative tone and exploratory pace. The use of white space is especially interesting in this collection, as each poem is made thoroughly unique. This differentiation through style, pace, and white space mimics the distinctiveness of each subject and fairytale setting as can be seen in poems such as ‘The Grey’, ‘I am the Coffin and I am the Stag’, and ‘Once I Was A Nightingale’.
Garbinsky’s The Grey is a poem where she is being particularly experimental with its form, with each segment of text no more than five words long as can be seen by the first two lines:
“ when we metall was blue & hot as hope
skin fell awaypale star-skin tired stones”
The emphasis on the isolated imagery, coupled with the lack of punctuation mimics what it’s like to think with certain mental illnesses. The pace of the poem is stilted, but still evokes the image of the protagonist trying to find her identity, which has been hidden from her by the antagonist, wondering “who she was before” and “who she will become”. This is a very relatable sentiment, and a common experience for most people in the world today.
The protagonists of each poem, while some not explicitly stated, seem to all be female. Whether this is the same singular female protagonist going through a series of struggles, or whether Garbinsky is telling the stories of multiple female protagonists going through their own individual battles, this actually works on both levels. These struggles are something that, regardless of gender identity, everyone can relate to. Both interpretations lend their hand to hope, whether that it is a hope that the singular protagonist can work through everything that is thrown their way, or whether it’s just an acknowledgement that we’re not alone in our individual battles.
While Garbinsky explores the darker side of mental health and trauma within these poems, empowerment is also a reoccurring theme within this collection; in ‘The Princess & the Thorns’ the darkness and harshness of the forest only serves to enhance the beauty and strength of the protagonist; after she “lay[s] down [her] sword” and stops fighting the forest, she becomes not just a part of the forest, but royalty within it: “She wears a crown of twilight and a blanket of thistledown. / Princess of fingers pricked…” This empowering ending is a common theme expressed throughout each poem, one unifying factor that expresses hope for healing and strength after all of the suffering and pain.
This is also expressed brilliantly in the closing poem, ‘The House on Chicken Legs’, where the protagonist is initially “bound by bricks and mortar / tricked and trapped into / a role that she never chose.” Through a series of events, “growing feral and strange” after fleeing her captivity, she “be[comes] the witch” that is inevitably the antagonist in all fairytales; but with the recurring theme of empowerment and the Gingerbread House enlightening us to our misconceptions about witches, we are left wondering whether that is a bad thing to become, especially after the mystical imagery of “the black of night trail[ing] stars behind” the final protagonist.
This sentiment provides a circular narrative on a number of levels, linking back around to the early poems, and then again to the title of the chapbook and the unifying hope from all protagonists that Even Curses End.
Written by: Emily James
Published: 25th September 2019
Book Review: Skeleton Parade by Mela Blust
Skeleton Parade is Mela Blust’s debut chapbook, published by Apep Publishing in September 2019. In her author’s note, Blust makes clear that this chapbook, as she puts it, ‘draws to the surface the wounds of my past’. What follows are poems of abuse, violence, and fear, but also strength.
Through sparse verse, Blust captures deep gashes of emotion in a heartbeat, and her reader cannot help but feel with her. It is perhaps obvious to state that the topics the reader will encounter in this chapbook are hard-hitting and emotive. From domestic violence to self-harm, Blust refuses to shy away from difficult subjects; some readers may find these topics disturbing and we see it fitting to inform our reader that these topics are discussed further in this review.
From the very first poem of the chapbook, ‘when the boys’, I knew Mela Blust would have me in tears before the chapbook was out. I was not wrong. Her poetry is stripped back to the essentials, bearing raw emotion with applaudable honesty and frankness.
In the poem, ‘Bruised’, Blust compares examining bruises to ‘trying to choose fruit in the supermarket [..] to see / which might be beautiful and / which, / below the rind, / might be rotten.’ In the opening poem, Blust begins to examine the combination of kindness and abuse that allows such abuse to continue, but this is hammered home in ‘soliloquy’:
‘I often wonder why
as children
we are
terrified of the monsters
under our beds
and as adults
we willingly lie
beside them.’
Moments like these catch at the readers’ heart, as Blust’s poems speak volumes in a manner that is powerfully succinct.
Brutality, violence and pain are common themes of Blust’s poetry. In ‘womanhood’, she writes,
‘dirty knees won’t be attractive
on a pretty girl
until well into her twenties
when her face looks good smashed against
a coverlet’
Of course, this is a heart-wrenching and uncomfortable topic to read about, but we can only therefore commend Mela Blust all the more for her bravery in writing it. Her poems flow into one another in an artful manner, maintaining the theme of womanhood in a subsequent poem, ‘song of winter’, in which she writes:
‘let me show you the way womanhood manifests
so that sometimes we can’t tell if we’re infatuated
or held captive’
Around this point in the chapbook there begins to be a shift. This arguably begins in the poem ‘save the limb’ in which Blust writes:
'and the distance stretches between us
as though an artery still attached to a severed limb.
of course, there is still blood,
but it's not enough to save the limb'
The realisation Blust begins to cultivate in her poetry conveys the learning, or unlearning process she had to undergo to remove herself from an abusive situation. In ‘something I can chew’ she says, ‘i remember the first time i learned / that both failure and success / were punished’.
Bitter-sweet memories are something that Blust is able to capture beautifully. Never quite sure when the moments fall between loving and frightful, she portrays burning kisses, sharp lips, and ‘the dahlias of the ocean / flirting with us about how delicate it would be / to drown’. These conflicting notions and the subsequent confusion they cause is also shown in the poem, ‘the weight of loss’ in which she writes, ‘why, when I know how it burns / do I always crave the fire?’
Self-harm emerges as a theme in the latter half of the chapbook, as fear and a devalued identity collide in poems such as ‘self harm’ and ‘sorry to god’. Whilst, again, this is a tricky topic to read about, Blust broaches this topic with honesty and realism.
The chapbooks progression is empowering to read. Blust’s strength and endurance shines through in pomes such as ‘spit or swallow’ when she writes: ‘I am not a rehabilitation program for broken / men’. Likewise, in ‘this will hurt me more than you’:
‘i suppose i learned that the pain
was never eternal
was always within
couldn’t be washed away
and i had to learn to swim’
Overall, Skeleton Parade by Mela Blust is a strikingly powerful and emotional read. It is by no means easy to bear witness to the pain the author shares so honestly. However, it shouldn’t be. Blust’s poetry takes such pain and trauma and turns it into unforgettable and haunting poetry that will stay with her reader far beyond the close of the chapbook.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 13th September 2019
Through sparse verse, Blust captures deep gashes of emotion in a heartbeat, and her reader cannot help but feel with her. It is perhaps obvious to state that the topics the reader will encounter in this chapbook are hard-hitting and emotive. From domestic violence to self-harm, Blust refuses to shy away from difficult subjects; some readers may find these topics disturbing and we see it fitting to inform our reader that these topics are discussed further in this review.
From the very first poem of the chapbook, ‘when the boys’, I knew Mela Blust would have me in tears before the chapbook was out. I was not wrong. Her poetry is stripped back to the essentials, bearing raw emotion with applaudable honesty and frankness.
In the poem, ‘Bruised’, Blust compares examining bruises to ‘trying to choose fruit in the supermarket [..] to see / which might be beautiful and / which, / below the rind, / might be rotten.’ In the opening poem, Blust begins to examine the combination of kindness and abuse that allows such abuse to continue, but this is hammered home in ‘soliloquy’:
‘I often wonder why
as children
we are
terrified of the monsters
under our beds
and as adults
we willingly lie
beside them.’
Moments like these catch at the readers’ heart, as Blust’s poems speak volumes in a manner that is powerfully succinct.
Brutality, violence and pain are common themes of Blust’s poetry. In ‘womanhood’, she writes,
‘dirty knees won’t be attractive
on a pretty girl
until well into her twenties
when her face looks good smashed against
a coverlet’
Of course, this is a heart-wrenching and uncomfortable topic to read about, but we can only therefore commend Mela Blust all the more for her bravery in writing it. Her poems flow into one another in an artful manner, maintaining the theme of womanhood in a subsequent poem, ‘song of winter’, in which she writes:
‘let me show you the way womanhood manifests
so that sometimes we can’t tell if we’re infatuated
or held captive’
Around this point in the chapbook there begins to be a shift. This arguably begins in the poem ‘save the limb’ in which Blust writes:
'and the distance stretches between us
as though an artery still attached to a severed limb.
of course, there is still blood,
but it's not enough to save the limb'
The realisation Blust begins to cultivate in her poetry conveys the learning, or unlearning process she had to undergo to remove herself from an abusive situation. In ‘something I can chew’ she says, ‘i remember the first time i learned / that both failure and success / were punished’.
Bitter-sweet memories are something that Blust is able to capture beautifully. Never quite sure when the moments fall between loving and frightful, she portrays burning kisses, sharp lips, and ‘the dahlias of the ocean / flirting with us about how delicate it would be / to drown’. These conflicting notions and the subsequent confusion they cause is also shown in the poem, ‘the weight of loss’ in which she writes, ‘why, when I know how it burns / do I always crave the fire?’
Self-harm emerges as a theme in the latter half of the chapbook, as fear and a devalued identity collide in poems such as ‘self harm’ and ‘sorry to god’. Whilst, again, this is a tricky topic to read about, Blust broaches this topic with honesty and realism.
The chapbooks progression is empowering to read. Blust’s strength and endurance shines through in pomes such as ‘spit or swallow’ when she writes: ‘I am not a rehabilitation program for broken / men’. Likewise, in ‘this will hurt me more than you’:
‘i suppose i learned that the pain
was never eternal
was always within
couldn’t be washed away
and i had to learn to swim’
Overall, Skeleton Parade by Mela Blust is a strikingly powerful and emotional read. It is by no means easy to bear witness to the pain the author shares so honestly. However, it shouldn’t be. Blust’s poetry takes such pain and trauma and turns it into unforgettable and haunting poetry that will stay with her reader far beyond the close of the chapbook.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 13th September 2019
Book Review: serendipity by Liv Chalmers
Photo taken from: https://lcwrites.webnode.com
Liv Chalmers’ first collection, serendipity (independently published, November 2018) is a love letter to those struggling with mental illness. The concept of the writing process, putting pen to paper and transforming the love and loss that inevitably comes with such struggles, appears to be the core theme of Chalmers’ selected poetry.
The collection of poems opens with two statements; firstly a dedication by Chalmers, to her audience - ‘for those who still dream despite how hard waking up can be.’ Secondly, an epigraph by the author Michelle Richmond: ‘to be a writer you have to write. And no academic degree is going to do the writing for you.’ The dedication and the epigraph appear to conflict with one another. The dedication is a gentle coaxing into the daily routine, but the epigraph is a frank and blunt opposition. It is, I believe, the embodiment of the internal struggle of mental illness - the ‘get up and go’ in you needing at times a hug, and at times a kick up the backside.
Serendipity is split into two sections. Part 1, the longest of the two parts, is called ‘solis’, which translates as sun, and part 2, ‘stellae’ means a constellation or heavenly body. The use of celestial imagery casts an opinion on the state of inactivity or helplessness that one feels when struggling with mental illness. ‘do not question what you complete in each day, as purely getting out of bed is an accomplishment in itself’ beautifully responds by illustrating that the rising and setting of the sun occurs every day. Despite having the ‘weight of the world’s existence’ on her shoulders, the sun’s falling into the ‘void of darkness at the end of each day’, the sun ‘still gets right back up / to face the next one’.
Chalmers’ poetry makes much of the concept of serendipity, which is defined as the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. We are encouraged to view the act of writing as the cathartic result of traumatic and hurtful experiences that we cannot expect, nor prepare for. Chalmers explicitly writes, ‘when your words cut deep into my skin / i paint them onto paper with my own fresh blood. stick them on all walls of my room/ until its all i see lying awake at night, / with the ghosts of my insecurities.’ The sense of nightmarish shame that sticks with you from verbal cruelty appears to be for at least a moment softened by the act of writing.
The accidental is part and parcel of serendipity. Indeed, the collection of poems makes use of this random occurrence through their presentation. The titles of the poems are situated at the end and are affectionately signed off with the author’s initial - ‘l.c’ - as if they were little notes to oneself, written in response, or even during hardship. The gentile illustrations by Mia Drumm are childlike and reassuring.
The majority of the poems in the collection rail against an established rhyming scheme, again perhaps adhering to the idea of the accidental. But in ‘ ‘43’, the first stanza appears to conform to a pattern. The poem starts with a clear rhyming pattern (aba) but does not adhere to it past these opening three lines. This perhaps indicates that form is something to be broken, challenging what writing is, how we respond to it, and ultimately, if we apply the analogy to the core theme of the collection, that mental illness isn’t uniform and presents itself in varying degrees.
Serendipity ends with the encouraging statement: ‘continue to thrive in your accidental moments of happiness. serendipity.’ In the acknowledgements, Chalmers writes that it has been her goal to publish her own collection of poetry. We can only commend her on such a wonderful collection and hope for more of her accidental moments of happiness.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 2nd September 2019
The collection of poems opens with two statements; firstly a dedication by Chalmers, to her audience - ‘for those who still dream despite how hard waking up can be.’ Secondly, an epigraph by the author Michelle Richmond: ‘to be a writer you have to write. And no academic degree is going to do the writing for you.’ The dedication and the epigraph appear to conflict with one another. The dedication is a gentle coaxing into the daily routine, but the epigraph is a frank and blunt opposition. It is, I believe, the embodiment of the internal struggle of mental illness - the ‘get up and go’ in you needing at times a hug, and at times a kick up the backside.
Serendipity is split into two sections. Part 1, the longest of the two parts, is called ‘solis’, which translates as sun, and part 2, ‘stellae’ means a constellation or heavenly body. The use of celestial imagery casts an opinion on the state of inactivity or helplessness that one feels when struggling with mental illness. ‘do not question what you complete in each day, as purely getting out of bed is an accomplishment in itself’ beautifully responds by illustrating that the rising and setting of the sun occurs every day. Despite having the ‘weight of the world’s existence’ on her shoulders, the sun’s falling into the ‘void of darkness at the end of each day’, the sun ‘still gets right back up / to face the next one’.
Chalmers’ poetry makes much of the concept of serendipity, which is defined as the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. We are encouraged to view the act of writing as the cathartic result of traumatic and hurtful experiences that we cannot expect, nor prepare for. Chalmers explicitly writes, ‘when your words cut deep into my skin / i paint them onto paper with my own fresh blood. stick them on all walls of my room/ until its all i see lying awake at night, / with the ghosts of my insecurities.’ The sense of nightmarish shame that sticks with you from verbal cruelty appears to be for at least a moment softened by the act of writing.
The accidental is part and parcel of serendipity. Indeed, the collection of poems makes use of this random occurrence through their presentation. The titles of the poems are situated at the end and are affectionately signed off with the author’s initial - ‘l.c’ - as if they were little notes to oneself, written in response, or even during hardship. The gentile illustrations by Mia Drumm are childlike and reassuring.
The majority of the poems in the collection rail against an established rhyming scheme, again perhaps adhering to the idea of the accidental. But in ‘ ‘43’, the first stanza appears to conform to a pattern. The poem starts with a clear rhyming pattern (aba) but does not adhere to it past these opening three lines. This perhaps indicates that form is something to be broken, challenging what writing is, how we respond to it, and ultimately, if we apply the analogy to the core theme of the collection, that mental illness isn’t uniform and presents itself in varying degrees.
Serendipity ends with the encouraging statement: ‘continue to thrive in your accidental moments of happiness. serendipity.’ In the acknowledgements, Chalmers writes that it has been her goal to publish her own collection of poetry. We can only commend her on such a wonderful collection and hope for more of her accidental moments of happiness.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 2nd September 2019
Book Review: Well by GRaham Clifford
‘To look is an unpaid, full-time job’ writes Graham Clifford mid-way through his latest collection, Well, published by Against the Grain Poetry Press.
To look, and to see, is the award-winning Clifford’s great strength, and the starting point for each of the twenty-five acutely observed vignettes, as he takes on the world around him, the dramatic and mundane, and delves inside for profound meaning.
The collection begins with a rush, a falling body outside an art gallery in ‘What the Rijksmuseum Did to Me’. Violence sporadically reoccurs thereafter, here are blood stains, there is a knife. Drowning and resuscitation recur. An avian death is imagined in visceral terms: ‘Ripped, jabbed, gutted, it will be noisily dispatched.’
But Graham’s fixation is not on dying, rather on his own reaction to what he sees around him. The lurid description of a corpse is no more deeply felt than his reaction to a moth, ‘a furred scrap of impulses’, very much alive. Poems often begin in routine settings, a shop, a workplace, in conversation with a child, before exploring hidden complexities and undercurrents through insinuation.
Well, as its title would suggest, goes deep. ‘Elusion’, with a quote from Camus as its subtitle, progresses in three lines from sticky tape on wrapping paper to the musing that ‘permanence can be sluggish to inculcate itself’.
Reading on and recovering from the shock of the opening piece, the realisation arrives that the Rijksmuseum itself may be more important than the dying man. Well is full of art, through Vermeer and La Joconde, Graham immerses us, but in art more broadly too. There are poems named after Robert Bridges and Li Po, and allusions to design, film and song.
‘Poem with Nothing in It’ sees Graham attempt to abstain from revealing anything, only revelling in language and imagery itself. He does so beautifully –
‘I don’t describe anything
but stalk its corridors
that go on like the hall that unfolds
when two mirrors face each other’
Yet even here there is reference to the ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’.
It would be wrong however to suggest that Well views the world simply as art, or through that prism. More commonly perhaps, the analogy is nature. Here Graham’s thesaurus-mind and gift for observation come to the fore. Tears are attached ‘like the cilia that covertly are fungi’, a dry leaf 'looks like the detached / desiccated talon of a starling’. Even where a metaphor is hard to imagine, the language carries the line through: ‘My daughter’s anemone fingers splay and clench’.
Violence and mundanity then, art and nature and science - LEDs, exoskeletons, the voyager probe. Modern life is under the microscope too, as in the title poem which explores the ease and futility of sinking into a search engine. Technological wonders and worries are dissected in equal measure.
Engagingly, in an assortment which relies on no overt theme the reader may find their own. What is fascinating is how these subjects intersect and intertwine, death and art in ‘What the Rijksmuseum Did to Me’; death and nature in ‘Macaw’; science and art in the artist-surgeon mash-up, ‘Paper’; science and nature in the factoid on moths.
For all its depths, the collection is also a well of contradictions. ‘Nearly Normal Dream’, standing at eight-lines in a single stanza, is somehow simpler and yet more effective than anything before or after. Then again, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Perhaps, as ‘Poem with Nothing in It’ hints, what we see is not as important as how we see it. Looking is a full-time job, indeed.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 30th August 2019
To look, and to see, is the award-winning Clifford’s great strength, and the starting point for each of the twenty-five acutely observed vignettes, as he takes on the world around him, the dramatic and mundane, and delves inside for profound meaning.
The collection begins with a rush, a falling body outside an art gallery in ‘What the Rijksmuseum Did to Me’. Violence sporadically reoccurs thereafter, here are blood stains, there is a knife. Drowning and resuscitation recur. An avian death is imagined in visceral terms: ‘Ripped, jabbed, gutted, it will be noisily dispatched.’
But Graham’s fixation is not on dying, rather on his own reaction to what he sees around him. The lurid description of a corpse is no more deeply felt than his reaction to a moth, ‘a furred scrap of impulses’, very much alive. Poems often begin in routine settings, a shop, a workplace, in conversation with a child, before exploring hidden complexities and undercurrents through insinuation.
Well, as its title would suggest, goes deep. ‘Elusion’, with a quote from Camus as its subtitle, progresses in three lines from sticky tape on wrapping paper to the musing that ‘permanence can be sluggish to inculcate itself’.
Reading on and recovering from the shock of the opening piece, the realisation arrives that the Rijksmuseum itself may be more important than the dying man. Well is full of art, through Vermeer and La Joconde, Graham immerses us, but in art more broadly too. There are poems named after Robert Bridges and Li Po, and allusions to design, film and song.
‘Poem with Nothing in It’ sees Graham attempt to abstain from revealing anything, only revelling in language and imagery itself. He does so beautifully –
‘I don’t describe anything
but stalk its corridors
that go on like the hall that unfolds
when two mirrors face each other’
Yet even here there is reference to the ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’.
It would be wrong however to suggest that Well views the world simply as art, or through that prism. More commonly perhaps, the analogy is nature. Here Graham’s thesaurus-mind and gift for observation come to the fore. Tears are attached ‘like the cilia that covertly are fungi’, a dry leaf 'looks like the detached / desiccated talon of a starling’. Even where a metaphor is hard to imagine, the language carries the line through: ‘My daughter’s anemone fingers splay and clench’.
Violence and mundanity then, art and nature and science - LEDs, exoskeletons, the voyager probe. Modern life is under the microscope too, as in the title poem which explores the ease and futility of sinking into a search engine. Technological wonders and worries are dissected in equal measure.
Engagingly, in an assortment which relies on no overt theme the reader may find their own. What is fascinating is how these subjects intersect and intertwine, death and art in ‘What the Rijksmuseum Did to Me’; death and nature in ‘Macaw’; science and art in the artist-surgeon mash-up, ‘Paper’; science and nature in the factoid on moths.
For all its depths, the collection is also a well of contradictions. ‘Nearly Normal Dream’, standing at eight-lines in a single stanza, is somehow simpler and yet more effective than anything before or after. Then again, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Perhaps, as ‘Poem with Nothing in It’ hints, what we see is not as important as how we see it. Looking is a full-time job, indeed.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 30th August 2019
Book Review: To Feed My Woodland Bones [A Changeling's Tale] by Kate Garrett
To Feed My Woodland Bones [A Changeling’s Tale] by Kate Garrett is in a realm of its own both in terms of fantastical and mythical beauty, and poetic craft. Published by Animal Heart Press in September 2019, this chapbook speaks of hurt, belonging, and survival, weaved into the fabric of the magical narrative of a Changeling.
Garrett transports her reader to a world wholly different from our own, but one, upon entering, we begin to recognise. This begins from the very first poem, ‘An elf in the witch-garden’, which immediately conjures a place others may say you do not belong, but regardless, ‘breaking hexes [..] this is where she grows’.
In just twelve poems, Garrett sifts through dark times for the one sparkle of gold, ever sure it’ll be there - somewhere. She writes in ‘That merry wanderer of the night’, ‘ As I grew into this world, I found the darkness has its uses’. Throughout these poems, the darkness grows from something to be afraid of, to a place to ‘hold the stars’.
The darkness in its more specific form varies from poem to poem, and grief is just one manifestation. In ‘This mortal coil’, she writes, 'by the time I was ten years in this world / I’d been to more funerals than playgrounds'. Garrett’s skilful way with words captures and holds her reader spellbound, as lines unfold with cutting ease and harsh reality.
A standout poem of the chapbook is ‘An elf turns inside out for the dragon’. This poem depicts a ‘fire-breathing mother’ to whom ‘my disordered eating is an unpopular opinion’. Garrett writes, ‘I was not allowed to be hungry, so / learned to make a bag of pretzels last three days’. Garrett’s blend of the mystical and familiar work beautifully in this poem to anchor it in real and powerful hurt, yet maintain the belief in the world she has built for us to share. It is a longer examination of ‘a nightmarish peace’ - an oxymoron that resonates with more than just this poem. As with the collection as a whole, Garrett works to find good in all that she can. This is seen when she writes, ‘and one day, far from our cave, in the year-bend future / I am comfortable, with five thriving children’.
Childbirth and parenthood become a more prominent focus as the chapbook progresses. In ‘A halflling emerges’, while pain wracks the mother, she is ‘called back by the bark of a midwife’. Through a haze of pain, the halfling finally takes his first breaths, ‘his skin warms / from blue to pink like a sunset’.
The sense of peace this chapbook builds is beautiful to read. A feeling of belonging and love grows and is a true testament to not just surviving, but succeeding.
Ultimately, this chapbook teaches us that sometimes, ‘lightening outshines the sun’ and ‘a lose is sometimes a win’. Garrett takes very human struggles and transports them into something magical to witness. To Feed My Woodland Bones [A Changeling’s Tale] manages to traverse the line between providing escapism from a nightmarish world and comfort from it at the same time. Garrett’s poetry is poignant and powerful, captivating and startling - overall, a truly beautiful read.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 26th August 2019
Garrett transports her reader to a world wholly different from our own, but one, upon entering, we begin to recognise. This begins from the very first poem, ‘An elf in the witch-garden’, which immediately conjures a place others may say you do not belong, but regardless, ‘breaking hexes [..] this is where she grows’.
In just twelve poems, Garrett sifts through dark times for the one sparkle of gold, ever sure it’ll be there - somewhere. She writes in ‘That merry wanderer of the night’, ‘ As I grew into this world, I found the darkness has its uses’. Throughout these poems, the darkness grows from something to be afraid of, to a place to ‘hold the stars’.
The darkness in its more specific form varies from poem to poem, and grief is just one manifestation. In ‘This mortal coil’, she writes, 'by the time I was ten years in this world / I’d been to more funerals than playgrounds'. Garrett’s skilful way with words captures and holds her reader spellbound, as lines unfold with cutting ease and harsh reality.
A standout poem of the chapbook is ‘An elf turns inside out for the dragon’. This poem depicts a ‘fire-breathing mother’ to whom ‘my disordered eating is an unpopular opinion’. Garrett writes, ‘I was not allowed to be hungry, so / learned to make a bag of pretzels last three days’. Garrett’s blend of the mystical and familiar work beautifully in this poem to anchor it in real and powerful hurt, yet maintain the belief in the world she has built for us to share. It is a longer examination of ‘a nightmarish peace’ - an oxymoron that resonates with more than just this poem. As with the collection as a whole, Garrett works to find good in all that she can. This is seen when she writes, ‘and one day, far from our cave, in the year-bend future / I am comfortable, with five thriving children’.
Childbirth and parenthood become a more prominent focus as the chapbook progresses. In ‘A halflling emerges’, while pain wracks the mother, she is ‘called back by the bark of a midwife’. Through a haze of pain, the halfling finally takes his first breaths, ‘his skin warms / from blue to pink like a sunset’.
The sense of peace this chapbook builds is beautiful to read. A feeling of belonging and love grows and is a true testament to not just surviving, but succeeding.
Ultimately, this chapbook teaches us that sometimes, ‘lightening outshines the sun’ and ‘a lose is sometimes a win’. Garrett takes very human struggles and transports them into something magical to witness. To Feed My Woodland Bones [A Changeling’s Tale] manages to traverse the line between providing escapism from a nightmarish world and comfort from it at the same time. Garrett’s poetry is poignant and powerful, captivating and startling - overall, a truly beautiful read.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 26th August 2019
Book Review: Second Life by Karl Tearney
Second Life by Karl Tearney, published by Fly on the Wall Poetry Press in July 2019, is a therapeutic outpouring of poetics. Beginning with a biographical note that informs the reader of the author’s history - a career as an RAF pilot during the conflicts in Northern Ireland and Bosnia - Tearney explores what it is like to go on living after having witnessed such traumas as he himself did. He also describes being labelled as ‘treatment intolerant’ when many forms of therapy failed to help him. Tearney writes, ‘My problem is that I don’t have a single point of trauma. I have 3000 flying hours of trauma, stemming from many operational areas.’ After writing about a willow tree he had seen whilst walking, Tearney found that ‘the words flowed into a poem, my first ever’. This moment makes it into the poem, ‘Learn From Me’ in which Tearney writes:
I write these words in solitude
Sat by my willow tree
The place where I record my life
To escape in poetry
Having discovered this new form of expression, it has become a daily part of his existence.
The collection is divided up into three sections, ‘My Mental Mind’, ‘Love’ and, ‘Moments’. The first section, as the title suggests, delves into the workings of Tearney’s mind, giving the reader an insight into his experiences of living with PTSD.
Tearney’s poetry makes much use of rhyme and sound, which seem to act like reins as they control and measure huge ideas into utterable verse. In ‘The Things You Never See’, the poem flits between a butchers shop where the butcher chops meat, and a flashback to combat in Tearney’s mind. In stanza three, he writes:
Sweet misery on misery
The butcher strikes once more
Skin and muscle ripped apart
My remnants hit the floor
As in this example, Tearney uses sound, rhyme and rhythm to impact the pace of the poem. Indeed, most of the poems in this collection follow some form of a rhyme scheme, with many following an ‘abcb’ format. However, Tearney’s poetry also makes use of the rhyming couplet in ‘The Mask’. This is a shorter poem, but it opens with one of my favourite lines in the collection, ‘I wear a mask that looks like me:’ Although short, this poem captures the facade Tearney learned to wear like a second skin - something. I think, many can relate to.
The poem titled, ‘The Plane’ flies at a rapid pace as Tearney describes how it feels to live with PTSD. This is, of course, a recurring theme of the collection:
My brain’s the pilot
And me the plane
To me it’s simple
To you insane
I can’t control
What I can’t see
This planes not real
Just fantasy
Section two and three, ‘Love’ and, ‘Moments’, make up the second half of the collection. ‘Love’ takes the reader through the emotional rollercoaster of love, desire and heartbreak, showing the joy and warm of love in the midst of otherwise darker moments. Tender sentiments are captured in poems such as ‘Loving’ and “Waterfall’. Yet the later heartbreak poems flit between hurt and anger, as seen in the poem ‘You’. Whilst most of the poems are placed in the centre, this is one of the few poems aligned on the left hand side of the page. As the poem progresses with lines such as, ‘You didn’t think of me that day’ and ‘You only thought of what you’d do’, it becomes suggestive of a one-sidedness the author is trying to communicate.
The final section, ‘Moments’ appears to provide some snapshots into Tearney’s childhood, living in a video-game culture with news soundbites as our main source of information, whilst many of us have too many first-world problems to count. Some poems, such as ‘Slaughter’, take on a more political stance, whereas, ‘The monster from the sea’ is a gut-wrenching poem of abuse and mistreatment.
Towards the end of the collection, Tearney begins to demonstrate the very thing he now spends his time teaching others - how ‘words can be fundamental to finding inner peace, when struggling inside a torn mind.’ The penultimate poem, ‘All that we see’ runs as a catalogue of all the expectations and measurements we hold ourselves to, but slowly turns into a strong, uplifting poem of appreciation, self-love, self-care and pride.
The final poem returns to the willow tree, bringing this collection in a neat circle back to where Tearney’s poetry all began. It is a fitting ending to a collection that speaks of the power of poetry and artistic expression to help and heal.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 15th August 2019
I write these words in solitude
Sat by my willow tree
The place where I record my life
To escape in poetry
Having discovered this new form of expression, it has become a daily part of his existence.
The collection is divided up into three sections, ‘My Mental Mind’, ‘Love’ and, ‘Moments’. The first section, as the title suggests, delves into the workings of Tearney’s mind, giving the reader an insight into his experiences of living with PTSD.
Tearney’s poetry makes much use of rhyme and sound, which seem to act like reins as they control and measure huge ideas into utterable verse. In ‘The Things You Never See’, the poem flits between a butchers shop where the butcher chops meat, and a flashback to combat in Tearney’s mind. In stanza three, he writes:
Sweet misery on misery
The butcher strikes once more
Skin and muscle ripped apart
My remnants hit the floor
As in this example, Tearney uses sound, rhyme and rhythm to impact the pace of the poem. Indeed, most of the poems in this collection follow some form of a rhyme scheme, with many following an ‘abcb’ format. However, Tearney’s poetry also makes use of the rhyming couplet in ‘The Mask’. This is a shorter poem, but it opens with one of my favourite lines in the collection, ‘I wear a mask that looks like me:’ Although short, this poem captures the facade Tearney learned to wear like a second skin - something. I think, many can relate to.
The poem titled, ‘The Plane’ flies at a rapid pace as Tearney describes how it feels to live with PTSD. This is, of course, a recurring theme of the collection:
My brain’s the pilot
And me the plane
To me it’s simple
To you insane
I can’t control
What I can’t see
This planes not real
Just fantasy
Section two and three, ‘Love’ and, ‘Moments’, make up the second half of the collection. ‘Love’ takes the reader through the emotional rollercoaster of love, desire and heartbreak, showing the joy and warm of love in the midst of otherwise darker moments. Tender sentiments are captured in poems such as ‘Loving’ and “Waterfall’. Yet the later heartbreak poems flit between hurt and anger, as seen in the poem ‘You’. Whilst most of the poems are placed in the centre, this is one of the few poems aligned on the left hand side of the page. As the poem progresses with lines such as, ‘You didn’t think of me that day’ and ‘You only thought of what you’d do’, it becomes suggestive of a one-sidedness the author is trying to communicate.
The final section, ‘Moments’ appears to provide some snapshots into Tearney’s childhood, living in a video-game culture with news soundbites as our main source of information, whilst many of us have too many first-world problems to count. Some poems, such as ‘Slaughter’, take on a more political stance, whereas, ‘The monster from the sea’ is a gut-wrenching poem of abuse and mistreatment.
Towards the end of the collection, Tearney begins to demonstrate the very thing he now spends his time teaching others - how ‘words can be fundamental to finding inner peace, when struggling inside a torn mind.’ The penultimate poem, ‘All that we see’ runs as a catalogue of all the expectations and measurements we hold ourselves to, but slowly turns into a strong, uplifting poem of appreciation, self-love, self-care and pride.
The final poem returns to the willow tree, bringing this collection in a neat circle back to where Tearney’s poetry all began. It is a fitting ending to a collection that speaks of the power of poetry and artistic expression to help and heal.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 15th August 2019
Book Review: Conflict Studies by Paul Laughlin
Conflict is something that the world has in no short supply. From the large-scale political wars to the smaller social conflicts that happen in every moment of the day, Paul Laughlin’s Conflict Studies is an evocative response to a very real representation of the contemporary conflicts faced not only by those living in Northern Ireland, but the conflicts faced by everyone everywhere there is injustice, war, and waste.
Published only in 2018, this collection is made up of both new and old poetry from Laughlin’s portfolio; while a lot of his poetry is based in his home of Northern Ireland, many of the poems in this collection are careful not to identify specific places, and so do not lack for inspirational material or experiences for the reader to draw upon and relate to as they read.
Conflict Studies starts with a poignant quote by WH Auden, which sets the tone brilliantly for the poetry we are about to read: “You shall love your crooked neighbour / With your crooked heart”, commenting briefly on the state of human nature before it throws us straight into the fray with Laughlin’s first poem ‘No Fit State’; for those who have never read any of Laughlin’s poetry before, the first poem is a great introduction, setting the scene of the unnamed, but instantly relatable, “sclerotic state” in which the rest of the poems are based.
Laughlin pulls no punches in this collection, with a number of poems delving into the thematic conflict of politics and identity, damning the actions of politicians and social leaders who vie for war and power at the expense of their own people, their own institutions. This is especially so in his poems ‘Electoral Cycle’ and ‘Politicians’, where the simple rhyming narrative outlines the repetitive actions of our political leaders vying for our trust and vote:
“But every promise is a lie
And every outcome is the same
So they deflect, distract, deny
To absolve themselves of blame”
As we can see by this excerpt from ‘Politicians’, Laughlin’s writing style is simple, but effective, with fantastic use of writing techniques to create an evocative harshness and real emotion in the speaker’s tone of voice. This speaker is a constant presence throughout the collection, commenting on every political and social conflict they can see, from homelessness and death, identity and autonomy, and every other conflict we experience in between.
Each word perfectly placed to describe the scene without breaking the regular rhythm that Laughlin’s poems possess, depicting the steady and ever-present nature of conflict within each moment of the world. There is a distinct lack of punctuation consistent throughout Laughlin’s poetry, opting instead to use the white space to dictate the pace and rhythm of the poems, emphasising certain lines and sentiments for greater impact. One other interpretation that the lack of punctuation signifies is that it is a sign that this conflict is not governed by any traditional means, it cannot be paused, stopped, or controlled by anything but nothingness itself.
The narrative arc depicts the political and social injustices that are happening constantly all over the world. From Northern Ireland to Gaza, USA to UK, the thinly-veiled allusions to American Presidents and wars that started many years ago are all caught and play a part in telling the story of the world as it is right in this moment through the striking and harsh imagery, exacerbated by the emotive language used to describe it for it for full impact, to express the faithlessness and sorrow abound.
With all that is happening in the world, it can be easy to forget one or two things. However, the crime of forgetting just one facet of the pain that makes up this world is another theme that is prevalent throughout the collection. The surplus of enjambment makes you notice when punctuation is applied to the one poem, ‘The New Accord’; with the reference to Jean McConville, in this poem we are pulled deep into the memory of the consequences wrought by the Troubles, and lament the death of “Romantic Ireland” taken over at the cost of many lives either snuffed out or hellishly repressed. Memories such as this are painful, but living through the experience would be even worse. Memory of events such as these are the only things that can stop another like it from happening again, or else prepare for the devastation it will wrought.
Rounding off the collection with ‘The Interpreted World’, we once again recognise that there is no real end to the conflict, just as there is no satisfying end to this particular collection. It’s impossible to mention all of the facets working together to make up this hard-hitting collection of poetry, but these simple poems telling complex stories have the power to open blind eyes to the hardships and conflicts of life.
Written by: Emily James
Published: 14th August 2019
Published only in 2018, this collection is made up of both new and old poetry from Laughlin’s portfolio; while a lot of his poetry is based in his home of Northern Ireland, many of the poems in this collection are careful not to identify specific places, and so do not lack for inspirational material or experiences for the reader to draw upon and relate to as they read.
Conflict Studies starts with a poignant quote by WH Auden, which sets the tone brilliantly for the poetry we are about to read: “You shall love your crooked neighbour / With your crooked heart”, commenting briefly on the state of human nature before it throws us straight into the fray with Laughlin’s first poem ‘No Fit State’; for those who have never read any of Laughlin’s poetry before, the first poem is a great introduction, setting the scene of the unnamed, but instantly relatable, “sclerotic state” in which the rest of the poems are based.
Laughlin pulls no punches in this collection, with a number of poems delving into the thematic conflict of politics and identity, damning the actions of politicians and social leaders who vie for war and power at the expense of their own people, their own institutions. This is especially so in his poems ‘Electoral Cycle’ and ‘Politicians’, where the simple rhyming narrative outlines the repetitive actions of our political leaders vying for our trust and vote:
“But every promise is a lie
And every outcome is the same
So they deflect, distract, deny
To absolve themselves of blame”
As we can see by this excerpt from ‘Politicians’, Laughlin’s writing style is simple, but effective, with fantastic use of writing techniques to create an evocative harshness and real emotion in the speaker’s tone of voice. This speaker is a constant presence throughout the collection, commenting on every political and social conflict they can see, from homelessness and death, identity and autonomy, and every other conflict we experience in between.
Each word perfectly placed to describe the scene without breaking the regular rhythm that Laughlin’s poems possess, depicting the steady and ever-present nature of conflict within each moment of the world. There is a distinct lack of punctuation consistent throughout Laughlin’s poetry, opting instead to use the white space to dictate the pace and rhythm of the poems, emphasising certain lines and sentiments for greater impact. One other interpretation that the lack of punctuation signifies is that it is a sign that this conflict is not governed by any traditional means, it cannot be paused, stopped, or controlled by anything but nothingness itself.
The narrative arc depicts the political and social injustices that are happening constantly all over the world. From Northern Ireland to Gaza, USA to UK, the thinly-veiled allusions to American Presidents and wars that started many years ago are all caught and play a part in telling the story of the world as it is right in this moment through the striking and harsh imagery, exacerbated by the emotive language used to describe it for it for full impact, to express the faithlessness and sorrow abound.
With all that is happening in the world, it can be easy to forget one or two things. However, the crime of forgetting just one facet of the pain that makes up this world is another theme that is prevalent throughout the collection. The surplus of enjambment makes you notice when punctuation is applied to the one poem, ‘The New Accord’; with the reference to Jean McConville, in this poem we are pulled deep into the memory of the consequences wrought by the Troubles, and lament the death of “Romantic Ireland” taken over at the cost of many lives either snuffed out or hellishly repressed. Memories such as this are painful, but living through the experience would be even worse. Memory of events such as these are the only things that can stop another like it from happening again, or else prepare for the devastation it will wrought.
Rounding off the collection with ‘The Interpreted World’, we once again recognise that there is no real end to the conflict, just as there is no satisfying end to this particular collection. It’s impossible to mention all of the facets working together to make up this hard-hitting collection of poetry, but these simple poems telling complex stories have the power to open blind eyes to the hardships and conflicts of life.
Written by: Emily James
Published: 14th August 2019
Book Review: By The Feet Of Men by Grant Price
By the Feet of Men, published by John Hunt Publishing, rides on the crest of a zeitgeist. From its opening pages the novel drips hints that we’re being given a glimpse into a much changed world.
The cinematic first scene sees nature, sickly and devoured, smashed aside by Warspite, the cargo Runners rig propelling protagonists Cassady and Ghazi into a maelstrom of action.
Clues mount. Drought, eternal heat, radiation. This is the hot topic, Climate crisis. Writers may have been plotting the end of the world since Noah’s flood, but in recent years the subject has been warming in the global conscious, and a deluge of work has spawned its own genre title: Cli-Fi. Grant Price’s second novel is a prime example.
“The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men,” begins the Henry David Thoreau quote from which the book takes its title, and it is clear here that our world has been distorted by mankind’s interventions. The landscape has suffered: “No animals ran or flew or slithered … It was a mortuary.”
Price imagines a hard land, peopled by tough characters. Humanity has been reduced to a Darwinian race, where survival of the fittest is the only law. Violence seeps into the very geography. The sky is “slashed open”, a grave is an abscess, buildings are “disembowelled, their guts spilling into the surrounding streets.”
Through this dystopia move the Runners, transporting meagre goods through inhospitable territories, bartering for their own subsistence. Cassady and Ghazi live day-by-day, hand-to-mouth, until they are given the chance to run a mission that might make a difference, to themselves, and to the world.
Like all Runners, they ride as a pair, but their vehicle has equal billing as the third member of the crew. Warspite, often affectionately termed ‘the Old Lady’ is their transport, their livelihood, and their life support. She is a character in her own right.
For this is a world in which animal and engine blend together in symbiosis. Man’s movements are “mechanical”, tension makes a throat “as tight as an engine nut”, while a rig is a “toxic insect”. Human and machine combat the elements together.
With life itself at stake, Cassady leads a convoy in a quest to battle back. Their progress is slow as the Runners often crawl, but Price nevertheless moves the action forward at whip-crack pace. His prose is hard, sharp, often fierce, like an action hero punching a way through problems. It’s not exactly a man’s world. Strong female characters abound, though they are as likely to be bald, tattooed, feral and ferocious as the men. If testosterone fuelled the rigs they would fly.
Somehow, within and beside the desolation and the danger, Price finds time to explore Thoreau further. The titular quote continues to wonder about the paths the mind travels, and By the Feet of Men delves into philosophy at any opportunity.
Ghazi is the conduit for spirituality, he whittles a wooden elephant and talks of the wider rules of the universe.
Action-philosophy is a risky dichotomy. For the most part it is handled well, though it can seem somewhat strange when characters pepper their talk with William Blake, Plato’s Cave, and the Ship of Theseus, while giving their rigs - Orion, Telemonian - names that reek of cultural awareness. All this in a post-apocalyptic world in which the books have been burned.
Other minor quibbles linger too: principally the deus et machina at the centre of the plot, and why Cassady is chosen as a leader when he demonstrates so few qualities that would qualify him for the role. The brutality, ever-present, can sometimes lack impact. Several characters relate bloody backstories, but rape and murder become almost mundane. These are people who have been through hell, but they don’t show it and the reader doesn’t always feel it.
That said, such a glut of punches are thrown that enough do land, and the heat turns up as we get to know the convoy. The blunt thumps that do find their mark carry a dead weight.
Genuine tension mounts as the Runners journey into the unknown. There is real emotion, tangible pain as they sway under the blows of the choices and mistakes they make. The novel has a visual, filmic quality, but one contrast to action flicks is that death does not always come quickly. The Runners see “going out without fear” as passing the test.
Ultimately, this is a survival story. A battle of individuals, but also for a species, and for the deeper meaning of what it means to be human.
“’My mission,” says Ghazi, “is to understand what I call the soul.’” Cassady’s mission is to save the world. Price’s charge is to combine the two in an intelligent action thriller. The achievement of each may be open to interpretation. For this reader the author, at least, is successful.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 8th August 2019
The cinematic first scene sees nature, sickly and devoured, smashed aside by Warspite, the cargo Runners rig propelling protagonists Cassady and Ghazi into a maelstrom of action.
Clues mount. Drought, eternal heat, radiation. This is the hot topic, Climate crisis. Writers may have been plotting the end of the world since Noah’s flood, but in recent years the subject has been warming in the global conscious, and a deluge of work has spawned its own genre title: Cli-Fi. Grant Price’s second novel is a prime example.
“The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men,” begins the Henry David Thoreau quote from which the book takes its title, and it is clear here that our world has been distorted by mankind’s interventions. The landscape has suffered: “No animals ran or flew or slithered … It was a mortuary.”
Price imagines a hard land, peopled by tough characters. Humanity has been reduced to a Darwinian race, where survival of the fittest is the only law. Violence seeps into the very geography. The sky is “slashed open”, a grave is an abscess, buildings are “disembowelled, their guts spilling into the surrounding streets.”
Through this dystopia move the Runners, transporting meagre goods through inhospitable territories, bartering for their own subsistence. Cassady and Ghazi live day-by-day, hand-to-mouth, until they are given the chance to run a mission that might make a difference, to themselves, and to the world.
Like all Runners, they ride as a pair, but their vehicle has equal billing as the third member of the crew. Warspite, often affectionately termed ‘the Old Lady’ is their transport, their livelihood, and their life support. She is a character in her own right.
For this is a world in which animal and engine blend together in symbiosis. Man’s movements are “mechanical”, tension makes a throat “as tight as an engine nut”, while a rig is a “toxic insect”. Human and machine combat the elements together.
With life itself at stake, Cassady leads a convoy in a quest to battle back. Their progress is slow as the Runners often crawl, but Price nevertheless moves the action forward at whip-crack pace. His prose is hard, sharp, often fierce, like an action hero punching a way through problems. It’s not exactly a man’s world. Strong female characters abound, though they are as likely to be bald, tattooed, feral and ferocious as the men. If testosterone fuelled the rigs they would fly.
Somehow, within and beside the desolation and the danger, Price finds time to explore Thoreau further. The titular quote continues to wonder about the paths the mind travels, and By the Feet of Men delves into philosophy at any opportunity.
Ghazi is the conduit for spirituality, he whittles a wooden elephant and talks of the wider rules of the universe.
Action-philosophy is a risky dichotomy. For the most part it is handled well, though it can seem somewhat strange when characters pepper their talk with William Blake, Plato’s Cave, and the Ship of Theseus, while giving their rigs - Orion, Telemonian - names that reek of cultural awareness. All this in a post-apocalyptic world in which the books have been burned.
Other minor quibbles linger too: principally the deus et machina at the centre of the plot, and why Cassady is chosen as a leader when he demonstrates so few qualities that would qualify him for the role. The brutality, ever-present, can sometimes lack impact. Several characters relate bloody backstories, but rape and murder become almost mundane. These are people who have been through hell, but they don’t show it and the reader doesn’t always feel it.
That said, such a glut of punches are thrown that enough do land, and the heat turns up as we get to know the convoy. The blunt thumps that do find their mark carry a dead weight.
Genuine tension mounts as the Runners journey into the unknown. There is real emotion, tangible pain as they sway under the blows of the choices and mistakes they make. The novel has a visual, filmic quality, but one contrast to action flicks is that death does not always come quickly. The Runners see “going out without fear” as passing the test.
Ultimately, this is a survival story. A battle of individuals, but also for a species, and for the deeper meaning of what it means to be human.
“’My mission,” says Ghazi, “is to understand what I call the soul.’” Cassady’s mission is to save the world. Price’s charge is to combine the two in an intelligent action thriller. The achievement of each may be open to interpretation. For this reader the author, at least, is successful.
Written by: Jon Squirrell
Published: 8th August 2019
Book Review: empire of dirt by Thomas Stewart
Thomas Stewart’s debut pamphlet empire of dirt was published in 2019 by Red Squirrel Press. The pamphlet looks minimalist - the font is small, black text on a white expanse - but its themes are by no means light. The themes explored are heavy, ranging across homophobia, struggles with mental health and toxic masculinity.
The small collection is directed by the narrative of watching. The poems ask the audience to watch - watch teenage suicides, watch miscarriages. But this act of watching sits uneasily as a duality presents itself. While we watch, others watch us. They watch with a mysticism, a shamanistic toxicity that morphs us humans into the other: animals. There’s a neighbour in ‘And Then The Flowers Came’ that counts the ‘amount of cigarettes I smoke / or how many times / I check Grindr / on my phone’. She is keeping her one eye on the riff-raff like ‘Eden’s viper’. Clearly situating the modern use of apps and the biblical imagery of a snake, this powerful coupling allows the pamphlet to resonate - most chillingly perhaps, as the poems suggest that there is safety in neither the modern nor the ancient.
In ‘Poetic License’, the narrator exclaims ‘I was a spectator’. This line implies that the position and role of the poet holds power over the telling of other people’s stories. The narrator witnesses a son buying a motorbike, ‘the same model,/ and colour red,/ as his dead father’s’. He desires to write a poem about it and searches for his own relation to it, but fails for he ‘is not this son, / it was not my red / motorbike, / not my dead father’. The youthful struggle of identity and listlessness against abuse manifests itself as a cry for help, but ‘Cult’ presents the desire for guidance as nothing more than blind submission. ‘Read that poetry...write three tempestuous poems’ - the repetition of the refrain ‘We do as you desire, sir’ is the innocent reply of the lost, that soon disintegrates into the terrifying automatic response made by a schoolteacher. These commands include the breaking of a homeowner’s nose and the stamping on the head of her husband.
Putting faith in the natural appears to have the same results. Stewart’s presentation of nature as something elemental - something tempting and promising - has cruel repercussions. In ‘The Men That Wore Foxes on Their Head’, the narrator prays to the moon like it’s a beacon of hope, to stop the men wreaking havoc on his home. In return, ‘the moon created a blurry light / enough to see the men who wore foxes on their heads destroy my mother’s garden’.
Where nature cannot offer help, man takes it into his own hands, and this culminates in the most violent of imagery in ‘I Drew My Fingers in the Blood of a Crocodile’s Belly’ - bare hands digging into the insides of an animal. A helping hand it is not, for while the narrator ‘pulled out things / it wouldn’t need’, Stewart displays a ritualistic dissection of its ‘ornaments to demonstrate how it came to be’. The other idea of duality - the forcing away of things - seems to give us knowledge, or at least an answer, perhaps demonstrating why nature is so cruel. The gardeners prune the sunflowers, ‘poked at the disc flower / pulled at the sepal and / bract and rays’ to prepare the plants for nothing more than a ‘morbid fashion show’. This phrase illustrates the overarching theme of watching. Where Stewart’s narrator cannot distinguish between human and animal, the body with its different elements appears separate and ever deadly. No wonder then, that hell hath no fury like nature scorned.
Stewart’s reliance on enjambment dictates all but one of his poems in the pamphlet. The line breaks evoke tension, a feeling of ‘where is this going to go’, before hurtling some depressing notion back at you. That separation feels raw and fresh off the tongue, before there comes the respite of ‘Skull’. Written in prose, it reads as a rehearsed anecdote, detailing a horrifying birth of a skull from a rib. Again, the biblical notes of Adam and Eve ring out, but it is casual and languid: ‘you dont expect a skull to come out of there those things dont happen here.’ The lack of punctuation frightens the reader due to the sheer complacency of it.
Throughout Stewart’s pamphlet, he seems to present the duality of hurt, and the watching of that hurt. The title, empire of dirt, calls to mind the Nine Inch Nails song ‘Hurt’, where Trent Reznor mewls of the burden of his crown of thorns. Or perhaps it’s the crooning of Johnny Cash, his ‘Hurt’ an adaptation of Reznor’s original, now the loneliness of life after June. This eponymous poem responds in part to this unforgiving prize of hurt. The narrator knows what he wants - ‘let me be in the woods,/ let me scream to the tallest tree’ - but doesn’t know what to do with it. The last poem in the pamphlet suggests that the pruning of an unsightly sunflower be viewed as a ‘mercy killing’, but offers the alternate truth: ‘but most of the seed planters / just didn’t want to buy / a watering can’. Perhaps, then, Stewart’s pamphlet of poems is about perspective, about stripping away the allegory and the mysticism and looking at oneself beneath the entanglement of the wooded soul. It’s his empire of dirt, but one we don’t mind watching crumble.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 5th August 2019
The small collection is directed by the narrative of watching. The poems ask the audience to watch - watch teenage suicides, watch miscarriages. But this act of watching sits uneasily as a duality presents itself. While we watch, others watch us. They watch with a mysticism, a shamanistic toxicity that morphs us humans into the other: animals. There’s a neighbour in ‘And Then The Flowers Came’ that counts the ‘amount of cigarettes I smoke / or how many times / I check Grindr / on my phone’. She is keeping her one eye on the riff-raff like ‘Eden’s viper’. Clearly situating the modern use of apps and the biblical imagery of a snake, this powerful coupling allows the pamphlet to resonate - most chillingly perhaps, as the poems suggest that there is safety in neither the modern nor the ancient.
In ‘Poetic License’, the narrator exclaims ‘I was a spectator’. This line implies that the position and role of the poet holds power over the telling of other people’s stories. The narrator witnesses a son buying a motorbike, ‘the same model,/ and colour red,/ as his dead father’s’. He desires to write a poem about it and searches for his own relation to it, but fails for he ‘is not this son, / it was not my red / motorbike, / not my dead father’. The youthful struggle of identity and listlessness against abuse manifests itself as a cry for help, but ‘Cult’ presents the desire for guidance as nothing more than blind submission. ‘Read that poetry...write three tempestuous poems’ - the repetition of the refrain ‘We do as you desire, sir’ is the innocent reply of the lost, that soon disintegrates into the terrifying automatic response made by a schoolteacher. These commands include the breaking of a homeowner’s nose and the stamping on the head of her husband.
Putting faith in the natural appears to have the same results. Stewart’s presentation of nature as something elemental - something tempting and promising - has cruel repercussions. In ‘The Men That Wore Foxes on Their Head’, the narrator prays to the moon like it’s a beacon of hope, to stop the men wreaking havoc on his home. In return, ‘the moon created a blurry light / enough to see the men who wore foxes on their heads destroy my mother’s garden’.
Where nature cannot offer help, man takes it into his own hands, and this culminates in the most violent of imagery in ‘I Drew My Fingers in the Blood of a Crocodile’s Belly’ - bare hands digging into the insides of an animal. A helping hand it is not, for while the narrator ‘pulled out things / it wouldn’t need’, Stewart displays a ritualistic dissection of its ‘ornaments to demonstrate how it came to be’. The other idea of duality - the forcing away of things - seems to give us knowledge, or at least an answer, perhaps demonstrating why nature is so cruel. The gardeners prune the sunflowers, ‘poked at the disc flower / pulled at the sepal and / bract and rays’ to prepare the plants for nothing more than a ‘morbid fashion show’. This phrase illustrates the overarching theme of watching. Where Stewart’s narrator cannot distinguish between human and animal, the body with its different elements appears separate and ever deadly. No wonder then, that hell hath no fury like nature scorned.
Stewart’s reliance on enjambment dictates all but one of his poems in the pamphlet. The line breaks evoke tension, a feeling of ‘where is this going to go’, before hurtling some depressing notion back at you. That separation feels raw and fresh off the tongue, before there comes the respite of ‘Skull’. Written in prose, it reads as a rehearsed anecdote, detailing a horrifying birth of a skull from a rib. Again, the biblical notes of Adam and Eve ring out, but it is casual and languid: ‘you dont expect a skull to come out of there those things dont happen here.’ The lack of punctuation frightens the reader due to the sheer complacency of it.
Throughout Stewart’s pamphlet, he seems to present the duality of hurt, and the watching of that hurt. The title, empire of dirt, calls to mind the Nine Inch Nails song ‘Hurt’, where Trent Reznor mewls of the burden of his crown of thorns. Or perhaps it’s the crooning of Johnny Cash, his ‘Hurt’ an adaptation of Reznor’s original, now the loneliness of life after June. This eponymous poem responds in part to this unforgiving prize of hurt. The narrator knows what he wants - ‘let me be in the woods,/ let me scream to the tallest tree’ - but doesn’t know what to do with it. The last poem in the pamphlet suggests that the pruning of an unsightly sunflower be viewed as a ‘mercy killing’, but offers the alternate truth: ‘but most of the seed planters / just didn’t want to buy / a watering can’. Perhaps, then, Stewart’s pamphlet of poems is about perspective, about stripping away the allegory and the mysticism and looking at oneself beneath the entanglement of the wooded soul. It’s his empire of dirt, but one we don’t mind watching crumble.
Written by: Liv Beards
Published: 5th August 2019
Book Review: Pick Your Own by Amanda Bonnick
Amanda Bonnick’s debut pamphlet, Pick Your Own, was published by Worcestershire based publishers Black Pear Press in April 2019. The book – that boasts a beautiful and complementary cover – is Bonnick’s exploration of a childhood spent in the wake of a missing father, after he passed away when Bonnick was only a toddler. Tinged with grief that grows to acceptance then, Pick Your Own is a brave exploration of how we live and learn even when faced with the hardest of lessons.
Bonnick boasts a beautiful turn of phrase in this collection, with each piece having its own distinct imagery to be chewed over by the reader. Throughout there are stand-out lines that linger even now, long after reading: ‘Bubbles of juice pop between my teeth’ (‘Pick Your Own’); ‘grey grit dawn-soaked dead-end’ (Ten Pence for the Sea’); and, one of my favourites from the entire book, ‘I wasn’t a girl when I was a child. / I was a creature.’ (‘Creature’). There are superb line breaks throughout as well, that build tension and suspense, as well as serving for great comedic effect on one or two occasions.
The small collection is held together by a developing narrative. While there are moments rooted heavily in Bonnick’s childhood, speaking with a frank but tender tone about troubling times without her father, there are also moments of adolescence and eventually adulthood. By the end of this brief look, there is certainly a feeling of understanding and acceptance that pairs well with expressions of grief, making for a maturity and indeed an intimacy by the close of the book. That said, while the narrative does hang together, it feels to me much like part of something larger – which, I suspect in the grand scheme of things, it most likely is.
A powerful insight into love lost and a life lived, Pick Your Own is packed with stand-out moments to sink your teeth into. While it feels as though the pamphlet – or rather, the events reported on within the pamphlet – might have something more to say still, the poems that are here are heartfelt, well-polished and admirable. Bonnick is honest with her readers and, as a result of that, her work is believable, relatable and absolutely worth reading.
Pick Your Own is available from the Black Pear Press website now by clicking here.
Written by: Charley Barnes
Published: 26th July 2019
Bonnick boasts a beautiful turn of phrase in this collection, with each piece having its own distinct imagery to be chewed over by the reader. Throughout there are stand-out lines that linger even now, long after reading: ‘Bubbles of juice pop between my teeth’ (‘Pick Your Own’); ‘grey grit dawn-soaked dead-end’ (Ten Pence for the Sea’); and, one of my favourites from the entire book, ‘I wasn’t a girl when I was a child. / I was a creature.’ (‘Creature’). There are superb line breaks throughout as well, that build tension and suspense, as well as serving for great comedic effect on one or two occasions.
The small collection is held together by a developing narrative. While there are moments rooted heavily in Bonnick’s childhood, speaking with a frank but tender tone about troubling times without her father, there are also moments of adolescence and eventually adulthood. By the end of this brief look, there is certainly a feeling of understanding and acceptance that pairs well with expressions of grief, making for a maturity and indeed an intimacy by the close of the book. That said, while the narrative does hang together, it feels to me much like part of something larger – which, I suspect in the grand scheme of things, it most likely is.
A powerful insight into love lost and a life lived, Pick Your Own is packed with stand-out moments to sink your teeth into. While it feels as though the pamphlet – or rather, the events reported on within the pamphlet – might have something more to say still, the poems that are here are heartfelt, well-polished and admirable. Bonnick is honest with her readers and, as a result of that, her work is believable, relatable and absolutely worth reading.
Pick Your Own is available from the Black Pear Press website now by clicking here.
Written by: Charley Barnes
Published: 26th July 2019
Book Review: The Discontinuity at the Waistline: My #MeToo Poems by Marion Deutsche Cohen
The Discontinuity at the Waistline: My #MeToo Poems by Marion Deutsche Cohen is a collection of poems focusing on everyday micro-aggressions many women face throughout their lives, from pre-adolescence to adulthood. Published by Rhythm and Bones Press in July 2019, this collection is extremely relevant and unfortunately relatable. Of course, it deals with hard-hitting topics, which naturally leave the reader feeling uncomfortable. But from beginning to end, Cohen demonstrates the ability to move between wonderful imagery and cutting clarity in a way that really makes the reader sit up and pay attention.
The collection moves through the poet’s life span, making it clear that #MeToo concerns begin from a horrifyingly young age, even if we hadn’t labelled it so before. The second poem of the collection, ‘Basic Rapist Dream, Pre-adolescent’ highlights this in its very title. The poem lays out a rape dream in which ‘The people I called for help / would be more rapists.’ This ‘Basic’ and therefore typical dream depiction is haunting due to the young age of the dreamer, but also for what it seems to say about society’s attitude and response to dealing with the rape culture we live in.
Moreover, through a mix of free verse and prose poems, the poetic variety matches the myriad of memories and anecdotes Cohen works into her collection. In ‘Sour Sixteen’, and ‘A page of short Coming-of-Age Poems’ Cohen combines shorter prose poems, an effect that creates a montage of experiences of being young and female.
Throughout the collection, the description of unwanted male attention and the ability to politely say no without damaging a man’s ego are demonstrated with great accuracy. Moreover, Cohen highlights the sexual expectations women often feel compelled to conform to, both in and out of relationships. In ‘A Page of First Husband-to-Be Poems’ she writes, ‘Then he started kissing me again. I wanted to keep dating him so I kissed him back, different from a good night kiss. But I didn’t want to. It was a few more dates before I wanted to. Just not yet. Not yet.’ Here, Cohen describes the pressure she was under to comply to the sexual demands of her partner. Whilst she describes her fear of being dumped for not wanting to kiss her boyfriend, and how ‘Fraternity boys always talked about what they did to women, how many virgins they broke’, Cohen also captures the shame and stigmatisation of sexual women in the poem ‘Show and Tell’. In this poem, she describes the shame felt at having to admit she was sexually active to a doctor, feeling the need to clarify with, ‘we’re engaged’ to escape judgment.
About half way through the collection, Cohen directly addresses #MeToo in the prose poem, ‘Statements, 2019’. This poem is a standout moment of the collection as Cohen dismantles the ‘Get over it’ argument against #MeToo. This poem is a statement of strength, understanding and compassion. Similarly, in the poem ‘Saying No’, Cohen reflects on how much better she has become at saying no. She writes, 'just because we didn’t say no at first, just because we didn’t say no at / second or third or fourth, doesn’t mean we can’t say no at last.’
Another stand out poem is ‘Temper Tantrums at Home’. Through wonderful repetition and observation, Cohen begins with the statement, ‘It’s different when a man does it.’ What follows is a rapid poem with a punch of an ending – which you will have to read for yourself.
Ultimately, this collection is a hard-hitting read but overwhelmingly necessary. Cohen states at the end of the collection, ‘I have never been raped or assaulted but there were things I didn’t want to do’. Through her poetry Cohen validates the feelings and concerns of her younger self who is surely not alone in these experiences. In this way, Cohen’s collection is powerful and empowering. By putting these experiences into words, she allows other girls and women to see they are not the only ones who have felt this way, and ultimately that they should not have to feel this way.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 16th July 2019
The collection moves through the poet’s life span, making it clear that #MeToo concerns begin from a horrifyingly young age, even if we hadn’t labelled it so before. The second poem of the collection, ‘Basic Rapist Dream, Pre-adolescent’ highlights this in its very title. The poem lays out a rape dream in which ‘The people I called for help / would be more rapists.’ This ‘Basic’ and therefore typical dream depiction is haunting due to the young age of the dreamer, but also for what it seems to say about society’s attitude and response to dealing with the rape culture we live in.
Moreover, through a mix of free verse and prose poems, the poetic variety matches the myriad of memories and anecdotes Cohen works into her collection. In ‘Sour Sixteen’, and ‘A page of short Coming-of-Age Poems’ Cohen combines shorter prose poems, an effect that creates a montage of experiences of being young and female.
Throughout the collection, the description of unwanted male attention and the ability to politely say no without damaging a man’s ego are demonstrated with great accuracy. Moreover, Cohen highlights the sexual expectations women often feel compelled to conform to, both in and out of relationships. In ‘A Page of First Husband-to-Be Poems’ she writes, ‘Then he started kissing me again. I wanted to keep dating him so I kissed him back, different from a good night kiss. But I didn’t want to. It was a few more dates before I wanted to. Just not yet. Not yet.’ Here, Cohen describes the pressure she was under to comply to the sexual demands of her partner. Whilst she describes her fear of being dumped for not wanting to kiss her boyfriend, and how ‘Fraternity boys always talked about what they did to women, how many virgins they broke’, Cohen also captures the shame and stigmatisation of sexual women in the poem ‘Show and Tell’. In this poem, she describes the shame felt at having to admit she was sexually active to a doctor, feeling the need to clarify with, ‘we’re engaged’ to escape judgment.
About half way through the collection, Cohen directly addresses #MeToo in the prose poem, ‘Statements, 2019’. This poem is a standout moment of the collection as Cohen dismantles the ‘Get over it’ argument against #MeToo. This poem is a statement of strength, understanding and compassion. Similarly, in the poem ‘Saying No’, Cohen reflects on how much better she has become at saying no. She writes, 'just because we didn’t say no at first, just because we didn’t say no at / second or third or fourth, doesn’t mean we can’t say no at last.’
Another stand out poem is ‘Temper Tantrums at Home’. Through wonderful repetition and observation, Cohen begins with the statement, ‘It’s different when a man does it.’ What follows is a rapid poem with a punch of an ending – which you will have to read for yourself.
Ultimately, this collection is a hard-hitting read but overwhelmingly necessary. Cohen states at the end of the collection, ‘I have never been raped or assaulted but there were things I didn’t want to do’. Through her poetry Cohen validates the feelings and concerns of her younger self who is surely not alone in these experiences. In this way, Cohen’s collection is powerful and empowering. By putting these experiences into words, she allows other girls and women to see they are not the only ones who have felt this way, and ultimately that they should not have to feel this way.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 16th July 2019
Book Review: the sea refuses no river by Bethany Rivers
The sea refuses no river by Bethany Rivers delves into the grief and loss felt when losing a parent at a young age. Through beautiful natural (and particularly floral) imagery, Published by Fly on the Wall Poetry in June 2019, Rivers explores the almost palpable absence this loss can feel like, translating strong, raw emotions into a gorgeous poetic form.
Floral imagery is a constant theme throughout this chapbook. In the second poem, ‘’Violets - withered all l when my father died’, Rivers writes:
‘She was born with the language of flowers
though nobody believed her.
Kind of redundant in an age of reason.’
Throughout the rest of the chapbook, Rivers blows away any notion that the language of flowers is redundant, as they become a means to articulate grief in a truly beautiful way. This is seem in ‘At my father’s grave’ in which flowers become a form of communication in themselves.
Another poignant theme of Rivers’ poetry is memories. She reflects on the memories there was never time to make with the father she lost. These imagined memories are deeply touching in their simplicity. From walking holding hands, to her father eating broccoli, Rivers highlights the shift in everyday living after such a loss; how everything can become a reminder of what had been, or what could have been. This blurring of memory and imagination feeds into an overarching sense of loss carried within these poems. In Hiraeth, Rivers writes:
'some say home is a memory you keep
locked in your heart, but you continuously lose
the key'
This sense of absence as confusion is communicated so clearly, despite the complexity of the emotions Rivers is describing. Similarly, in ‘It’s the colour’ she writes:
'you weren’t there when I
called your name or
I called the wrong one'
Again, her ability to combine the feelings of love, loss, uncertainty and confusion within such condensed verse makes for powerful poetry.
The final two poems of the chapbook are standout pieces. Every single line in the penultimate poem, ‘I turn to the daffodils’ is gorgeous, and the final poem, ‘seven full stops’ provides a beautiful and poignant close to the chapbook.
Overall, across deserts, dreamscapes, maps and music, Rivers translates the journey through grief into a variety of beautiful metaphors. As the chapbook progresses, a sense of hope and light grows, but in a way that does not minimise the pain even this can bring. This chapbook will doubtless speak volumes and bring comfort to those who have experienced a similar loss to Rivers, as she articulates inexpressible emotions with ease and control.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 6th July 2019
Floral imagery is a constant theme throughout this chapbook. In the second poem, ‘’Violets - withered all l when my father died’, Rivers writes:
‘She was born with the language of flowers
though nobody believed her.
Kind of redundant in an age of reason.’
Throughout the rest of the chapbook, Rivers blows away any notion that the language of flowers is redundant, as they become a means to articulate grief in a truly beautiful way. This is seem in ‘At my father’s grave’ in which flowers become a form of communication in themselves.
Another poignant theme of Rivers’ poetry is memories. She reflects on the memories there was never time to make with the father she lost. These imagined memories are deeply touching in their simplicity. From walking holding hands, to her father eating broccoli, Rivers highlights the shift in everyday living after such a loss; how everything can become a reminder of what had been, or what could have been. This blurring of memory and imagination feeds into an overarching sense of loss carried within these poems. In Hiraeth, Rivers writes:
'some say home is a memory you keep
locked in your heart, but you continuously lose
the key'
This sense of absence as confusion is communicated so clearly, despite the complexity of the emotions Rivers is describing. Similarly, in ‘It’s the colour’ she writes:
'you weren’t there when I
called your name or
I called the wrong one'
Again, her ability to combine the feelings of love, loss, uncertainty and confusion within such condensed verse makes for powerful poetry.
The final two poems of the chapbook are standout pieces. Every single line in the penultimate poem, ‘I turn to the daffodils’ is gorgeous, and the final poem, ‘seven full stops’ provides a beautiful and poignant close to the chapbook.
Overall, across deserts, dreamscapes, maps and music, Rivers translates the journey through grief into a variety of beautiful metaphors. As the chapbook progresses, a sense of hope and light grows, but in a way that does not minimise the pain even this can bring. This chapbook will doubtless speak volumes and bring comfort to those who have experienced a similar loss to Rivers, as she articulates inexpressible emotions with ease and control.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 6th July 2019
Book Review: The day I nearly drowned by Dreena Collins
The Day I Nearly Drowned by Dreena Collins is a collection of fifteen short stories, published in June 2019. This is Collins’ second volume of short stories, and whilst some of the characters in The Day I Nearly Died will be familiar to those who have read volume one, The Blue Hour, it also works as a stand alone collection.
Collins’ stories focus on the difficult realities that many people experience at some point during their life time in a modern world. She writes of families, relationships and friendships in a manner that is engaging in personal, allowing the reader to be drawn into these character’s worlds - a definite skill when working within the short story form. It is easy to imagine those you are reading about as friends, or at the very least, people that you could know. All of this works together to make Collins’ characters strikingly human.
The collection opens with a story about a son caring for his elderly father who has never been able to accept his son’s sexuality. Collins allows her reader to empathise with the son as his husband’s existence is barely acknowledged by his family. However, the elderly man, suffering from dementia, inspires empathy in the reader, no less because the son’s attentive care for his father is so genuine. This story is one example of how Collins conveys the complexity of human and familial relationships in a way that is touching and thought-provoking.
Family is a recurring theme throughout Collins’ short stories. Dysfunctional and chaotic, Collins explores divorce and separation from a child’s perspective, giving an innocent but dark insight into the confusion such changes can create. A stand out story of the collection is, ‘Jessica Was Nice’. This story opens with the captivating line, ‘Jessica was surprised at the number of people who turned up to her funeral.’ Moving away from the realistic scenarios of the other stories in this collection, Collins moves towards the supernatural in this story, with the narrator describing Jessica’s reaction to her own funeral from beyond the grave. At times, this is comical, as Jessica’s ‘nice’ reputation being discussed by the funeral attendees is at odds with the sharp and direct Jessica being shown to the reader.
(Not) Prone to Winking’ is another very clever story, as characters within the narrative grapple to control the “truths” being told. This meta-battle of words is powerful in showing alternate versions of harmful events. Collins’ conveys this wonderfully, making this story one that resonates with the reader long after they have finished the collection.
Ultimately, The Day I Nearly Drowned is a collection that touches on very real and human issues - grief, loss, and loneliness in a very modern and transient world. The power of family and friendship is held up and knocked down at various points, representative of the complicated world we live in. Collins is able to make ordinary struggles emotionally poignant and powerful, reminding us that we all go through more than we think - for even things we may brush off as common or ordinary issues can pack an emotional punch.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 10th June 2019
Collins’ stories focus on the difficult realities that many people experience at some point during their life time in a modern world. She writes of families, relationships and friendships in a manner that is engaging in personal, allowing the reader to be drawn into these character’s worlds - a definite skill when working within the short story form. It is easy to imagine those you are reading about as friends, or at the very least, people that you could know. All of this works together to make Collins’ characters strikingly human.
The collection opens with a story about a son caring for his elderly father who has never been able to accept his son’s sexuality. Collins allows her reader to empathise with the son as his husband’s existence is barely acknowledged by his family. However, the elderly man, suffering from dementia, inspires empathy in the reader, no less because the son’s attentive care for his father is so genuine. This story is one example of how Collins conveys the complexity of human and familial relationships in a way that is touching and thought-provoking.
Family is a recurring theme throughout Collins’ short stories. Dysfunctional and chaotic, Collins explores divorce and separation from a child’s perspective, giving an innocent but dark insight into the confusion such changes can create. A stand out story of the collection is, ‘Jessica Was Nice’. This story opens with the captivating line, ‘Jessica was surprised at the number of people who turned up to her funeral.’ Moving away from the realistic scenarios of the other stories in this collection, Collins moves towards the supernatural in this story, with the narrator describing Jessica’s reaction to her own funeral from beyond the grave. At times, this is comical, as Jessica’s ‘nice’ reputation being discussed by the funeral attendees is at odds with the sharp and direct Jessica being shown to the reader.
(Not) Prone to Winking’ is another very clever story, as characters within the narrative grapple to control the “truths” being told. This meta-battle of words is powerful in showing alternate versions of harmful events. Collins’ conveys this wonderfully, making this story one that resonates with the reader long after they have finished the collection.
Ultimately, The Day I Nearly Drowned is a collection that touches on very real and human issues - grief, loss, and loneliness in a very modern and transient world. The power of family and friendship is held up and knocked down at various points, representative of the complicated world we live in. Collins is able to make ordinary struggles emotionally poignant and powerful, reminding us that we all go through more than we think - for even things we may brush off as common or ordinary issues can pack an emotional punch.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 10th June 2019
Book Reivew: The Woman With an Owl Tattoo by Anne Walsh Donnelly
The Woman with an Owl Tattoo by Anne Walsh Donnelly is a simply brilliant chapbook, published by Fly On The Wall Poetry Press on 30th May 2019. As the blurb states, Donnelly ‘explores exactly what it means to ‘come out’ as gay in your 50s’ and these poems do just that in a way that is both beautifully intimate and succinctly powerful.
The chapbook tells a narrative that is at once emotive, uplifting, heartbreaking, and empowering. In the opening poem, ‘Guide to Becoming a Writer’, Donnelly catalogues a series of events that brought the narrator to where she is now. This poem packs half a life into a poem, capturing the strength, ferocity, sadness and hardship bound up inside the writer. The rapidity Donnelly crafts in this poem gives the chapbook an explosive opening that takes sadness and turns it to strength, foregrounded in the line, ‘You’ll never become a real writer if you jump into the river.’
The poem, ‘Coming Out to my Therapist’ is the first in a series of poems in which the narrator describes coming out to different family members, but also herself. This thread of poems seems to encompass every feeling possible - from humour and empathy, to warmth and sadness.
Donnelly’s humour lights up this chapbook, for although these poems deal with difficult subject matter - denial, internalised homophobia and more - the joy of working through all of this shapes the arc of these poems into something overwhelmingly positive, uplifting and empowering. A particular favourite example of Donnelly’s poetic voice and humour comes in the poem, ‘History of My Sexual Encounters’ which begins with the disclaimer, ‘All penises in this poem are fictitious, any resemblance to real penises, / dying or dead, is purely coincidental.’
On the opposite end of this spectrum, In ‘From Chink to Rio Grande Rift’ Donnelly discusses the difficulty of unlearning the internalised homophobia ingrained for so long. She writes:
I dreamed of the priest, who once said,
as he flexed his fingers, masturbation causes blindness;
making love is for making babies
and gays are intrinsically disordered.
My brain, marinated in doctrine, castigated
me for not keeping the eruption underground
The narrative arc of this chapbook is beautiful as we are taken through numerous stages of self-acceptance into the realms of anew and exciting love. The poem, ‘Her Hug’, followed by ‘It’s Not Easy Being A Woman’ is a standout moment of the chapbook, as Donnelly captures the initial acknowledgment of having sexual feelings for another woman. ‘Being In Love At Fifty’ and, ‘Lesbia’ are two more wonderful poems which combine the beauty of love, lust and happiness. Indeed, the latter half of the chapbook is romantic, touching, loving and sexual, and the reader becomes bound up in the joy, love and acceptance that grows in each poem. Pure empowerment is felt in the poem, ‘Self-love’ in which Donnelly writes:
don’t think of self-love
as a crumb you must blow
from your table
think of it as the yeast
that will develop your dough
think of how it will nourish you
to rise
again
again
and
again.
Ultimately, Donnelly’s chapbook captures the complex balance of delight and uncertainty felt when coming out at the age of fifty. Self-acceptance is gained and grown throughout the chapbook in poems that are frankly beautiful. Littered with delicate imagery, Donnelly’s poetry is wonderful to read and re-read for the sheer warmth, love and heart this chapbook contains.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 31st May 2019
The chapbook tells a narrative that is at once emotive, uplifting, heartbreaking, and empowering. In the opening poem, ‘Guide to Becoming a Writer’, Donnelly catalogues a series of events that brought the narrator to where she is now. This poem packs half a life into a poem, capturing the strength, ferocity, sadness and hardship bound up inside the writer. The rapidity Donnelly crafts in this poem gives the chapbook an explosive opening that takes sadness and turns it to strength, foregrounded in the line, ‘You’ll never become a real writer if you jump into the river.’
The poem, ‘Coming Out to my Therapist’ is the first in a series of poems in which the narrator describes coming out to different family members, but also herself. This thread of poems seems to encompass every feeling possible - from humour and empathy, to warmth and sadness.
Donnelly’s humour lights up this chapbook, for although these poems deal with difficult subject matter - denial, internalised homophobia and more - the joy of working through all of this shapes the arc of these poems into something overwhelmingly positive, uplifting and empowering. A particular favourite example of Donnelly’s poetic voice and humour comes in the poem, ‘History of My Sexual Encounters’ which begins with the disclaimer, ‘All penises in this poem are fictitious, any resemblance to real penises, / dying or dead, is purely coincidental.’
On the opposite end of this spectrum, In ‘From Chink to Rio Grande Rift’ Donnelly discusses the difficulty of unlearning the internalised homophobia ingrained for so long. She writes:
I dreamed of the priest, who once said,
as he flexed his fingers, masturbation causes blindness;
making love is for making babies
and gays are intrinsically disordered.
My brain, marinated in doctrine, castigated
me for not keeping the eruption underground
The narrative arc of this chapbook is beautiful as we are taken through numerous stages of self-acceptance into the realms of anew and exciting love. The poem, ‘Her Hug’, followed by ‘It’s Not Easy Being A Woman’ is a standout moment of the chapbook, as Donnelly captures the initial acknowledgment of having sexual feelings for another woman. ‘Being In Love At Fifty’ and, ‘Lesbia’ are two more wonderful poems which combine the beauty of love, lust and happiness. Indeed, the latter half of the chapbook is romantic, touching, loving and sexual, and the reader becomes bound up in the joy, love and acceptance that grows in each poem. Pure empowerment is felt in the poem, ‘Self-love’ in which Donnelly writes:
don’t think of self-love
as a crumb you must blow
from your table
think of it as the yeast
that will develop your dough
think of how it will nourish you
to rise
again
again
and
again.
Ultimately, Donnelly’s chapbook captures the complex balance of delight and uncertainty felt when coming out at the age of fifty. Self-acceptance is gained and grown throughout the chapbook in poems that are frankly beautiful. Littered with delicate imagery, Donnelly’s poetry is wonderful to read and re-read for the sheer warmth, love and heart this chapbook contains.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 31st May 2019
Book Review: flowers i should have thrown away yesterday by Elisa MatveJevA
Elisa Matvejeva’s debut poetry collection, Flowers I Should Have Thrown Away Yesterday, is a hard hitting and powerful read, published by Maida Vale Publishing / Eyewear Publishing in 2018. Matvejeva’s poetry tackles the physical and emotional trauma of intimate partner violence, suicidal thoughts and depression in stunning poems that are breathtakingly cutting.
These untitled poems, named in the contents after their first lines, flow together in a cohesive manner, whilst never being in the least bit predictable. Littered throughout, within, and in between these poems are some captivating pencil illustrations. Varying from line drawings outlining two people in an embrace, to a carefully shaded battered leaf, these illustrations certainly add another dimension to the words Matejeva has so carefully chosen.
The narrative arc of this collection is itself heartbreaking. The narrator of these poems struggles with loving an abusive man, learning that she no longer needs him, and freeing herself from the cycle of self-loathing the relationship had inspired. An early poem, ‘You Dancing in the first snow’ exemplifies the tone taken in many throughout the collection. Matvejeva writes:
i keep hoping that we’ll go back to our old life
the one where care was a requirement
not a luxury
The events and their emotional consequences are difficult to read as Matvejeva’s honesty, coupled with her skilful subversion of the readers’ expectations, means there are numerous poems that feature or end with a shock for the reader. For example, in ‘I have problems with letting go’, she writes:
on the train that night
we locked eyes
and i never wanted to forget
your cold strong hands
around my throat
Binding the romantic tropes and the real harm of intimate partner violence together, Matvejeva communicates the confusion of so many different emotions, a feeling of entrapment and an almost addictive captivation, all at the same time. Her ability to pack volumes of meaning into a compact space is similarly powerful, as seen in the poem ‘pain is nothing’:
pain is nothing
but your concept
of a good time
These are just some examples of how Matvejeva can cause your breath to catch inside you. However, as the collection progresses, a sense and realisation that this is not okay develops. There are so many perfectly phrased, stand-out lines of this collection, that selecting just some has been tricky. However, ‘we will be together’ demonstrates a stage of the collection’s progression:
we will be together
once you learn that mortals
do not belong on glass pedestals
they just get cut by the edges.
Similarly, in ‘My deadbeat soul’, she writes:
i like us
the way we never were —
happy
The culmination of the collection is beautiful, strong, and empowering. Matvejeva describes being reborn and her reader is with her every step of the way, as reading these poems feels like reading about someone you know. The poems make real everything we wish wasn’t in a way that holds the reader, almost in a state of shock. If that’s not good poetry, then what is?
These poems are a testament to strength and recovery. Matvejeva’s words take horrific experiences and turn them into something powerful, as learning self-worth and self-love is foregrounded in the latter part of the collection in some more stand-out lines:
january came
with winds of fortune
from distant lands
and even more distant planets
i was reborn
as enough
For anyone to whom the experiences described in the collection are familiar, Matvejeva’s poetry is a reminder that things can be different and can get better, so don’t give up!
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 23rd May 2019
These untitled poems, named in the contents after their first lines, flow together in a cohesive manner, whilst never being in the least bit predictable. Littered throughout, within, and in between these poems are some captivating pencil illustrations. Varying from line drawings outlining two people in an embrace, to a carefully shaded battered leaf, these illustrations certainly add another dimension to the words Matejeva has so carefully chosen.
The narrative arc of this collection is itself heartbreaking. The narrator of these poems struggles with loving an abusive man, learning that she no longer needs him, and freeing herself from the cycle of self-loathing the relationship had inspired. An early poem, ‘You Dancing in the first snow’ exemplifies the tone taken in many throughout the collection. Matvejeva writes:
i keep hoping that we’ll go back to our old life
the one where care was a requirement
not a luxury
The events and their emotional consequences are difficult to read as Matvejeva’s honesty, coupled with her skilful subversion of the readers’ expectations, means there are numerous poems that feature or end with a shock for the reader. For example, in ‘I have problems with letting go’, she writes:
on the train that night
we locked eyes
and i never wanted to forget
your cold strong hands
around my throat
Binding the romantic tropes and the real harm of intimate partner violence together, Matvejeva communicates the confusion of so many different emotions, a feeling of entrapment and an almost addictive captivation, all at the same time. Her ability to pack volumes of meaning into a compact space is similarly powerful, as seen in the poem ‘pain is nothing’:
pain is nothing
but your concept
of a good time
These are just some examples of how Matvejeva can cause your breath to catch inside you. However, as the collection progresses, a sense and realisation that this is not okay develops. There are so many perfectly phrased, stand-out lines of this collection, that selecting just some has been tricky. However, ‘we will be together’ demonstrates a stage of the collection’s progression:
we will be together
once you learn that mortals
do not belong on glass pedestals
they just get cut by the edges.
Similarly, in ‘My deadbeat soul’, she writes:
i like us
the way we never were —
happy
The culmination of the collection is beautiful, strong, and empowering. Matvejeva describes being reborn and her reader is with her every step of the way, as reading these poems feels like reading about someone you know. The poems make real everything we wish wasn’t in a way that holds the reader, almost in a state of shock. If that’s not good poetry, then what is?
These poems are a testament to strength and recovery. Matvejeva’s words take horrific experiences and turn them into something powerful, as learning self-worth and self-love is foregrounded in the latter part of the collection in some more stand-out lines:
january came
with winds of fortune
from distant lands
and even more distant planets
i was reborn
as enough
For anyone to whom the experiences described in the collection are familiar, Matvejeva’s poetry is a reminder that things can be different and can get better, so don’t give up!
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 23rd May 2019
Book Review: Bad Mommy / Stay Mommy by Elisabeth Horan
Elisabeth Horan is a Vermont based poet and an advocate for animals, children, and those suffering alone and in pain - especially those ostracised by disability and mental illness. Her chapbook, Bad Mommy / Stay Mommy, was published by Fly on the Wall Press in May 2019 and is a raw, honest and confessional set of poems centring around the struggle of dealing with postpartum depression, and the expectations of motherhood.
In twenty-five poems, Horan takes her reader along a spiralling path that is both introspective and ardently self-aware. Strikingly honest, Horan refuses to shy away from the uncomfortable or socially taboo. As shown in the poem, ‘A Son is Born, the Second’, she explains to her reader, ‘I’ll tell you since I trust you’. Here, and throughout the collection, Horn’s unflinching words place their faith in the reader to read, understand and accept. The importance of such trusting honesty shines through as Horan looks at the stigmatisation of mental illness, “bad” mothers, guilt, deep feelings of inadequacy, how these feel, and how they are perceived from the outside. This dual understanding of pressures that come from both the internal and external are presented in the very first poem of the chapbook, ‘My self’. In this poem, Horan writes:
There is no rest for people like me.
There are witch hunts happening all the time for us.
If others aren’t chasing us;
We are chasing our own tails at midnight.
Here, Horan combines the self, ‘me’, with the collective, ‘us’, foregrounding the fact that whilst these poems are personal, they are an embodiment of the pain felt by many women and are, therefore, in a sense also shared. Poems such as ‘Godammit! Just hurl the sink already’, ‘Basement Mother’, and ‘Maple Mother’ are beautiful in their ability to capture the pain, shortcomings and self-criticism of a person who is viewing their own suffering as failure.
This element is further demonstrated in the poem entitled, ‘I Hate Elisabeth Horan’. This two-part poem flits between a third person character examination of the poet, and a first person response. In this piece, Horan takes her chance to respond to the judgements thrown her way. Whilst lineated like a prose poem, Horan plays with sound, giving it a more rhythmic tone. Indeed, various poems throughout the chapbook utilise rhyme and rhyme schemes. At times, as is the case in, ‘On Hands and Knees in the Twilight, Like a Wise Pussy Cat’, Horan’s use of sound creates a noticeable nursery-rhyme feel, subtly reminding the reader that at the heart of these pain-filled, scarred, yet strong poems, are children.
Two standout poems of the chapbook are ‘Keeping Tabs’ and ‘It’s My Mind Which Does This-‘. These poems capture the exhausting battle between self-loathing and determination. In ‘Keeping Tabs’ the continual, repetitive and tiring cycle of being your own worst critic is highlighted. Horan writes:
it’s such a waste of time
this hating myself -
But I go back anyway
I can’t stay away
like a lover who promised me forever.
She draws another analogy to her mental illness in ‘It’s My Mind Which Does This-’:
[...] I pretend
the disease
Is a friend, I tell it, you may go on
Holiday, depart with your tumor
Friends and all your
tricks and gags
It is in this way that Horan is able to communicate such internal experiences, feelings and emotions in a manner that is comprehensible. She gets her reader to reconsider our understanding of motherhood, and realise difficulties we may not have encountered in powerful lines that will make you pause and re-read.
Ultimately, Elisabeth Horan’s chapbook is an overwhelmingly necessary set of poems which speak with clear and honest frankness of the consuming struggle of postpartum depression. Through her willingness to examine her own shortcomings, Horan is able to examine the exhausting show of motherhood that society expects and the realities of living through this with a mental illness. This book feels important and necessary on every page, and is a vital read for men and women, whether you’re a parent or not.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 10th May 2019
In twenty-five poems, Horan takes her reader along a spiralling path that is both introspective and ardently self-aware. Strikingly honest, Horan refuses to shy away from the uncomfortable or socially taboo. As shown in the poem, ‘A Son is Born, the Second’, she explains to her reader, ‘I’ll tell you since I trust you’. Here, and throughout the collection, Horn’s unflinching words place their faith in the reader to read, understand and accept. The importance of such trusting honesty shines through as Horan looks at the stigmatisation of mental illness, “bad” mothers, guilt, deep feelings of inadequacy, how these feel, and how they are perceived from the outside. This dual understanding of pressures that come from both the internal and external are presented in the very first poem of the chapbook, ‘My self’. In this poem, Horan writes:
There is no rest for people like me.
There are witch hunts happening all the time for us.
If others aren’t chasing us;
We are chasing our own tails at midnight.
Here, Horan combines the self, ‘me’, with the collective, ‘us’, foregrounding the fact that whilst these poems are personal, they are an embodiment of the pain felt by many women and are, therefore, in a sense also shared. Poems such as ‘Godammit! Just hurl the sink already’, ‘Basement Mother’, and ‘Maple Mother’ are beautiful in their ability to capture the pain, shortcomings and self-criticism of a person who is viewing their own suffering as failure.
This element is further demonstrated in the poem entitled, ‘I Hate Elisabeth Horan’. This two-part poem flits between a third person character examination of the poet, and a first person response. In this piece, Horan takes her chance to respond to the judgements thrown her way. Whilst lineated like a prose poem, Horan plays with sound, giving it a more rhythmic tone. Indeed, various poems throughout the chapbook utilise rhyme and rhyme schemes. At times, as is the case in, ‘On Hands and Knees in the Twilight, Like a Wise Pussy Cat’, Horan’s use of sound creates a noticeable nursery-rhyme feel, subtly reminding the reader that at the heart of these pain-filled, scarred, yet strong poems, are children.
Two standout poems of the chapbook are ‘Keeping Tabs’ and ‘It’s My Mind Which Does This-‘. These poems capture the exhausting battle between self-loathing and determination. In ‘Keeping Tabs’ the continual, repetitive and tiring cycle of being your own worst critic is highlighted. Horan writes:
it’s such a waste of time
this hating myself -
But I go back anyway
I can’t stay away
like a lover who promised me forever.
She draws another analogy to her mental illness in ‘It’s My Mind Which Does This-’:
[...] I pretend
the disease
Is a friend, I tell it, you may go on
Holiday, depart with your tumor
Friends and all your
tricks and gags
It is in this way that Horan is able to communicate such internal experiences, feelings and emotions in a manner that is comprehensible. She gets her reader to reconsider our understanding of motherhood, and realise difficulties we may not have encountered in powerful lines that will make you pause and re-read.
Ultimately, Elisabeth Horan’s chapbook is an overwhelmingly necessary set of poems which speak with clear and honest frankness of the consuming struggle of postpartum depression. Through her willingness to examine her own shortcomings, Horan is able to examine the exhausting show of motherhood that society expects and the realities of living through this with a mental illness. This book feels important and necessary on every page, and is a vital read for men and women, whether you’re a parent or not.
Written by: Beth O’Brien
Published: 10th May 2019
Book Review: Max & Luchia: The game makers by Kevin Brook
Kevin Brooke's latest novel, Max & Luchia: The Game Makers, was published by Black Pear Press in the later months of 2018. With a target audience of 7-11 year olds, Brooke took the book from school to school and it quickly became a complete sell-out that saw a second print run ordered in record time. Naturally, we were intrigued to sit down with a copy of the book for ourselves. While the novel may be aimed at a younger audience, early reviews claimed that it had a little something for all age groups - and these reviews were right!
Max & Luchia is a charming story of how friendship, family, and a wild imagination can do wonderful things, resulting in two children (and, eventually, a friend and enemy or two as well) creating a labyrinth world of mind-blowing challenges that sees them work together in order to conquer the game. Brooke has pulled out all the stops to create a story that surprises and entertains in equal measure and, nevermind passing a copy to the children, it's a book that I'll happily return to time and again.
The novel revolves around Max and Luchia, a brother and sister pairing who design an imagined game, wherein they must overcome certain challenges to progress through the game's levels. Each level is harder than the last and, with the added complication of Max's schoolyard bully hovering on the peripherals, there's a surprising amount of tension in this bite-size book too.
In terms of the delivery, Brooke writes with an obvious excitement that breathes life into the plot and indeed the characters. Max is a charming protagonist who wins the reader over early on, making it exceptionally easy to follow this journey along with him. Furthermore, Brooke's rich imagination does wonders for the game-world itself as we're drawn into an unfolding map of vivid descriptions and wild monsters that live and breathe off the page as well as on, and this vivid quality is aided hugely by the presence of illustrations throughout the book - provided by one Seraphim Bryant (a talent worth watching, for sure). Between Brooke and Bryant an entire world appears before your very eyes and you find yourself so drawn in that you simply must continue rooting and wooping for these characters right through to the end.
As children's books go, this is certainly one that I wish I'd had on my bookshelf a few years back. It's beautifully written and wonderfully illustrated and, as collaborations go, the Brooke and Bryant dream team is something that I'd love to see more of in the future. A wonderful and exciting tale of good versus evil (and good versus vampires, and dragons, and...), Max is a wonderful character carried along a strong plot, and Brooke should feel truly accomplished with this latest release.
To find out more about the book, you can read our interview with Kevin Brooke over in the Interviews section right now.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 7 January 2019
Max & Luchia is a charming story of how friendship, family, and a wild imagination can do wonderful things, resulting in two children (and, eventually, a friend and enemy or two as well) creating a labyrinth world of mind-blowing challenges that sees them work together in order to conquer the game. Brooke has pulled out all the stops to create a story that surprises and entertains in equal measure and, nevermind passing a copy to the children, it's a book that I'll happily return to time and again.
The novel revolves around Max and Luchia, a brother and sister pairing who design an imagined game, wherein they must overcome certain challenges to progress through the game's levels. Each level is harder than the last and, with the added complication of Max's schoolyard bully hovering on the peripherals, there's a surprising amount of tension in this bite-size book too.
In terms of the delivery, Brooke writes with an obvious excitement that breathes life into the plot and indeed the characters. Max is a charming protagonist who wins the reader over early on, making it exceptionally easy to follow this journey along with him. Furthermore, Brooke's rich imagination does wonders for the game-world itself as we're drawn into an unfolding map of vivid descriptions and wild monsters that live and breathe off the page as well as on, and this vivid quality is aided hugely by the presence of illustrations throughout the book - provided by one Seraphim Bryant (a talent worth watching, for sure). Between Brooke and Bryant an entire world appears before your very eyes and you find yourself so drawn in that you simply must continue rooting and wooping for these characters right through to the end.
As children's books go, this is certainly one that I wish I'd had on my bookshelf a few years back. It's beautifully written and wonderfully illustrated and, as collaborations go, the Brooke and Bryant dream team is something that I'd love to see more of in the future. A wonderful and exciting tale of good versus evil (and good versus vampires, and dragons, and...), Max is a wonderful character carried along a strong plot, and Brooke should feel truly accomplished with this latest release.
To find out more about the book, you can read our interview with Kevin Brooke over in the Interviews section right now.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 7 January 2019
Cutting the Green Ribbon by Katy Wareham Morris
Katy Wareham Morris' Cutting The Green Ribbon was published earlier in 2018 by Hesterglock Press; a publishing company that prides itself on publicising the new and experimental. Throughout Cutting The Green Ribbon not only does the experimental come through, but so does the exciting new voice of a poet delivering her debut collection - and it's a worthy collection indeed.
Wareham Morris moves through this bite-size book adopting voices and animating characters in a way that shows her strong feminist stance, giving a mouthpiece to the likes of Courtney Love ('From Courtney'), Peaches ('From Peaches'), and Hilda Doolittle ('From Hilda') to name but a few. Alongside these declarations, Wareham Morris also introduces unique turns of phrase throughout, marking these poems as being distinctly hers, and the 'you' she intermittently addresses adds an additional layer of curiosity to her work. While there are many highlights within the book, 'Postcard' stands out to me as a personal favourite for the cutting sentiment: 'Someone told me the names of the plants and flowers to impress you but I don't know why I thought I should impress you.' What I must praise Wareham Morris for in particular is not shying away from all things feminist and 'feminine'. The stunning 'From Cis Woman' marks her fellow women out tenderly, branding them: 'You are new fruit, / sometimes prickly.' Meanwhile her later piece, 'Wishful Thinking' takes an unashamed look at sex for the first time, again delivering a surprisingly tender rendition of losing one's virginity, made all the more tender in our ongoing MeToo movement: 'Looking back, I was brave. I was lucky. He was / kind and kept checking.' From start to finish, Cutting The Green Ribbon is fiercely feminist and wonderfully experimental, and Wareham Morris should be boastful indeed of this first collection. To borrow again from the poem 'Postcards', 'There is beauty, here.' and Wareham Morris should certainly be proud and encouraged. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 11 December 2018 |
How to Wear Grunge
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Book review: Dust, a pocket collection by Eye Flash Poetry
As the title suggests, this micro collection is a perfect pocket-sized dose of twelve distinct poetic voices. Taking the prompt Dust, these poets interpret this single word in wonderfully disparate ways.
The minute particles of dust become a symbol for something much greater in this pocket collection. In ‘Winter Studio’ by FE Clark, dust becomes the ‘burnt particles of trying’. For Ellora Sutton in her poem, ‘Grief’, each fleck of dust comes to represent a unit of time. And in ‘Tobacco and Dust’ by Jane Burn, dust becomes a feature bound up in the person the poem describes. The contaminative and invasive nature of dust is seen in ‘Facsimile’ by Sean Martin and ‘Red Dust’ by Neil Leadbeater toward the end of the pamphlet. As you can see, dust comes to represent all manner of things, including time, space, life, death, people and emotions.
Despite having twelve different contributors, the unity of the collection is apparent. The poems follow a natural progression as seen in the move from ‘A Dusting of Death’ by Wiltshire, to ‘Grief’ by Sutton. From the micro examination of dust particles, to the telescopic view of the universe in ‘Begin’ by Helena Astbury, the collection zooms and pans across various world views, each as beautifully expressed as the last. In ‘Psyche’ by Sue Davies, the hunter and the dreamer are characterised through such beautiful imagery I read the poem twice over! Another poem that had a similar effect was ‘A love note to the one that came before me’ by Kate Garrett. Although very different in style in many ways, both these poets have a knack for pushing images into the mind of their readers, where they are likely to stay!
This entirely free-verse collection also does interesting things with how the words appear on the page. ‘Begin’ by Helena Astbury, ‘Lullaby’ by Luke Palmer, and ‘Sheddings’ by Alison Raybould are the most experimental in this respect. Their carefully chosen layout is an intriguing shift away from our standardised expectations and adds another layer of significance to the many voices, minds, and worlds that are brought to the fore of this collection.
The simple, yet stark cover design seems to reflect the opening line of ‘A Dusting of Death’ by Julie Wiltshire, who opens her poem with the words: ‘Pondering on life’s mockery with black headed eyes’. Sean Martin’s poem, ‘Facsimile’ expresses something similar when he writes: ‘Instead we shed memories / like skin cells orbiting thick / around us.’ Both emphasises the reflective and nostalgic undertones that these poems encompass, as well as alluding to the darker and invasive side of memory, death and grief this collection deals with throughout.
Ultimately, these poets take an often mournful and somber tone in their dealing with the word Dust, yet their wonderful craft of language and highly individual writing styles bring something new in every poem, making this bite-sized collection wholly satisfying and thought provoking.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 24 November 2018
The minute particles of dust become a symbol for something much greater in this pocket collection. In ‘Winter Studio’ by FE Clark, dust becomes the ‘burnt particles of trying’. For Ellora Sutton in her poem, ‘Grief’, each fleck of dust comes to represent a unit of time. And in ‘Tobacco and Dust’ by Jane Burn, dust becomes a feature bound up in the person the poem describes. The contaminative and invasive nature of dust is seen in ‘Facsimile’ by Sean Martin and ‘Red Dust’ by Neil Leadbeater toward the end of the pamphlet. As you can see, dust comes to represent all manner of things, including time, space, life, death, people and emotions.
Despite having twelve different contributors, the unity of the collection is apparent. The poems follow a natural progression as seen in the move from ‘A Dusting of Death’ by Wiltshire, to ‘Grief’ by Sutton. From the micro examination of dust particles, to the telescopic view of the universe in ‘Begin’ by Helena Astbury, the collection zooms and pans across various world views, each as beautifully expressed as the last. In ‘Psyche’ by Sue Davies, the hunter and the dreamer are characterised through such beautiful imagery I read the poem twice over! Another poem that had a similar effect was ‘A love note to the one that came before me’ by Kate Garrett. Although very different in style in many ways, both these poets have a knack for pushing images into the mind of their readers, where they are likely to stay!
This entirely free-verse collection also does interesting things with how the words appear on the page. ‘Begin’ by Helena Astbury, ‘Lullaby’ by Luke Palmer, and ‘Sheddings’ by Alison Raybould are the most experimental in this respect. Their carefully chosen layout is an intriguing shift away from our standardised expectations and adds another layer of significance to the many voices, minds, and worlds that are brought to the fore of this collection.
The simple, yet stark cover design seems to reflect the opening line of ‘A Dusting of Death’ by Julie Wiltshire, who opens her poem with the words: ‘Pondering on life’s mockery with black headed eyes’. Sean Martin’s poem, ‘Facsimile’ expresses something similar when he writes: ‘Instead we shed memories / like skin cells orbiting thick / around us.’ Both emphasises the reflective and nostalgic undertones that these poems encompass, as well as alluding to the darker and invasive side of memory, death and grief this collection deals with throughout.
Ultimately, these poets take an often mournful and somber tone in their dealing with the word Dust, yet their wonderful craft of language and highly individual writing styles bring something new in every poem, making this bite-sized collection wholly satisfying and thought provoking.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 24 November 2018
Book Review: Land and Sea and Turning by Kate Garrett
Kate Garrett is the author of several poetry chapbooks, the most recent of which was published in August 2018 by Cringe-Worthy Poets (CWP) Collective Press. This most recent collection, Land and Sea and Turning, is a pocket-sized portion of beautiful poetry that I couldn’t help but consume in a single sitting. Bringing together Garrett’s trademark mysticism alongside realistic touchstones and allusions to folklore, this new chapbook is a wonderful blend of real and imagined, beautiful and cruel.
The chapbook begins with the wonderful ‘For Josephine’ that introduces the myth and mysticism that will carry us throughout, complete with well-placed line breaks that pack the poem with hard and soft edges. The brutality that’s found in this opening piece is carried throughout the collection at large too, seen again in pieces like ‘What’s done is done’ – which introduces the beautiful phrase, ‘Reliable as English rain.’ – and ‘Nessus’, where the speaker considers: ‘It means I hated / loving him, but can’t change the story’, offering a bittersweet end to a surprisingly gentle poem.
However, while Garrett’s work is not afraid of showcasing prickly speakers, there are also moments of true tenderness and sentimentality. There is no clearer illustration of this than in ‘Witchling’, a poem dedicated to the author’s daughter, wherein we learn of a magical child who navigates her way around the world in a unique and mystical manner. An earlier example of this also comes from ‘A love note to the one who came before me’, which is undoubtedly one of my favourite pieces in the entire collection, made vulnerable by the speaker’s admission: ‘the dust of you glimmers between us’.
There are fine details throughout these pieces and they make for believable and well-crafted works at their heart. Garrett weaves so many narratives into such a short span of book but she does so with a control and conviction that allows these works to breathe on their own, as well as as a complete collection. A wonderful addition to Garrett’s growing catalogue of works, Land and Sea and Turning is some of my favourite work from this poet to date and it’s a must read for anyone in the market for a little extra-ordinary poetry.
We've also been lucky enough to grab Kate for an author interview, so you can hear her own thoughts about this collection - and maybe grab some details about her upcoming projects too - over in our Interviews section this week.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 5 November 2018
The chapbook begins with the wonderful ‘For Josephine’ that introduces the myth and mysticism that will carry us throughout, complete with well-placed line breaks that pack the poem with hard and soft edges. The brutality that’s found in this opening piece is carried throughout the collection at large too, seen again in pieces like ‘What’s done is done’ – which introduces the beautiful phrase, ‘Reliable as English rain.’ – and ‘Nessus’, where the speaker considers: ‘It means I hated / loving him, but can’t change the story’, offering a bittersweet end to a surprisingly gentle poem.
However, while Garrett’s work is not afraid of showcasing prickly speakers, there are also moments of true tenderness and sentimentality. There is no clearer illustration of this than in ‘Witchling’, a poem dedicated to the author’s daughter, wherein we learn of a magical child who navigates her way around the world in a unique and mystical manner. An earlier example of this also comes from ‘A love note to the one who came before me’, which is undoubtedly one of my favourite pieces in the entire collection, made vulnerable by the speaker’s admission: ‘the dust of you glimmers between us’.
There are fine details throughout these pieces and they make for believable and well-crafted works at their heart. Garrett weaves so many narratives into such a short span of book but she does so with a control and conviction that allows these works to breathe on their own, as well as as a complete collection. A wonderful addition to Garrett’s growing catalogue of works, Land and Sea and Turning is some of my favourite work from this poet to date and it’s a must read for anyone in the market for a little extra-ordinary poetry.
We've also been lucky enough to grab Kate for an author interview, so you can hear her own thoughts about this collection - and maybe grab some details about her upcoming projects too - over in our Interviews section this week.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 5 November 2018
Book Review: PErsona Non Grata - edited by Isabelle Kenyon
Fly on the Wall Poetry Press, championed by editor and fellow poet Isabelle Kenyon, stormed the poetry world last year with the press’s debut anthology, Please Hear What I’m Not Saying. The anthology – which is available to purchase here – caused a storm among readers, pulling in compliments up and down the country, and it even bagged the Runner Up position for Best Anthology at the 2018 Saboteur Awards. Needless to say then that the press’s second anthology, Persona Non Grata, has large shoes to fill – but my, it fills them well.
Arriving soon with an online bookseller near you, Persona Non Grata sees Kenyon collect poems around the themes of isolation, exclusion, and the psychological fallout that arises from these experiences. Pulling at mental health, immigration, sexuality and more, the collection as a whole promises to be an emotional journey for anyone who reads it and, after chewing through the whole thing compulsively over the course of an afternoon, I do recommend that you read it.
Broken down into seven well-titled sections, the collection starts with ‘Asylum Seekers’ before moving through, ‘War/Collateral damage’, ‘Family/Grief/The people we leave behind’, ‘Invisibility’, and ‘A matter of politics’, before coming to a rest with ‘British humour or optimism’.
The collection begins with Marjon van Bruggen’s ‘Stripped’ – “tolerant railway stations” that emanate a beautiful sound from the page and carry us into the cruel but beautifully written ‘Sleight of Hand’ by Nigel Kent. Liam Bates’ ‘People’, also featured in the first section of the anthology, had me reaching for the poet’s solo collection meanwhile Debbie Hall’s ‘Sonnet for a Homeless Woman Named Beth’ had me reaching for my notebook, in the hope that I might write something half as good; ‘Her hands speak in tongues’ is one of my favourite lines from the entire book.
The raw emotion that breaks through this opening section is a clear indicator of what is to come, and yet the poems that follow never fail to surprise and disturb a reader with their unashamedly honest and beautifully frank discussions of how so-called “outsiders” are treated by this world. ‘The Refugees’ by Jennie E. Owen gave a beautiful, profound introduction to the second section meanwhile Judith Kingston’s ‘Sostenuto’ sets up the third portion of the book perfectly: ‘…the way his skeleton peered through translucent skin’.
I wish, wish, wish that I could devote time and space to every poem in this collection, as they all contribute something brave and worthy of discussion. There are, however, a handful of notes jotted in my review book some of which have underlined hearts scribbled alongside them so it only seems right that I take a moment to thank these particular poems, and their authors. ‘While your husband is still able to stand’ by Deirdre Fagan is one of the most crushing pieces in this book and I thank this poet for her bravery in tackling such an uncomfortable subject in such a beautiful way. The same gratitude should be spilled for: ‘I envy you, skeleton’ by Sara Chansarkar; ‘A Befriender’ by Jacqueline Pemberton; ‘The day the rains came…’ by Adrian McRobb; ‘Posted on the quiet’ by Bethany Rivers, which is a deliciously provocative poem worth slapping your lips over; and, ‘Every Man We’ve Ever Hated’ by Marissa Glover, the first line of which made my heart sing: ‘The things we’ve vomited will not be in the canon’.
The collection concludes with the wonderfully title section ‘British humour or optimism’. In my notes I have written: ‘This final section needs to be appreciated in its entirety’ alongside a small heart. I can’t pick a favourite from this portion of the text, because the poems that sit underneath this heading form the perfect ending to the polished and personal collection that preludes it – there is no, ‘Oh, but this one…’
A relevant, important, and worthy collection, Persona Non Grata forces us to consider issues that too often fall by the wayside. These poems are special not just for their topics but for the crafting and consideration that sit behind them, and I commend those who have taken part in this anthology. A heart-warming release for a worthy cause, if you’re looking for a Christmas present for the poetry-lovers in your life, then this book is surely it.
To find out more information about Persona Non Grata and Fly on the Wall Poetry Press, you can pop over to our Interview section now to read our recent chat with Editor in Chief Isabelle Kenyon.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 27 October 2018
Arriving soon with an online bookseller near you, Persona Non Grata sees Kenyon collect poems around the themes of isolation, exclusion, and the psychological fallout that arises from these experiences. Pulling at mental health, immigration, sexuality and more, the collection as a whole promises to be an emotional journey for anyone who reads it and, after chewing through the whole thing compulsively over the course of an afternoon, I do recommend that you read it.
Broken down into seven well-titled sections, the collection starts with ‘Asylum Seekers’ before moving through, ‘War/Collateral damage’, ‘Family/Grief/The people we leave behind’, ‘Invisibility’, and ‘A matter of politics’, before coming to a rest with ‘British humour or optimism’.
The collection begins with Marjon van Bruggen’s ‘Stripped’ – “tolerant railway stations” that emanate a beautiful sound from the page and carry us into the cruel but beautifully written ‘Sleight of Hand’ by Nigel Kent. Liam Bates’ ‘People’, also featured in the first section of the anthology, had me reaching for the poet’s solo collection meanwhile Debbie Hall’s ‘Sonnet for a Homeless Woman Named Beth’ had me reaching for my notebook, in the hope that I might write something half as good; ‘Her hands speak in tongues’ is one of my favourite lines from the entire book.
The raw emotion that breaks through this opening section is a clear indicator of what is to come, and yet the poems that follow never fail to surprise and disturb a reader with their unashamedly honest and beautifully frank discussions of how so-called “outsiders” are treated by this world. ‘The Refugees’ by Jennie E. Owen gave a beautiful, profound introduction to the second section meanwhile Judith Kingston’s ‘Sostenuto’ sets up the third portion of the book perfectly: ‘…the way his skeleton peered through translucent skin’.
I wish, wish, wish that I could devote time and space to every poem in this collection, as they all contribute something brave and worthy of discussion. There are, however, a handful of notes jotted in my review book some of which have underlined hearts scribbled alongside them so it only seems right that I take a moment to thank these particular poems, and their authors. ‘While your husband is still able to stand’ by Deirdre Fagan is one of the most crushing pieces in this book and I thank this poet for her bravery in tackling such an uncomfortable subject in such a beautiful way. The same gratitude should be spilled for: ‘I envy you, skeleton’ by Sara Chansarkar; ‘A Befriender’ by Jacqueline Pemberton; ‘The day the rains came…’ by Adrian McRobb; ‘Posted on the quiet’ by Bethany Rivers, which is a deliciously provocative poem worth slapping your lips over; and, ‘Every Man We’ve Ever Hated’ by Marissa Glover, the first line of which made my heart sing: ‘The things we’ve vomited will not be in the canon’.
The collection concludes with the wonderfully title section ‘British humour or optimism’. In my notes I have written: ‘This final section needs to be appreciated in its entirety’ alongside a small heart. I can’t pick a favourite from this portion of the text, because the poems that sit underneath this heading form the perfect ending to the polished and personal collection that preludes it – there is no, ‘Oh, but this one…’
A relevant, important, and worthy collection, Persona Non Grata forces us to consider issues that too often fall by the wayside. These poems are special not just for their topics but for the crafting and consideration that sit behind them, and I commend those who have taken part in this anthology. A heart-warming release for a worthy cause, if you’re looking for a Christmas present for the poetry-lovers in your life, then this book is surely it.
To find out more information about Persona Non Grata and Fly on the Wall Poetry Press, you can pop over to our Interview section now to read our recent chat with Editor in Chief Isabelle Kenyon.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 27 October 2018
Book review: Figment Music by Beau Hopkins
Figment Music is the most recent publication from Beau Hopkins, which was released as part of the Lighthouse pamphlet series, convened by Gatehouse Press. The bite-size pamphlet is fashioned from a series of sonnets, some interlocking and some fiercely independent from their surrounding pieces, and overall the collection has a classical feel which makes it a distinct piece of work.
Throughout, Hopkins integrates a wonderful use of sound that emanates up from the page itself, giving the collection a coherent rhythm while also throwing light and shade in terms of how distinct these sounds are to a reader.
Take, for example, the witty ‘Vowel Movement’: ‘…my name / dropping from your lips? Seriously? / I’m not shouting (YOU’RE SHOUTING) – how is there / time biding for this?’ In this small sample we see a medley of techniques, notably the sound that stems from Hopkins’ clever vowel pairings, but also the amusing asides, the capitalisation, the broken lines that bleed into each other. This sample then, to me, reads as representative of the collection as the whole as Hopkins persists in being witty and clever, while also throwing in something of the experimental.
The experimental continues even in Hopkins’ structure given that, while using sonnets, he chooses not to use a recognisable sonnet form – meaning these are poems of twelve lines, but Shakespeare and Petrarch has been cast aside, and to great effect. The more classical elements of the work comes through in Hopkins’ language choices though – we are treated to recurrences of O, thy, m’lud on occasion, which back-dates the work to some degree while also creating an interesting tension with the more modern elements of each piece.
It must be said that Figment Music is not the easiest read; Hopkins is certainly making his reader work for the end gratification but, I hasten to add, that gratification does come. From start to finish, this is a well-crafted and highly-polished publication that shows great skill and great promise for whatever this poet will do next.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 20 October 2018
Throughout, Hopkins integrates a wonderful use of sound that emanates up from the page itself, giving the collection a coherent rhythm while also throwing light and shade in terms of how distinct these sounds are to a reader.
Take, for example, the witty ‘Vowel Movement’: ‘…my name / dropping from your lips? Seriously? / I’m not shouting (YOU’RE SHOUTING) – how is there / time biding for this?’ In this small sample we see a medley of techniques, notably the sound that stems from Hopkins’ clever vowel pairings, but also the amusing asides, the capitalisation, the broken lines that bleed into each other. This sample then, to me, reads as representative of the collection as the whole as Hopkins persists in being witty and clever, while also throwing in something of the experimental.
The experimental continues even in Hopkins’ structure given that, while using sonnets, he chooses not to use a recognisable sonnet form – meaning these are poems of twelve lines, but Shakespeare and Petrarch has been cast aside, and to great effect. The more classical elements of the work comes through in Hopkins’ language choices though – we are treated to recurrences of O, thy, m’lud on occasion, which back-dates the work to some degree while also creating an interesting tension with the more modern elements of each piece.
It must be said that Figment Music is not the easiest read; Hopkins is certainly making his reader work for the end gratification but, I hasten to add, that gratification does come. From start to finish, this is a well-crafted and highly-polished publication that shows great skill and great promise for whatever this poet will do next.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 20 October 2018
Review: Hex by Jennie Farley
Hex is Jennie Farley's most recent poetry publication, released by Indigo Dreams Publishing earlier this year. This collection stands as the fourth solo release from Farley and, through the mastery of voice and stellar use of poetic technique throughout, any reader can see how much this poet has honed her skills in recent years.
The collection itself is a medley of literary genres making for a rich and varied reading experience from the off. Farley doesn't shy away from introducing the magical and mystical - and, it has to be said, sometimes even the surreal - and interweaving these elements with relatively every day life events. We are given fine-tuned details of real-world images - 'When you step outside a bar / into a glistening street of neon pink' ('Changes') - balanced out with more unconventional concepts - 'Layered in ragged furs, grey, / white-tipped, matted wet / from forest earth, yet she appears / reposed' ('Boarding the Bus as a Wolf') - that make us question the reality of things, so advanced is Farley's ability to blend ordinary and extraordinary together.
There are, for me, some standout moments in this collection such as 'Salome', which shows the speaker demanding the head of the man who scorned her be brought to her on a platter - 'My eyes feast upon the gore at your gaping mouth.' - and the stunning 'Hyppolyta, Queen of the Amazons', which shows female strength in a vicious and defiant light: 'Although vengeful killing is never our / main intent. This is just to show men that we can.'
However, in among these gems of myth and legend, Farley allows her collection some moments of true tenderness also. She reflects on her parents' first meeting and marriage - 'They met at a tea dance, perfectly matched.' ('Pearls') - and beautifully handles the topic of losing one of these parents in a later piece, affectionately titled 'Vanilla Slices'. Farley is not afraid to tackle difficult subjects but she does so in a way that makes them joyous to read and re-read, to properly appreciate her unique spin on the world.
Overall, Hex is a strong collection that pulls on the head- and heart-strings in a way that pushes its reader to both appreciate and ponder the words Farley has placed on the page. A truly enjoyable collection with a magical edge, it's well worth investing in a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 14 October 2018
The collection itself is a medley of literary genres making for a rich and varied reading experience from the off. Farley doesn't shy away from introducing the magical and mystical - and, it has to be said, sometimes even the surreal - and interweaving these elements with relatively every day life events. We are given fine-tuned details of real-world images - 'When you step outside a bar / into a glistening street of neon pink' ('Changes') - balanced out with more unconventional concepts - 'Layered in ragged furs, grey, / white-tipped, matted wet / from forest earth, yet she appears / reposed' ('Boarding the Bus as a Wolf') - that make us question the reality of things, so advanced is Farley's ability to blend ordinary and extraordinary together.
There are, for me, some standout moments in this collection such as 'Salome', which shows the speaker demanding the head of the man who scorned her be brought to her on a platter - 'My eyes feast upon the gore at your gaping mouth.' - and the stunning 'Hyppolyta, Queen of the Amazons', which shows female strength in a vicious and defiant light: 'Although vengeful killing is never our / main intent. This is just to show men that we can.'
However, in among these gems of myth and legend, Farley allows her collection some moments of true tenderness also. She reflects on her parents' first meeting and marriage - 'They met at a tea dance, perfectly matched.' ('Pearls') - and beautifully handles the topic of losing one of these parents in a later piece, affectionately titled 'Vanilla Slices'. Farley is not afraid to tackle difficult subjects but she does so in a way that makes them joyous to read and re-read, to properly appreciate her unique spin on the world.
Overall, Hex is a strong collection that pulls on the head- and heart-strings in a way that pushes its reader to both appreciate and ponder the words Farley has placed on the page. A truly enjoyable collection with a magical edge, it's well worth investing in a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 14 October 2018
Review: Being with me will help you learn by Thomas McColl
Being With Me Will Help You Learn is Thomas McColl’s debut collection. It features both poetry and flash fiction and was published with Listen Softly London in 2015. McColl’s quirky, yet accessible poetry and prose offer an often observational look at some very human struggles, capturing the difficulties and problems with modern life. The mixture of cynicism, humour and genuinely serious issues is what makes this collection so engaging, as McColl manages to maintain a balance between the lighthearted and the thought-provoking - somehow doing both at the same time!
McColl takes his reader through a host of unique and interesting scenes throughout the collection. Early on, we begin in a takeaway poetry joint, in which McColl presents a one sided phone conversation of a worker taking a order of poetry, to be delivered by a poet. The humour of this setup is apparent, yet a serious undertone runs throughout, alerting the reader to the fact that McColl’s poems appear to rarely be about one thing. This is also felt in the poem, ‘Chip Shop Aquarium’ in which McColl transforms a commonplace location into the site of something much darker than it may appear. Similarly, the same can be said of the prose police, ‘The Price of Fame’ which is captivatingly gross, and therefore unforgettable!
That said, some poems work on a greater use of the comedic than others. For example, ‘The Nose Picker: Public Enemy Number One’ and ‘A Warning to All EC Pedestrians’ are both memorable for their humorous exaggeration. The former is a short prose piece that plays on the idea of nose-picking becoming a criminal offence, and the latter is a poem that imagines a world in which pedestrians are treated like cars, written in the style of a public warning:
'Please note that every pavement,
even those along a busy street,
will have a speed limit of three miles an hour.
Any pedestrian caught breaking it
will be banned from wearing shoes for a week
and have to walk in their bare feet.'
As seen the those final two lines, McColl plays with sound within his poems. Although many simply do not rhyme, the deliberate use of rhyme is cleverly employed, making the reader sit up and take note. One of the standout pieces for this was the poem, ‘Now Showing: EAST LONDON BY NIGHT'.
The urban landscape is a theme throughout the collection, too. The poem, ‘The Chalk Fairy’ highlights the issue of homelessness in London, and has gained a life of its own outside of the collection. The poem, ‘Green Graffiti’ was also another short, but standout poem. McColl has crafted a powerful eight lines, conjuring up images that are both vivid and lasting. These poems are very much examples of the social commentary aspect of the collection. There is a shift between the observational commentary, to a clever emphasis on action in the poem, ‘The World At One’. This poem acts as a call to action by highlighting the lack of action currently taking place:
'The future’s looking bleak.
Experts predict
365 days per year
until further notice.'
Being With Me Will Help You Learn also moves through various highly individual characters that are entertaining in their depravity, rebelliousness, or sheer quirkiness. From Dave, who falls asleep with his face resting on page three of The Sun, to the alchemist Petrus Bonus Lombardus, who gives his wife a gold-plated wedding ring, McColl finds ways to construe important and relatable messages in amazingly unconventional, yet accessible ways.
Ultimately, this collection of prose and poetry is an engaging mixture of social commentary and humour. The balance between the two is perfect, and the variety of styles, characters and topics will inevitably mean there is something in there that everyone can enjoy. Whether it’s the heartfelt poem, ‘Fragments’, or the heart-wrenching, ‘The Wife’s Peace Plan’, McColl grabs his reader’s attention and holds it consistently throughout the collection. In a collection of over fifty pieces, this is impressive, and a testament to this is the fact I read it in one sitting!
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 6 October 2018
McColl takes his reader through a host of unique and interesting scenes throughout the collection. Early on, we begin in a takeaway poetry joint, in which McColl presents a one sided phone conversation of a worker taking a order of poetry, to be delivered by a poet. The humour of this setup is apparent, yet a serious undertone runs throughout, alerting the reader to the fact that McColl’s poems appear to rarely be about one thing. This is also felt in the poem, ‘Chip Shop Aquarium’ in which McColl transforms a commonplace location into the site of something much darker than it may appear. Similarly, the same can be said of the prose police, ‘The Price of Fame’ which is captivatingly gross, and therefore unforgettable!
That said, some poems work on a greater use of the comedic than others. For example, ‘The Nose Picker: Public Enemy Number One’ and ‘A Warning to All EC Pedestrians’ are both memorable for their humorous exaggeration. The former is a short prose piece that plays on the idea of nose-picking becoming a criminal offence, and the latter is a poem that imagines a world in which pedestrians are treated like cars, written in the style of a public warning:
'Please note that every pavement,
even those along a busy street,
will have a speed limit of three miles an hour.
Any pedestrian caught breaking it
will be banned from wearing shoes for a week
and have to walk in their bare feet.'
As seen the those final two lines, McColl plays with sound within his poems. Although many simply do not rhyme, the deliberate use of rhyme is cleverly employed, making the reader sit up and take note. One of the standout pieces for this was the poem, ‘Now Showing: EAST LONDON BY NIGHT'.
The urban landscape is a theme throughout the collection, too. The poem, ‘The Chalk Fairy’ highlights the issue of homelessness in London, and has gained a life of its own outside of the collection. The poem, ‘Green Graffiti’ was also another short, but standout poem. McColl has crafted a powerful eight lines, conjuring up images that are both vivid and lasting. These poems are very much examples of the social commentary aspect of the collection. There is a shift between the observational commentary, to a clever emphasis on action in the poem, ‘The World At One’. This poem acts as a call to action by highlighting the lack of action currently taking place:
'The future’s looking bleak.
Experts predict
365 days per year
until further notice.'
Being With Me Will Help You Learn also moves through various highly individual characters that are entertaining in their depravity, rebelliousness, or sheer quirkiness. From Dave, who falls asleep with his face resting on page three of The Sun, to the alchemist Petrus Bonus Lombardus, who gives his wife a gold-plated wedding ring, McColl finds ways to construe important and relatable messages in amazingly unconventional, yet accessible ways.
Ultimately, this collection of prose and poetry is an engaging mixture of social commentary and humour. The balance between the two is perfect, and the variety of styles, characters and topics will inevitably mean there is something in there that everyone can enjoy. Whether it’s the heartfelt poem, ‘Fragments’, or the heart-wrenching, ‘The Wife’s Peace Plan’, McColl grabs his reader’s attention and holds it consistently throughout the collection. In a collection of over fifty pieces, this is impressive, and a testament to this is the fact I read it in one sitting!
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 6 October 2018
Digging Holes to Another Continent by Isabelle Kenyon
Isabelle Kenyon is a Guildford based poet who published the chapbook Digging Holes to Another Continent with Clare Songbirds Publishing House in 2018. Also the author of This Is Not A Spectacle and The Trees Whispered, Kenyon is the editor of the Please Hear What I am Not Saying anthology, which raises money for the mental health charity, Mind.
Digging Holes to Another Continent transports the reader on a travelling adventure full of New Zealand sun and sea. In twenty poems, Kenyon narrates a departure from, and return to home, traversing the struggles of loss, grief, love and fun that intermingle throughout the adventures the poems describe. Significantly, Kenyon explores the difficulty of dealing with a loss in a place far removed from where the loss occurred. She also interrogates the complicated emotions felt upon returning home to a familiar setting, now absent of those loved ones associated with home. In the aftermath of loss, the experience of travel often becomes a source of comfort and healing in the book. This recurring and warming theme emerges between flashes of homely familiarity that remind the reader of the connection to the place the narrator has left, but not forgotten. The interplay between home and away, the new and the familiar, are presented as an integral part of being abroad, and Kenyon plays with these in a warm but funny way. For example, ‘surely / the smell of cow manure was sprinkled specifically / for English noses / to make us feel at home’. The poem, ‘Conversations About the Weather Become Interesting’ is another excellent example! Nature, both on land and sea, is given a powerful voice here, too. In particular, the sea is cleverly presented as a place of union, freedom, tranquility, and distance at various points. Kenyon explores what and how places can come to have meaning. These meanings are not limited to the narrator’s opinion, but also shift to an observational position that carries the reader alongside the narrator through witnessed events. The poems ‘The Drive to the North’ and ‘Imagine’ present both the adventure and freedom that travel can provide. Although, like most of the poems in the chapbook, these pieces are short, they are particularly provocative and empowering; Kenyon manages to pack a powerful punch of meaning into an impressively concise space. The strong, and carefully constructed final lines also help to push these poems to another level. By mixing gentle humour with serious emotions, Kenyon gives the reader a sense of the narrator’s conflicting and shifting feelings. Whilst poems such as, ‘The Story In A Nutshell’ will likely elicit a smile from the reader, Kenyon’s poems can often be read in a double light, balancing somewhere between humour and heartbreak. The scope for interpretation makes for a great reader experience, and provides food for thought even after you have finished reading. Ultimately, Digging Holes to Another Continent is a small but powerful chapbook that carries the reader through the ups and downs of travel, family, love and loss. The final poem (which I will let you read for yourselves!) is an extremely strong and thought-provoking finale. Definitely readable in one sitting, Kenyon’s poems each tell a story on their own, but collected into a chapbook, create a captivating narrative you won’t regret reading. Written by: Beth O'Brien Published: 22 September 2018 |
Book Review: Our House by Louise Candlish
Louise Candlish is the successful author of a number of thriller, many of which are tinged with crime in effectively subtle ways. However, when her novel Our House arrived in the growing body of domestic noir works earlier this year, readers fell into a frenzy over the alleged brilliance of this book and it quickly became dubbed one of the finest books of this year, despite its early-on publication.
Hesitant to buy into the hype, I deliberately waited until it had settled down until I read - and reviewed - the book myself. However, I've got to hold my hands up and admit that the hype wasn't wrong and Our House is in fact one of the most disturbing books I've read in some time, for a host of brilliant and refreshing reasons. The premise of the book is as follows: Fiona Lawson, our female protagonist, returns home one day to find that strangers have moved into her house. Through her protestations, and the frantic phone calls made by the alleged new owners to their lawyers, bankers and so forth, it becomes uncomfortably clear that something very wrong has happened -- and it involves Fiona's estranged husband, Bram. Meanwhile, Bram himself is nowhere to be a found and neither are Fiona's children. By the end of the first chapter alone Candlish has a reader asking unpleasant questions - already half-itching for the answers - and this carries on throughout the body of the book. Our House is, while being a disturbing book, also a beautifully written one, and never is this more apparent then when the house in question is being discussed. The peaceful neighbourhood, the wonderful architecture, the years that Fiona has spent piecing this house together to be a place for her children to love and enjoy - and maybe one day take over the running of themselves - all of these elements make it all too easy to spot the significance of this home, which only worsens the reveal of the criminal actions when they at last arrive. What makes this novel particularly interesting to me is Candlish's telling of it. The author moves seamlessly through a fast array of perspectives, sometimes offering a first person narrative of Fiona, occasionally a first person narrative of Bram - who is explaining the horror of this situation in his own words too - but then there are moments of third person also, where the reader is encouraged to take a step back and observe the present-day tragedy at large. Furthermore, the means through which these narratives are delivered is something to behold. For instance, Fiona's first person narrative is in fact delivered as a podcast interview, whereby Fiona is relaying her trauma to a listening audience -- or rather, to fans of The Victim, as this fictional podcast is dubbed. The final element of the novel that seals it as one this year's finest for me is, of course, the crime. I'm reluctant to give you too many details because there are so many twists that I wouldn't want to ruin. That being said, the crime here is one of the most disturbing ones that I've read in 2018 -- without a single drop of blood being shed either, which makes it all the more shocking. Candlish has invaded the home in a new and terrifying way which makes for a new and terrifying kind of thriller, which is absolutely worth the hype that has surrounded it for these past months. If you are on the fence about reading this novel, don't be -- but prepared to eye your spouse suspiciously for a time after reading... Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 22 September 2018 |
Book Review: Is Monogamy Dead? by Rosie Wilby
Is Monogamy Dead? by the award-winning comedian Rosie Wilby is a wry and witty examination of some serious issues surrounding 21st century relationships. Taking the same name from her 2015 TEDx Talk, Wilby’s book was published in 2017 by Accent Press. Wilby takes the reader on a somewhat reversed chronological journey through her own experiences with monogamous and polyamorous relationships, tracing backwards the events that prompted her to question the assumption that monogamy is the only option.
Citing the development in technology - a.k.a. dating sites and apps - she highlights how looking to older generations for relationship role-models is becoming harder, as the world of dating has changed. She questions the assumption that having multiple relationships is synonymous with deceit and cheating, showing how polyamorous relationships can in fact be the epitome of openness, honesty and frankness - a foundation of firm friendship both before and after a sexual relationship. Indeed, Wilby even myth-busts the idea that polyamorous relationships must involve multiple sexual partners, but emphasises the emotional intimacies that can exist, as she puts it, ‘without needing orgasms to bind us’.
Defining, or examining the definitions, of language surrounding modern relationships is a major and eye-opening theme throughout Wilby’s book. Quite rightly, she articulates the difficulty in beginning a discussion around something we do not yet have, or know the words for. From Love Affair Friends’, ‘platonic snogging’ and ‘serial monogamy’, to ‘open relationships’ and ‘polyamory’ (there is a whole host of others!), Wilby relays and invents terms to open this area up for conversation. She uses both her own research, as well as the personal stories of others to build a more comprehensive picture of alternatives to monogamy. It is not a scientific study or a sociology text book, but a compilation of real people, real stories, and real opinions.
In the preliminary ‘Disclaiming the Disclaimer’, Wilby makes it clear that she has written this book for ‘everyone’ regardless of sexuality. She describes herself as having lived ‘proudly as an openly gay woman for most of her adult life’ and her recounted experiences reflect this. But significantly, Wilby discusses the difficulties and frustrations with monogamy as a struggle of human intimate relationships, unattached to gender. The reader gets a full sense of the view that people are people, and emotions are emotions, making the book a fascinating insight into the types of relationships that are proving successful for many people.
Wilby points out that the chances of finding one person to meet our every need is minute - and this is probably true. This leads her to draw comically accurate parallels between our attitudes towards mobile phone contracts and the upgrading attitudes of serial monogamy. That said, this book is not about converting the whole world into a polyamorous lifestyle; instead it is about opening the conversation to the numerous types of relationships that exist, giving them a platform to be discussed and understood.
Ultimately, Wilby’s openness and honesty about her own experiences, actions and problems should endear her to any reader; she infuses an emotional narrative of love and heartbreak with a witty humour that makes the book a moving, yet entertainingly informative read.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 29 August 2018
Citing the development in technology - a.k.a. dating sites and apps - she highlights how looking to older generations for relationship role-models is becoming harder, as the world of dating has changed. She questions the assumption that having multiple relationships is synonymous with deceit and cheating, showing how polyamorous relationships can in fact be the epitome of openness, honesty and frankness - a foundation of firm friendship both before and after a sexual relationship. Indeed, Wilby even myth-busts the idea that polyamorous relationships must involve multiple sexual partners, but emphasises the emotional intimacies that can exist, as she puts it, ‘without needing orgasms to bind us’.
Defining, or examining the definitions, of language surrounding modern relationships is a major and eye-opening theme throughout Wilby’s book. Quite rightly, she articulates the difficulty in beginning a discussion around something we do not yet have, or know the words for. From Love Affair Friends’, ‘platonic snogging’ and ‘serial monogamy’, to ‘open relationships’ and ‘polyamory’ (there is a whole host of others!), Wilby relays and invents terms to open this area up for conversation. She uses both her own research, as well as the personal stories of others to build a more comprehensive picture of alternatives to monogamy. It is not a scientific study or a sociology text book, but a compilation of real people, real stories, and real opinions.
In the preliminary ‘Disclaiming the Disclaimer’, Wilby makes it clear that she has written this book for ‘everyone’ regardless of sexuality. She describes herself as having lived ‘proudly as an openly gay woman for most of her adult life’ and her recounted experiences reflect this. But significantly, Wilby discusses the difficulties and frustrations with monogamy as a struggle of human intimate relationships, unattached to gender. The reader gets a full sense of the view that people are people, and emotions are emotions, making the book a fascinating insight into the types of relationships that are proving successful for many people.
Wilby points out that the chances of finding one person to meet our every need is minute - and this is probably true. This leads her to draw comically accurate parallels between our attitudes towards mobile phone contracts and the upgrading attitudes of serial monogamy. That said, this book is not about converting the whole world into a polyamorous lifestyle; instead it is about opening the conversation to the numerous types of relationships that exist, giving them a platform to be discussed and understood.
Ultimately, Wilby’s openness and honesty about her own experiences, actions and problems should endear her to any reader; she infuses an emotional narrative of love and heartbreak with a witty humour that makes the book a moving, yet entertainingly informative read.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 29 August 2018
Book review: Murder at the book club by Betsy Reavley
Betsy Reavley, poet, author, and Publishing Director at Bloodhound Books has just released her latest crime-thriller novel, Murder at the Book Club. A bite-size bit of cosy crime, this book is a brilliant blend of deviancy and domesticity, raising big questions – and startling answers – about what even the most unlikely suspects are capable of in the right circumstances.
Reavley doesn’t bring a protagonist to this novel but rather an entire cast of protagonists, with much of the novel being carried by the nine women who are present at the opening book club meet. Following this first meeting a murder occurs – Reavley wastes no time in getting to the grit of the story – and we follow the emotional, psychological and violent fallout that follows this early incident.
Told through a well-polished third-person narrative, the story allows us to move between the nuts and bolts procedural aspects of a murder investigation, while also observing a close-up perspective of what life is like for those touched by such a horrific turn of events. Each leading female is given an intriguing and interesting backstory, making them believable characters in their own rights, and it also allows a sense of depth and realism to the book as a whole too – you are encouraged to buy into the realities of these characters and, given the conviction with which Reavley delivers them, it’s an easy head-space to arrive at during the read.
The stand-out element for any who-dun-it novel for me is whether I can work out who did indeed do it; 91% in to my Kindle edition of this book (it’s available on Kindle and in paperback), I still had absolutely no idea who the culprit was – and I loved that! I loved that I’d spent hundreds of pages, and a few hours of my life, learning these women and their lives and I still couldn’t comfortably put money on the killer; although when the killer is revealed, it makes perfect sense.
A short and brilliant read, Murder at the Book Club is a charming but dark novel that shows the fiercer sides of female natures, delivered in well-observed details and well-written prose. A worthwhile read for any crime fan, this book is the perfect length for an afternoon of reading and, if you’re anything like me, then you’ll likely be reaching for Reavley’s back catalogue of works when you’re done!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 11 August 2018
Reavley doesn’t bring a protagonist to this novel but rather an entire cast of protagonists, with much of the novel being carried by the nine women who are present at the opening book club meet. Following this first meeting a murder occurs – Reavley wastes no time in getting to the grit of the story – and we follow the emotional, psychological and violent fallout that follows this early incident.
Told through a well-polished third-person narrative, the story allows us to move between the nuts and bolts procedural aspects of a murder investigation, while also observing a close-up perspective of what life is like for those touched by such a horrific turn of events. Each leading female is given an intriguing and interesting backstory, making them believable characters in their own rights, and it also allows a sense of depth and realism to the book as a whole too – you are encouraged to buy into the realities of these characters and, given the conviction with which Reavley delivers them, it’s an easy head-space to arrive at during the read.
The stand-out element for any who-dun-it novel for me is whether I can work out who did indeed do it; 91% in to my Kindle edition of this book (it’s available on Kindle and in paperback), I still had absolutely no idea who the culprit was – and I loved that! I loved that I’d spent hundreds of pages, and a few hours of my life, learning these women and their lives and I still couldn’t comfortably put money on the killer; although when the killer is revealed, it makes perfect sense.
A short and brilliant read, Murder at the Book Club is a charming but dark novel that shows the fiercer sides of female natures, delivered in well-observed details and well-written prose. A worthwhile read for any crime fan, this book is the perfect length for an afternoon of reading and, if you’re anything like me, then you’ll likely be reaching for Reavley’s back catalogue of works when you’re done!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 11 August 2018
Book review: THe Becoming of Lady Flambe by Holly Magill
The Becoming of Lady Flambé is the impressive, brazen, and wonderfully-written debut pamphlet from Holly Magill, published earlier this year by Indigo Dreams Publishing – an indie press that is no doubt on a roll when it comes to churning out stellar writers. The book itself reads to me like the lovechild of a poetry pamphlet and a novella, bringing a clear and catchy storyline to a set of well-polished poems as we journey through the beginnings of Flambé and her childhood spent living in an old-style circus.
Throughout Magill balances on a line between childhood experience – ‘Never, ever call The Ring Master Dad.’ (Things I learn) – and adolescent enlightenment – ‘I go out Looking Like That. / And I fucking love it.’ (No one tells me not to). There is a distinct and edgy tone here that builds the protagonist into a strong and believable leader for the collection, while also integrating other characters along the way, such as Flambé’s absent parents: ‘The woman who gave birth to me left before / I worked out I could have a view on that.’ (Damp squib).
We share in Flambé’s first kiss; her first time having sex in a burger van (‘I ooze / into his van, breathe in sweated / onions, and strip my t-shirt’); and, eventually, her first time going it alone: ‘Lady Flambé – this witch burns her own way!’ Through these experiences the pamphlet moves between vulnerable and empowered, while telling an intriguing story as it goes and, while I have loved reading the pamphlet, I am already holding onto the idea that I might find out what becomes of Flambé in the future.
Magill’s style of writing is crisp as she weaves in everyday details in a way that makes her pieces that big more cutting, that bit more real. Despite the sometimes surreal elements of circus-life – getting one’s first pet elephant, for example – the collection is grounded in something familiar enough to resonate with readers, and that is a commendable box to have ticked. A powerful story in a bite-size book, I sincerely hope that this is not the last we see of Flambé or Magill.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 4 August 2018
Throughout Magill balances on a line between childhood experience – ‘Never, ever call The Ring Master Dad.’ (Things I learn) – and adolescent enlightenment – ‘I go out Looking Like That. / And I fucking love it.’ (No one tells me not to). There is a distinct and edgy tone here that builds the protagonist into a strong and believable leader for the collection, while also integrating other characters along the way, such as Flambé’s absent parents: ‘The woman who gave birth to me left before / I worked out I could have a view on that.’ (Damp squib).
We share in Flambé’s first kiss; her first time having sex in a burger van (‘I ooze / into his van, breathe in sweated / onions, and strip my t-shirt’); and, eventually, her first time going it alone: ‘Lady Flambé – this witch burns her own way!’ Through these experiences the pamphlet moves between vulnerable and empowered, while telling an intriguing story as it goes and, while I have loved reading the pamphlet, I am already holding onto the idea that I might find out what becomes of Flambé in the future.
Magill’s style of writing is crisp as she weaves in everyday details in a way that makes her pieces that big more cutting, that bit more real. Despite the sometimes surreal elements of circus-life – getting one’s first pet elephant, for example – the collection is grounded in something familiar enough to resonate with readers, and that is a commendable box to have ticked. A powerful story in a bite-size book, I sincerely hope that this is not the last we see of Flambé or Magill.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 4 August 2018
Book review: Ghosting for Beginners by Anna Saunders
Anna Saunders is the poet behind a number of successful publications, the latest of which is the exceptional Ghosting for Beginners, published earlier this year by Indigo Dreams Publishing. The pamphlet, which comes in at a bite-size 50 pages in length, is a blend of myth and modernity as Saunders weaves a surprising set of narratives around the themes of ghosts and ghosting.
Saunders does a wonderful job of shifting between tones here, from the optimistic ‘Wood Garlic’ – ‘Aren’t we all wild garlic / rooted into the dark woods’ – to the fragile ‘The Hedgehog’ – ‘Do we love it more for looking like us, / but prettier, with its dark, inquisitive eyes’. The movements between tone are what contribute to the overall success of this release, for me, because you’re never in one place, or on one theme, for longer than a beat or two before you’re whisked away elsewhere – and the shifts between the likes of Orpheus and modern-day ghosting habits are just one such example of this.
Throughout Saunders brings an observant eye which breathes an additional life into many of her pieces too, particularly in her title poem ‘Ghosting for Beginners’: ‘Simply disappear from her twitter feed, / become invisible on her wall, / least vast gaps between texts.’. The fact that these observations are delivered in beautifully sparse descriptions just marks this is a top pamphlet for me, evidenced by the fact that I sat down to read one or two poems and continued reading until I’d devoured the whole book.
From start to finish, Ghosting for Beginners has something that pulls you in and keeps pulling until the final page. The fact that Saunders has explored so many subjects in such a variety of ways is impressive in itself, but the additional fact too that she conveys these subjects in a way that is never tiring but always entertaining is a stellar accomplishment to note as well. This is the first that I’ve read of Saunders but Ghosting for Beginners has me searching for her back catalogue of publications. A fine pamphlet from an observant and skilled poet, this is certainly one worth adding to the reading list.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 29 July 2018
Saunders does a wonderful job of shifting between tones here, from the optimistic ‘Wood Garlic’ – ‘Aren’t we all wild garlic / rooted into the dark woods’ – to the fragile ‘The Hedgehog’ – ‘Do we love it more for looking like us, / but prettier, with its dark, inquisitive eyes’. The movements between tone are what contribute to the overall success of this release, for me, because you’re never in one place, or on one theme, for longer than a beat or two before you’re whisked away elsewhere – and the shifts between the likes of Orpheus and modern-day ghosting habits are just one such example of this.
Throughout Saunders brings an observant eye which breathes an additional life into many of her pieces too, particularly in her title poem ‘Ghosting for Beginners’: ‘Simply disappear from her twitter feed, / become invisible on her wall, / least vast gaps between texts.’. The fact that these observations are delivered in beautifully sparse descriptions just marks this is a top pamphlet for me, evidenced by the fact that I sat down to read one or two poems and continued reading until I’d devoured the whole book.
From start to finish, Ghosting for Beginners has something that pulls you in and keeps pulling until the final page. The fact that Saunders has explored so many subjects in such a variety of ways is impressive in itself, but the additional fact too that she conveys these subjects in a way that is never tiring but always entertaining is a stellar accomplishment to note as well. This is the first that I’ve read of Saunders but Ghosting for Beginners has me searching for her back catalogue of publications. A fine pamphlet from an observant and skilled poet, this is certainly one worth adding to the reading list.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 29 July 2018
Book Review: We Are All Lucky by Ben Banyard
The cover picture of Ben Banyard’s We Are All Lucky sets the tone for the entire collection. A picture of an old caravan on a sun-emblazoned lawn is discussed by the protagonist and his companion; whilst she sees a wreck, he sees a thing of beauty. Throughout the whole book, ben’s optimistic and open-hearted tones celebrate the eyesores in life and their inner, often overlooked, loveliness.
An optimist’s charter, We Are All Lucky transmutes the everyday and the ordinary into precious metal; graffiti becomes a pulsating music, its 'words set your fingers drumming'; the inner-city planning of Birmingham is avuncular, beloved, its 'familiar vista gurned from/60’s drawing boards like a favourite uncle', meanwhile dull coach holidays manage to give 'granny' a 'wren like wander lust' and turn her into a bold and winged adventurer and a humble conker, 'a brown nugget/suede nosed warhead' is torn open to become a 'leathered morning star', 'white silk dawdled with brown veins'.
The tags and blemishes on the body are also held up to the light in this sharp collection; a nose crushed in a bike crash, a broken collar bone smashed in a 'collapsed scrum' and even a scar are sources of joy. Though giving birth has taken its toil on the mother, Ben writes 'I think of the caesarean and how you have a smile just here'.
These are assured and acute poems, fusing an understated voice with vivid imagery. Banyard oscillates adeptly between a direct, conversational address and lyricism seamlessly. As I read I was reminded of Dylan Thomas, though Ben’s voice is less overtly musical (Banyard is at times even prose-like in the clarity of his address), there are some shared characteristics, for example a gentle humour which takes as its subject human nature and delights in foibles of the poem’s cast of characters. There’s 'granny' who 'shared sweets and crab paste sandwiches', 'Great Aunt Katie' with her flask and budgie, and even 'Jeremy', 'talcum-powder complextion/drumming fingers tipped with yellow nails'.
This is a quiet collection and those looking for the ambitiously experimental or cutting edge may bemoan a lack of noise, but intelligent readers will find much to enjoy here in Banyard’s careful portraits of people and place, and will enjoy his subtle yet potent imagery. We Are All Lucky is unashamedly optimistic, whilst remaining clear-sighted and unflinching in its vision of the realities of life. To read it is to remember again how poetry can console. Ben’s penultimate poem 'Courage, mon brave' extols the virtues of having a mental mantra when times are hard, and lines from this poem could just as well apply to the contents of We Are All Lucky, a collection of 'gentle and polished words' which reignite /kindle to prove a far beacon.
If you want to hear more from the author himself, you can read our recent interview with Ben Banyard right now by clicking here.
Written by: Anna Sauders
Published: 20 July 2018
An optimist’s charter, We Are All Lucky transmutes the everyday and the ordinary into precious metal; graffiti becomes a pulsating music, its 'words set your fingers drumming'; the inner-city planning of Birmingham is avuncular, beloved, its 'familiar vista gurned from/60’s drawing boards like a favourite uncle', meanwhile dull coach holidays manage to give 'granny' a 'wren like wander lust' and turn her into a bold and winged adventurer and a humble conker, 'a brown nugget/suede nosed warhead' is torn open to become a 'leathered morning star', 'white silk dawdled with brown veins'.
The tags and blemishes on the body are also held up to the light in this sharp collection; a nose crushed in a bike crash, a broken collar bone smashed in a 'collapsed scrum' and even a scar are sources of joy. Though giving birth has taken its toil on the mother, Ben writes 'I think of the caesarean and how you have a smile just here'.
These are assured and acute poems, fusing an understated voice with vivid imagery. Banyard oscillates adeptly between a direct, conversational address and lyricism seamlessly. As I read I was reminded of Dylan Thomas, though Ben’s voice is less overtly musical (Banyard is at times even prose-like in the clarity of his address), there are some shared characteristics, for example a gentle humour which takes as its subject human nature and delights in foibles of the poem’s cast of characters. There’s 'granny' who 'shared sweets and crab paste sandwiches', 'Great Aunt Katie' with her flask and budgie, and even 'Jeremy', 'talcum-powder complextion/drumming fingers tipped with yellow nails'.
This is a quiet collection and those looking for the ambitiously experimental or cutting edge may bemoan a lack of noise, but intelligent readers will find much to enjoy here in Banyard’s careful portraits of people and place, and will enjoy his subtle yet potent imagery. We Are All Lucky is unashamedly optimistic, whilst remaining clear-sighted and unflinching in its vision of the realities of life. To read it is to remember again how poetry can console. Ben’s penultimate poem 'Courage, mon brave' extols the virtues of having a mental mantra when times are hard, and lines from this poem could just as well apply to the contents of We Are All Lucky, a collection of 'gentle and polished words' which reignite /kindle to prove a far beacon.
If you want to hear more from the author himself, you can read our recent interview with Ben Banyard right now by clicking here.
Written by: Anna Sauders
Published: 20 July 2018
Book Review: Cacophony of Stardust by Al Barz
Cacophony of Stardust by Al Barz was published by Burdizzo Bards earlier this year. Although Barz has published poetry online and in various anthologies, Cacophony of Stardust is his first poetry collection and it holds over 150 poems! The sheer number of poems allows Barz to cover an almost staggering number of times, places, topics and memories. He draws his reader from the minutia of life with poems about water drops and abandoned cobwebs, to the more macro struggles such as war, ageing, illness, and toxic masculinity.
Capturing and conveying small narratives in a compact space, Barz’s poems are stylistically interesting in their wide ranging forms - from regimented rhymes schemes, to almost whole poems written in alliteration. He takes the reader through time in terms of life events, as well as through the four seasons. exploring both their external natures and personal significance in a touching manner.
That said, Barz litters his often serious poems with comic verses that can only be entertaining! A frequent and clever use of rhyme can create what I can only describe as a ‘sing-song’ effect, which is at comic and/or shocking odds to the serious content. This often leaves the reader laughing at things they probably shouldn’t, which is no bad thing! What is more, Barz’s poems are often playfully named: ‘Capture in the Rye’, ‘Karma Before the Storm’ and, ‘While the Irony is Hot’ are just a few examples! If you enjoy puns, you’ll love Barz’s haiku, ‘Earning It and Burning it’ - but I’ll let you read it for yourself!
Cacophony of Stardust is such a comprehensive collection of poems, there is sure to be something in there for everyone - old, young, male, female, political, or romantic. Barz admits in a couple of notes that occasionally his poetry includes references that, in his own words, ‘you have to be a certain age to get’. However, his warm reminiscences often extend beyond the ‘you had to be there’ specifics and can provide lovely reflections of life pre-Britain’s Got Talent, to a simpler time when, for Barz, lighting a fire in a grate was still a learning curve of youth.
Ultimately, Cacophony of Stardust reminds its reader of both the big and small things we can forget in the rush of day-to-day life, through a heartfelt and humorous exploration of individual experiences in a very messy world.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 14 July 2018
Capturing and conveying small narratives in a compact space, Barz’s poems are stylistically interesting in their wide ranging forms - from regimented rhymes schemes, to almost whole poems written in alliteration. He takes the reader through time in terms of life events, as well as through the four seasons. exploring both their external natures and personal significance in a touching manner.
That said, Barz litters his often serious poems with comic verses that can only be entertaining! A frequent and clever use of rhyme can create what I can only describe as a ‘sing-song’ effect, which is at comic and/or shocking odds to the serious content. This often leaves the reader laughing at things they probably shouldn’t, which is no bad thing! What is more, Barz’s poems are often playfully named: ‘Capture in the Rye’, ‘Karma Before the Storm’ and, ‘While the Irony is Hot’ are just a few examples! If you enjoy puns, you’ll love Barz’s haiku, ‘Earning It and Burning it’ - but I’ll let you read it for yourself!
Cacophony of Stardust is such a comprehensive collection of poems, there is sure to be something in there for everyone - old, young, male, female, political, or romantic. Barz admits in a couple of notes that occasionally his poetry includes references that, in his own words, ‘you have to be a certain age to get’. However, his warm reminiscences often extend beyond the ‘you had to be there’ specifics and can provide lovely reflections of life pre-Britain’s Got Talent, to a simpler time when, for Barz, lighting a fire in a grate was still a learning curve of youth.
Ultimately, Cacophony of Stardust reminds its reader of both the big and small things we can forget in the rush of day-to-day life, through a heartfelt and humorous exploration of individual experiences in a very messy world.
Written by: Beth O'Brien
Published: 14 July 2018
Book Review: Transitions by R.M. Francis
R.M. Francis’s debut pamphlet, Transitions, was published by the Black Light Engine Room press in 2015 and since its release it has caused ripples of controversy among readerships and live audiences alike. Dubbed as a collection written to explore ‘Queer and Transgender culture’, neither the pamphlet or its author shies away from some of the most difficult topics in the Queer community and not only does this release make for an informative read in this respect, but it also makes for an expertly entertaining one too.
The entire pamphlet is full of gritty descriptions and visceral one-liners – ‘Fist’, I’m looking at you in particular there – and Francis expertly handles the “taboo” by incorporating it with the ordinary: ‘At sixteen, Stella, / strapped like a man, / stuffed six inches / of pink glittered / silicone into me.’ This coming from a poem that, somewhat innocently, begins with friends teaching each other how to kiss (‘Lessons’). Intermittently, throughout these glorious and unashamedly sexual stand-alone poems, there is also ‘Nick, I’, a six-piece set that is scattered throughout the entire chapbook making for uncomfortable and intimate checkpoints in Francis’s work. Discussing a journey of gender reassignment surgery, the character of Nick transforms into Nicki over the course of Francis’s chapbook making for a marvellous climax to the entire release: ‘Sometimes you’ve gotta shrug, / smile and keep stepping forward’ (‘Nick, I’ Part six). Overall, I have nothing but positive things to say about Transitions. It is, in my mind, a much-needed pamphlet that brings something clever and entirely necessary to today’s reading audiences and, after having watched some of these poems performed live by the author , I have to say that his spoken delivery only hammers home the grit and grime that shapes this sparkling collection. At £5, it’s a worthwhile investment for fans of poetry that leaves you squirming in your seat ever so slightly… Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 5 July 2018 |
R.M. Francis - Corvus' Burnt-wing Love balm and Cure-all
The second instalment of R.M. Francis’s work this week comes from his second Black Light Engine Room chapbook (but third chapbook overall), the recently published Corvus’ burnt-wing love balm and cure-all. This beautifully produced chapbook – with a wonderfully understated front cover that preludes the exceptional illustration from Jane Burn on the inside – is another fine accomplishment for this author, who has matured ever so slightly and shifted focus somewhat since the Transition days of 2015.
Somehow the poetry in Corvus has softer edges than I first expected, but this merely means that the brutality of the work comes through in different – sometimes much more passive aggressive – ways, and the author plays to this as a strength. From the wonderfully understand ‘Stain’ – ‘It percolates / where I pulled you to the floor’ – through to the astutely observed ‘As Grownup Couples Return Home For Sunday Tea’, Francis casts a judgemental eye over adult relationships and chisels these incidents down to their bones to make strong and stripped back poetry. Throughout Francis is sparing with his adjectives but the details that are there – ‘careful as hidden bruises’ – are forceful and distinct, which only adds to the overall force of this book (‘Postcard’). It feels quite impossible to do a strict comparison between this and Transitions as both chapbooks bring something that reads as very different to each other. However, Corvus’ burnt-wing and love balm cure-all shows a new side to Francis that has matured – for want of a better word – into different subjects, holding a magnifying lens uncomfortably close to many everyday human issues (love and loneliness, to name but two). Another cracking collection and certainly a book worthy of praise and reading time! Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 4 July 2018 |
Book Review: losing interest in the sound of petrichor by Kate Garrett
At Mad Hatter Reviews the talk of Kate Garrett continues as we follow-up last week’s review of You’ve never seen a doomsday like it with another of Garrett’s work, losing interest in the sound of petrichor. Another bite-size publication, this chapbook – published by Black Light Engine Room Press in the early part of this year – both pushes and pulls you between continuing and devouring the set of poems in one go, while also wanting to wait and consider, analyse, re-read before moving onto the next piece.
Whatever your reading style or pace, this chapbook will have something that suits your tastes. Garrett relies on strong and distinctive imagery throughout this work, which is heightened by her simultaneously regular and irregular construction of each poem. There are no strict regulations here in respect to how Garrett constructs her work, but that is, in part, what makes the work quite so enchanting as irregular stanzas gel with her content.
Throughout there is an intriguing mix of poetry and prose poetry, the latter of which is so well-put-together that I would welcome an entire prose-poetry collection from Garrett (especially if ‘She was not my manic pixie dream girl’ is anything to go by). As with all collections there are poems that stick with you after an initial reading – here’s looking to you, ‘Smokescreens’ – and there are standout lines that have largely been emphasised further by Garrett’s unique stanza constructions as cited above.
Overall Garrett has again shaped a world that is simultaneously mystical and magical, while being part-human and very much part-evil all at once. Rich with imagery and packed with narrative threads that are worth holding on to, this is another strong release from Garrett and certainly one worth adding to the to-read list.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 28 June 2018
Whatever your reading style or pace, this chapbook will have something that suits your tastes. Garrett relies on strong and distinctive imagery throughout this work, which is heightened by her simultaneously regular and irregular construction of each poem. There are no strict regulations here in respect to how Garrett constructs her work, but that is, in part, what makes the work quite so enchanting as irregular stanzas gel with her content.
Throughout there is an intriguing mix of poetry and prose poetry, the latter of which is so well-put-together that I would welcome an entire prose-poetry collection from Garrett (especially if ‘She was not my manic pixie dream girl’ is anything to go by). As with all collections there are poems that stick with you after an initial reading – here’s looking to you, ‘Smokescreens’ – and there are standout lines that have largely been emphasised further by Garrett’s unique stanza constructions as cited above.
Overall Garrett has again shaped a world that is simultaneously mystical and magical, while being part-human and very much part-evil all at once. Rich with imagery and packed with narrative threads that are worth holding on to, this is another strong release from Garrett and certainly one worth adding to the to-read list.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 28 June 2018
Review: How to Grow Matches by Sarah Leavesley |
You've never seen a doomsday like it by Kate Garrett |
How To Grow Matches is the most recent poetry publication from poet and author Sarah Leavesley, published by Against The Grain press in the early part of this year. A pocket-sized pamphlet of female ferocity, Leavesley moves through a series of womanly speakers in a way that is both hard-hitting and memorable, making for a wonderful collection overall.
The poems move from the personal and intimate – ‘Atomic’ – through to the universal – ‘Facts of/for/against survival’ – and with each stroke Leavesley contributes towards a well-rounded and cohesive image that holds the individual together as a whole. Furthermore, her eye for detail – ‘…you open / the fridge and notice how his choices / have overpowered your tastes’ – is cutting but relatable and that particular line, taken from ‘Forget beef, forget chicken’, I have to confess is one of my favourites from the entire collection. I read the pamphlet across two sittings; in sitting number two I was sitting next to a friend in a cafe while waiting for an open mic event to start, and for every other poem I read I handed the book to her, pointed to a particular stanza, and said: “Just read this bit.” Leavesley’s work, while well-crafted and distinctive, is also packed with standout stanzas that stick with you long after the poems have been read through, and that is one of many reasons why her work is so (re-)readable. This is a poignant and powerful collection overall, and it’s a fine addition to Leavesley’s growing catalogue of poetic achievements; a worthy investment for anyone looking for a good book to sink into this weekend. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 21 June 2018 |
You’ve never seen a doomsday like it by Kate Garrett was published by Indigo Dreams Publishing in 2017. This pamphlet has been my first full-length taste of Garrett’s work, after following her poems around an online trail of one-off publications, and if this is anything to go by then I’ll shortly be raiding her back catalogue of publications because Doomsday made for thoroughly enjoyable and undeniably emotional reading.
Garrett does a fine job of sewing together the mystical and the real, which means you are never entirely sure whether you are dealing with mermaid, man, or something in between. That being said, this on-going mysticism makes for a distinct and endearing quality to the work, and it makes it all the more cutting when elements of the human slip through – I’m looking to ‘Something you see in the movies’ and ‘Gravida 5, Parity 3’ for my specific examples, both of which brought me to tears mid-read. This is a mid-America edge to much of the work as Garrett glimpses back to the her original side of the pond, blending this well with distortions of adolescence and the grim realities that we soon come to terms with on growing up. As an entire publication, I thoroughly enjoyed You’ve never seen a doomsday like it from start to finish as an introduction to Garrett’s work (for me, at least) this holds huge promise for whatever is coming next. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 21 June 2018 |
Book review: Always Another Twist by Sarah Leavesley
Before settling down to write this review I had a quick look back to the last time I reviewed a Sarah Leavesley publication. This last book, as it turns out, was the prequel to this one. Kaleidoscope was published in 2017 by Mantle Lane Press and after reading that novella I wrote words to the effect of: ‘this book has left me with more questions than answers’ (although this was said in an entirely complementary way). Leavesley’s most recent novella, Always Another Twist, published by Mantle Lane Press again, is in fact a sequel to Kaleidoscope. ‘Finally,’ I thought to myself, ‘some of the answers!’
However, all is not as it seems on the surface. As Leavesley’s title promises there is indeed always another twist in this family narrative and, far from answering questions about Claire, Leavesley has instead raised questions about Julie – Claire’s sister. I’m loathe to give away too many plot details for fear of ruining it, but to give you the basic outline I will say this: Always Another Twist introduces another narrative into an already complicated and intriguing story, showing us another twist in the kaleidoscope of Claire and Julie’s world.
The one thing that has stayed the same from one book to the next is, of course, the quality of writing. Dripping with descriptions, it would be easy to mistake Leavesley’s fiction as prose poetry on occasion, such is the richness of detail that appears on near enough every page. The imagery of this world is rich which only adds further to the overall authenticity and believability of these women and their stories.
The main difference for me is that the ending packs a slightly different punch this time around. While Kaleidoscope struck a disturbing and unresolved chord – in a good way, I stress – Always Another Twist promises something lighter, more hopeful – a story that as a reader you are willing to live on beyond the book because the characters actually deserve a happy ending (even though Leavesley can’t help but stop writing just before the happy ending actually arrives, so still I suppose we never know).
Overlapping narratives, beautiful prose, and more questions without answers, Leavesley again does a fine job of hooking a reader by the heartstrings and pulling them into this bitesize narrative – perfect to devour in one sitting, if you think you can stomach the tension. This is another fine publication and it is worth grabbing yourselves a copy, whether you have read Kaleidoscope or not – Julie’s story is certainly one worth reading.
For more on Sarah Leavesley, her time spent writing this book, and indeed what we can expect from her in the future, you can pop over to our Interviews section this week to hear from the author herself.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 5 June 2018
However, all is not as it seems on the surface. As Leavesley’s title promises there is indeed always another twist in this family narrative and, far from answering questions about Claire, Leavesley has instead raised questions about Julie – Claire’s sister. I’m loathe to give away too many plot details for fear of ruining it, but to give you the basic outline I will say this: Always Another Twist introduces another narrative into an already complicated and intriguing story, showing us another twist in the kaleidoscope of Claire and Julie’s world.
The one thing that has stayed the same from one book to the next is, of course, the quality of writing. Dripping with descriptions, it would be easy to mistake Leavesley’s fiction as prose poetry on occasion, such is the richness of detail that appears on near enough every page. The imagery of this world is rich which only adds further to the overall authenticity and believability of these women and their stories.
The main difference for me is that the ending packs a slightly different punch this time around. While Kaleidoscope struck a disturbing and unresolved chord – in a good way, I stress – Always Another Twist promises something lighter, more hopeful – a story that as a reader you are willing to live on beyond the book because the characters actually deserve a happy ending (even though Leavesley can’t help but stop writing just before the happy ending actually arrives, so still I suppose we never know).
Overlapping narratives, beautiful prose, and more questions without answers, Leavesley again does a fine job of hooking a reader by the heartstrings and pulling them into this bitesize narrative – perfect to devour in one sitting, if you think you can stomach the tension. This is another fine publication and it is worth grabbing yourselves a copy, whether you have read Kaleidoscope or not – Julie’s story is certainly one worth reading.
For more on Sarah Leavesley, her time spent writing this book, and indeed what we can expect from her in the future, you can pop over to our Interviews section this week to hear from the author herself.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 5 June 2018
Book Review: Party in the Diaryhouse by Chris Hemingway
Chris Hemingway’s Party in the Diaryhouse is a recently published poetry pamphlet (from Picaroon Poetry) that pulls on the heartstrings while striking a few more lyrical chords as it goes along. A pocket-size guide to life through music, each piece reads like a walk down memory lane where Hemingway takes the reader by the hand and points out the most important sights along the way – offering up some killer lines as he goes.
The opening piece, ‘A Walking Conversation with my 20-year-old Self’, sets a wonderfully nostalgic tone to the collection, and it is a sure and confident sign of the themes that follow. Honest, emotional, and unashamedly frank, the speaker has a brief but poignant conversation with himself before we are carried into the poems that follow this encounter – poems that remind readers of the likes of Jimmy the Mod (‘Freezeframe’) and Hoagy Carmichael (‘Harehills Synthpop Attic Flat’), among other all-too-familiar names.
As is the case with any collection there are standout pieces that live and breathe beyond their time on the page – ‘We Played Monopoly Like Rock Stars’ being one such poem with the glorious imagery of ‘tiny TVs / flying through the hotel windows’ that will no doubt strike a familiar tune with some readers. ‘Sistersong’ is another hard-hitting entry, while ‘Indelible’ has my favourite last stanza of all of Hemingway’s last stanzas (you’ll have to buy the book to read it because I’m not going to rob you of the context).
Plastered with rich but quirky imagery (‘Tonight You Will be Sleeping in the Puffin Room’) and authentically heartfelt flashbacks to another time entirely (‘If We Met Again Tomorrow’), Hemingway’s work takes you on a wonderful journey packed with familiar feelings and classic musical allusions, complete with memories galore that give these poems a further lift. It is a well-polished collection that warrants a read from the poetry-lovers among our readership and, if you’re looking to treat yourself to something new, you can buy a copy of Party in the Diaryhouse from Picaroon Poetry’s website now by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published 31 May 2018
The opening piece, ‘A Walking Conversation with my 20-year-old Self’, sets a wonderfully nostalgic tone to the collection, and it is a sure and confident sign of the themes that follow. Honest, emotional, and unashamedly frank, the speaker has a brief but poignant conversation with himself before we are carried into the poems that follow this encounter – poems that remind readers of the likes of Jimmy the Mod (‘Freezeframe’) and Hoagy Carmichael (‘Harehills Synthpop Attic Flat’), among other all-too-familiar names.
As is the case with any collection there are standout pieces that live and breathe beyond their time on the page – ‘We Played Monopoly Like Rock Stars’ being one such poem with the glorious imagery of ‘tiny TVs / flying through the hotel windows’ that will no doubt strike a familiar tune with some readers. ‘Sistersong’ is another hard-hitting entry, while ‘Indelible’ has my favourite last stanza of all of Hemingway’s last stanzas (you’ll have to buy the book to read it because I’m not going to rob you of the context).
Plastered with rich but quirky imagery (‘Tonight You Will be Sleeping in the Puffin Room’) and authentically heartfelt flashbacks to another time entirely (‘If We Met Again Tomorrow’), Hemingway’s work takes you on a wonderful journey packed with familiar feelings and classic musical allusions, complete with memories galore that give these poems a further lift. It is a well-polished collection that warrants a read from the poetry-lovers among our readership and, if you’re looking to treat yourself to something new, you can buy a copy of Party in the Diaryhouse from Picaroon Poetry’s website now by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published 31 May 2018
Book Review: Tell Mistakes I Love Them By Stephen Daniels
Tell Mistakes I Love Them is the debut pamphlet release from accomplished poet, Stephen Daniels. Published by V. Press in early 2017, this bite-size collection is a hot pebble of confusing emotions and surreal re-tellings that I had to read twice over, just to make sure that I got everything - and I'm still not convinced that I did.
Daniels weaves a surreal narrative from childhood through to different deaths, finalising the entire sequence with a wonderfully touching last line that somehow seems to encapsulate many of the themes raised throughout the book:
'for however long it lasted / I believe we were flying' (uplift)
Ahead of writing this review I flicked through the collection again to find my 'favourites', only to undercut my decisions with a, 'Oh, but this poem,' every time I stumbled across a piece that I had managed to momentarily forget. The truth is that the entire release is liberally scattered with lines that live beyond the page, bringing an extra force to Daniels' accounts of childhood incidents and adult realisations. 'I pushed you because someone had to push first' (Stinging nettles for a ginger sister), 'When I accused you of being dead, / I thought you'd smile.' (You lay on the floor, waiting for me), and the crushing: 'I tweeted yourlife today' (Gravestone - £1098 (Incl 100 characters)).
There are times when the pamphlet forces a pause for thought, because while some poems are initially surreal and somewhat non-sensical, on further inspection they swell to a bigger meaning. It is this - these - bigger meanings that leave a reader feeling very much like they've spied on the poet in a private moment, giving off an intimacy that the first poem hadn't prepared me for - but the second poem certainly hinted at ('I float and savour the nausea.' Surface tension).
Overall, Tell Mistakes I Love Them is unexpectedly touching, stylistically interesting, and a promising beginning for Stephen Daniels - and it's certainly a worthy addition to any poetry-reader's pamphlet pile.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 19 January 2018
Daniels weaves a surreal narrative from childhood through to different deaths, finalising the entire sequence with a wonderfully touching last line that somehow seems to encapsulate many of the themes raised throughout the book:
'for however long it lasted / I believe we were flying' (uplift)
Ahead of writing this review I flicked through the collection again to find my 'favourites', only to undercut my decisions with a, 'Oh, but this poem,' every time I stumbled across a piece that I had managed to momentarily forget. The truth is that the entire release is liberally scattered with lines that live beyond the page, bringing an extra force to Daniels' accounts of childhood incidents and adult realisations. 'I pushed you because someone had to push first' (Stinging nettles for a ginger sister), 'When I accused you of being dead, / I thought you'd smile.' (You lay on the floor, waiting for me), and the crushing: 'I tweeted yourlife today' (Gravestone - £1098 (Incl 100 characters)).
There are times when the pamphlet forces a pause for thought, because while some poems are initially surreal and somewhat non-sensical, on further inspection they swell to a bigger meaning. It is this - these - bigger meanings that leave a reader feeling very much like they've spied on the poet in a private moment, giving off an intimacy that the first poem hadn't prepared me for - but the second poem certainly hinted at ('I float and savour the nausea.' Surface tension).
Overall, Tell Mistakes I Love Them is unexpectedly touching, stylistically interesting, and a promising beginning for Stephen Daniels - and it's certainly a worthy addition to any poetry-reader's pamphlet pile.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 19 January 2018
Book Review: Somewhere Between ROse and Black
by Claire Walker
These days I am in the habit of reading poetry collections with a pencil close by, such is my tendency to annotate as I go. After devouring Claire Walker’s latest pamphlet – Somewhere Between Rose and Black – in two deliberately slow sittings, I can tell you quite honestly that there isn’t a blank poem left in my copy. Whether it’s a single line, or an entire stanza, this pamphlet is littered with imagery and emotion that resonates long after reading – and it’s a pamphlet worth adding to your Christmas list.
Inspired by the diaries of a close family member, Walker weaves a narrative of isolation, (self-)discovery, and genuine heartache throughout this release. The speaker tells of her change in scenery and how this both fascinates and sometimes disturbs her, making for a turbulent read that captures beautifully the sense of ill-ease we are all inclined to feel during big life changes. In this sense and so many others, Walker’s pamphlet is certainly a relatable one.
From piece to piece we are treated to rich imagery that captures the landscape of this work, which only serves to enrich the reading experience further. Not only do the feelings of the speaking character pack a punch here, but her settings – beautifully described, from redcurrents to life-changing storms – are equally as forceful. Furthermore, Walker is an expert of killer last lines and she illustrates this on many occasions, too, with one stand-out close in particular sticking with me from memory even now:
‘we’re all desperate to feel full’ (taken from Feeding the Jays).
Somewhere Between Rose and Black is a wonderful pamphlet. It is sincere, heartfelt, and beautifully crafted, and it speaks volumes in support of the growing talent that is Claire Walker. A marvellous follow-up, this will no doubt be another sell-out publication, and it’s certainly a release that I’ll be returning to a few times over yet.
To find out more about Claire Walker, and her upcoming publication, you can check out our interview with her now by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 28 November 2017
Inspired by the diaries of a close family member, Walker weaves a narrative of isolation, (self-)discovery, and genuine heartache throughout this release. The speaker tells of her change in scenery and how this both fascinates and sometimes disturbs her, making for a turbulent read that captures beautifully the sense of ill-ease we are all inclined to feel during big life changes. In this sense and so many others, Walker’s pamphlet is certainly a relatable one.
From piece to piece we are treated to rich imagery that captures the landscape of this work, which only serves to enrich the reading experience further. Not only do the feelings of the speaking character pack a punch here, but her settings – beautifully described, from redcurrents to life-changing storms – are equally as forceful. Furthermore, Walker is an expert of killer last lines and she illustrates this on many occasions, too, with one stand-out close in particular sticking with me from memory even now:
‘we’re all desperate to feel full’ (taken from Feeding the Jays).
Somewhere Between Rose and Black is a wonderful pamphlet. It is sincere, heartfelt, and beautifully crafted, and it speaks volumes in support of the growing talent that is Claire Walker. A marvellous follow-up, this will no doubt be another sell-out publication, and it’s certainly a release that I’ll be returning to a few times over yet.
To find out more about Claire Walker, and her upcoming publication, you can check out our interview with her now by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 28 November 2017
Book Review: Snare by Lilja Sigurdardottir
Snare is the latest Noir novel release from Icelandic author Lilja Sigurdardottir, translated beautifully by Quentin Bates (if you're a fan of Icelandic Noir, then Bates is mostly likely an already familiar name to you). Sigurdardottir was an entirely new name to me, though, and although I had read many, many complimentary reviews prior to reading, nothing could quite prepare me for the tension that followed in the novel proper. Snare by name, snare by nature, this release is a stunning opening novel to what promises to be a killer trilogy.
Some background, then: Snare introduces us to Sonja, a woman who, after going through a messy divorce that saw her lose custody of her son, finds herself in a tricky financial situation. She is eventually approached by her divorce lawyer who, it transpires, is a major player in a drug smuggling ring. Sonja soon finds herself trapped in a world of smuggling where the stakes are constantly being raised and the risks are increasing along with them. While she plans various ways in which to escape the snare, she then encounters another problem altogether: Bragi, a senior Customs Officer, who has noticed Sonja's comings and goings. Add to that Sonja's turbulent relationship with Agla (a woman who has her own set of problems as she is currently being investigated for her involvement in the Icelandic financial crash) and there aren't too many quiet moments to be found in this novel.
On the whole this is bite-size brilliance. The novel is beautifully written and beautifully translated, providing a rich and full landscape for the characters to run riot it. Sigurdardottir pens her descriptions with such conviction and confidence that you find yourself immediately transported to the various locations here, which only adds to the authenticity of the story. It is action-packed, of course, but there is never anything overdone or unbelievable about the text either. Sigurdardottir weaves what feels like a real-life story here - such is the state of the world at present - and through that Snare packs an even greater punch.
I will confess that on seeing the length of the book - it is a short read - coupled with the promised plot, I had reservations about the pace from the beginning, but I needn't have worried. There is enough in each chapter to keep you interested, yes, but the novel is paced to allow the dramatic reveals to fizz and linger, with no sense of them folding over each other and becoming lost (which was, I suppose, my initial concern). Not only it is well-paced but it comes with a well positioned twist that literally left me wide-eyed in the final chapters of the book. I love where the novel closes and it has left me ever so hungry to see where the next work in this trilogy will pick up.
Sigurdardottir should be immensely proud of this release. It is well-polished, finely crafted, and a true credit to the growing body of Noir emerging from Iceland at present. The author is staking a claim to a slice of that genre here and, after reading Snare, I can say it is a slice that she rightly deserves. A thoroughly enjoyable read!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 November 2017
Some background, then: Snare introduces us to Sonja, a woman who, after going through a messy divorce that saw her lose custody of her son, finds herself in a tricky financial situation. She is eventually approached by her divorce lawyer who, it transpires, is a major player in a drug smuggling ring. Sonja soon finds herself trapped in a world of smuggling where the stakes are constantly being raised and the risks are increasing along with them. While she plans various ways in which to escape the snare, she then encounters another problem altogether: Bragi, a senior Customs Officer, who has noticed Sonja's comings and goings. Add to that Sonja's turbulent relationship with Agla (a woman who has her own set of problems as she is currently being investigated for her involvement in the Icelandic financial crash) and there aren't too many quiet moments to be found in this novel.
On the whole this is bite-size brilliance. The novel is beautifully written and beautifully translated, providing a rich and full landscape for the characters to run riot it. Sigurdardottir pens her descriptions with such conviction and confidence that you find yourself immediately transported to the various locations here, which only adds to the authenticity of the story. It is action-packed, of course, but there is never anything overdone or unbelievable about the text either. Sigurdardottir weaves what feels like a real-life story here - such is the state of the world at present - and through that Snare packs an even greater punch.
I will confess that on seeing the length of the book - it is a short read - coupled with the promised plot, I had reservations about the pace from the beginning, but I needn't have worried. There is enough in each chapter to keep you interested, yes, but the novel is paced to allow the dramatic reveals to fizz and linger, with no sense of them folding over each other and becoming lost (which was, I suppose, my initial concern). Not only it is well-paced but it comes with a well positioned twist that literally left me wide-eyed in the final chapters of the book. I love where the novel closes and it has left me ever so hungry to see where the next work in this trilogy will pick up.
Sigurdardottir should be immensely proud of this release. It is well-polished, finely crafted, and a true credit to the growing body of Noir emerging from Iceland at present. The author is staking a claim to a slice of that genre here and, after reading Snare, I can say it is a slice that she rightly deserves. A thoroughly enjoyable read!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 November 2017
Book Review: The Man Who Died by Antti Tuomainen
Earlier this year, acclaimed Finnish author Antti Tuomainen published his latest novel, The Man Who Died. Expertly translated by David Hackston and subsequently published by Orenda Books, The Man Who Died is not only a feather in the cap of all those involved – but it’s a damn fine read, as well.
I’ll admit that when I read the premise of the book, I cocked an eyebrow. Jaakko’s blossoming mushroom business may have thrown me to begin with, but I soon found myself drawn into an unconventional who-done-it tale, packed with culture and intrigue like you wouldn’t believe.
In chapter one of the book Jaakko learns that he is dying. After a prolonged period of poisoning from a source that neither Jaakko nor his doctors can identify, it becomes clear that the protagonist of this story is unlikely to make it to the final page – weeks, but more likely days, remain of Jaakko’s life at the start of this novel. From here Jaakko launches various investigations into those around him, including his own wife, Taina, and the suspicious mushroom-farming company that has suddenly set up in competition with Jaakko’s own firm. The suspects are many but the only certainty is that Jaakko doesn’t have very long at all to work out who it is that has killed him – and even less time to work out their motive.
Tuomainen’s storytelling style is glorious from start to finish! The novel is packed with black comedy, surreal encounters, and a touch of Fargo that resonates strongly. Trouble and mayhem appear to follow Jaakko wherever he goes during his investigations and, in that respect, Tuomainen does not miss a beat when it comes to keeping the narrative flow rolling, and indeed keeping it interesting. The first person perspective is well-crafted and carried convincingly throughout the book making for a protagonist that a really sticks with you, pulling you in from the opening, and Jaakko’s moments of reflection – where he considers life, death, and the moments in between – make for some truly thought-provoking reading. There are times in this novel where Tuomainen really interrogates what it means to be alive, and indeed what it means to have a life, and it seems to me that a strong message of the book is that these two things are in fact markedly different from each other. As such, not only is the novel amusing but it is also poignant; the sadness that emanates from Jaakko during these reflections is contagious (so thank goodness for the wonderfully awkward death scenes that recapture the light-hearted feel afterwards).
The descriptions throughout are rich and the scenes featuring Taina’s cooking will leave you hungry for a good meal – despite the threat of being poisoned and all. Overall though, Tuomainen delivers a well-rounded narrative that, despite being limited to Jaakko’s viewpoint, manages to capture different aspects of this story, and the characters featured within it, which adds all the more to the rich feel of the text.
Such is the nature of the who-done-it novel, I’m always hesitant to discuss too much of the plot for fear of ruining it for the next reader – but hear me when I tell you, you must read this book if you’re looking for a crime novel with a twist. The telling is gripping, the translation is beautiful, and Jaakko is wonderfully off-beat narrator-protagonist who might even teach you a thing or two during your time with him.
A thoroughly enjoyable read that is definitely worth curling up with this November, The Man Who Died is available to order online now.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 November 2017
I’ll admit that when I read the premise of the book, I cocked an eyebrow. Jaakko’s blossoming mushroom business may have thrown me to begin with, but I soon found myself drawn into an unconventional who-done-it tale, packed with culture and intrigue like you wouldn’t believe.
In chapter one of the book Jaakko learns that he is dying. After a prolonged period of poisoning from a source that neither Jaakko nor his doctors can identify, it becomes clear that the protagonist of this story is unlikely to make it to the final page – weeks, but more likely days, remain of Jaakko’s life at the start of this novel. From here Jaakko launches various investigations into those around him, including his own wife, Taina, and the suspicious mushroom-farming company that has suddenly set up in competition with Jaakko’s own firm. The suspects are many but the only certainty is that Jaakko doesn’t have very long at all to work out who it is that has killed him – and even less time to work out their motive.
Tuomainen’s storytelling style is glorious from start to finish! The novel is packed with black comedy, surreal encounters, and a touch of Fargo that resonates strongly. Trouble and mayhem appear to follow Jaakko wherever he goes during his investigations and, in that respect, Tuomainen does not miss a beat when it comes to keeping the narrative flow rolling, and indeed keeping it interesting. The first person perspective is well-crafted and carried convincingly throughout the book making for a protagonist that a really sticks with you, pulling you in from the opening, and Jaakko’s moments of reflection – where he considers life, death, and the moments in between – make for some truly thought-provoking reading. There are times in this novel where Tuomainen really interrogates what it means to be alive, and indeed what it means to have a life, and it seems to me that a strong message of the book is that these two things are in fact markedly different from each other. As such, not only is the novel amusing but it is also poignant; the sadness that emanates from Jaakko during these reflections is contagious (so thank goodness for the wonderfully awkward death scenes that recapture the light-hearted feel afterwards).
The descriptions throughout are rich and the scenes featuring Taina’s cooking will leave you hungry for a good meal – despite the threat of being poisoned and all. Overall though, Tuomainen delivers a well-rounded narrative that, despite being limited to Jaakko’s viewpoint, manages to capture different aspects of this story, and the characters featured within it, which adds all the more to the rich feel of the text.
Such is the nature of the who-done-it novel, I’m always hesitant to discuss too much of the plot for fear of ruining it for the next reader – but hear me when I tell you, you must read this book if you’re looking for a crime novel with a twist. The telling is gripping, the translation is beautiful, and Jaakko is wonderfully off-beat narrator-protagonist who might even teach you a thing or two during your time with him.
A thoroughly enjoyable read that is definitely worth curling up with this November, The Man Who Died is available to order online now.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 November 2017
Book Review: House of Spines by Michael J Malone
House of Spines is the new novel by prize-winning author and poet, Michael J Malone. Published by Orenda Books back in September, just in time for Halloween reading season, House of Spines is every bit the appropriate thriller, packed with tension, intrigue, and a wild case of Schrodinger’s ghost that makes for a wonderful narrative hook – and an eerie narrative close.
The novel follows Ranald McGhie who finds himself plucked from a working-class existence and dumped into a country estate, left to him by a Great Uncle he knew nothing about. Ran’s parents died some years ago in a double suicide leaving Ran with no family ties, beyond his long-term romantic partner, Martie. Having spent his life believing that his deceased mother had no family to speak of, it comes as quite the surprise to our protagonist that not only is there a family he knows nothing about, but the patriarch of that family has died, leaving Ran an extensive library of classic novels – that just happens to be housed in a mansion. Oh, and as that library can’t be taken out of the mansion, Ran consequently has to move in. If you’re jealous of this protagonist then don’t worry, you’re not alone – but wait...
It soon becomes apparent that all is not as it seems. The house, along with the family that owned it, has a rich and terrible history that lingers in every room Ran discovers – and believe me, there are plenty of rooms. To add to that there’s the small matter of his new-found cousins, who may or may not be out to get him, and there’s the ghost-lady-person who keeps appearing, seducing, and leaving.
If you’re looking for a plot-rich novel then look no further, because Malone has weaved crime, psychological thriller, and ghost story together here, to marvellous effect. Whichever storyline rests at the forefront of any chapter – whether it’s the ghost appearing to seduce our protagonist, or whether Ran’s mental state appears to be suffering another fracture – there is always something that keeps you reading. Malone drip-feeds just enough information as the story progresses making for a great build of tension throughout. Furthermore, the gradual deterioration of Ran’s mental state only adds to this. Ran becomes more isolated in his mind, alienated from the real world around him, but the house itself – beautifully described, might I add – only serves to emphasise this, creating a marvellous feeling of claustrophobia.
To touch further on those beautiful descriptions, though, I have to pause and just commend Malone’s ability to describe a room. The house is given to you in such rich terms that it’s impossible not to the build the place up around yourself as you walk through the narrative, which adds a disturbing authenticity to the whole story.
The novel is well-paced and makes for a perfect blend of fact-and-fiction, never giving you enough information, really, to decide what it and is not real. It’s interesting that Ran sits down to read Henry James’ Turn of the Screw at one stage in the novel because, if I had to isolate a book that caused a similar effect for me, it would be that publication exactly. There are many times when reading this when I made a firm decision about what was happening, only to have that decision shift in the next chapter, and while I was desperate to pin down what was going on, this changeability (in the mind of the reader) is surely a compliment not only to the book but also to the believability of Malone’s characters. They kept me guessing not up until the final line, but far beyond the book’s finish.
House of Spines is beautifully written, well-paced, and tense – ever so tense. It will make for good reading whatever the time of year, but if you’re looking for a spooky novel to sink into then look no further. Malone has created a cast of brilliantly flawed characters to carry this book and they do so admirably. I was both sad and slightly relieved to say goodbye to Ran in the end, but I’d still like to know where the poor soul ended up (and who with). A strong publication from start to finish – add this to your order list, now.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 21 October 2017
The novel follows Ranald McGhie who finds himself plucked from a working-class existence and dumped into a country estate, left to him by a Great Uncle he knew nothing about. Ran’s parents died some years ago in a double suicide leaving Ran with no family ties, beyond his long-term romantic partner, Martie. Having spent his life believing that his deceased mother had no family to speak of, it comes as quite the surprise to our protagonist that not only is there a family he knows nothing about, but the patriarch of that family has died, leaving Ran an extensive library of classic novels – that just happens to be housed in a mansion. Oh, and as that library can’t be taken out of the mansion, Ran consequently has to move in. If you’re jealous of this protagonist then don’t worry, you’re not alone – but wait...
It soon becomes apparent that all is not as it seems. The house, along with the family that owned it, has a rich and terrible history that lingers in every room Ran discovers – and believe me, there are plenty of rooms. To add to that there’s the small matter of his new-found cousins, who may or may not be out to get him, and there’s the ghost-lady-person who keeps appearing, seducing, and leaving.
If you’re looking for a plot-rich novel then look no further, because Malone has weaved crime, psychological thriller, and ghost story together here, to marvellous effect. Whichever storyline rests at the forefront of any chapter – whether it’s the ghost appearing to seduce our protagonist, or whether Ran’s mental state appears to be suffering another fracture – there is always something that keeps you reading. Malone drip-feeds just enough information as the story progresses making for a great build of tension throughout. Furthermore, the gradual deterioration of Ran’s mental state only adds to this. Ran becomes more isolated in his mind, alienated from the real world around him, but the house itself – beautifully described, might I add – only serves to emphasise this, creating a marvellous feeling of claustrophobia.
To touch further on those beautiful descriptions, though, I have to pause and just commend Malone’s ability to describe a room. The house is given to you in such rich terms that it’s impossible not to the build the place up around yourself as you walk through the narrative, which adds a disturbing authenticity to the whole story.
The novel is well-paced and makes for a perfect blend of fact-and-fiction, never giving you enough information, really, to decide what it and is not real. It’s interesting that Ran sits down to read Henry James’ Turn of the Screw at one stage in the novel because, if I had to isolate a book that caused a similar effect for me, it would be that publication exactly. There are many times when reading this when I made a firm decision about what was happening, only to have that decision shift in the next chapter, and while I was desperate to pin down what was going on, this changeability (in the mind of the reader) is surely a compliment not only to the book but also to the believability of Malone’s characters. They kept me guessing not up until the final line, but far beyond the book’s finish.
House of Spines is beautifully written, well-paced, and tense – ever so tense. It will make for good reading whatever the time of year, but if you’re looking for a spooky novel to sink into then look no further. Malone has created a cast of brilliantly flawed characters to carry this book and they do so admirably. I was both sad and slightly relieved to say goodbye to Ran in the end, but I’d still like to know where the poor soul ended up (and who with). A strong publication from start to finish – add this to your order list, now.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 21 October 2017
Book Review: Moscow Bound by Adrian Churchward
Moscow Bound by Adrian Churchward, as far as I’m concerned, is nothing short of a masterpiece of political fiction. Straying drastically outside my comfort zone - I will openly admit that while I adore crime novels, I know little to nothing about politics - the novel suckered me in from the opening chapter and once I was drawn in, I literally couldn’t pull myself away from this fascinating, intriguing, and often startling plot.
The novel is based around abuse of state power in Russia, with various nods to other countries along the journey. While Human Rights lawyer Scott Mitchell is drawn into a world of corruption and intrigue by the glamorous Ekaterina Romanova, is quickly becomes apparent that, naturally, not everything in this novel is as it initially appeared to be. While Romanova has enlisted the help of Mitchell in order to find her father, who she believes has been unlawfully detained by the government for years without a fair trial, the couple soon stumble into a world of terrifying political and governmental cover ups that not only complicate their search for Romanova’s father, but also lead to them being accused of murder (and many other crimes) too. Along the way there are unearthed secrets and political cover-ups-gone-bad that will have you itching to the turn the page just to see what the next chapter has to offer. A crime and thriller novel rolled into one, Moscow Bound promises political corruption and abuse of state power, and it certainly does not fail deliver. Churchward has created a vast array of fascinating and engaging characters, many of whom have shady pasts that will make your eyes water - although in some instances, that’s indeed part of their charm. Admittedly, Romanova and Mitchell are the characters that have stuck with me the most since finishing the book. Their intricate and often-amusing power-play relationship that they develop over the course of their time together adds an interesting layer to the novel as a whole, and, while I don’t suspect there is a romantic future for the characters, it certainly added an interesting dimension to this opening novel. As Churchward flits from one scene to another throughout the chapters, often using these location changes to signal a character change too, he allows us to drift in and out of the consciousness of many of the central characters. We are constantly changing perspectives ourselves as readers, making for a well-rounded novel altogether. Additionally, the use of location in this novel is authentic and stunning, which adds to the overall authenticity and credibility of the text as a whole. It is apparent that Churchward is experienced in this area, and his wealth of knowledge has aided greatly in this book. Without question, Moscow Bound is certainly a novel worth adding to your bookshelf. Never in my life have I been so disappointed to finish a book, plagued by the knowledge that I would have to wait a year for the next instalment of the trilogy. A stunning political thriller that succeeds in raising as many questions, if not more questions, that it even manages to answer, Moscow Bound is a worthy read for anyone looking for an eye-opening plotline that comes complete with a surprise around every corner. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 13 June 2014 |
Review: Dancing with Shadows by Adrian Churchward
Three years ago Adrian Churchward completely wow-ed me with his novel Moscow Bound, pitched as the first of three novels that would make up the author’s Puppet Meister Trilogy. The novel was intricate, gripping, and, I’ll admit, unexpectedly enjoyable, given that at the time I hadn’t had much (read: any) contact with political fiction. Moscow Bound was a game-changer, though, and I thoroughly enjoyed the release (full review available on left).
And so, three years on from that original publication, when Churchward contacted me about the second novel in his trilogy, to ask whether I would like to review the new book, I grabbed at the chance! 321 pages of politics, corruption, and now-familiar characters, I picked the book up midway through my Bank Holiday weekend (Saturday evening) and by 10am Monday morning I had compulsively read the whole thing cover to cover. Dancing With Shadows re-introduces many characters from Moscow Bound, namely our heroic human rights lawyer, Scott Mitchell, who again leads this story. This time, however, the stakes are even higher as Mitchell is early on arrested on suspicion of having laundered $250 million on behalf of the Chechen mafia. From here on in Mitchell’s life rapidly falls apart – he loses his job, his connections, and his reputation, and he finds himself hounded by internet trolls, government officials, and spooks from around the globe. In an intricate game of cat (and cat and cat) and mouse – Mitchell has an indeterminate number of people after him at any given time here – our protagonist must navigate his way through a sea of untrustworthy characters to find out who framed him for this crime, how they did it, and, most importantly, why. Ekaterina, Gravchenko, and Pravda are all central characters to the plot, which gives the novel some familiarity as we come to know these characters well throughout the first instalment in the series. However, Churchward does not shy away from introducing some new faces, either! The novel is packed with representatives from different organisations, and different countries, which adds to the erratic feel of the events themselves. As one plot twist is ironed out – seemingly, at least – another crease is added by a new character coming from a new perspective, making for an intricate plot that always feels to be shifting. And, speaking of shifting, Churchward is again employing some impressive geographical know-how here. Mitchell flits between countries in a way that makes catching a train like catching a bus, but this adds something to the book. There’s an authenticity that comes about through Churchward’s descriptions of these places – and it only adds further to the untraceable element of the plot that Mitchell can never quite seem to pin down where he needs to be, or who he needs to be after. The shift in Mitchell’s relationship with Gravchenko, the addition of new locations, and the corruption spreading far beyond our original Russia and well into our own United Kingdom makes for tense but exciting reading on the whole. While I would have appreciated a neater wrap-up – I’m a sucker for a sweet ending – the bittersweet feel that hangs at the end of Dancing With Shadows sets a brilliant tone for the upcoming third novel, The End Game, that will complete the trilogy. Well-written, well-researched, and entirely relevant to today’s political climate, Dancing With Shadows is a book worth grabbing a copy of – now. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 28 August 2017 |
Book Review: Kaleidoscope by Sarah Leavesley
Kaleidoscope is the pocket-sized sucker-punch penned by Sarah Leavesley. Appropriately sized to devour in one sitting, the emotion of the work is so heavy that I would actually advise you tread carefully if reading this book in one go! The work follows the main character of Claire, a wonderfully unreliable narrator who finds herself writing as a form of therapy, in order to process a number of troubling incidents that have occurred throughout her life. The narrative dates back as far to incidents in Claire's childhood even as she works, with her therapist, to piece together was has clearly become a fragmented existence.
For me, it's difficult to discuss the book without giving away hefty amounts of the plot - a plot which is, might I add, fairly ambiguous at times anyway. Although that should not count as a criticism. Leavesley wields the tool of an unreliable narrator with confidence and, given the psychologically fragmented tone that she is striving for, this unreliability and ambiguity is employed to good effect throughout the work.
One thing that I can say without running the risk of spoilers, is that this book is beautifully written. With a background in poetry, Leavesley weaves touching descriptions into her everyday prose here and it makes for a hard-hitting read - in the best way. It really adds something to the delivery to see elements of a different writing style incorporated so smoothly throughout.
Admittedly, I feel as though I have finished the book with more questions than I have answers. I need to know more about Claire, what she did and didn't do, and what the characters surrounding her actually have to do with Claire's own narrative. However, these burning questions are perhaps no bad thing. Leavesley has hinted at a sequel to this novella in her recent interview with us, but, if that does not come to fruition, for me it still feels perfectly fine to have these questions leftover. It is illustrative of the level of engagement that this book prompts from its readers, and that is something that should be commended.
A troubling but beautiful read, Kaleidoscope is difficult look at a struggling mind, but it certainly makes for wonderful reading.
Don't forget to check out our recent interview with Sarah also online this week!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 19 July 2017
For me, it's difficult to discuss the book without giving away hefty amounts of the plot - a plot which is, might I add, fairly ambiguous at times anyway. Although that should not count as a criticism. Leavesley wields the tool of an unreliable narrator with confidence and, given the psychologically fragmented tone that she is striving for, this unreliability and ambiguity is employed to good effect throughout the work.
One thing that I can say without running the risk of spoilers, is that this book is beautifully written. With a background in poetry, Leavesley weaves touching descriptions into her everyday prose here and it makes for a hard-hitting read - in the best way. It really adds something to the delivery to see elements of a different writing style incorporated so smoothly throughout.
Admittedly, I feel as though I have finished the book with more questions than I have answers. I need to know more about Claire, what she did and didn't do, and what the characters surrounding her actually have to do with Claire's own narrative. However, these burning questions are perhaps no bad thing. Leavesley has hinted at a sequel to this novella in her recent interview with us, but, if that does not come to fruition, for me it still feels perfectly fine to have these questions leftover. It is illustrative of the level of engagement that this book prompts from its readers, and that is something that should be commended.
A troubling but beautiful read, Kaleidoscope is difficult look at a struggling mind, but it certainly makes for wonderful reading.
Don't forget to check out our recent interview with Sarah also online this week!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 19 July 2017
Book Review: Normal by Graeme Cameron
Normal by Graeme Cameron is a first person narrative of a serial killer (read: right up my street!) and so I was excited to settle down with this book a few weeks back. The premise is that the narrator, our killer, keeps a girl in his basement, until he meets another girl who he quite fancies in a way that he apparently hasn't liked a woman before, and in trying to maintain these two very different relationships our protagonist finds his once well-controlled world begin to cave in on him.
To start with a positive, the voice of this character is stellar. It's packed with edge and dark humour, littered with socially awkward moments that make for brilliantly uncomfortable reading and because of that - and that alone, unfortunately - it's a relatively easy book to get through. Unfortunately, having got through it, I don't know the name of the killer, I don't know how many women he's killed, why he kills them, nor indeed do I know a massive about his history, so shrouded is his backstory in ever so slightly over-written amiguity. It pains me to say it about this book because I really love the concept and I am a huge fan of the first person serial killer narrative, but for an idea with so much potential, the book as a whole just fell short. The plot was under-developed, the police officers were uncomfortably unrealistic, and the story was chiefly carried by the cool voice - which certainly left something to be desired. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 5 January 2017 |
THE FIVE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN HEAVEN BY MITCH ALBOM
The Five People You Meet in Heaven is the 2003 novel from Mitch Albom, following on from his earlier fame with the bestselling Tuesdays with Morrie. The book is - as you can guess from the title - a journey through Heaven where the protagonist - who dies in the opening pages of the book - meets five different people who have somehow been instrumental to his life and his personal journeys. And it is an absolute suckerpunch of a story.
Our protagonist is Eddie, who passes away on his birthday while he's at work; a maintenance man at an amusement park, Eddie dives in the way of a collasping rollercoaster to save a young girl from her death and, in the process, causes his own. From this moment on we are introduced to a cast of perfectly polished characters who are designed to pull Eddie through his life history in a truly unique way. Sharing stories and revelations, Eddie discovers truths about not only his own life but also the lives of some of the people who were closest to him, which both clarifies and complicates what he thought he knew of the life he left behind. Convincing characters and a beautiful plot which packs a punch from start to finish, The Five People You Meet in Heaven is a bite-size read that raises intriguing questions and possibilities. It will leave you thinking and feeling in equal measure, and it's definitely worth picking up a copy. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 5 January 2017 |
Book Review: Pop Goes The Weasel by M.J. Arlidge
Pop Goes The Weasel is the second book in M.J. Arlidge's DI Helen Grace series. Picking up with the same unruly collective of police offiers, many of whom are dealing with the emotional and psychological backlash from the first book in this series, the novel throws up back into the world of murder and mayhem, and it makes for a thoroughly entertaining read.
While Helen is still coming to terms with the last serial killer she chased down - as are many members of her team - it soon becomes clear that they are now hunting a second serial killer. An unknown individual is moving through the streets and killing the punters of prostitutes in increasingly creatives way, with many of the murders themselves offering an intriguing throwback to the murderous stylistics of Jack the Ripper - and that prostitution link is fed brilliantly throughout the book. As the bodies pile up Helen and her team are thrown into an complicated case that only becomes trickier to decipher as the book continues, offering up an unguessable ending that provides a neat twist as well.
The prose is polished and the perspective split that Arlidge flits through throughout makes for a well-rounded read. Arlidge uses close third person narrative to great effect meaning we spend as much time in the mind of the killer as we do in the of the minds of those hunting said killer, which makes for an entertaining dynamic. The plot is rich, with twists and red herrings throughout that leave you thinking the whole case is on the cusp of being wrapped up - only for another announcement to be made by another character which throws the team, and indeed the plot, out of balance again.
Not only is it entertaining, it's also an easy read. Gripping from the first sentence, I read the book compulsively in a handful of days, knowing from the first chapter that I would need to block out chunks of time for my reading as Pop Goes The Weasel is very much a, 'Just one more chapter,' publication. A wonderful follow up to Eeny Meeny, Pop Goes The Weasel is rich, emotive, and has me looking forward to The Doll's House (book number three in the series) already.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 14 December 2016
While Helen is still coming to terms with the last serial killer she chased down - as are many members of her team - it soon becomes clear that they are now hunting a second serial killer. An unknown individual is moving through the streets and killing the punters of prostitutes in increasingly creatives way, with many of the murders themselves offering an intriguing throwback to the murderous stylistics of Jack the Ripper - and that prostitution link is fed brilliantly throughout the book. As the bodies pile up Helen and her team are thrown into an complicated case that only becomes trickier to decipher as the book continues, offering up an unguessable ending that provides a neat twist as well.
The prose is polished and the perspective split that Arlidge flits through throughout makes for a well-rounded read. Arlidge uses close third person narrative to great effect meaning we spend as much time in the mind of the killer as we do in the of the minds of those hunting said killer, which makes for an entertaining dynamic. The plot is rich, with twists and red herrings throughout that leave you thinking the whole case is on the cusp of being wrapped up - only for another announcement to be made by another character which throws the team, and indeed the plot, out of balance again.
Not only is it entertaining, it's also an easy read. Gripping from the first sentence, I read the book compulsively in a handful of days, knowing from the first chapter that I would need to block out chunks of time for my reading as Pop Goes The Weasel is very much a, 'Just one more chapter,' publication. A wonderful follow up to Eeny Meeny, Pop Goes The Weasel is rich, emotive, and has me looking forward to The Doll's House (book number three in the series) already.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 14 December 2016
Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit By Jeanette Winterson
Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit is a bite-size publication from Jeanette Winterson, originally released in 1985 - and it's only just worked its way to the top of my reading list (I know, utter shame on me). An autobiographical (in part, at least) novel, this short release tells the story of a young girl growing up in a heavily religious household, highlighting the constraints that can bestow on a child - particuarly when that child is gay.
From the quirky first person narrative it quickly becomes apparent that our narrative voice is nurturing some same-sex attractions; equally, it quickly becomes clear that those sorts of feelings will not be tolerated in the society that our protagonist finds herself living in. Told through a series of endearingly off-beat stories, the distinct voice that leads this book carries us through the complexities of living in a Pentecostal community, building marvellous relationships with the surrounding characters as she goes. The hook of this novel isn't the plot so much as it is the people imbedded within that plot, and how their lives - and their psychologies - are disrupted by the goings-on around them. A stellar cast of inexperienced individuals makes for uncomfortable reading on occasion, but when it comes to raising awareness on LGBT issues, it is clear two chapters in why Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit is an important publication - particularly for the time in which it was released. A wonderful narrative voice, an easy plot, and well-polished writing to capture it all, this is a charming novel to devour in one - perhaps two, if you're hoping to savour it - sitting and it's certainly worth settling down with a copy this weekend. Heart-warming, emotive, and certainly still relevant. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 8 December 2016 |
Book Review: Maestra by L.S. Hilton
Earlier this year, British author Lisa Hilton took on a penname - L.S. Hilton - in order to write her first erotic thriller, Maestra. The novel itself has been met with a huge range of criticisms; while some reviewers have praised the protagonist, Judith Rashleigh, as a strong move for feminism, others have condemned Hilton's use of sex throughout the novel, accusing these scenes of detracting from the point of the protagonist entirely. Having now read the book myself, my finally thoughts are that Maestra is a perfectly entertaining novel - as long as you're only looking for entertainment. If, however, you are looking for some substance, then look elsewhere.
The novel itself is reasonably well written, although the sex scenes - with their unashamedly derogatory language are less empowering and more cringe-worthy for my taste - leave something to be desired and yes, on occasion they do hinder the plot rather than contribute towards it. After a dispute at the London auction house where Judith works at the beginning of the novel, we see the protagonist quickly swept up into a world of international art dealers and thieves - how fortunate, for her plot - that delivers a story packed with murder, corruption, and money. As thrillers go, the plot is appropriately convoluted. There are turns everywhere making for surprise reveals - although perhaps not as surprising as Judith's horrendously unhygienic sex life - and Hilton has certainly not shied away from dropping in much of her own knowledge about the art world, making for a neat authenticity in that respect at least. Judith's first person narrative is enjoyable - although a little less explanation on occasion would have been nice - and it makes for a pleasing read to see the woman of Domestic Noir set free from the DN sphere. That being said, the book is deeply, deeply flawed when it comes to empowering this central female and, while she may be breaking many rules, she isn't doing so in a particularly effective way. A decent read, if you're not looking for enrichment, Maestra makes for easy reading but terrible analysis. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 8 December 2016 |
Book Review: The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood
The marvellous Margaret Atwood dropped The Heart Goes Last around twelve months ago and yet somehow, I've only just got round to reading this fine piece of fiction. That's more a comment on my crippling reader's block than it is on the book itself because now, despite taking my time with this book in a serious way, I've finished the novel and I can confidently say that it was quite a wonderful read.
Carrying the dystopia torch for another novel longer, Atwood has here created a world that is, in no uncertain terms, going down the gutter. The world is collapsing in on itself and our protagonists, Stan and Charmaine, are sick of living in their car and bouncing between jobs that simply cannot financially cater to the needs of two adults. And so when they see an advertisement for a social experiment that involves living in a picture perfect suburbia every other month, the couple immediately sign themselves up to take part - mostly ignoring the fact that for the months when they aren't living in their new home, they will be in prison instead.
It's impossible to go in depth with this review without blurting out some of the best plot points - but I will say this, Atwood has written circles around herself in this one, creating a cast of characters that will make your heart melt and your skin occasionally crawl, and she had thrown them into some truly ruthless situations. The novel follows our protagonists on their journey around Consilience, divulging the unexpected details about their relationships with their alternates (the couple who lives in the house when Stan and Charmaine are in prison) and also carrying us into a terrifying future of sexbots and corrupt political figures.
Atwood's prose is polished from the off and her deliciously off-beat descriptions make for some distinct imagery in this book throughout. The work of a true creative mind, The Heart Goes Last is a fine example of Atwood's always-wonderful style and it makes for interesting, albeit occasionally disturbing, reading. If you are seeking an alternative future - or rather, an uncomfortable glimpse of one - then this is settling a book worth settling down with.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 28 November 2016
Carrying the dystopia torch for another novel longer, Atwood has here created a world that is, in no uncertain terms, going down the gutter. The world is collapsing in on itself and our protagonists, Stan and Charmaine, are sick of living in their car and bouncing between jobs that simply cannot financially cater to the needs of two adults. And so when they see an advertisement for a social experiment that involves living in a picture perfect suburbia every other month, the couple immediately sign themselves up to take part - mostly ignoring the fact that for the months when they aren't living in their new home, they will be in prison instead.
It's impossible to go in depth with this review without blurting out some of the best plot points - but I will say this, Atwood has written circles around herself in this one, creating a cast of characters that will make your heart melt and your skin occasionally crawl, and she had thrown them into some truly ruthless situations. The novel follows our protagonists on their journey around Consilience, divulging the unexpected details about their relationships with their alternates (the couple who lives in the house when Stan and Charmaine are in prison) and also carrying us into a terrifying future of sexbots and corrupt political figures.
Atwood's prose is polished from the off and her deliciously off-beat descriptions make for some distinct imagery in this book throughout. The work of a true creative mind, The Heart Goes Last is a fine example of Atwood's always-wonderful style and it makes for interesting, albeit occasionally disturbing, reading. If you are seeking an alternative future - or rather, an uncomfortable glimpse of one - then this is settling a book worth settling down with.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 28 November 2016
Book Review: The Amazing Lost Man by Ben parker
Ben Parker's debut collection of poetry, The Amazing Lost Man, was published earlier this month by Eyewear Publishing. A milestone in the young poet's career, this collection follows Parker's 2012 pamphlet publication The Escape Artists, but there is something a little more, for me, to be taken away from this recent release.
A fantastic blend of imagination and poetic technique, Parker masterfully dips in and out of locations with ease offering the reader a delicious taste of different worlds. The poems themselves are well-crafted and evocative, laden with authentic emotion and touching imagery (the opening stanza of 'Painting Your Voice' was so gripping, in fact, that I felt the need to take a picture of the verse in question and send it out to various poetry-friends) these poems are rich and filling enough for any reader's appetite.
The 'Insomnia Postcards' that appear throughout carry the collection wonderfully, again offering beautiful descriptions, but these are occasionally pitted against something much more quirky, adding an unexpected layer to the book. Parker moves through a wonderful range of forms here, too, occasionally offering prose-like pieces while sometimes sticking to a more traditional feel with his four-line stanzas, but in adopting this level of variation Parker has indeed illustrated the range of his poetic ability and also his willingness to blend these different abilities together to make something varied, polished, and thoroughly entertaining.
A mature and brilliantly put together book, The Amazing Lost Man is an impressive collection from a much-loved poet who has, in my opinion, advanced greatly since his last publication. A worthy addition to any poetry-lovers bookshelf, this collection should be devoured at your earliest convenience.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 7 November 2016
A fantastic blend of imagination and poetic technique, Parker masterfully dips in and out of locations with ease offering the reader a delicious taste of different worlds. The poems themselves are well-crafted and evocative, laden with authentic emotion and touching imagery (the opening stanza of 'Painting Your Voice' was so gripping, in fact, that I felt the need to take a picture of the verse in question and send it out to various poetry-friends) these poems are rich and filling enough for any reader's appetite.
The 'Insomnia Postcards' that appear throughout carry the collection wonderfully, again offering beautiful descriptions, but these are occasionally pitted against something much more quirky, adding an unexpected layer to the book. Parker moves through a wonderful range of forms here, too, occasionally offering prose-like pieces while sometimes sticking to a more traditional feel with his four-line stanzas, but in adopting this level of variation Parker has indeed illustrated the range of his poetic ability and also his willingness to blend these different abilities together to make something varied, polished, and thoroughly entertaining.
A mature and brilliantly put together book, The Amazing Lost Man is an impressive collection from a much-loved poet who has, in my opinion, advanced greatly since his last publication. A worthy addition to any poetry-lovers bookshelf, this collection should be devoured at your earliest convenience.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 7 November 2016
Book Review: Fragile Houses by Nina Lewis
There are some controversies - to say the least - about the role poetry plays amongst modern readers, and indeed whether it plays a role at all. To those who are constantly asking what people get from poetry, the answer that we feel, live, and relate through poetry seems inadequate; however, this living and feeling is exactly what comes through every page of Nina Lewis' recently released pamphlet, Fragile Houses, and, as far as I can see, that makes it a stellar collection indeed.
A fictionalised memoir of sorts, Lewis admirably blends a mixture of memory with poetic license as she weaves her collection around the complex narrative of family life. Providing poignant recollections and humorous anecdotes - the realisation that her grandfather has part-plagiarised Rudyard Kipling in 'Linger' is a beautiful moment - Lewis uses a great range of poetic techniques to tell these stories in the most forceful manners.
The hard-hitting 'Understanding Nature' makes for a marvellous opener to the collection as a whole, setting an appropriately ominous tone with the discussions of family life that follows, while the later 'Fortiori' pulled a heartstring or two, not only for its stellar construction as a poem, but also for how relate-able the piece is - which, incidentally, could be said about much of this book; regardless of your family life and experiences, Lewis has something that will fit inside Fragile Houses.
This collection explores family life from all angles, and while a great focus sits on mother-daughter relationships and, later in the collection, father-daughter relationships, Lewis has also incorporated truly touching moments between siblings here, too (see what I mean? Something for everyone), and the light-hearted 'On the Inside' is a personal highlight of the whole collection for me.
Overall this is a beautiful debut release from an obviously talented poet. Fragile Houses makes for a delicious read from start to finish and, whether you're a fan of poetry or whether you're looking for a starting point, this is certainly a collection worth owning.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 16 October 2016
A fictionalised memoir of sorts, Lewis admirably blends a mixture of memory with poetic license as she weaves her collection around the complex narrative of family life. Providing poignant recollections and humorous anecdotes - the realisation that her grandfather has part-plagiarised Rudyard Kipling in 'Linger' is a beautiful moment - Lewis uses a great range of poetic techniques to tell these stories in the most forceful manners.
The hard-hitting 'Understanding Nature' makes for a marvellous opener to the collection as a whole, setting an appropriately ominous tone with the discussions of family life that follows, while the later 'Fortiori' pulled a heartstring or two, not only for its stellar construction as a poem, but also for how relate-able the piece is - which, incidentally, could be said about much of this book; regardless of your family life and experiences, Lewis has something that will fit inside Fragile Houses.
This collection explores family life from all angles, and while a great focus sits on mother-daughter relationships and, later in the collection, father-daughter relationships, Lewis has also incorporated truly touching moments between siblings here, too (see what I mean? Something for everyone), and the light-hearted 'On the Inside' is a personal highlight of the whole collection for me.
Overall this is a beautiful debut release from an obviously talented poet. Fragile Houses makes for a delicious read from start to finish and, whether you're a fan of poetry or whether you're looking for a starting point, this is certainly a collection worth owning.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 16 October 2016
Book Review: Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur
To those who believe that the art of poetry is a dead form of writing, allow me to direct you to Rupi Kaur's 2015 publication, milk and honey. Despite being a year old now, the book has only recently picked up some serious steam but, in this whirlwind of attention, it has sparked a love of poetry in new and old readers, catering to a range of subjects and tastes in a refreshingly unconventional form.
Kaur's collection deals with difficult topics, covering everything from the role of women in society in a broader sense right down to specific recollections of emotional and physical abuse that the author herself as experienced. These issues are wrapped inside heartbreaking lines many of which linger long after you have read them, and all of which come in bitesize samples of poetry that make this a collection easy to devour in one sitting - if you're emotionally prepared for such a task.
The force of this collection is an almighty one. Kaur uses a simple form throughout to great effect and while many of the poems are visually splayed in an unconventional manner, there is something impressively accessible about this collection all the same.
There is something here that, I believe, will resonate with most readers in one sense or another and so, if you're looking for a collection to tumble into that will make you feel deeply while also catering to your poetry quota - all readers should have a poetry quota by now - then milk and honey is definitely worth grabbing a copy of.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 29 September 2016
Kaur's collection deals with difficult topics, covering everything from the role of women in society in a broader sense right down to specific recollections of emotional and physical abuse that the author herself as experienced. These issues are wrapped inside heartbreaking lines many of which linger long after you have read them, and all of which come in bitesize samples of poetry that make this a collection easy to devour in one sitting - if you're emotionally prepared for such a task.
The force of this collection is an almighty one. Kaur uses a simple form throughout to great effect and while many of the poems are visually splayed in an unconventional manner, there is something impressively accessible about this collection all the same.
There is something here that, I believe, will resonate with most readers in one sense or another and so, if you're looking for a collection to tumble into that will make you feel deeply while also catering to your poetry quota - all readers should have a poetry quota by now - then milk and honey is definitely worth grabbing a copy of.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 29 September 2016
Book Review: Troubling Love by elena Ferrante
Elena Ferrante is one of the world’s finest prose writers, as far as I can see. Every published novel is packed with beautiful prose and delicious descriptions, and Troubling Love, which I spent most of Friday devouring, is certainly no exception to this rule.
The novel – following a theme for Ferrante’s work – introduces us to Delia, our protagonist, who has recently lost her mother under troubling and somewhat ambiguous circumstances. Throughout the novel Delia explores her hometown in Naples, trying to piece together the fragments of her mother’s life which, it seems, was only half-known to her daughter. Over the course of the book we are given snippets of their past, a bitter taste of their mother-daughter relationship, and a stunning snapshot of Italy which Ferrante delivers with great ease.
From start to finish this book is rich, both in terms of its descriptions and its characters who are wonderfully flawed and brilliantly constructed, making for a gripping read. Delia is a marvellous voice to walk through this story with while her mother, despite being absent for much of the book, is still a present-enough figure to act as a wonderful counter-character for our narrator. The men in the novel are appropriately over-inflated, offering a brute-force feel that sits surprisingly well alongside the delicacy that is given to the book as a whole.
A stunning, single-sitting read, Ferrante has once again taken a spotlight to the uncomfortable aspects of our familial relationships and made something beautiful of them. If you’re looking for another world to fall into for a few hours, then it’s definitely worth picking up a copy of this.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 28 August 2016
The novel – following a theme for Ferrante’s work – introduces us to Delia, our protagonist, who has recently lost her mother under troubling and somewhat ambiguous circumstances. Throughout the novel Delia explores her hometown in Naples, trying to piece together the fragments of her mother’s life which, it seems, was only half-known to her daughter. Over the course of the book we are given snippets of their past, a bitter taste of their mother-daughter relationship, and a stunning snapshot of Italy which Ferrante delivers with great ease.
From start to finish this book is rich, both in terms of its descriptions and its characters who are wonderfully flawed and brilliantly constructed, making for a gripping read. Delia is a marvellous voice to walk through this story with while her mother, despite being absent for much of the book, is still a present-enough figure to act as a wonderful counter-character for our narrator. The men in the novel are appropriately over-inflated, offering a brute-force feel that sits surprisingly well alongside the delicacy that is given to the book as a whole.
A stunning, single-sitting read, Ferrante has once again taken a spotlight to the uncomfortable aspects of our familial relationships and made something beautiful of them. If you’re looking for another world to fall into for a few hours, then it’s definitely worth picking up a copy of this.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 28 August 2016
Book Review: Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson
Written on the Body is a 1993 publication by Jeanette Winterson; winner of the Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Fiction, the novel is a fascinating portrayal of love, romance, destruction and gender – and, if it’s possible to fall head over heels for a work of fiction, then I’d be inclined to say that I’ve done just that.
Winterson is a wonderful prose-spinner, best known for her Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, however in Written on the Body she is doing something else entirely. The prose here is so polished and so poignant that on occasions it actually hurts to read – but in the best way possible. The descriptions drip with emotion and the wicked one-liners come thick and fast from the opening of this book – which, incidentally, is one of the neatest one-liners in the whole release: ‘Why is the measure of love loss?’
I’ll try and compose myself for long enough to talk about the plot of this! The novel revolves around a character who repeatedly has romantic affairs with married women – occasionally unmarried women, although these relationships appear to have an even shorter lifespan. Our protagonist does, however, meet a game-changer in the form of Louise, with whom our narrator could happily run away and live out a great cliché (despite intermittently reminding us that clichés are the problem when it comes to maintaining a healthy relationship). Alas the fairy tale ending doesn’t quite go to plan – as you’d perhaps expect from Winterson – and the unforeseen obstacles that arise throughout the couple’s journey make for emotional reading.
A bonus hook for this release, though – alongside the touching plot and emotional prose – is that the protagonist is gender neutral. That’s right, here Winterson has set up a guessing game of gender, never quite revealing enough of our protagonist for us to decide which biological sex belongs to them. And, interestingly, the book does not suffer in the slightest for it. As an illustration of the potential irrelevance of gender, Written on the Body is a fine exploration of love – just love – that isn’t dependent on anything other than emotions – and perhaps that’s a large part of what makes this book so beautiful to read.
A relatively short read too, Written on the Body is worth adding to your list if you’re looking for an unexpected love story – and if you happen to develop your own theories on the gender of the narrator, drop us a line!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 25 August 2016
Winterson is a wonderful prose-spinner, best known for her Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, however in Written on the Body she is doing something else entirely. The prose here is so polished and so poignant that on occasions it actually hurts to read – but in the best way possible. The descriptions drip with emotion and the wicked one-liners come thick and fast from the opening of this book – which, incidentally, is one of the neatest one-liners in the whole release: ‘Why is the measure of love loss?’
I’ll try and compose myself for long enough to talk about the plot of this! The novel revolves around a character who repeatedly has romantic affairs with married women – occasionally unmarried women, although these relationships appear to have an even shorter lifespan. Our protagonist does, however, meet a game-changer in the form of Louise, with whom our narrator could happily run away and live out a great cliché (despite intermittently reminding us that clichés are the problem when it comes to maintaining a healthy relationship). Alas the fairy tale ending doesn’t quite go to plan – as you’d perhaps expect from Winterson – and the unforeseen obstacles that arise throughout the couple’s journey make for emotional reading.
A bonus hook for this release, though – alongside the touching plot and emotional prose – is that the protagonist is gender neutral. That’s right, here Winterson has set up a guessing game of gender, never quite revealing enough of our protagonist for us to decide which biological sex belongs to them. And, interestingly, the book does not suffer in the slightest for it. As an illustration of the potential irrelevance of gender, Written on the Body is a fine exploration of love – just love – that isn’t dependent on anything other than emotions – and perhaps that’s a large part of what makes this book so beautiful to read.
A relatively short read too, Written on the Body is worth adding to your list if you’re looking for an unexpected love story – and if you happen to develop your own theories on the gender of the narrator, drop us a line!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 25 August 2016
Book Review: Lacuna by Kieran Davis
The mark of a good book – whether it be poetry or prose – is chiefly your desire to keep turn pages, and secondly, what you feel when you walk away. Not only does Lacuna – the debut poetry collection from Kieran Davis – keep you turning pages, but it will have you pausing between pieces just to catch your breath. And as far as I can see, that’s the mark of something pretty damn impressive.
The collection is bite-size in length, coming in at around forty pages and so it lends itself well to a single sitting read-through. If, however, you expect to make it through the book unscathed, it may be worth taking the time to digest what you’re reading.
A master of emotive verse, Davis takes the reader through a wonderful exploration of deep and sometimes beautifully dark feelings, retelling life experiences from original perspectives, wrapped neatly in great variations of both pace and form. While some of the submissions here are small nuggets – such as the hard-hitting ‘Abandoned’ – some of the pieces allow for a longer run, such as ‘Dragonfly’, which reads like no other piece in the book.
Throughout the collection Davis also touches on his relationship with writing, and these moments in particular offered up two of my favourite pieces from the release. The beat-heavy ‘Wordsmith’ is a delicious exploration of writing poetry while the oh-so-relatable ‘Ink-Stained Fingers’ is one of the most beautiful pleas to the writing-powers-that-be I think I’ve ever read – and it is certainly a feeling that I know too well.
No stone is left unturned here and Davis is certainly not shy of wandering down paths – and taking the reader along with him – that can make for uncomfortable reading, but in the best way possible. Lacuna is rich with deep emotions conveyed through well-crafted poetry and when I say that it hurt my heart a little to read the book, I truly mean it in the most complementary way. This is a stellar debut collection that shows knowledge, talent, and much promise for future publications, and it is definitely worth picking up a copy when you can.
Lacuna is officially released on August 14, published by Black Pear Press, and for a better idea of the man behind the magic you can find our author interview with Kieran Davis in Performance & Arts by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 August 2016
The collection is bite-size in length, coming in at around forty pages and so it lends itself well to a single sitting read-through. If, however, you expect to make it through the book unscathed, it may be worth taking the time to digest what you’re reading.
A master of emotive verse, Davis takes the reader through a wonderful exploration of deep and sometimes beautifully dark feelings, retelling life experiences from original perspectives, wrapped neatly in great variations of both pace and form. While some of the submissions here are small nuggets – such as the hard-hitting ‘Abandoned’ – some of the pieces allow for a longer run, such as ‘Dragonfly’, which reads like no other piece in the book.
Throughout the collection Davis also touches on his relationship with writing, and these moments in particular offered up two of my favourite pieces from the release. The beat-heavy ‘Wordsmith’ is a delicious exploration of writing poetry while the oh-so-relatable ‘Ink-Stained Fingers’ is one of the most beautiful pleas to the writing-powers-that-be I think I’ve ever read – and it is certainly a feeling that I know too well.
No stone is left unturned here and Davis is certainly not shy of wandering down paths – and taking the reader along with him – that can make for uncomfortable reading, but in the best way possible. Lacuna is rich with deep emotions conveyed through well-crafted poetry and when I say that it hurt my heart a little to read the book, I truly mean it in the most complementary way. This is a stellar debut collection that shows knowledge, talent, and much promise for future publications, and it is definitely worth picking up a copy when you can.
Lacuna is officially released on August 14, published by Black Pear Press, and for a better idea of the man behind the magic you can find our author interview with Kieran Davis in Performance & Arts by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 August 2016
Book Review: The First Bad Man by Miranda July
The First Bad Man by Miranda July - published back in 2015 - has garnered attention as something of a controversial novel, deservedly so, I feel, but after reading it I can also confidently say that's up there as one of the best books I've read so far this year - controversial or not. The novel, which comes in at around 280 pages, is a neat little read that is emotionally complicated but beautifully written, and it's looking for something that plays around with perceptions, stereotypes, and comfort zones, then look no further than The First Bad Man.
The novel is told through the first person narrative of Cheryl - a quirky protagonist to say the least, she lives alone with a regimental system of existence until her bosses ask - or rather, tell - her to take in their daughter for a short stint of time. A short stint of time turns into months, and eventually well over a year, we are led to believe, and in that time we see Cheryl's life turned entirely upside down and back again.
Wrapped up inside this plot there is Cheryl's obsession with Phillip - an older gentleman who she works with, who constantly hounds her with messages about his young girlfriend - and there is also her obsession with a baby she met when she was a child, who she now looks for in every baby she meets. Couple this with her health problems - a swollen throat, seems to be the most basic explanation for it - her compulsive nature, and her inappropriately entertaining habit of imagining people she knows into sexual scenarios with strangers and it really all does make for an interesting read - but you can probably see where the controversy comes in now as well.
July's prose throughout is clean, crisp, and often stunning, with one-liners that absolutely slayed me on reading - see my Twitter feed for evidence of these this week. The telling of this story is beautiful and while the plot occasionally wanders into the absurd - just a little - it's worth holding on to because the book as a whole is a wonderful read. It's definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 15 July 2016
The novel is told through the first person narrative of Cheryl - a quirky protagonist to say the least, she lives alone with a regimental system of existence until her bosses ask - or rather, tell - her to take in their daughter for a short stint of time. A short stint of time turns into months, and eventually well over a year, we are led to believe, and in that time we see Cheryl's life turned entirely upside down and back again.
Wrapped up inside this plot there is Cheryl's obsession with Phillip - an older gentleman who she works with, who constantly hounds her with messages about his young girlfriend - and there is also her obsession with a baby she met when she was a child, who she now looks for in every baby she meets. Couple this with her health problems - a swollen throat, seems to be the most basic explanation for it - her compulsive nature, and her inappropriately entertaining habit of imagining people she knows into sexual scenarios with strangers and it really all does make for an interesting read - but you can probably see where the controversy comes in now as well.
July's prose throughout is clean, crisp, and often stunning, with one-liners that absolutely slayed me on reading - see my Twitter feed for evidence of these this week. The telling of this story is beautiful and while the plot occasionally wanders into the absurd - just a little - it's worth holding on to because the book as a whole is a wonderful read. It's definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 15 July 2016
Book Review: Baise-Moi by Virginie Despentes
Baise-Moi is, undeniably, one of the most controversial publications to hit French literature in recent years – and so, it’s surprising that more people haven’t heard of this book. Written by Virginie Despentes, and translated superbly by Bruce Benderson, the 1993 novel finds boundary after boundary for females in violent fiction and, with great ease, smashes all of those boundaries to pieces.
Academically speaking, the book is not without its problems, of course. However, if you’re looking for a work of fiction that (probably) fits into the crime genre – albeit from a different perspective than we are perhaps accustomed to – without showing you dead girl after dead girl, then Baise-Moi (translated as Rape-Me, consider yourselves warned) is definitely a book worth grabbing a copy of.
The novel is led by two female protagonists, Nadine and Manu, whose narratives eventually become intertwined when, after a series of brutal attacks throughout their young lives, a chance encounter throws them together, triggering a binge of sex, murder, and general carnage reeked on the society they inhabit. The two make for excellent – albeit occasionally uncomfortable – reading as they adopt a string of unsavoury habits that – I’m just going to come out and say it – fiction would often have us believe women cannot adopt, and they engage with this new behaviour with an inappropriate ease, which only adds to the punch of the book.
The plot itself is arguably thin. There is no clear end game here until the last leg of the book when the two are given a final direction in which to move, however up until that point Despentes delivers an aimless plot that just allows these characters to run riot – and, absence of plot aside, it works.
It is worth noting that this book, far from being conventional fiction, is a statement piece – so if you’re looking for a plot that hooks you, there are things easier to read than Baise-Moi. If, however, you’re looking for something that challenges ideas and pushes boundaries, then get yourselves over to Amazon and nab a copy because, for me, Baise-Moi is one of the best books for females in violent fiction that’s out there.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 4 July 2016
Academically speaking, the book is not without its problems, of course. However, if you’re looking for a work of fiction that (probably) fits into the crime genre – albeit from a different perspective than we are perhaps accustomed to – without showing you dead girl after dead girl, then Baise-Moi (translated as Rape-Me, consider yourselves warned) is definitely a book worth grabbing a copy of.
The novel is led by two female protagonists, Nadine and Manu, whose narratives eventually become intertwined when, after a series of brutal attacks throughout their young lives, a chance encounter throws them together, triggering a binge of sex, murder, and general carnage reeked on the society they inhabit. The two make for excellent – albeit occasionally uncomfortable – reading as they adopt a string of unsavoury habits that – I’m just going to come out and say it – fiction would often have us believe women cannot adopt, and they engage with this new behaviour with an inappropriate ease, which only adds to the punch of the book.
The plot itself is arguably thin. There is no clear end game here until the last leg of the book when the two are given a final direction in which to move, however up until that point Despentes delivers an aimless plot that just allows these characters to run riot – and, absence of plot aside, it works.
It is worth noting that this book, far from being conventional fiction, is a statement piece – so if you’re looking for a plot that hooks you, there are things easier to read than Baise-Moi. If, however, you’re looking for something that challenges ideas and pushes boundaries, then get yourselves over to Amazon and nab a copy because, for me, Baise-Moi is one of the best books for females in violent fiction that’s out there.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 4 July 2016
Book Review: And the Land Lay Still by James Robertson
Taken from the first line of a sonnet by modern day Scotland's first Makar - official poet - Edwin Morgan, the title of Robertson's fourth novel seems more than somewhat ironic. As presented by him, it is a land that is anything but still...
From an opening section that sees a successful photographer struggling to write the introduction to the catalogue for an exhibition of his even more gifted photographer father's work, what unfolds is a story of a place and its people that's in a state of constant flux and change.
Moving back and forth across the second half of the 20th century this is the story of Scotland's journey from industrial powerhouse - coal, steel, the North Sea oil and gas boom - to something much less sure and certain. As part and parcel of that economic and social change, Robertson also tracks the changing politics of the country, particularly in terms of the competing forms of nationalism that spring up post-Second World War as Scotland struggles to redefine itself for the modern world.
This novel was originally published just prior to the SNP's extraordinary (meant to be electorally impossible) securing of majority government status at Holyrood. It would have been fascinating to see what Robertson would have made of that, as well as the party's General Election walkover last year, and it's still a fascinating read in the run up to the European Referendum now with all its conversational backdrop of what being a nation state actually now means. And if all of this sounds to you less fascinating, more academically dry, dusty and stultifyingly theoretical, then let me assure you it's anything but as Robertson also firmly delivers on every fiction writer's duty to present their story by way of a cast of fully recognised and utterly engaging characters.
The photographer son Michael; old fashioned socialist Don; even the admittedly cartoon-ish spy Jimmy Bond (yes, really) are all men you root for, sympathise with, and just generally enjoy the company of through all their ups and downs. There is undoubtedly a bias towards the male throughout the narrative, though Jean as an old-fashioned storyteller par excellence whose Old Town Edinburgh flat is the place where all paths seem to cross, is vividly drawn. So too is Ellen Imlach, interestingly another storyteller - a journalist - with a dark back story and plenty of life-affirming grit.
Initially almost overwhelmingly panoramic in scope, it is Robertson's ability to focus in and bring to life a plethora of small, utterly personal moments in the lives of this panoply of characters that really brings this dizzying and exhilarating state of the nation tale to life. A real joy to read.
Written by: Gregor White
Published: 16 June 2016
From an opening section that sees a successful photographer struggling to write the introduction to the catalogue for an exhibition of his even more gifted photographer father's work, what unfolds is a story of a place and its people that's in a state of constant flux and change.
Moving back and forth across the second half of the 20th century this is the story of Scotland's journey from industrial powerhouse - coal, steel, the North Sea oil and gas boom - to something much less sure and certain. As part and parcel of that economic and social change, Robertson also tracks the changing politics of the country, particularly in terms of the competing forms of nationalism that spring up post-Second World War as Scotland struggles to redefine itself for the modern world.
This novel was originally published just prior to the SNP's extraordinary (meant to be electorally impossible) securing of majority government status at Holyrood. It would have been fascinating to see what Robertson would have made of that, as well as the party's General Election walkover last year, and it's still a fascinating read in the run up to the European Referendum now with all its conversational backdrop of what being a nation state actually now means. And if all of this sounds to you less fascinating, more academically dry, dusty and stultifyingly theoretical, then let me assure you it's anything but as Robertson also firmly delivers on every fiction writer's duty to present their story by way of a cast of fully recognised and utterly engaging characters.
The photographer son Michael; old fashioned socialist Don; even the admittedly cartoon-ish spy Jimmy Bond (yes, really) are all men you root for, sympathise with, and just generally enjoy the company of through all their ups and downs. There is undoubtedly a bias towards the male throughout the narrative, though Jean as an old-fashioned storyteller par excellence whose Old Town Edinburgh flat is the place where all paths seem to cross, is vividly drawn. So too is Ellen Imlach, interestingly another storyteller - a journalist - with a dark back story and plenty of life-affirming grit.
Initially almost overwhelmingly panoramic in scope, it is Robertson's ability to focus in and bring to life a plethora of small, utterly personal moments in the lives of this panoply of characters that really brings this dizzying and exhilarating state of the nation tale to life. A real joy to read.
Written by: Gregor White
Published: 16 June 2016
Book Review: Looking for Mr. Goodbar by Judith Rossner
Looking For Mr. Goodbar, a novel originally published in 1975, was penned by Judith Rossner as a nod to the 1973 murder of Roseann Quinn, a schoolteacher from New York City. While the plot may be rooted in true crime, Rossner weaves an intricate tale all her own through the length of the book which makes for occasionally easy but more often uncomfortable reading.
The protagonist of the piece, Theresa, is a peculiar woman from the opening pages of her narrative. We observe her sheltered life through her college years that sees her gain a wealth of sexual experience from a professor with whom she works closely, and we soon see the fallout from that that appears to span much of the plot from thereon. The third person narrative is well constructed and easy to follow ultimately making this book quite the page turner, and as we tumble into Theresa’s world of bar-crawling and casual pick ups, it becomes impossible to leave her to her antics alone.
Not only is there a gripping plot here that allows us to observe Theresa’s emotional breakdown, but there are also complementary characters scattered throughout that act as a balance for each other. Theresa’s too-nice sister Katherine appears intermittently to offer (often unwelcome) advice, while the men in Theresa’s life – or rather, the men we are actually introduced to more than once – are a romantic Yin and Yang for the young schoolteacher as she flits between them. Tony is a brute who is a bitter pill to swallow while James is every woman’s dream – or at least, that is how he intended to appear to us. Rossner uses her characters wonderfully to communicate some of the underlying themes of the novel as a whole and in this communication we are given time to appreciate the issues being raised, rather than feeling forced to acknowledge them.
A cleverly constructed, often uncomfortable, piece of literature, Looking For Mr. Goodbar is a must read for fans of unconventional female protagonists and a welcome addition to the shelves of anyone interested in tales of twisted moralities.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 9 June 2016
The protagonist of the piece, Theresa, is a peculiar woman from the opening pages of her narrative. We observe her sheltered life through her college years that sees her gain a wealth of sexual experience from a professor with whom she works closely, and we soon see the fallout from that that appears to span much of the plot from thereon. The third person narrative is well constructed and easy to follow ultimately making this book quite the page turner, and as we tumble into Theresa’s world of bar-crawling and casual pick ups, it becomes impossible to leave her to her antics alone.
Not only is there a gripping plot here that allows us to observe Theresa’s emotional breakdown, but there are also complementary characters scattered throughout that act as a balance for each other. Theresa’s too-nice sister Katherine appears intermittently to offer (often unwelcome) advice, while the men in Theresa’s life – or rather, the men we are actually introduced to more than once – are a romantic Yin and Yang for the young schoolteacher as she flits between them. Tony is a brute who is a bitter pill to swallow while James is every woman’s dream – or at least, that is how he intended to appear to us. Rossner uses her characters wonderfully to communicate some of the underlying themes of the novel as a whole and in this communication we are given time to appreciate the issues being raised, rather than feeling forced to acknowledge them.
A cleverly constructed, often uncomfortable, piece of literature, Looking For Mr. Goodbar is a must read for fans of unconventional female protagonists and a welcome addition to the shelves of anyone interested in tales of twisted moralities.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 9 June 2016
Book Review: The Driver's Seat by Muriel Spark
Muriel Spark’s The Driver’s Seat is an understated gem in the realms of crime fiction. The novel – I use that term hastily as, length wise, it is surely a novella – was originally published back in 1970 ahead of joining the Penguin family, where it would eventually become part of their Modern Classics range. Although, a word for those thinking of reading this, I’d save John Lancaster’s introduction until after you’ve read the book itself because the spoilers therein are fairly crushing if you don’t already know the whole plot.
Now, at the risk of spoiling that plot myself, I will keep these details to a minimum. The book focuses around the character of Lise who, after working in the same office for nearly twenty years, finally takes a holiday – and takes leave of her senses, a fair - that allows her to be something other than her day to day self. Lise dresses differently, behaves differently, she even, intermittently, talks differently, repeatedly choosing to use a voice or accent that doesn’t belong to her. Throughout all of this, Lise is also looking for a man. The protagonist spends much of her time looking for the right one, although it isn’t until the final stretch of the narrative that we fully understand what she actually means by this and – for anyone who has dodged spoilers – it was a superb twist!
The book itself is written in a close third person narrative that allows for a somewhat objective telling of the deliciously absurd story. However, there are moments when the narrative shifts focus ever so slightly allowing for a Lise lens to take over the telling; we are privy to some of the thoughts and reasons behind her behaviour, and the book is all the better for it.
The accompanying characters are, perhaps, a little shallow on occasion by comparison to the female figure at the centre of the story. Although, it’s possible that we should expect that chiefly from such a short publication and secondly from a book that has such a determined focus to its storytelling. There is a clear agenda here, that is only fully realised in the latter pages of the book, but – for me, at least – the majority of minor flaws (because they really are only minor) were easy to overlook when I realised what this book was actually about.
A stunning but bite-size read – I blitzed through this in the space of an afternoon – The Driver’s Seat is not only a worthy read for any fans of crime, but a worthy read for anyone eager to see a genre turned on its side. Pick up a copy and set aside a couple of hours, you certainly won’t be disappointed.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 11 May 2016
Now, at the risk of spoiling that plot myself, I will keep these details to a minimum. The book focuses around the character of Lise who, after working in the same office for nearly twenty years, finally takes a holiday – and takes leave of her senses, a fair - that allows her to be something other than her day to day self. Lise dresses differently, behaves differently, she even, intermittently, talks differently, repeatedly choosing to use a voice or accent that doesn’t belong to her. Throughout all of this, Lise is also looking for a man. The protagonist spends much of her time looking for the right one, although it isn’t until the final stretch of the narrative that we fully understand what she actually means by this and – for anyone who has dodged spoilers – it was a superb twist!
The book itself is written in a close third person narrative that allows for a somewhat objective telling of the deliciously absurd story. However, there are moments when the narrative shifts focus ever so slightly allowing for a Lise lens to take over the telling; we are privy to some of the thoughts and reasons behind her behaviour, and the book is all the better for it.
The accompanying characters are, perhaps, a little shallow on occasion by comparison to the female figure at the centre of the story. Although, it’s possible that we should expect that chiefly from such a short publication and secondly from a book that has such a determined focus to its storytelling. There is a clear agenda here, that is only fully realised in the latter pages of the book, but – for me, at least – the majority of minor flaws (because they really are only minor) were easy to overlook when I realised what this book was actually about.
A stunning but bite-size read – I blitzed through this in the space of an afternoon – The Driver’s Seat is not only a worthy read for any fans of crime, but a worthy read for anyone eager to see a genre turned on its side. Pick up a copy and set aside a couple of hours, you certainly won’t be disappointed.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 11 May 2016
Book Review: In Her Wake by Amanda Jennings |
Book Review: Dear Amy by Helen Callaghan |
In Her Wake is the recently published novel from Amanda Jennings, released a little earlier this year by the friendly folks over at Orenda Books, and it has been collecting glowing reviews – all of which I have tried to avoid – for weeks on end. Now, having dipped into the book myself, it’s clear to me why. I was around three pages in to this read, in fact, when I turned to my friend next to me and said: ‘Bloody hell, this is going to be a good one.’
The novel follows the story of Bella. A young woman who returns to her family home following the unexpected death of her mother, only to be greeted by a father who is so overcome with guilt and anxiety – perhaps what you’d expect following the loss of a spouse, but certainly not how you’d expect it – that their already strained relationship only worsens in the opening chapters of this book. When Bella’s father, Henry, finally reveals what he’d been holding in for so long, Bella’s world promptly falls apart – and the reader’s heart promptly drops. From here we move with Bella down to the coast of England where she sets about discovering herself – her real self, as it turns out – and we as readers all too willingly move through that journey with her. Although, with prose this polished, how could we not? Jennings’ writing is simply stunning throughout this whole release. Even the most seemingly mundane elements are described beautifully and, about four chapters in, it became one of those books that made me say: ‘Oh my gosh, listen to this line...’ to whoever was sitting next to me. The descriptions are weaved perfectly throughout a convincing first person narrative that establishes the key elements of Bella’s personality from the off, allowing her to instantly be a character that readers can attach themselves to. Although, that being said, the first person allows a wonderful perspective on the other characters as well, namely Elaine and Henry, Bella’s parents (although the occasional dips into third person work wonders for these pair as well, particularly with the dual narrative of their life together before Bella). Oh and David! Arrogant, abrasive, controlling David who runs Bella’s life if only she knew it; David, Bella’s husband, is a wonderfully put together character who is just so damn easy to dislike. The plot? Well, the plot is something that you’ll have to discover for yourselves; so intricate are the turns that I would need a literary road map to talk you through them – and it would only ruin the punch for you. This is a story best told by Jennings and she does so with a skill and a talent that left me a little breathless, and a little eager to escape to the Cornish coast for the weekend. Beautifully crafted, In Her Wake is definitely worth adding to your reading pile! Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 22 April 2016 |
The world has been taken by storm by the first-person female narrative that has overtaken both the crime genre and many of the subgenres attached to it, and with books like Helen Callaghan’s Dear Amy being released into this blossoming market, it’s easy to see where that popularity comes from.
The novel quickly introduces us to Margot Lewis, our protagonist, who is a school teacher at a reputable establishment but who also writes an advice column of sorts for a local publication. Margot’s life seems fairly stable and ordinary until one day a letter arrives for her, the author of which is allegedly a woman called Bethan Avery... Who went missing two decades before this letter appeared. Alongside this there is also the case of a missing school girl – one of Margot’s own students, no less – but her disappearance seems to have been put down as a runaway case, despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Somewhere in between these two situations, Margot becomes entangled in a series of events that quickly spin out of her control leaving her unsure of what and who she can trust – herself included... As a whole, the plot is riveting! Callaghan has done a commendable job of incorporating twists and turns with a fluidity that leaves the reader a little breathless when the revelations begin to arrive – at least, this is the effect that it had on me. An unexpected thriller, Dear Amy raises marvellous questions not only about those around us, and how much we can rely on them, but also how much we can rely on ourselves (and the answers it provides for this are equally brilliant, too). Unfortunately it is one of those plots that’s difficult to discuss without ruining the full impact of it, which is something I’ll obviously avoid. However, I will say that Margot – a loveable mess, if ever there one was – becomes inextricably bound up with the search for Katie, her missing student, and finds herself involved in the whole sordid tale in ways she never even thought possible (there, that hasn’t ruined it too much, has it?). The first-person narrative is employed to great effect here as Callaghan delivers a fully formed, believable, but wonderfully flawed character who the reader can buy into almost immediately. Having said that, the occasional dips into third-person that allow for a total shift in perspective were also a welcome reprieve from Margot throughout, and serve greatly towards the reader shaping elements of the plot that our main character hasn’t quite got for herself just yet. An enjoyable read with a marvellous twist – or three – Dear Amy is a wonderful addition to the growing female-led crime wave that we’re experiencing and, for anyone interested in this genre, it’s definitely worth picking up a copy when the novel is officially published later this year. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 20 April 2016 |
Book Review: Physical by Andrew McMillan
It’s been some time since a collection of poetry jumped from the page and shook me by the shoulders. Andrew McMillan’s collection, ‘physical’, not only manage to do just that, but did so only one poem in. The collection – which is McMillan’s debut release – was published last year and has been gathering compliments from critics since. It wasn’t until last week that I picked up a copy for myself and – armed with tea and a quiet house for the evening – I delved into it for a Friday night reading session (lucky that I had the whole evening, given that I couldn’t put it down once I’d started).
It seems reductionist to summarise what this forceful release is about. At its core, ‘physical’ is a collection of poetry that comments on men, male relationships – both to themselves and to others around them – and masculinity, and it presents discussions around these themes in the form of sometimes brutal and always hard-hitting nuggets of verse.
With great control and skill, McMillan navigates his way around past relationships and male realities, confronting topics in such a way that it makes for entertaining reading, as well as food for thought. McMillan entirely abandons punctuation conventions, preferring to use next to none throughout the whole book, and this, with his off-beat lineation, only emphasises further the issues being raised by these individual pieces, and indeed by the collection as a whole.
I immediately took to Instagram – thank you, modern technology – to share the wonderful:
‘intimacy which means knowing
the exact taste of someone else’s
sleep in their mouth on waking’
Alongside various other bite-size snippets of beautifully raw emotion - many of which were also frantically text around to friends with the message, ‘Isn’t this just too beautiful?’ attached. ‘physical’ is a truly stunning collection of poetry that offers frank honesty, beauty, and unbridled passion at times and, if you are yet to grab a copy, then I urge you to do so immediately, clear out a couple of hours of your schedule, and brace yourself.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 2 April 2016
It seems reductionist to summarise what this forceful release is about. At its core, ‘physical’ is a collection of poetry that comments on men, male relationships – both to themselves and to others around them – and masculinity, and it presents discussions around these themes in the form of sometimes brutal and always hard-hitting nuggets of verse.
With great control and skill, McMillan navigates his way around past relationships and male realities, confronting topics in such a way that it makes for entertaining reading, as well as food for thought. McMillan entirely abandons punctuation conventions, preferring to use next to none throughout the whole book, and this, with his off-beat lineation, only emphasises further the issues being raised by these individual pieces, and indeed by the collection as a whole.
I immediately took to Instagram – thank you, modern technology – to share the wonderful:
‘intimacy which means knowing
the exact taste of someone else’s
sleep in their mouth on waking’
Alongside various other bite-size snippets of beautifully raw emotion - many of which were also frantically text around to friends with the message, ‘Isn’t this just too beautiful?’ attached. ‘physical’ is a truly stunning collection of poetry that offers frank honesty, beauty, and unbridled passion at times and, if you are yet to grab a copy, then I urge you to do so immediately, clear out a couple of hours of your schedule, and brace yourself.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 2 April 2016
Book Review: The Amnesiac by Sam Taylor
It begins in a haze; a man climbs a set of stairs, but with no idea of where, when, or who he is. He is subject to a series of fleeting images that disappear from memory almost immediately, except for one glimpse of an unknown dark-haired girl. After this reality floods back...
The man is James Purdew and he is in Amsterdam, where he lives with his girlfriend, Ingrid. The phone rings and as he runs upstairs to get it, James slips and breaks his ankle. Curiously, he crawls across the floor and chooses to check the answer machine message - nothing but static - before he dials for an ambulance. In just this first couple of pages the author has set a mystery in motion and introduced his major theme of memory and its utter unreliability.
James and Ingrid seem happy, but something happens to James during the weeks he has to spend at home with his leg in plaster. He begins to brood, over who he is and what he's doing with his life. When Ingrid informs him she has a new job and not only that but she's also mapped out their whole future together, it spells the end of their relationship and soon James is back in Britain, in a city known only as H. He knows he was a student here, but beyond that has no memory of his time there at all.
The rest of the novel is the tale of how he seeks to get those memories back and the wrong turns he takes along the way as he becomes sole handyman doing up a house that seems eerily familiar, and stumbles across what appears to be an account of a crime committed long ago.
Arguably the mystery element goes on too long. Certainly by the time I was halfway through I was tending more towards frustrated than intrigued. But the larger themes give plenty of food for thought: the reliability of memory, of course, but not just in the sense of how it fades over time. There's also the question of how perception of what is ostensibly the same event can differ amongst individuals; how life experience can shift and alter how we remember things from our own past as we grow; and what the main differences are, if any in any way that really counts, between memories and dreams.
This isn't a novel that wears its influences lightly as Argentine magic realist Jose Luis Borges, and Franz Kafka, the great explorer of existential angst, are both name checked extensively, along with Robert Louis Stevenson's Jekyll and Hyde. However, as he proved in his first novel, The Republic of Trees, Taylor is a writer more than capable of blending the highly literary with the earthily entertaining.
While The Amnesiac might slightly outstay its welcome, for the bulk of its length it's a joy for both the mind and the senses.
Written by: Gregor White
Published: 17 March 2016
The man is James Purdew and he is in Amsterdam, where he lives with his girlfriend, Ingrid. The phone rings and as he runs upstairs to get it, James slips and breaks his ankle. Curiously, he crawls across the floor and chooses to check the answer machine message - nothing but static - before he dials for an ambulance. In just this first couple of pages the author has set a mystery in motion and introduced his major theme of memory and its utter unreliability.
James and Ingrid seem happy, but something happens to James during the weeks he has to spend at home with his leg in plaster. He begins to brood, over who he is and what he's doing with his life. When Ingrid informs him she has a new job and not only that but she's also mapped out their whole future together, it spells the end of their relationship and soon James is back in Britain, in a city known only as H. He knows he was a student here, but beyond that has no memory of his time there at all.
The rest of the novel is the tale of how he seeks to get those memories back and the wrong turns he takes along the way as he becomes sole handyman doing up a house that seems eerily familiar, and stumbles across what appears to be an account of a crime committed long ago.
Arguably the mystery element goes on too long. Certainly by the time I was halfway through I was tending more towards frustrated than intrigued. But the larger themes give plenty of food for thought: the reliability of memory, of course, but not just in the sense of how it fades over time. There's also the question of how perception of what is ostensibly the same event can differ amongst individuals; how life experience can shift and alter how we remember things from our own past as we grow; and what the main differences are, if any in any way that really counts, between memories and dreams.
This isn't a novel that wears its influences lightly as Argentine magic realist Jose Luis Borges, and Franz Kafka, the great explorer of existential angst, are both name checked extensively, along with Robert Louis Stevenson's Jekyll and Hyde. However, as he proved in his first novel, The Republic of Trees, Taylor is a writer more than capable of blending the highly literary with the earthily entertaining.
While The Amnesiac might slightly outstay its welcome, for the bulk of its length it's a joy for both the mind and the senses.
Written by: Gregor White
Published: 17 March 2016
Book Review: Jihadi: A Love Story by Yusuf Toropov
Yusuf Toropov is breaking some of our favourite rules with his recently published debut novel Jihadi: A Love Story, published by Orenda Books. The novel itself can seem like a complex construction on the first flick through – and admittedly, it is – however this is certainly no deterrent when it comes to powering through with the book as a whole.
The novel is told from the perspective of a dead narrator – you’re hooked already really, aren’t you? – but is annotated by a second narrator throughout who introduces opinions and speculations about the memoir that we are reading. The book reads as the memories and experiences of a man, now deceased, who was accused of terrorism, while the second narrator – a psychologist – is picking apart his manuscript for evidence. Through this complicated narrative construction Toropov picks at some of literature’s, and indeed the world’s, more eye-watering topics – feminism, terrorism, Islam – and he communicates each of these areas through simply stunning prose.
The narrative voice of Theolonius Liddle (marvellous name, by the way) is delivered with conviction throughout and, despite the corruption, the intelligence agents, and the vast issues discussed through Liddle, there is still something beautiful about the language here making for a stunning juxtaposition of what a topic really is versus how Toropov can communicate that topic to us.
Jihadi: A Love Story, like all good novels, can be a demanding read. It’s emotional, eye-opening, and at times downright challenging, and it comes complete with a plot that may even warrant a second or third read-through just to gather up anything that you may have – read: will definitely have – missed the first time around. However, in this world that we find ourselves in, Jihadi is certainly a relevant book above all else and for those looking for a good book to commit to, it’s certainly worth picking up a copy.
Jihadi: A Love Story is available on both Amazon UK and Amazon US, and you can read more about the book and its author on Orenda Books’ website.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 21 February 2016
The novel is told from the perspective of a dead narrator – you’re hooked already really, aren’t you? – but is annotated by a second narrator throughout who introduces opinions and speculations about the memoir that we are reading. The book reads as the memories and experiences of a man, now deceased, who was accused of terrorism, while the second narrator – a psychologist – is picking apart his manuscript for evidence. Through this complicated narrative construction Toropov picks at some of literature’s, and indeed the world’s, more eye-watering topics – feminism, terrorism, Islam – and he communicates each of these areas through simply stunning prose.
The narrative voice of Theolonius Liddle (marvellous name, by the way) is delivered with conviction throughout and, despite the corruption, the intelligence agents, and the vast issues discussed through Liddle, there is still something beautiful about the language here making for a stunning juxtaposition of what a topic really is versus how Toropov can communicate that topic to us.
Jihadi: A Love Story, like all good novels, can be a demanding read. It’s emotional, eye-opening, and at times downright challenging, and it comes complete with a plot that may even warrant a second or third read-through just to gather up anything that you may have – read: will definitely have – missed the first time around. However, in this world that we find ourselves in, Jihadi is certainly a relevant book above all else and for those looking for a good book to commit to, it’s certainly worth picking up a copy.
Jihadi: A Love Story is available on both Amazon UK and Amazon US, and you can read more about the book and its author on Orenda Books’ website.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 21 February 2016
Book Review: The Kind Worth Killing by Peter Swanson
The Kind Worth Killing is Peter Swanson’s second novel, which was originally published in February 2015. For some reason this book has only recently made its way to the top of my to-read pile; however, if I’d known just how good it was going to be, I would have bumped it to the top much sooner.
The novel itself resolves around the character of Ted who, whilst waiting for a plane at Heathrow Airport, finds himself drawn into a conversation with our other central character, Lily. The pair, due to catch the same flight, engage in light conversation over a few drinks before their talk takes an unexpected and altogether more sinister turn when Ted reveals his feeling towards his wife. We have barely broken the spine of the book when he discover that Ted’s wife, Miranda, is having an affair and that since discovering this affair Ted has been harbouring a deep desire to murder her. Lily listens intently, and then offers to help him...
There is nothing that I would love more than to discuss the intricacies and complexities of this plot at length; regrettably, what Swanson has created here is a book that is so packed with turns and revelations that it’s almost impossible to discuss without giving something crucial away. Plot complexities aside, though, the book itself is marvellously written. Swanson employs the popular trend of a changing narrative here allowing our focus to shift from one chapter to the next, with each character delivering a first person narrative of the situation (or sometimes revealing something about themselves). The switch between Ted and Lily is subtle and, while this can be a dangerous game to play, Swanson has constructed their voices commendably ultimately making for a set of characters that any reader can really commit to.
For me, The Kind Worth Killing is the definition of a page-turner. After a busy week where I only managed to push through the first forty-five pages of the book, I then spent the majority of the weekend powering through the rest, unable to put it down until I had reached the ending – which is, incidentally, wonderfully ambiguous and promising. The plot is well-developed and well-presented with severe twists scattered throughout – prepare yourselves for some emotional whiplash here – and the book as a whole is a thrilling, yet surprisingly easy, read. For fans of psychological thrillers, good characters, and unexpected twists, The Kind Worth Killing is definitely the kind of book worth picking up a copy of.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 16 February 2016
The novel itself resolves around the character of Ted who, whilst waiting for a plane at Heathrow Airport, finds himself drawn into a conversation with our other central character, Lily. The pair, due to catch the same flight, engage in light conversation over a few drinks before their talk takes an unexpected and altogether more sinister turn when Ted reveals his feeling towards his wife. We have barely broken the spine of the book when he discover that Ted’s wife, Miranda, is having an affair and that since discovering this affair Ted has been harbouring a deep desire to murder her. Lily listens intently, and then offers to help him...
There is nothing that I would love more than to discuss the intricacies and complexities of this plot at length; regrettably, what Swanson has created here is a book that is so packed with turns and revelations that it’s almost impossible to discuss without giving something crucial away. Plot complexities aside, though, the book itself is marvellously written. Swanson employs the popular trend of a changing narrative here allowing our focus to shift from one chapter to the next, with each character delivering a first person narrative of the situation (or sometimes revealing something about themselves). The switch between Ted and Lily is subtle and, while this can be a dangerous game to play, Swanson has constructed their voices commendably ultimately making for a set of characters that any reader can really commit to.
For me, The Kind Worth Killing is the definition of a page-turner. After a busy week where I only managed to push through the first forty-five pages of the book, I then spent the majority of the weekend powering through the rest, unable to put it down until I had reached the ending – which is, incidentally, wonderfully ambiguous and promising. The plot is well-developed and well-presented with severe twists scattered throughout – prepare yourselves for some emotional whiplash here – and the book as a whole is a thrilling, yet surprisingly easy, read. For fans of psychological thrillers, good characters, and unexpected twists, The Kind Worth Killing is definitely the kind of book worth picking up a copy of.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 16 February 2016
Book Review: The Twilight Time by Karen Campbell
When William McIlvanney died towards the end of last year, Tartan Noir lost arguably its founding father. Not interested in crime as such when he wrote Laidlaw, or its two follow ups, The Papers of Tony Veitch and Strange Loyalties; what really motivated him was a simple interest in humanity and shining a light on contemporary life. And to that end his cop, Jack Laidlaw, was only a useful tool, able to go anywhere and ask the questions that needed to be asked, whether that was of man or woman, rich or poor.
It's a legacy that lives on today across the Scottish crime writing spectrum where the very best - Ian Rankin, Denise Mina, Val McDermid - are fully socially engaged, often to the point where it's easy to forget you're actually reading a crime novel. Needless to say, Karen Campbell is just as engaged judging by this, her debut novel, but here the central character is no mere conduit for bigger issues as the hard reality of a police officer's life is also a front and centre theme.
It's perhaps not surprising when you learn that Campbell is a former real-life cop, no doubt following the old adage of writing about what you know, but clearly not interested in painting an entirely glowing picture of her former profession either. Particularly given that the central character, Sergeant Anna Cameron, is not an easy one to like.
Arriving as the new head of the Flexi Unit Cameron's immediate concern is the policing of Glasgow's "Drag" - an area thick with prostitutes, pimps, despair and violence. Not utterly devoid of compassion Cameron is, however, hardened by the job - flinty, quick to judge and happy to bend the rules in sometimes brutal ways to get a result. Now working with an ex showing signs of strain himself, when that ex's wife is a former officer struggling with a weight of post-natal depression also gets in on the picture, things get very complicated and dark indeed.
A poor but respectable man has been murdered in his home and prostitutes are falling victim to a mystery slasher in a series of increasingly vicious attacks that no one from that world is prepared to talk about. On the face of it there's no connection, but is that really the case?
There's a relentlessness to the grim and grit here and it would have been nice if even one relationship, personal or professional, had been allowed to breathe free of difficulty. However as a picture of what it's like to be a police officer - the seediness; the constant battle between the personal view and the professional standard; the small "p" politics that make office life, never mind the physically dangerous streets, so hard to cope with - it's compelling and thought provoking. On balance I have to say I still prefer those novels where the officer is largely subsumed to bigger issues, but as an alternative to that norm this is still an atmospheric and gripping read.
Written by: Gregor White
Published: 11 February 2016
It's a legacy that lives on today across the Scottish crime writing spectrum where the very best - Ian Rankin, Denise Mina, Val McDermid - are fully socially engaged, often to the point where it's easy to forget you're actually reading a crime novel. Needless to say, Karen Campbell is just as engaged judging by this, her debut novel, but here the central character is no mere conduit for bigger issues as the hard reality of a police officer's life is also a front and centre theme.
It's perhaps not surprising when you learn that Campbell is a former real-life cop, no doubt following the old adage of writing about what you know, but clearly not interested in painting an entirely glowing picture of her former profession either. Particularly given that the central character, Sergeant Anna Cameron, is not an easy one to like.
Arriving as the new head of the Flexi Unit Cameron's immediate concern is the policing of Glasgow's "Drag" - an area thick with prostitutes, pimps, despair and violence. Not utterly devoid of compassion Cameron is, however, hardened by the job - flinty, quick to judge and happy to bend the rules in sometimes brutal ways to get a result. Now working with an ex showing signs of strain himself, when that ex's wife is a former officer struggling with a weight of post-natal depression also gets in on the picture, things get very complicated and dark indeed.
A poor but respectable man has been murdered in his home and prostitutes are falling victim to a mystery slasher in a series of increasingly vicious attacks that no one from that world is prepared to talk about. On the face of it there's no connection, but is that really the case?
There's a relentlessness to the grim and grit here and it would have been nice if even one relationship, personal or professional, had been allowed to breathe free of difficulty. However as a picture of what it's like to be a police officer - the seediness; the constant battle between the personal view and the professional standard; the small "p" politics that make office life, never mind the physically dangerous streets, so hard to cope with - it's compelling and thought provoking. On balance I have to say I still prefer those novels where the officer is largely subsumed to bigger issues, but as an alternative to that norm this is still an atmospheric and gripping read.
Written by: Gregor White
Published: 11 February 2016
Book Review: The Gracekeepers by Kirsty logan
At some unspecified future point the Earth's sea levels have risen to the extent that much of the land is now underwater. While some still cling to the few remaining dry pockets, the majority of people are forced to eke out an existence at sea. Such is the world created by Sottish author Kirsty Logan in her début novel, and the follow up to short story collection The Rental Heart and Other Fairytales, that had critics favourably comparing her to the likes of Margaret Atwood, Ursula K Le Guin, Angela Carter and Jeanette Winterson.
It's great company to be in and Le Guin at least has no problem with the comparison, contributing words of praise for the book's cover. However, for all that I still found the initial set up here a little disappointing...
A future water world isn't the most original idea and JG Ballard's Drowned World, Julie Bertagna's Exodus for young adults and, on film, Kevin Costner's expensive flop Waterworld are just the precursors that spring most immediately to mind. However, it turns out that Logan has taken a distinctly different tack to all of the above.
For one, the reasons for her world being the way it is are never explicitly stated and by the time the reader arrives this is a society that is largely settled and getting on with things: those lucky enough to still be living on land are known widely as landlockers while those living on the ocean wave are damplings. There's a mutual mistrust between the two groups even as they depend on each other for existence, as elsewhere the military are a rumbling background threat that nobody likes, and shiploads of revivalists work to spread their charismatic religious message far and wide.
This isn't a novel primarily concerned with how humanity will adapt and survive in a post-apocalyptic world; they already have adapted and are surviving. It's not a world free of difficulty, far from it, but it is one where people by and large are coping. Instead what the author really seems concerned with is telling a story about finding and following the life you want, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. To that end we have North, a girl who performs with a bear as part of the floating Excalibur circus and is engaged to a man she has no wish to marry, and Callanish, living alone and lonely on a tethered islet as a so-called gracekeeper, for which read combined funeral director/ professional mourner. Fate brings the two girls fleetingly together and from then on the novel is about how the world turns to reunite them despite the obstacles; vast watery expanses for sure, but also other people's interference.
It's a tale rather quietly told and some readers might be frustrated that in many ways the whole thing fails to fully catch fire, arguably even when actual flames erupt. Some of the dialogue is undeniably clunky and characterisations are mostly fairytale archetype rather than fully rounded believable. In the end though I found its quietness beguiling and the overall lack of histrionics is its most pleasing, and convincing, aspect. It doesn't answer all your questions, but the mysteries it leaves in its wake are surely satisfaction enough.
Written by: Gregor White
Published: 17 January 2016
It's great company to be in and Le Guin at least has no problem with the comparison, contributing words of praise for the book's cover. However, for all that I still found the initial set up here a little disappointing...
A future water world isn't the most original idea and JG Ballard's Drowned World, Julie Bertagna's Exodus for young adults and, on film, Kevin Costner's expensive flop Waterworld are just the precursors that spring most immediately to mind. However, it turns out that Logan has taken a distinctly different tack to all of the above.
For one, the reasons for her world being the way it is are never explicitly stated and by the time the reader arrives this is a society that is largely settled and getting on with things: those lucky enough to still be living on land are known widely as landlockers while those living on the ocean wave are damplings. There's a mutual mistrust between the two groups even as they depend on each other for existence, as elsewhere the military are a rumbling background threat that nobody likes, and shiploads of revivalists work to spread their charismatic religious message far and wide.
This isn't a novel primarily concerned with how humanity will adapt and survive in a post-apocalyptic world; they already have adapted and are surviving. It's not a world free of difficulty, far from it, but it is one where people by and large are coping. Instead what the author really seems concerned with is telling a story about finding and following the life you want, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. To that end we have North, a girl who performs with a bear as part of the floating Excalibur circus and is engaged to a man she has no wish to marry, and Callanish, living alone and lonely on a tethered islet as a so-called gracekeeper, for which read combined funeral director/ professional mourner. Fate brings the two girls fleetingly together and from then on the novel is about how the world turns to reunite them despite the obstacles; vast watery expanses for sure, but also other people's interference.
It's a tale rather quietly told and some readers might be frustrated that in many ways the whole thing fails to fully catch fire, arguably even when actual flames erupt. Some of the dialogue is undeniably clunky and characterisations are mostly fairytale archetype rather than fully rounded believable. In the end though I found its quietness beguiling and the overall lack of histrionics is its most pleasing, and convincing, aspect. It doesn't answer all your questions, but the mysteries it leaves in its wake are surely satisfaction enough.
Written by: Gregor White
Published: 17 January 2016
Book Review: The Broken Road By Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn
From experience I know that Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn’s novels have traditionally been well-written pieces of prose that pride themselves on exploring human relationships and the messy entanglements that are found therein. Stanberry-Flynn’s latest publication, The Broken Road, is certainly a novel that continues this trend of theme, and it does so expertly and enjoyably.
The novel is written from two close-third-person perspectives which, in a sense, delivers us two protagonists. We see various angles of this family drama through the eyes of Ollie, the man who pulls away from his family business in order to pursue his dreams as a painter, and Lou, Ollie’s sister, who leads a heartbreaking life herself only to intermittently bump up against the expectations of their father, Tom, who believes that the family business should pass to Ollie whether he wants it or not.
While the family-thread weaved throughout this is both prominent and important, Stanberry-Flynn has done a marvellous job of scattering unexpected plot points in Ollie and Lou’s respective narratives as well that complement and complicate the family issues at play. While I’m hesitant to reveal any spoilers, I will say that future readers will not be short of gasps and eye-wide moments as the plot wanders off on its own and, aghast, you have no choice but to press on with the next chapter. Yes, The Broken Road is certainly a just-one-more-chapter sort of book.
In terms of the construction of the prose, it can’t be denied that Stanberry-Flynn is a good author. The writing is accessible, the story is relatable, and the passages where we observe painting, in one sense or another, are simply beautiful. It was a pleasure to pick up and often difficult to put down, although there were occasions when I struggled to plot the timeline of the book. Many of the characters appear to fall in and out of love with such ease in the space of a few weeks, which I’m sure wouldn’t really be the case had I found a clearer timeline to pin the story to. Nevertheless, The Broken Road is still an enjoyable read whether you notice this love-timeline issue or not, so it certainly shouldn’t be a deterrent.
The Broken Road is a polished novel, complete with images that will make you want to run away to the seaside and a plot that will surely be relatable to many readers, in one way or another. If you’re looking for a good book to curl up with over the Christmas period, it’s certainly worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 21 December 2015
The novel is written from two close-third-person perspectives which, in a sense, delivers us two protagonists. We see various angles of this family drama through the eyes of Ollie, the man who pulls away from his family business in order to pursue his dreams as a painter, and Lou, Ollie’s sister, who leads a heartbreaking life herself only to intermittently bump up against the expectations of their father, Tom, who believes that the family business should pass to Ollie whether he wants it or not.
While the family-thread weaved throughout this is both prominent and important, Stanberry-Flynn has done a marvellous job of scattering unexpected plot points in Ollie and Lou’s respective narratives as well that complement and complicate the family issues at play. While I’m hesitant to reveal any spoilers, I will say that future readers will not be short of gasps and eye-wide moments as the plot wanders off on its own and, aghast, you have no choice but to press on with the next chapter. Yes, The Broken Road is certainly a just-one-more-chapter sort of book.
In terms of the construction of the prose, it can’t be denied that Stanberry-Flynn is a good author. The writing is accessible, the story is relatable, and the passages where we observe painting, in one sense or another, are simply beautiful. It was a pleasure to pick up and often difficult to put down, although there were occasions when I struggled to plot the timeline of the book. Many of the characters appear to fall in and out of love with such ease in the space of a few weeks, which I’m sure wouldn’t really be the case had I found a clearer timeline to pin the story to. Nevertheless, The Broken Road is still an enjoyable read whether you notice this love-timeline issue or not, so it certainly shouldn’t be a deterrent.
The Broken Road is a polished novel, complete with images that will make you want to run away to the seaside and a plot that will surely be relatable to many readers, in one way or another. If you’re looking for a good book to curl up with over the Christmas period, it’s certainly worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 21 December 2015
Book review: Nightblind By Ragnar Jonasson
Earlier this year, Icelandic author Ragnar Jonasson allowed his crime novel, Snowblind, to migrate over to the United Kingdom, with help from Quentin Bates, the translator behind the release. Only a matter of months later and the second book in this series has been released, this one titled Nightblind, and I can safely say that everything Jonasson captured in the first book, he’s captured again - captured better, even - in the second.
In Nightblind we revisit the troubled character of Ari Thor Arason who, despite struggling with the setting of Siglufjordur in the first release, now seems reasonably settled there. Ari Thor maintains his role at the local police officer - after missing out on the opportunity for a promotion - and now we seeing him living with his wife, Kristin, and their young son, Stefnir.
However, idyllic as this sounds, Ari Thor is still a rough-around-the-edges protagonist and Jonasson has done a commendable job here of serving up the character in a seemingly settled life, only to reveal steadily throughout the book that it is really anything but. Ari Thor feels bitter resentment at losing the opportunity for a promotion, his wife is deeply unhappy with their relationship, for reasons that he can’t fathom and, if that wasn’t enough plot, a mere chapter into the book we see a police officer gunned down by an unknown shooter in an abandoned house.
The plot itself is wonderfully simple yet gripping, and as for the prose I can only thank both Jonasson and Bates from the bottom of my heart for working on a crime novel that doesn’t shove horrendous descriptions of terrible things down the reader’s throat. There are moments where this could happen in the book but instead they are slyly communicated with language that sometimes leaves you doubling back, just to check what really happened. As we convince ourselves that we have found the person responsible for the shooting of the police officer we are instead confronted with another crime entirely which adds a brilliant tension to the book as well, only heightened further by the reappearance of the claustrophobic settings that we were introduced to in Snowblind. Settings that are just as beautiful this time around, incidentally.
For me Nightblind is the lovechild of Agatha Christie and Icelandic Noir. There is a strong sleuth-feel to the book as Ari Thor navigates his way around a pool of potential suspects, uncovering additional and unexpected crimes in the process. There are twists and cover-ups like you wouldn’t believe in this book and, for me, it really does give a clear nod to the finer days of detective fiction. Jonasson hooks the reader from the opening sentence and he does so with relatively simple crimes - there are no gorey tricks hidden in the prose, thankfully - and marvellous characters. Nothing more, nothing less.
A marvellous addition to any crime lover’s bookshelf, Nightblind is definitely a worthy read!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 16 December 2015
In Nightblind we revisit the troubled character of Ari Thor Arason who, despite struggling with the setting of Siglufjordur in the first release, now seems reasonably settled there. Ari Thor maintains his role at the local police officer - after missing out on the opportunity for a promotion - and now we seeing him living with his wife, Kristin, and their young son, Stefnir.
However, idyllic as this sounds, Ari Thor is still a rough-around-the-edges protagonist and Jonasson has done a commendable job here of serving up the character in a seemingly settled life, only to reveal steadily throughout the book that it is really anything but. Ari Thor feels bitter resentment at losing the opportunity for a promotion, his wife is deeply unhappy with their relationship, for reasons that he can’t fathom and, if that wasn’t enough plot, a mere chapter into the book we see a police officer gunned down by an unknown shooter in an abandoned house.
The plot itself is wonderfully simple yet gripping, and as for the prose I can only thank both Jonasson and Bates from the bottom of my heart for working on a crime novel that doesn’t shove horrendous descriptions of terrible things down the reader’s throat. There are moments where this could happen in the book but instead they are slyly communicated with language that sometimes leaves you doubling back, just to check what really happened. As we convince ourselves that we have found the person responsible for the shooting of the police officer we are instead confronted with another crime entirely which adds a brilliant tension to the book as well, only heightened further by the reappearance of the claustrophobic settings that we were introduced to in Snowblind. Settings that are just as beautiful this time around, incidentally.
For me Nightblind is the lovechild of Agatha Christie and Icelandic Noir. There is a strong sleuth-feel to the book as Ari Thor navigates his way around a pool of potential suspects, uncovering additional and unexpected crimes in the process. There are twists and cover-ups like you wouldn’t believe in this book and, for me, it really does give a clear nod to the finer days of detective fiction. Jonasson hooks the reader from the opening sentence and he does so with relatively simple crimes - there are no gorey tricks hidden in the prose, thankfully - and marvellous characters. Nothing more, nothing less.
A marvellous addition to any crime lover’s bookshelf, Nightblind is definitely a worthy read!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 16 December 2015
Book review: Full Dark, No Stars by stephen King
Stephen King has made a name for himself across the globe as the Master of Horror and in his 2010 publication, Full Dark, No Stars, he cements that reputation further. The publication is a short story collection that sees King analyse the different reasons why any individual may be driven towards committing a crime and, in this collection, there are occasions when King hypothesises that it really doesn’t take much persuading at all sometimes…
The opening story, 1922, is chilling, atmospheric, and a perfect blend of crime and psychology with a hint of supernatural intervention. It terms of its length this addition sits more as a novella - and I believe it has been published as such prior to the release of this full collection - however it’s certainly feasible to digest this tale in one sitting because the story grips you from the get go. Without delving too much into the plot - the whole book is made up of stories that you can’t say too much about for fear of ruining their punch - the story itself is told through the first person narrative of Wilfred James who becomes increasingly unreliable (and irrational) in his re-telling of events following the murder of his wife and reading his emotional fallout that follows is just fascinating.
The gruesome tone of this first story is matched and surpassed entirely by the one that follows it, titled Big Driver. It’s uncomfortable to read and King himself admits that it was uncomfortable to write, but it’s certainly worth devoting some time to. Fair Extension was a personal favourite from this publication as we see Dave Streeter bargain for his life with a disastrous impact on someone who he refers to throughout as his closest friend. Streeter is a brilliant character who is simultaneously likeable and condemnable, and King does a stand-out job of creating such a conflict that transfers itself so neatly on to readers.
A Good Marriage, the final story in the collection, was the sole reason for my having purchased it in the first place (after seeing the film adaptation of A Good Marriage beforehand). Here King uses the character of Darcy to tap into the universal fear that our spouses - or, more broadly speaking, the person we allegedly know better than anyone else in the world - we in reality don’t know much about at all. The emotional turmoil packed into this is hard-hitting and uncomfortable, and the questions that King manages to raise here, not only about what our partners are really capable of but also what we are capable of, is a top quality note on which to finish the collection.
An accessible, uncomfortable collection - would you expect anything else? - Full Dark, No Stars is another outstanding King publication that sees big questions asked with few answers provided. A brilliant book worth picking up whether you’re a King fan or a beginner!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 20 November 2015
The opening story, 1922, is chilling, atmospheric, and a perfect blend of crime and psychology with a hint of supernatural intervention. It terms of its length this addition sits more as a novella - and I believe it has been published as such prior to the release of this full collection - however it’s certainly feasible to digest this tale in one sitting because the story grips you from the get go. Without delving too much into the plot - the whole book is made up of stories that you can’t say too much about for fear of ruining their punch - the story itself is told through the first person narrative of Wilfred James who becomes increasingly unreliable (and irrational) in his re-telling of events following the murder of his wife and reading his emotional fallout that follows is just fascinating.
The gruesome tone of this first story is matched and surpassed entirely by the one that follows it, titled Big Driver. It’s uncomfortable to read and King himself admits that it was uncomfortable to write, but it’s certainly worth devoting some time to. Fair Extension was a personal favourite from this publication as we see Dave Streeter bargain for his life with a disastrous impact on someone who he refers to throughout as his closest friend. Streeter is a brilliant character who is simultaneously likeable and condemnable, and King does a stand-out job of creating such a conflict that transfers itself so neatly on to readers.
A Good Marriage, the final story in the collection, was the sole reason for my having purchased it in the first place (after seeing the film adaptation of A Good Marriage beforehand). Here King uses the character of Darcy to tap into the universal fear that our spouses - or, more broadly speaking, the person we allegedly know better than anyone else in the world - we in reality don’t know much about at all. The emotional turmoil packed into this is hard-hitting and uncomfortable, and the questions that King manages to raise here, not only about what our partners are really capable of but also what we are capable of, is a top quality note on which to finish the collection.
An accessible, uncomfortable collection - would you expect anything else? - Full Dark, No Stars is another outstanding King publication that sees big questions asked with few answers provided. A brilliant book worth picking up whether you’re a King fan or a beginner!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 20 November 2015
Book Review: Angela Carter's Book of Fairy Tales Written by Angela Carter
The award winning Angela Carter was one of those writers who could make almost any story compelling. Not only did she write incredible works of her own invention, she also had a talent for finding a clever angle which would shed new light on a well known story.
Fairy tales are ideal for adaptation and rewriting because so many have developed and changed naturally over the course of many re-tellings, and so we arrive at Angela Carter's Book of Fairly Tales: a compendium of fairy tales collected from all over the world. It features well known European stories as well as a variety of lesser known tales from groups such as North American Hillbilly, Bondes, Innuit, Kashmiri and Sudanese Dinka. Each tale has been adapted by Carter to create a wide selection of stories that are a mixture of wry, silly, hopeful, angry, and gut-wrenching.
These are not the sort of fairy tales that you will want to read to your toddler, but they are instead classic whimsical tales for adults. The collection is filled with strong characters and divided into sections such as 'Brave, bold and wilful', 'Unhappy families' and 'Up to something — Black arts and dirty tricks'. Of course the tales vary in length but the vast majority are quite short at only two or three pages long, so the collection is perfect for dipping in and out of.
I particularly liked a very short tale in the 'Beautiful people' chapter called 'The Mirror'. This story originates from Japan, a country which Carter lived in for two years, and I was expecting it to be somehow related to the magical mirror in snow white. This tale however was much more original and poignant than that, telling of a man who gives his wife a mirror, and once she has passed away is able to look upon the reflection of his daughter in the mirror and remember the woman he loved.
Another favourite in 'Clever women, resourceful girls' is a sly Swahili tale called 'The Hare' in which a hunter's wife runs off with a hare, discovers that she doesn't much fancy eating grass and sleeping out in the open air, and returns home. She convinces the hare to fetch her some firewood which she then uses to cook the poor tricked hare for dinner just in time for her husband to arrive, none the wiser that he almost lost his wife that day.
It is a good book to keep on a bookcase or on a bed side table for times when you get the urge to read but don't want to start another novel. There is something in there to suit most moods and there are a number of stylised black and white illustrations which add a bit of extra quirkiness to the tales too.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 9 November 2015
Fairy tales are ideal for adaptation and rewriting because so many have developed and changed naturally over the course of many re-tellings, and so we arrive at Angela Carter's Book of Fairly Tales: a compendium of fairy tales collected from all over the world. It features well known European stories as well as a variety of lesser known tales from groups such as North American Hillbilly, Bondes, Innuit, Kashmiri and Sudanese Dinka. Each tale has been adapted by Carter to create a wide selection of stories that are a mixture of wry, silly, hopeful, angry, and gut-wrenching.
These are not the sort of fairy tales that you will want to read to your toddler, but they are instead classic whimsical tales for adults. The collection is filled with strong characters and divided into sections such as 'Brave, bold and wilful', 'Unhappy families' and 'Up to something — Black arts and dirty tricks'. Of course the tales vary in length but the vast majority are quite short at only two or three pages long, so the collection is perfect for dipping in and out of.
I particularly liked a very short tale in the 'Beautiful people' chapter called 'The Mirror'. This story originates from Japan, a country which Carter lived in for two years, and I was expecting it to be somehow related to the magical mirror in snow white. This tale however was much more original and poignant than that, telling of a man who gives his wife a mirror, and once she has passed away is able to look upon the reflection of his daughter in the mirror and remember the woman he loved.
Another favourite in 'Clever women, resourceful girls' is a sly Swahili tale called 'The Hare' in which a hunter's wife runs off with a hare, discovers that she doesn't much fancy eating grass and sleeping out in the open air, and returns home. She convinces the hare to fetch her some firewood which she then uses to cook the poor tricked hare for dinner just in time for her husband to arrive, none the wiser that he almost lost his wife that day.
It is a good book to keep on a bookcase or on a bed side table for times when you get the urge to read but don't want to start another novel. There is something in there to suit most moods and there are a number of stylised black and white illustrations which add a bit of extra quirkiness to the tales too.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 9 November 2015
Amazon Opens First Physical Bookshop!
After destroying the physical bookshops, the next logical step for Amazon is clearly to make one of its own. Amazon has opened a bookshop in Seattle that it calls Amazon Books. Not only is this one of the first physical locations for Amazon, it's also Amazon's first physical bookshop.
The shop doesn't run like a normal bookshop, of course. It only displays books that have been chosen by Amazon's wealth of data. Customer ratings, sales totals, popularity on Goodreads, and much more will be used to choose which books will be placed inside the shop.
In addition to selling books, Amazon will also put its devices on display, such as Kindles, the Amazon Echo, the Fire TV, and Fire tablets.
Amazon has stated that the shop will be permanent - this is not just a pop-up shop! So I guess we could potentially begin to see more Amazon bookshops in the future...
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 5 November 2015
The shop doesn't run like a normal bookshop, of course. It only displays books that have been chosen by Amazon's wealth of data. Customer ratings, sales totals, popularity on Goodreads, and much more will be used to choose which books will be placed inside the shop.
In addition to selling books, Amazon will also put its devices on display, such as Kindles, the Amazon Echo, the Fire TV, and Fire tablets.
Amazon has stated that the shop will be permanent - this is not just a pop-up shop! So I guess we could potentially begin to see more Amazon bookshops in the future...
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 5 November 2015
Book Review: Crime by Ferdinand Von Schirach
Ferdinand von Schirach’s short publication, titled Crime, is an understated and seemingly unheard of little book, although I can’t for the life of me work out why. In this release Schirach draws on his years as a criminal defence lawyer and pulls out some of the stranger cases that he has dealt with, fleshing them out with something that can perhaps best be described as creative non-fiction, and the results of this are truly chilling.
Each story offers a snapshot of a typically violent crime where the implementation of justice and punishment was somewhat unconventional. Schirach uses his extensive knowledge of the German legal system to manipulate himself and his clients both in and out of intriguing scenarios that not only raise the question of what guilt is and where it lies, but it furthermore forces these questions on to the reader, making this a powerful collection of stories.
These individual tales pack such a punch upon reading that it seems a shame to risk ruining them; however I will say that the silent assassin and the man who loves his partner so much that he attempts to eat her were an uncomfortable pair - and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
A quick, delicious, and impressively disturbing read, Crime raises as many questions as it answers whilst offering an interesting spin on both the idea of crime and the concept of short stories. It’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 29 October 2015
Each story offers a snapshot of a typically violent crime where the implementation of justice and punishment was somewhat unconventional. Schirach uses his extensive knowledge of the German legal system to manipulate himself and his clients both in and out of intriguing scenarios that not only raise the question of what guilt is and where it lies, but it furthermore forces these questions on to the reader, making this a powerful collection of stories.
These individual tales pack such a punch upon reading that it seems a shame to risk ruining them; however I will say that the silent assassin and the man who loves his partner so much that he attempts to eat her were an uncomfortable pair - and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
A quick, delicious, and impressively disturbing read, Crime raises as many questions as it answers whilst offering an interesting spin on both the idea of crime and the concept of short stories. It’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 29 October 2015
Book Review: The Son by Philipp Meyer
Here is a book that I've been desperate to talk about since Chapter 4. Frustratingly, the book has 72 chapters, so it has taken some time to get to this point. Despite the immense size of The Son I was still surprised and a little disappointed when I turned a page to find that I'd finished it. It's a fascinating read that I didn't want to end. Much like the state of Texas that it is set in, this is a big, atmospheric and deeply ambitious novel.
The Son follows the progress of the fictional McCullough family, from early settlers in the wild west to faded but phenomenally rich oil traders. The chapters alternate between three generations in the family's history; Eli 'The Colonel' McCullough, his rather disappointing son Peter, and Peter's trailblazing granddaughter Jeanne Anne. By switching between these different generations Meyer manages to keep interest and suspense in the novel, and there is a very helpful family tree at the start of the book in case you forget who is who.
Eli is a particularly compelling character, a legendary man who is captured by the Comanche tribe as a youth when his family is destroyed by a bloody ambush. Over the course of the novel he transforms himself several times, from slave captive to 'Tiehteti' an accepted and decorated Comanche warrior, to Texas Ranger, then finally a prominent and esteemed rancher.
Eli's legacy is an interesting one. His great-granddaughter Jeanne Anne uses his life story as inspiration to heave her family out of near bankruptcy, determined to do something more than become the perfect southern belle. For other members of the family Eli's story is more of a burden. I was frustrated with Peter McCullough for many of his chapters because he does tend to mope around feeling sorry for himself, yet his life is overshadowed by a terrible event initiated by his father on their neighbours, the Garcia family. Racked with guilt Peter struggles to feel anything but disgust and isolates himself from the rest of the family. It is this blighted history between the McCulloughs and the Garcias which ultimately dictates the fate of the McCullough family.
Meyer, also the author of the critically acclaimed American Rust, has a knack for brilliantly detailed writing which does not become boring or tiresome. He gives a fascinating insight into the lives of the Comanche tribe, the violence experienced by early settlers in Texas, and investigates the real tooth and nail struggle of the McCullough family to survive through the generations. His characters are complex but so well written that you can see and hear them almost instantly.
For complete escapism, The Son is an excellent read. Gripping and diverse, it will lead you from 1849 through to the 1980s, with one adventure after another. Give yourself a few quiet hours to get introduced to the characters and you will find yourself captivated.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 27 October 2015
The Son follows the progress of the fictional McCullough family, from early settlers in the wild west to faded but phenomenally rich oil traders. The chapters alternate between three generations in the family's history; Eli 'The Colonel' McCullough, his rather disappointing son Peter, and Peter's trailblazing granddaughter Jeanne Anne. By switching between these different generations Meyer manages to keep interest and suspense in the novel, and there is a very helpful family tree at the start of the book in case you forget who is who.
Eli is a particularly compelling character, a legendary man who is captured by the Comanche tribe as a youth when his family is destroyed by a bloody ambush. Over the course of the novel he transforms himself several times, from slave captive to 'Tiehteti' an accepted and decorated Comanche warrior, to Texas Ranger, then finally a prominent and esteemed rancher.
Eli's legacy is an interesting one. His great-granddaughter Jeanne Anne uses his life story as inspiration to heave her family out of near bankruptcy, determined to do something more than become the perfect southern belle. For other members of the family Eli's story is more of a burden. I was frustrated with Peter McCullough for many of his chapters because he does tend to mope around feeling sorry for himself, yet his life is overshadowed by a terrible event initiated by his father on their neighbours, the Garcia family. Racked with guilt Peter struggles to feel anything but disgust and isolates himself from the rest of the family. It is this blighted history between the McCulloughs and the Garcias which ultimately dictates the fate of the McCullough family.
Meyer, also the author of the critically acclaimed American Rust, has a knack for brilliantly detailed writing which does not become boring or tiresome. He gives a fascinating insight into the lives of the Comanche tribe, the violence experienced by early settlers in Texas, and investigates the real tooth and nail struggle of the McCullough family to survive through the generations. His characters are complex but so well written that you can see and hear them almost instantly.
For complete escapism, The Son is an excellent read. Gripping and diverse, it will lead you from 1849 through to the 1980s, with one adventure after another. Give yourself a few quiet hours to get introduced to the characters and you will find yourself captivated.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 27 October 2015
Book review: Plenty-Fish by Sarah Leavesley
Sarah Leavesley, a Worcestershire based poet, has recently released published her latest collection (under the name Sarah James), titled plenty-fish, with Nine Arches Press. During a recent interview with Mad Hatter Reviews, which you can access by clicking here, Sarah dished out some snippets from the collection and (modestly) told us that we should expect mostly mainstream with a little bit of an experimental twist here and there from this latest release.
Having now read the collection I can confidently say that, mainstream or experimental, this entire book is really quite beautiful. Leavesley deals with a vast amount of emotions communicated through almost-lyrical verses, many of which are endowed with a truly personal feel. Throughout the collection, in amongst the overwhelming scenes of nature that run in many of the pieces, Leavesley has neatly distributed snapshots of a family life that contribute greatly to the warm feel of this book as a whole.
While the likes of ‘For Her, A Different Skin’ and ‘I bite down on the memory’ distribute deliciously dark tones in every line, the collection is quickly turned around by later poems such as ‘Coffee Break’, which may in fact be one of my favourite poems in this release as the speaker beautifully communicates the act of growing up - or rather, one’s child growing up - through sharing a coffee break with her son. Although ‘Bagging Up’, which follows this directly, is certainly another highlight of the collection despite - or perhaps even because of - the emotional intensity imbedded within it.
It would be all too difficult to address every single marvellous poem in this collection because frankly, I would be addressing them all one by one. However, I will say that I greedily ingested this book in one sitting alone, which is surely a glowing review in itself. Plenty-fish is a stunning and emotional collection that really does share something special with the reader, and it’s certainly worth picking up a copy.
Don’t forget to read our interview with Sarah in Performance & Arts this week.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 8 October 2015
Having now read the collection I can confidently say that, mainstream or experimental, this entire book is really quite beautiful. Leavesley deals with a vast amount of emotions communicated through almost-lyrical verses, many of which are endowed with a truly personal feel. Throughout the collection, in amongst the overwhelming scenes of nature that run in many of the pieces, Leavesley has neatly distributed snapshots of a family life that contribute greatly to the warm feel of this book as a whole.
While the likes of ‘For Her, A Different Skin’ and ‘I bite down on the memory’ distribute deliciously dark tones in every line, the collection is quickly turned around by later poems such as ‘Coffee Break’, which may in fact be one of my favourite poems in this release as the speaker beautifully communicates the act of growing up - or rather, one’s child growing up - through sharing a coffee break with her son. Although ‘Bagging Up’, which follows this directly, is certainly another highlight of the collection despite - or perhaps even because of - the emotional intensity imbedded within it.
It would be all too difficult to address every single marvellous poem in this collection because frankly, I would be addressing them all one by one. However, I will say that I greedily ingested this book in one sitting alone, which is surely a glowing review in itself. Plenty-fish is a stunning and emotional collection that really does share something special with the reader, and it’s certainly worth picking up a copy.
Don’t forget to read our interview with Sarah in Performance & Arts this week.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 8 October 2015
Book review: Emma by Alexander McCall Smith
I picked this book up when I was about to embark on a long, tiring journey and simply couldn't face the high-brow, philosophical novel I had taken with me. I've always found that there is something very comforting about Jane Austen's texts. Her writing is undoubtedly witty, interesting yet familiar, and although they are predominately about love, society, and family they often touch on the more serious topics of poverty and slavery as well. They are much loved novels and as a result have often been taken up by other writers who want to put their own spin on these brilliant stories.
Alexander McCall Smith has chosen to produce a modem retelling of Emma, arguably the most popular of Austen's novels, about a wealthy young woman whose attempts to matchmake her friends lead to a tangle of awkward misunderstandings. McCall Smith is a good choice of writer for recreating Austen as his own works (he is probably best know for his No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series) are laced with wit and charm. He is also an excellent writer of women, which is certainly an advantage to rewriting Austen.
So the new Emma Woodhouse lives, just as she did 200 years ago, at Hartfield Manor in Norfolk and plans to become an interior designer. Her father, Mr Woodhouse, is still a hypochondriac but he is now also an engineer who made his fortune designing a valve for liquid-nitrogen cylinders. Emma's governess Miss Taylor is still there but now she is more of a nanny, as Emma and her sister Isabella attend a local private school. Emma's friend and protégée Harriet Smith, is no longer of dubious unknown parentage but is the orphaned child of a single mother and an anonymous sperm donor. Mrs Goddard, who Harriet stays with, runs an English language school for foreign students and bakes cakes laced with pot.
McCall Smith clearly had a lot of fun re-imagining the characters, particularly George Knightley's brother John, who marries Isabella Woodhouse and is barely featured in Austen's text. John is an artsy fashion photographer who lives in London and (to Mr Woodhouse's horror) rides a 1982 Ducati motorcycle.
I did enjoy reading this book, although at times I found myself wishing I was rereading the original. I really loved what McCall Smith did with the ending of the novel which was unexpected and I think it was a smart choice which Austen would have approved of. There were parts which grated a little with me, however. I found that it took a long time for Miss Taylor's character to grow into herself, and George Knightley, who should be quite an important character, is barely visible in the novel. There were also times when the reasons for Emma's matchmaking were a little flaky, but these issues did not ruin the novel for me.
Ultimately, this version of Emma is both pleasant and enjoyable. It's certainly good choice if you want something that's not trashy but a bit lighter, and definitely a relaxing read.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 6 October 2015
Alexander McCall Smith has chosen to produce a modem retelling of Emma, arguably the most popular of Austen's novels, about a wealthy young woman whose attempts to matchmake her friends lead to a tangle of awkward misunderstandings. McCall Smith is a good choice of writer for recreating Austen as his own works (he is probably best know for his No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series) are laced with wit and charm. He is also an excellent writer of women, which is certainly an advantage to rewriting Austen.
So the new Emma Woodhouse lives, just as she did 200 years ago, at Hartfield Manor in Norfolk and plans to become an interior designer. Her father, Mr Woodhouse, is still a hypochondriac but he is now also an engineer who made his fortune designing a valve for liquid-nitrogen cylinders. Emma's governess Miss Taylor is still there but now she is more of a nanny, as Emma and her sister Isabella attend a local private school. Emma's friend and protégée Harriet Smith, is no longer of dubious unknown parentage but is the orphaned child of a single mother and an anonymous sperm donor. Mrs Goddard, who Harriet stays with, runs an English language school for foreign students and bakes cakes laced with pot.
McCall Smith clearly had a lot of fun re-imagining the characters, particularly George Knightley's brother John, who marries Isabella Woodhouse and is barely featured in Austen's text. John is an artsy fashion photographer who lives in London and (to Mr Woodhouse's horror) rides a 1982 Ducati motorcycle.
I did enjoy reading this book, although at times I found myself wishing I was rereading the original. I really loved what McCall Smith did with the ending of the novel which was unexpected and I think it was a smart choice which Austen would have approved of. There were parts which grated a little with me, however. I found that it took a long time for Miss Taylor's character to grow into herself, and George Knightley, who should be quite an important character, is barely visible in the novel. There were also times when the reasons for Emma's matchmaking were a little flaky, but these issues did not ruin the novel for me.
Ultimately, this version of Emma is both pleasant and enjoyable. It's certainly good choice if you want something that's not trashy but a bit lighter, and definitely a relaxing read.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 6 October 2015
Book Review: The World's Wife by Carol Ann Duffy
Last week I rather apprehensively toddled off to a poetry reading by Carol Ann Duffy. I had read some of her poetry at school, where we had to pull it to tedious smithereens in case it came up in an exam. I didn't particularly warm to Duffy's writing back then and I had not made much of an effort to reacquaint myself with her poetry since then. But as she is the poet laureate, and a particularly popular living poet, I thought that it would be rude to pass up the opportunity to hear her speak her own words.
As soon as Duffy rolled up with a bottle of wine, a pair of sparkly espadrilles, and a fabulous 80s throwback haircut, I knew I was in for a good evening. After a bit of music from a local band and some readings by a local poet (who I have unfortunately forgotten the name of) Duffy got down to business. She read from several different collections of her work, including The Bees, but at the end of the evening the collection I chose to invest my shiny pennies in was The World's Wife.
The World's Wife is a collection of poems based on the theme of the female perspective on various famous events or stories. The idea is a play on the phrase 'The world and his wife' which at first led Duffy to wonder about the wives of various mythological heroes. For example, there is a poem written for Mrs Midas, who is at first amazed to find her husband has the power to turn anything he touches to gold, then heart broken as it becomes clear what a curse this is, and finally overwhelmed with sadness as she laments the loss of her husband's caressing touch. There are also female counterparts to famous real life figures, such as Elvis's twin sister and Pope Joan. My personal favourite is the very short poem by Mrs Icarus which reads:
'I'm not the first or the last
to stand on a hillock,
watching the man she married
prove to the world
he's a total, utter, absolute, Grade A pillock.'
It would be easy to mistake this as a collection of bitter, man-bashing poems but that is not the case. The vast majority of these poems are about the love between the 'wife' figure and the legendary man. They are funny, and often heartbreaking but none the less they express the deep love that one person can feel for another. The poem Delilah takes the well known biblical story of Samson whose incredible strength is stripped of him one night as he sleeps, when his lover Delilah (usually portrayed as a treacherous slattern) cuts his hair. In Duffy's version of the tale, Samson asks Delilah to teach him how to be gentle, loving and tender and so she cuts his hair as an act of love.
There are too many excellent poems in this collection for me to do justice to here, but we all need to have a few nuggets of beauty in our lives; The World's Wife will provide you with a constant supply.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 22 September 2015
As soon as Duffy rolled up with a bottle of wine, a pair of sparkly espadrilles, and a fabulous 80s throwback haircut, I knew I was in for a good evening. After a bit of music from a local band and some readings by a local poet (who I have unfortunately forgotten the name of) Duffy got down to business. She read from several different collections of her work, including The Bees, but at the end of the evening the collection I chose to invest my shiny pennies in was The World's Wife.
The World's Wife is a collection of poems based on the theme of the female perspective on various famous events or stories. The idea is a play on the phrase 'The world and his wife' which at first led Duffy to wonder about the wives of various mythological heroes. For example, there is a poem written for Mrs Midas, who is at first amazed to find her husband has the power to turn anything he touches to gold, then heart broken as it becomes clear what a curse this is, and finally overwhelmed with sadness as she laments the loss of her husband's caressing touch. There are also female counterparts to famous real life figures, such as Elvis's twin sister and Pope Joan. My personal favourite is the very short poem by Mrs Icarus which reads:
'I'm not the first or the last
to stand on a hillock,
watching the man she married
prove to the world
he's a total, utter, absolute, Grade A pillock.'
It would be easy to mistake this as a collection of bitter, man-bashing poems but that is not the case. The vast majority of these poems are about the love between the 'wife' figure and the legendary man. They are funny, and often heartbreaking but none the less they express the deep love that one person can feel for another. The poem Delilah takes the well known biblical story of Samson whose incredible strength is stripped of him one night as he sleeps, when his lover Delilah (usually portrayed as a treacherous slattern) cuts his hair. In Duffy's version of the tale, Samson asks Delilah to teach him how to be gentle, loving and tender and so she cuts his hair as an act of love.
There are too many excellent poems in this collection for me to do justice to here, but we all need to have a few nuggets of beauty in our lives; The World's Wife will provide you with a constant supply.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 22 September 2015
Book Review: The Girl on The Train by Paula Hawkins
The Girl On The Train, by Paula Hawkins, may well be one of the most talked about books released this year. The novel, marketed as a thriller, has received a wealth of mainstream attention and flattering reviews and, after resisting the urge for months on end, I have finally given in and read it. And I can’t believe I made myself wait for so long.
The novel is divided into three narrative voices: Rachel, Anna, and Megan. Rachel is arguably the main narrative that we’re interested in as she is the girl on the train; each morning during her journey into central London, Rachel watches the inhabitants of a house that her train stops outside of due to signalling (and this house just happens to be one or two doors down from Rachel’s old house which her ex-husband now shares with his new wife, Anna). After months of fabricating characters in her mind during this journey, Rachel sees something that she shouldn’t one morning and from there on she becomes intertwined with a story of lies, deceit, and twisted morals.
In just over three hundred pages, Hawkins succeeds in taking us on a journey of brutally honest and occasionally dysfunctional women who deliver their respective narratives in distinct and believable voices. Each character voice is constructed with their own styles and quirks and throughout their individual stories, they inadvertently work together to create the story of the novel as a whole - and from a technical standpoint alone this is stunning to see.
Admittedly, the end twist was perhaps not quite as severe as I was expecting it to be (although there were limited characters to pin the blame on, I suppose), but, aside from that, the plot itself was thrilling from beginning to end. Rachel’s inability to recall things correctly, Anna’s spiteful tone that lends itself to both sympathy and judgement from the reader, and Megan’s intermittent and sometimes out-of-timeline interruptions designed to offer snapshots from other angles. The three of them are hands down some of my favourite fictional women from this year.
A complicated thriller that will leave you questioning what you can and can’t trust until the very end, The Girl On The Train is packed full of suspense and intrigue, and it’s definitely worth adding this to your bookshelf.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 11 September 2015
The novel is divided into three narrative voices: Rachel, Anna, and Megan. Rachel is arguably the main narrative that we’re interested in as she is the girl on the train; each morning during her journey into central London, Rachel watches the inhabitants of a house that her train stops outside of due to signalling (and this house just happens to be one or two doors down from Rachel’s old house which her ex-husband now shares with his new wife, Anna). After months of fabricating characters in her mind during this journey, Rachel sees something that she shouldn’t one morning and from there on she becomes intertwined with a story of lies, deceit, and twisted morals.
In just over three hundred pages, Hawkins succeeds in taking us on a journey of brutally honest and occasionally dysfunctional women who deliver their respective narratives in distinct and believable voices. Each character voice is constructed with their own styles and quirks and throughout their individual stories, they inadvertently work together to create the story of the novel as a whole - and from a technical standpoint alone this is stunning to see.
Admittedly, the end twist was perhaps not quite as severe as I was expecting it to be (although there were limited characters to pin the blame on, I suppose), but, aside from that, the plot itself was thrilling from beginning to end. Rachel’s inability to recall things correctly, Anna’s spiteful tone that lends itself to both sympathy and judgement from the reader, and Megan’s intermittent and sometimes out-of-timeline interruptions designed to offer snapshots from other angles. The three of them are hands down some of my favourite fictional women from this year.
A complicated thriller that will leave you questioning what you can and can’t trust until the very end, The Girl On The Train is packed full of suspense and intrigue, and it’s definitely worth adding this to your bookshelf.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 11 September 2015
Book Review: We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves By Karen Joy Fowler
We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves is the 2013 publication from Karen Joy Fowler; winner of the 2014 PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction and short-listed for 2014’s Man Booker Prize, the novel comes with nothing short of a glowing reputation. And, after reading it, I can assure you that it’s a reputation that this book whole-heartedly deserves.
The novel is told through the first person narrative of Rosemary who, through a wonderfully unconventional timeline of events, discusses the disappearance of her sister, Fern, and the subsequent abandonment that followed from her brother, Lowell. Throughout Rosemary’s childhood little to nothing is said of this missing sister, however when our protagonist attends college, and reconnects with her long lost brother, the question mark over Fern is soon lifted and a responsibility is dropped on Rosemary that she never would have expected.
There is much more to this story than meets the eye and, while I can’t go into specifics without ruining it for potential readers, I will say that Fowler drops one of the best twists I think I’ve ever read into this novel and, despite Rosemary’s narrative suggesting that the reader might have already worked it out, I definitely hadn’t.
Twist aside, the novel really is quite lovely. Rosemary’s first person narrative is blunt and amusing making for a thrilling read, regardless of which chunk of her life she is referring to. Also, Fowler’s tendency to jump throughout the plot line in a seemingly non-linear fashion is surprisingly enjoyable too, and adds to the unconventional air of the book. Given the many things happening both in plot, voice, and just generally to the timeline of the story, We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves is a tremendously easy book to read, and an impossible book to put down.
Fowler deals with the difficulties of an unconventional family life - whilst raising interesting questions about what is and isn’t unconventional for families anymore - in an intimate fashion through the voice of Rosemary and, from a technical standpoint, a brilliant twist was included in the final stages of the novel in the form of Rosemary misremembering certain events from her childhood - thus tapping into the age-old questions around unreliable first person narratives.
We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves packs an unexpected emotional punch through one of the most lovely plots, and the best twists, that I’ve had the pleasure in reading in some time. Avoid spoilers at all costs and grab yourselves a copy as soon as you can.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 8 September 2015
The novel is told through the first person narrative of Rosemary who, through a wonderfully unconventional timeline of events, discusses the disappearance of her sister, Fern, and the subsequent abandonment that followed from her brother, Lowell. Throughout Rosemary’s childhood little to nothing is said of this missing sister, however when our protagonist attends college, and reconnects with her long lost brother, the question mark over Fern is soon lifted and a responsibility is dropped on Rosemary that she never would have expected.
There is much more to this story than meets the eye and, while I can’t go into specifics without ruining it for potential readers, I will say that Fowler drops one of the best twists I think I’ve ever read into this novel and, despite Rosemary’s narrative suggesting that the reader might have already worked it out, I definitely hadn’t.
Twist aside, the novel really is quite lovely. Rosemary’s first person narrative is blunt and amusing making for a thrilling read, regardless of which chunk of her life she is referring to. Also, Fowler’s tendency to jump throughout the plot line in a seemingly non-linear fashion is surprisingly enjoyable too, and adds to the unconventional air of the book. Given the many things happening both in plot, voice, and just generally to the timeline of the story, We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves is a tremendously easy book to read, and an impossible book to put down.
Fowler deals with the difficulties of an unconventional family life - whilst raising interesting questions about what is and isn’t unconventional for families anymore - in an intimate fashion through the voice of Rosemary and, from a technical standpoint, a brilliant twist was included in the final stages of the novel in the form of Rosemary misremembering certain events from her childhood - thus tapping into the age-old questions around unreliable first person narratives.
We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves packs an unexpected emotional punch through one of the most lovely plots, and the best twists, that I’ve had the pleasure in reading in some time. Avoid spoilers at all costs and grab yourselves a copy as soon as you can.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 8 September 2015
Book Review: The Baby By James Briggs
James Briggs’ novel, The Baby, boasts a male first person narrative that will allegedly reveal all - or at least, many - of the secret fears that men have on discovering their partners are pregnant. It is the real thoughts on babies, sex, women, and a few things in between; however, if The Baby really is that accurate, then the future is bleak for women hoping for children.
The novel is undoubtedly amusing and this humour is something that Briggs manages to maintain consistently throughout the book, which follows the gruelling nine months of a pregnancy. The unnamed protagonist details the horrendous moment of panic following the ‘I think I’m pregnant’ announcement and, in many ways, the narrative depicts the exact reaction that society would have you believe men go through on hearing those words in reality. However these moments of accuracy seem few and far between and, while the moments of blind panic are on-point and sometimes even endearing, there is frankly too much about this character that renders him as un-likeable.
The narrator doesn’t want his girlfriend to be pregnant, that much is clear; he’s also in his early forties and now expecting his first child; he doesn’t have a job, or own a house, and he shows little motivation in rectifying either of those problems; and he’s a self-confessed alcoholic. For me, just one of those would have been enough to write this book, which is perhaps part of the main problem for me. Briggs has packed so much into this protagonist to really hammer home his points on pregnancy and the difficulties of it from a male perspective (which is so refreshing that it was the main reason behind my purchasing this novel in the first place), but in adding all of these unnecessary further complications, what actually happens is that you occasionally forget the pregnancy entirely and focus on the speaker, who becomes increasingly annoying, only to redeem himself in the last leg of the book.
Additionally, the book seems to fall short in living up to the promises that the blurb makes. This isn’t the male perspective on pregnancy, it’s a male perspective on pregnancy, and ultimately it raises more questions than it answers. One pertinent question in particular being, why the hell does the narrator’s girlfriend stay with him?
As a light-hearted read, The Baby works. The narrator is amusing, offensive, and enough of an a-hole for us to stick with him for just over four hundred pages - although the book could perhaps afford to be a beat shorter as well. However, if you’re looking for a serious and eye-opening read, then there are probably better representations of pregnancy from a male perspective available (unless you’re an alcoholic forty-something with no job who wants their girlfriend to have an abortion in the early weeks of discovering she’s pregnant, in which case, this book is definitely for you).
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 2 September 2015
The novel is undoubtedly amusing and this humour is something that Briggs manages to maintain consistently throughout the book, which follows the gruelling nine months of a pregnancy. The unnamed protagonist details the horrendous moment of panic following the ‘I think I’m pregnant’ announcement and, in many ways, the narrative depicts the exact reaction that society would have you believe men go through on hearing those words in reality. However these moments of accuracy seem few and far between and, while the moments of blind panic are on-point and sometimes even endearing, there is frankly too much about this character that renders him as un-likeable.
The narrator doesn’t want his girlfriend to be pregnant, that much is clear; he’s also in his early forties and now expecting his first child; he doesn’t have a job, or own a house, and he shows little motivation in rectifying either of those problems; and he’s a self-confessed alcoholic. For me, just one of those would have been enough to write this book, which is perhaps part of the main problem for me. Briggs has packed so much into this protagonist to really hammer home his points on pregnancy and the difficulties of it from a male perspective (which is so refreshing that it was the main reason behind my purchasing this novel in the first place), but in adding all of these unnecessary further complications, what actually happens is that you occasionally forget the pregnancy entirely and focus on the speaker, who becomes increasingly annoying, only to redeem himself in the last leg of the book.
Additionally, the book seems to fall short in living up to the promises that the blurb makes. This isn’t the male perspective on pregnancy, it’s a male perspective on pregnancy, and ultimately it raises more questions than it answers. One pertinent question in particular being, why the hell does the narrator’s girlfriend stay with him?
As a light-hearted read, The Baby works. The narrator is amusing, offensive, and enough of an a-hole for us to stick with him for just over four hundred pages - although the book could perhaps afford to be a beat shorter as well. However, if you’re looking for a serious and eye-opening read, then there are probably better representations of pregnancy from a male perspective available (unless you’re an alcoholic forty-something with no job who wants their girlfriend to have an abortion in the early weeks of discovering she’s pregnant, in which case, this book is definitely for you).
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 2 September 2015
Book Review: After The Fire, A Still Small Voice by Evie Wyld
Not too long ago I reviewed the rather brilliant second novel by Evie Wyld: All The Birds, Singing. It was one of the best books I have had the pleasure of reading recently. A truly gripping book from beginning to end, it had a really peculiar main character and an interesting way to tell the story through alternating chapters. As All The Birds, Singing was such a stunning book I decided to invest in the only other book by Evie Wyld, her début novel After The Fire, A Still Small Voice.
It is a novel set against the burning heat-stroke of the Australian outback. The chapters switch between the story of middle-aged Frank in modern day Australia (sometimes following his day to day life, sometimes spinning back into his memories), and the story of Leon, a generation earlier. Leon grows up through war, is later conscripted to Vietnam, and subsequently struggles to recover.
Both men are lost, disturbed souls. Leon is tormented first by his father's broken spirit on returning from war, and later he is cursed by his own experiences of war. He often feels a darkness around him, or some monster leaning over his shoulder. Frank, on the other hand, has some serious anger issues which keep overwhelming him. Traumatised by his beloved mother's early death and the crumbling relationship with his father in the following years he has no one to save him from himself.
The text drips with sweat, beer, and dehydration across the dusty outback and the Vietnamese jungle. Wyld's writing is naturally evocative and she likes to write about isolated and marginalised characters, which creates characters with interesting back stories and often quite shocking secrets.
Overshadowing this novel is the threat of the strange. Frank is a stranger in a small community where a girl has gone missing, meanwhile he is more fearful of what he thinks might be lurking in the sugar cane surrounding his shack. Leon's family are immigrants to Sydney where their difference makes them the victims of snobbery. When his father returns from war it is clear he has become an unfamiliar man with strange habits, and when Leon himself is conscripted to a new war, he is thrown into a world where he can barely recognise himself.
There are parts of the book that are reminiscent of All The Birds, Singing such as the tendency to tell a story in a non-linear manner, which is even more pronounced in this novel, but that is not a bad thing. The book is an absorbing read and one that has a really original plot. The characters are well drawn and it is easy to picture the various scenes in your mind, even when their motivations are unclear.
However, Wyld doesn't seem to like to end her novels. Instead of coming to a rounded finality they just sort of stop. I suppose that this is a conscious decision to show that the character's lives span more than the length of the novel, but it can be a little frustrating after you have become so invested in the story. Nevertheless, if you are looking for an engaging read then After The Fire, A Still Small Voice is certainly a book to add to your reading list.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 31 August 2015
It is a novel set against the burning heat-stroke of the Australian outback. The chapters switch between the story of middle-aged Frank in modern day Australia (sometimes following his day to day life, sometimes spinning back into his memories), and the story of Leon, a generation earlier. Leon grows up through war, is later conscripted to Vietnam, and subsequently struggles to recover.
Both men are lost, disturbed souls. Leon is tormented first by his father's broken spirit on returning from war, and later he is cursed by his own experiences of war. He often feels a darkness around him, or some monster leaning over his shoulder. Frank, on the other hand, has some serious anger issues which keep overwhelming him. Traumatised by his beloved mother's early death and the crumbling relationship with his father in the following years he has no one to save him from himself.
The text drips with sweat, beer, and dehydration across the dusty outback and the Vietnamese jungle. Wyld's writing is naturally evocative and she likes to write about isolated and marginalised characters, which creates characters with interesting back stories and often quite shocking secrets.
Overshadowing this novel is the threat of the strange. Frank is a stranger in a small community where a girl has gone missing, meanwhile he is more fearful of what he thinks might be lurking in the sugar cane surrounding his shack. Leon's family are immigrants to Sydney where their difference makes them the victims of snobbery. When his father returns from war it is clear he has become an unfamiliar man with strange habits, and when Leon himself is conscripted to a new war, he is thrown into a world where he can barely recognise himself.
There are parts of the book that are reminiscent of All The Birds, Singing such as the tendency to tell a story in a non-linear manner, which is even more pronounced in this novel, but that is not a bad thing. The book is an absorbing read and one that has a really original plot. The characters are well drawn and it is easy to picture the various scenes in your mind, even when their motivations are unclear.
However, Wyld doesn't seem to like to end her novels. Instead of coming to a rounded finality they just sort of stop. I suppose that this is a conscious decision to show that the character's lives span more than the length of the novel, but it can be a little frustrating after you have become so invested in the story. Nevertheless, if you are looking for an engaging read then After The Fire, A Still Small Voice is certainly a book to add to your reading list.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 31 August 2015
Book Review: We Need To Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver
It will be a challenge to find someone who isn’t at least a little familiar with We Need To Talk About Kevin, the 2003 novel by Lionel Shriver. The emotive and topical publication has since been adapted into a film of the same title and has been praised globally for its poignancy, accuracy, and general brilliance. So, for those amongst our readership who haven’t read this novel, is this book really all it’s cracked up to be? In short: Absolutely.
We Need To Talk About Kevin is told through the first person narrative of Eva, a woman who never really wanted to be a mother but nevertheless found herself becoming one. Throughout the narrative, which is constructed as a series of lengthy letters written to Eva’s ex-husband (and Kevin’s father), Franklin, the tale of her reluctant motherhood is revealed in full and brash detail. As Eva weaves the reader through the moments of conception, birth, and her stark realisation that the child she now has is one that she is truly struggling to love, the novel becomes an uncomfortable re-enactment of every mother’s worst nightmare, and that is just one of many things that makes this publication hit so hard.
For anyone who has miraculously escaped hearing spoilers elsewhere, please do look away now, because I’m about to drop some major ones…
Eva’s recollections span everything from childbirth to the nearly grown-up Kevin who we encounter at the end of the novel, and as this narrative progresses it becomes increasingly uncomfortable until both mother and son appear to have a question mark over their likeability as characters. Admittedly, Kevin is portrayed as a difficult child, but there are times when Eva is also portrayed, even through her own narrative, as a difficult mother. The reluctance with which she takes to the role of mother is only saved by the reluctance Kevin shows as her son; however, having said that, in many ways Shriver’s narrative was a beautiful deviation from the beaming expressions fictional women usually don when their fictional children arrive, and this departure from literary convention was certainly commendable and enjoyable.
The real hook of this story, which you’re vaguely introduced to at the beginning of the book, is that Kevin will become a killer. Multiple people will die during a high school shoot-out of sorts that Kevin engineers in such a way to deliver maximum possible impact, something that he discusses with pride and at length during Eva’s visits to his juvenile facility. A topical novel to say the least, We Need To Talk About Kevin is essentially a novel on American gun culture, specifically amongst teens, and the collateral damage that comes with that growing culture. One main consistency throughout this book, for me, was Eva’s fragile mental state; admittedly some may have already called this into question at her admission that she couldn’t love her own son, but there is a beautiful fragility to her character following the shooting that shows that not only does she love her son, although perhaps in her own way, but she’s also damaged by him. (Parents beware, this is no easy read.)
We Need To Talk About Kevin is beautiful but undeniably tragic; it will have you shifting about uncomfortably in your seat as Shriver persists in penning situations that really are the stuff of nightmares for anyone with, or hoping to have, children. The importance of this publication as a whole is also worth mentioning as not only is this a novel about mothers and sons, but also about modern life and the terrible fallout that can now come from it. An important and emotive book, We Need To Talk About Kevin simply needs to be on your bookshelf.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 22 August 2015
We Need To Talk About Kevin is told through the first person narrative of Eva, a woman who never really wanted to be a mother but nevertheless found herself becoming one. Throughout the narrative, which is constructed as a series of lengthy letters written to Eva’s ex-husband (and Kevin’s father), Franklin, the tale of her reluctant motherhood is revealed in full and brash detail. As Eva weaves the reader through the moments of conception, birth, and her stark realisation that the child she now has is one that she is truly struggling to love, the novel becomes an uncomfortable re-enactment of every mother’s worst nightmare, and that is just one of many things that makes this publication hit so hard.
For anyone who has miraculously escaped hearing spoilers elsewhere, please do look away now, because I’m about to drop some major ones…
Eva’s recollections span everything from childbirth to the nearly grown-up Kevin who we encounter at the end of the novel, and as this narrative progresses it becomes increasingly uncomfortable until both mother and son appear to have a question mark over their likeability as characters. Admittedly, Kevin is portrayed as a difficult child, but there are times when Eva is also portrayed, even through her own narrative, as a difficult mother. The reluctance with which she takes to the role of mother is only saved by the reluctance Kevin shows as her son; however, having said that, in many ways Shriver’s narrative was a beautiful deviation from the beaming expressions fictional women usually don when their fictional children arrive, and this departure from literary convention was certainly commendable and enjoyable.
The real hook of this story, which you’re vaguely introduced to at the beginning of the book, is that Kevin will become a killer. Multiple people will die during a high school shoot-out of sorts that Kevin engineers in such a way to deliver maximum possible impact, something that he discusses with pride and at length during Eva’s visits to his juvenile facility. A topical novel to say the least, We Need To Talk About Kevin is essentially a novel on American gun culture, specifically amongst teens, and the collateral damage that comes with that growing culture. One main consistency throughout this book, for me, was Eva’s fragile mental state; admittedly some may have already called this into question at her admission that she couldn’t love her own son, but there is a beautiful fragility to her character following the shooting that shows that not only does she love her son, although perhaps in her own way, but she’s also damaged by him. (Parents beware, this is no easy read.)
We Need To Talk About Kevin is beautiful but undeniably tragic; it will have you shifting about uncomfortably in your seat as Shriver persists in penning situations that really are the stuff of nightmares for anyone with, or hoping to have, children. The importance of this publication as a whole is also worth mentioning as not only is this a novel about mothers and sons, but also about modern life and the terrible fallout that can now come from it. An important and emotive book, We Need To Talk About Kevin simply needs to be on your bookshelf.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 22 August 2015
Book review: At Risk By Patricia Cornwell
Patricia Cornwell is an author widely associated with crime fiction, understandably so given the many publications that sit behind the name. While I consider myself a fan of the Scarpetta novels - the series for which Cornwell is perhaps best known - there are other protagonists to be discovered by this author and I recently encountered one of them in her 2006 publication, At Risk.
The novel sees Win Garano shipped away from his usual role in the police force in order to complete a training course at the National Forensic Academy. However, his boss, a ball-busting District Attorney called Monique Lamont, soon has other plans for him involving her latest At Risk crime programme. The aim of this new venture - marketed with the slogan Any Crime, Any Time - is to use state of the art DNA technology to solve crimes at a faster rate, and Lamont believes she has found the perfect cold case for Garano to solve. However, somewhere in amongst the pursuit of solving an old crime, a new and vicious one occurs that drags Garano and Lamont into a world of political corruption that leaves them both wondering exactly who and what they can trust about the system.
As a quick read, this book served its purpose. I started it Thursday evening and I’d finished it by Friday afternoon, so there was clearly enough happening in terms of plot to keep me interested. Although, I couldn’t help but feel that this much action crammed into just over 200 pages was actually rushed at times, particularly by Cornwell’s standards. The plot itself is interesting, albeit slightly predictable, and Cornwell has created a neat character in Garano who delivers a welcome nod to the hard-boiled detectives of yester year and, as a committed crime fiction fan, I certainly appreciated that.
However, there are some things that cause me great grievance with the book. The horrendous crime that interrupts that cold case investigation is the rape of a female character, which just feels a little too easy to me. Also, the woman’s reaction to this assault is borderline offensive. For an author who is so meticulous about authentic research - seriously, Cornwell’s knowledge shown in Port Mortuary is nothing short of mind-blowing - the reaction of this ‘victim’ is just completely out of the ball park. The woman’s defiant attitude about not being a victim becomes so defiant that it makes her appear as though she isn’t dealing with the situation at all, which seems to negate was Cornwell is trying to do.
Overall this an okay little book; although, if you’re hankering for some of Cornwell’s crime there are certainly better reads available. At Risk lacks the complexity present in Cornwell’s other novels and it definitely suffers for it; it seems fair to say that Scarpetta has no competition when it comes to keeping my attention…
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 2 August 2015
The novel sees Win Garano shipped away from his usual role in the police force in order to complete a training course at the National Forensic Academy. However, his boss, a ball-busting District Attorney called Monique Lamont, soon has other plans for him involving her latest At Risk crime programme. The aim of this new venture - marketed with the slogan Any Crime, Any Time - is to use state of the art DNA technology to solve crimes at a faster rate, and Lamont believes she has found the perfect cold case for Garano to solve. However, somewhere in amongst the pursuit of solving an old crime, a new and vicious one occurs that drags Garano and Lamont into a world of political corruption that leaves them both wondering exactly who and what they can trust about the system.
As a quick read, this book served its purpose. I started it Thursday evening and I’d finished it by Friday afternoon, so there was clearly enough happening in terms of plot to keep me interested. Although, I couldn’t help but feel that this much action crammed into just over 200 pages was actually rushed at times, particularly by Cornwell’s standards. The plot itself is interesting, albeit slightly predictable, and Cornwell has created a neat character in Garano who delivers a welcome nod to the hard-boiled detectives of yester year and, as a committed crime fiction fan, I certainly appreciated that.
However, there are some things that cause me great grievance with the book. The horrendous crime that interrupts that cold case investigation is the rape of a female character, which just feels a little too easy to me. Also, the woman’s reaction to this assault is borderline offensive. For an author who is so meticulous about authentic research - seriously, Cornwell’s knowledge shown in Port Mortuary is nothing short of mind-blowing - the reaction of this ‘victim’ is just completely out of the ball park. The woman’s defiant attitude about not being a victim becomes so defiant that it makes her appear as though she isn’t dealing with the situation at all, which seems to negate was Cornwell is trying to do.
Overall this an okay little book; although, if you’re hankering for some of Cornwell’s crime there are certainly better reads available. At Risk lacks the complexity present in Cornwell’s other novels and it definitely suffers for it; it seems fair to say that Scarpetta has no competition when it comes to keeping my attention…
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 2 August 2015
Book Review: Before I Go To Sleep by S.J. Watson
S.J. Watson’s Before I Go To Sleep is one of those books that I’ve been meaning to read for a while now but for one reason or another, I never got round to it. However, now I’ve actually read the book - in record time, by my standards no less - I’m unashamedly recommending it to everyone I know because yes, it really is that good.
Before I Go To Sleep is Watson’s debut novel - which leaves me feeling a mixture of astonishment and burning jealousy - and it follows the story of Christine who loses her memory every time she falls into a deep sleep. Her husband, Ben, tells her that this is the result of an accident that she suffered years ago - which, naturally, she can’t remember - and that after several years of treatment in different facilities she now lives back at home with him where they manage her condition as well as they can.
However, as you’d expect from a novel that identifies a crime thriller, there are more sinister secrets to be discovered during this plot. It soon becomes apparent that Christine has been meeting a Dr. Nash, without Ben knowing, in order to further investigate her condition, which is one of an incredibly unique nature, and also in order to try and improve on it. Through these weekly sessions it is decided that Christine should perhaps keep a journal, and it is through this journal that Christine’s narrative is delivered.
Watson’s first person narrative is stunning here! Day by day we are re-introduced to Christine’s world, including what she can and can’t remember from the previous day, and the numerous memory blanks that are filled in by her journal each morning. Watson does a marvellous job of drip-feeding information throughout this narrative that allows us to discover things alongside Christine making for a truly ominous feel at times and, ultimately, allowing the climax of the book to pack an additional punch as we too are left surprised by Christine’s revelations, worsened - in a good way, of course - by the communication of Christine’s feelings on the matter as well. We share everything with this character; her confusion, her joy, and most frequently her suspicions and it makes for a crime novel with a wonderfully eerie feel that I haven’t found in another publication for quite some time.
It feels a challenge to discuss certain elements of this book without giving too much away. From the beginning it becomes clear that there is a question mark hovering over Ben, Christine’s husband, and the instruction ‘Don’t trust Ben’ written in the front of Christine’s journal introduces this fear to us at an early stage. However, as one day leads into the next and one lie follows on from another, it becomes clear that their relationship holds more than meets the eye and while I had high expectations for how shocking the truth would actually be, Watson blew those expectations out of the water with a plot that had never even crossed my mind for the first three quarters of the book.
A crime thriller to remember, Before I Go To Sleep is fact-paced, emotive, and slightly anxiety-inducing (which is intended as a compliment, of course), and it’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 31 July 2015
Before I Go To Sleep is Watson’s debut novel - which leaves me feeling a mixture of astonishment and burning jealousy - and it follows the story of Christine who loses her memory every time she falls into a deep sleep. Her husband, Ben, tells her that this is the result of an accident that she suffered years ago - which, naturally, she can’t remember - and that after several years of treatment in different facilities she now lives back at home with him where they manage her condition as well as they can.
However, as you’d expect from a novel that identifies a crime thriller, there are more sinister secrets to be discovered during this plot. It soon becomes apparent that Christine has been meeting a Dr. Nash, without Ben knowing, in order to further investigate her condition, which is one of an incredibly unique nature, and also in order to try and improve on it. Through these weekly sessions it is decided that Christine should perhaps keep a journal, and it is through this journal that Christine’s narrative is delivered.
Watson’s first person narrative is stunning here! Day by day we are re-introduced to Christine’s world, including what she can and can’t remember from the previous day, and the numerous memory blanks that are filled in by her journal each morning. Watson does a marvellous job of drip-feeding information throughout this narrative that allows us to discover things alongside Christine making for a truly ominous feel at times and, ultimately, allowing the climax of the book to pack an additional punch as we too are left surprised by Christine’s revelations, worsened - in a good way, of course - by the communication of Christine’s feelings on the matter as well. We share everything with this character; her confusion, her joy, and most frequently her suspicions and it makes for a crime novel with a wonderfully eerie feel that I haven’t found in another publication for quite some time.
It feels a challenge to discuss certain elements of this book without giving too much away. From the beginning it becomes clear that there is a question mark hovering over Ben, Christine’s husband, and the instruction ‘Don’t trust Ben’ written in the front of Christine’s journal introduces this fear to us at an early stage. However, as one day leads into the next and one lie follows on from another, it becomes clear that their relationship holds more than meets the eye and while I had high expectations for how shocking the truth would actually be, Watson blew those expectations out of the water with a plot that had never even crossed my mind for the first three quarters of the book.
A crime thriller to remember, Before I Go To Sleep is fact-paced, emotive, and slightly anxiety-inducing (which is intended as a compliment, of course), and it’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 31 July 2015
Book review: Little Tales of Misogyny by Patricia Highsmith
The majority of readers will frequently associate Patricia Highsmith with a string of intricately plotted crime novels - or at the very least, their minds will immediately jump to the tales of Mr. Ripley. However, when looking through her backlog of books online I recently stumbled across a collection of short stories, Little Tales of Misogyny, that seemed worth a read and, after reading, definitely seemed worth a review.
I digested the book in one sitting, which is a mistake I certainly won’t make the second time around - and believe me, there will be a second time around - because these individual snippets of outrageous home lives deserve to be devoured and appreciated one by one, so marvellous they are as individual tales.
As a contemporary reader, I did have to remember that perhaps some of the audacity in these stories might not hit as hard as they did the first time around. However, taking into account the time period in which these stories were written, it becomes clear that Highsmith was certainly looking to raise some eyebrows with women intent on murdering their husbands by feeding them to death, and mothers determined to see their children married with their virginity in tact. Highsmith handles these issues perfectly, creating believable characters and scenarios that really do leave you wondering where the next dreaded story will take you.
A fascinating collection that deals with character quirks of both men and women, through gloriously written prose, Little Tales of Misogyny is a whirlwind read that you can return to time and time again, and it’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 22 July 2015
I digested the book in one sitting, which is a mistake I certainly won’t make the second time around - and believe me, there will be a second time around - because these individual snippets of outrageous home lives deserve to be devoured and appreciated one by one, so marvellous they are as individual tales.
As a contemporary reader, I did have to remember that perhaps some of the audacity in these stories might not hit as hard as they did the first time around. However, taking into account the time period in which these stories were written, it becomes clear that Highsmith was certainly looking to raise some eyebrows with women intent on murdering their husbands by feeding them to death, and mothers determined to see their children married with their virginity in tact. Highsmith handles these issues perfectly, creating believable characters and scenarios that really do leave you wondering where the next dreaded story will take you.
A fascinating collection that deals with character quirks of both men and women, through gloriously written prose, Little Tales of Misogyny is a whirlwind read that you can return to time and time again, and it’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 22 July 2015
Book Review: queenie by Alice Munro
Last week I discovered a line of pocket sized short stories by well known authors at Waterstones. You may have noticed I had a little rant about the first story I read, A Faraway Smell of Lemon. This week, I'm still talking about these miniature texts but the choice of story is much, much better.
The Nobel Prize winner (now there's an achievement to brag about) Alice Munro, is predominantly a short story writer, meaning that the restricted format of these small books is ideal for her style. This also means that, unlike A Faraway Smell of Lemon from last week, Munro's story is well constructed with a full, rounded plot.
If you've never read Munro before then Queenie would be a good place to start. Like most of her writing, it is set in Canada and centred around the complex relationships between rather disconnected characters.
The narrator is not the Queenie of the title, but her step-sister Chrissy. Chrissy has just finished school and before she goes off to Teacher's College she is allowed to visit her estranged sister in Toronto. It is through their awkward reunion that we learn the cause of their disconnect: Queenie's husband, Mr. Vorguilla. He doesn't like the name Queenie, because it reminds him of a horse, so Chrissy has to start calling her sister Lena instead. As we and Chrissy see Queenie's apartment for the first time and learn more about her life in Toronto, the past event which caused the disruption in their relationship is revealed. Queenie's elopement from their countryside home with the much older widower next door effectively cut her out from the family. It is only a result of the new Mr and Mrs Vorguilla's financial struggles that Queenie has reached out to her family. She had to get a secret postbox just to send and receive letters from her estranged family without her controlling husband knowing.
Chrissy's visit is fairly strained and not particularly pleasant, but it carries a nostalgia to it, for the lost friendship of her sister. We get little flashes into their childhood together and hints of a difficult past faced by both Chrissy's father - who sleeps in a small downstairs room like a solider on duty - and Queenie's mother - who experiences horrendous night terrors. It is a moving and soulful story, ending with the sad recognition of wasted opportunities and heart-wrenching loss.
As a teaser for Alice Munro's larger collections it is a great start. Although Munro's talent is for short stories, some of the works in her collections are longer than you might expect and can sometimes take a bit of commitment to finish. Queenie, on the other hand is almost too easy to read. I was left wanting to know more about the characters, what happened to them in their lives, how they changed and who with. I suppose the joy of it is that because these things are left unwritten, it can be anything you want it to be!
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 20 July 2015
The Nobel Prize winner (now there's an achievement to brag about) Alice Munro, is predominantly a short story writer, meaning that the restricted format of these small books is ideal for her style. This also means that, unlike A Faraway Smell of Lemon from last week, Munro's story is well constructed with a full, rounded plot.
If you've never read Munro before then Queenie would be a good place to start. Like most of her writing, it is set in Canada and centred around the complex relationships between rather disconnected characters.
The narrator is not the Queenie of the title, but her step-sister Chrissy. Chrissy has just finished school and before she goes off to Teacher's College she is allowed to visit her estranged sister in Toronto. It is through their awkward reunion that we learn the cause of their disconnect: Queenie's husband, Mr. Vorguilla. He doesn't like the name Queenie, because it reminds him of a horse, so Chrissy has to start calling her sister Lena instead. As we and Chrissy see Queenie's apartment for the first time and learn more about her life in Toronto, the past event which caused the disruption in their relationship is revealed. Queenie's elopement from their countryside home with the much older widower next door effectively cut her out from the family. It is only a result of the new Mr and Mrs Vorguilla's financial struggles that Queenie has reached out to her family. She had to get a secret postbox just to send and receive letters from her estranged family without her controlling husband knowing.
Chrissy's visit is fairly strained and not particularly pleasant, but it carries a nostalgia to it, for the lost friendship of her sister. We get little flashes into their childhood together and hints of a difficult past faced by both Chrissy's father - who sleeps in a small downstairs room like a solider on duty - and Queenie's mother - who experiences horrendous night terrors. It is a moving and soulful story, ending with the sad recognition of wasted opportunities and heart-wrenching loss.
As a teaser for Alice Munro's larger collections it is a great start. Although Munro's talent is for short stories, some of the works in her collections are longer than you might expect and can sometimes take a bit of commitment to finish. Queenie, on the other hand is almost too easy to read. I was left wanting to know more about the characters, what happened to them in their lives, how they changed and who with. I suppose the joy of it is that because these things are left unwritten, it can be anything you want it to be!
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 20 July 2015
Book Review: The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Night-Time by Mark Haddon
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is one of those books that the majority of people seem to have read, or at the very least have some knowledge of. With this in mind, I’m not sure why I avoided the book for so long (I fear it may have been due my stubbornness and the over-whelming amount of times people told me I really should read it), but nevertheless, I have read the book now and have since been recommending it to absolutely every reader I know. It’s beautiful, it’s emotional, and it packs an impressive punch on nearly every page.
The novel itself is a murder mystery book with the most unique narrative spin that you’re ever likely to encounter as the tale itself is told through the first person narrative of Christopher Boone. Christopher Boone is the fifteen year old protagonist of the novel; Christopher lives with his dad and his pet rat, he likes maths, he doesn’t like to be touched, and he’s quite particular about the colour of his food. Also, Christopher has Asperger’s Syndrome, and it is this last thing that makes this book so awe-inspiring. When Christopher finds a neighbour’s dog has been murdered in the street, he takes to the role of detective and, without quite realising what he’s doing, launches himself along an adventure with some very unexpected outcomes.
I commend, applaud, and completely admire Mark Haddon for the way this book is written. Haddon, through the narrative voice of Christopher, delivers a clipped and unique perspective of the world being described around Christopher ultimately giving the reader something unexpectedly and unconventionally beautiful. The observations and interpretations of the world communicated in this book are truly eye-opening and, I’ll be honest, I’m still partly wondering how Haddon managed to pull the whole thing off.
As Christopher sets about discovering who murdered the dog and why, we are introduced to an array of other wonderful characters - in particular Christopher’s father, who felt such a deep frustration at his life that it was hard not to empathise with the man - and jaw-dropping revelations (the two biggest ones of book - which I won’t ruin for you - I definitely didn’t see coming). The book itself is well-researched, well-written, and it’s suddenly very clear to me how The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time has collected so much praise over recent years. This book is definitely worth reading.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 18 July 2015
The novel itself is a murder mystery book with the most unique narrative spin that you’re ever likely to encounter as the tale itself is told through the first person narrative of Christopher Boone. Christopher Boone is the fifteen year old protagonist of the novel; Christopher lives with his dad and his pet rat, he likes maths, he doesn’t like to be touched, and he’s quite particular about the colour of his food. Also, Christopher has Asperger’s Syndrome, and it is this last thing that makes this book so awe-inspiring. When Christopher finds a neighbour’s dog has been murdered in the street, he takes to the role of detective and, without quite realising what he’s doing, launches himself along an adventure with some very unexpected outcomes.
I commend, applaud, and completely admire Mark Haddon for the way this book is written. Haddon, through the narrative voice of Christopher, delivers a clipped and unique perspective of the world being described around Christopher ultimately giving the reader something unexpectedly and unconventionally beautiful. The observations and interpretations of the world communicated in this book are truly eye-opening and, I’ll be honest, I’m still partly wondering how Haddon managed to pull the whole thing off.
As Christopher sets about discovering who murdered the dog and why, we are introduced to an array of other wonderful characters - in particular Christopher’s father, who felt such a deep frustration at his life that it was hard not to empathise with the man - and jaw-dropping revelations (the two biggest ones of book - which I won’t ruin for you - I definitely didn’t see coming). The book itself is well-researched, well-written, and it’s suddenly very clear to me how The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time has collected so much praise over recent years. This book is definitely worth reading.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 18 July 2015
Book Review: A faraway Smell of Lemon by Rachel Joyce
I recently discovered that Waterstones has started selling very small books of very short stories costing, conveniently, very little money. Clearly I am a bit late to the pocket sized party as the first book I found was a Christmas story, but there are more in the series available. These miniature books are a clever idea for promoting other, longer works by the authors involved and they are very handy for anyone purchasing on a whim, or in need of something to entertain them on the way home.
I'm partial to a Christmas tale regardless of the time of year, so I thought I would give A Faraway Smell of Lemon a go. Rachel Joyce is the best-selling author of three novels and she has won awards for her radio plays, so it seemed like a safe bet for a quality read.
Wrong. I did enjoy reading it, but only in the strange way that it's satisfying to pick at a scab. You know it's bad, it's even a bit painful, but you just can't stop. And the book is so small I felt obliged to see it through to the end.
The main character is a woman called Binny (yep, really) who on Christmas Eve is completely unprepared for Christmas. Her two young children are conveniently, and unbelievably, busy rehearsing for their school Nativity play, so she can go shopping. This is such a lazy plot device. When has any school ever decided to hold a Nativity play as late as Christmas Eve? Was it too much to think up a place where her children might actually be?
Anyway, I digress. Binny goes panic shopping, pretty ineffectually. She accidentally enters a shop that sells cleaning products to trades. Why a company that only sells to other companies felt the need to have a high-street store is never explained. I guess it will remain one of life's great mysteries. So Binny is in the stupid cleaning shop but instead of walking out again, she starts talking to the shopkeeper about brushes and polish. Somewhere in the conversation, the story's big shocker is unveiled... her completely unlovable boyfriend has left her for someone else. Shame. Binny has gone to ground, which is why nothing is ready for Christmas. It's why she's happily allowing her children to live in squalor. She also doesn't seem to mind that they decorated a dead shrub with pigeon feathers and milk bottle tops, because they wanted a tree but their mother is too caught up in her own self-pity to care.
I suppose we are meant to pity Binny and feel reassured by the shopkeepers advice that 'sometimes you just need to do something very ordinary' like polishing silver. Although she could be doing something very ordinary like getting presents for her kids so that their childhoods aren't completely ruined.
I like the idea of these little books, but this is not the story to read. Unless you enjoy rolling your eyes of course, in which case, have fun. Otherwise, I would recommend reading almost anything else.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 12 July 2015
I'm partial to a Christmas tale regardless of the time of year, so I thought I would give A Faraway Smell of Lemon a go. Rachel Joyce is the best-selling author of three novels and she has won awards for her radio plays, so it seemed like a safe bet for a quality read.
Wrong. I did enjoy reading it, but only in the strange way that it's satisfying to pick at a scab. You know it's bad, it's even a bit painful, but you just can't stop. And the book is so small I felt obliged to see it through to the end.
The main character is a woman called Binny (yep, really) who on Christmas Eve is completely unprepared for Christmas. Her two young children are conveniently, and unbelievably, busy rehearsing for their school Nativity play, so she can go shopping. This is such a lazy plot device. When has any school ever decided to hold a Nativity play as late as Christmas Eve? Was it too much to think up a place where her children might actually be?
Anyway, I digress. Binny goes panic shopping, pretty ineffectually. She accidentally enters a shop that sells cleaning products to trades. Why a company that only sells to other companies felt the need to have a high-street store is never explained. I guess it will remain one of life's great mysteries. So Binny is in the stupid cleaning shop but instead of walking out again, she starts talking to the shopkeeper about brushes and polish. Somewhere in the conversation, the story's big shocker is unveiled... her completely unlovable boyfriend has left her for someone else. Shame. Binny has gone to ground, which is why nothing is ready for Christmas. It's why she's happily allowing her children to live in squalor. She also doesn't seem to mind that they decorated a dead shrub with pigeon feathers and milk bottle tops, because they wanted a tree but their mother is too caught up in her own self-pity to care.
I suppose we are meant to pity Binny and feel reassured by the shopkeepers advice that 'sometimes you just need to do something very ordinary' like polishing silver. Although she could be doing something very ordinary like getting presents for her kids so that their childhoods aren't completely ruined.
I like the idea of these little books, but this is not the story to read. Unless you enjoy rolling your eyes of course, in which case, have fun. Otherwise, I would recommend reading almost anything else.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 12 July 2015
Book review: Funny Girl by Nick Hornby
Whether it’s for his outstanding books, or the string of marvellous films that many of his books have been made into, the name of Nick Hornby will be familiar to readers and non-readers alike. With a string of successful books behind him already, Hornby’s latest publication, released at the end of 2014, was faced with the challenge of living up to some exceedingly high standards, and Funny Girl certainly delivered.
Set in 1960’s England, Hornby introduces the book with Barbara who is about to crowned Miss Blackpool when she abruptly decides that she needs more from life, and she bolts. Leaving behind her hilariously grumpy father she moves to London in the hope of making a name for herself in comedy and, low and behold, she manages to do just that - only by this point she’s no longer Barbara, she’s now Sophie (it all makes sense in the context of the book, don’t worry). However, along the way she encounters a cast of sterling characters, all of whom come complete with their own backgrounds, eccentricities, and stories that, by the middle of the book, are as much a part of this story as Barbara’s own tale is.
Barbara/Sophie finds herself working alongside a cast of amusing albeit fragile men - the character development here is stunning, by the way - in the creation of comedy sitcom Barbara (And Jim), in which Barbara/Sophie is the leading lady alongside egocentric Clive (the actor for Jim). Their lives away from the sitcom in which we observe them interacting with each other and navigating their way throughout 1960’s Britain is absolutely fascinating, and Hornby has achieved something quite special with this. This display of characters deals with politics, feminism, homosexuality, and a whole host of other issues that are perhaps quite under-played in the majority of mainstream and contemporary fiction. However, Hornby has constructed a fictional world that not only returns to this period in British history but actually succeeds in making a delicious meal out of it, without sounding stiff or dull - quite the opposite, in fact, the affairs, flings, and deception of the book are second to none, and make for a read that is as entertaining as it is enlightening.
Easy to pick up and impossible to put down, Funny Girl is a perfect mixture of humour, heartbreak, and history and it is certainly a must-read, not only for Hornby fans, but for anyone searching for a host of characters with whom they can fall in love. Perfect as the ending was, I was certainly left longing for more Barbara (And Jim).
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 9 July 2015
Set in 1960’s England, Hornby introduces the book with Barbara who is about to crowned Miss Blackpool when she abruptly decides that she needs more from life, and she bolts. Leaving behind her hilariously grumpy father she moves to London in the hope of making a name for herself in comedy and, low and behold, she manages to do just that - only by this point she’s no longer Barbara, she’s now Sophie (it all makes sense in the context of the book, don’t worry). However, along the way she encounters a cast of sterling characters, all of whom come complete with their own backgrounds, eccentricities, and stories that, by the middle of the book, are as much a part of this story as Barbara’s own tale is.
Barbara/Sophie finds herself working alongside a cast of amusing albeit fragile men - the character development here is stunning, by the way - in the creation of comedy sitcom Barbara (And Jim), in which Barbara/Sophie is the leading lady alongside egocentric Clive (the actor for Jim). Their lives away from the sitcom in which we observe them interacting with each other and navigating their way throughout 1960’s Britain is absolutely fascinating, and Hornby has achieved something quite special with this. This display of characters deals with politics, feminism, homosexuality, and a whole host of other issues that are perhaps quite under-played in the majority of mainstream and contemporary fiction. However, Hornby has constructed a fictional world that not only returns to this period in British history but actually succeeds in making a delicious meal out of it, without sounding stiff or dull - quite the opposite, in fact, the affairs, flings, and deception of the book are second to none, and make for a read that is as entertaining as it is enlightening.
Easy to pick up and impossible to put down, Funny Girl is a perfect mixture of humour, heartbreak, and history and it is certainly a must-read, not only for Hornby fans, but for anyone searching for a host of characters with whom they can fall in love. Perfect as the ending was, I was certainly left longing for more Barbara (And Jim).
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 9 July 2015
Book review: An Evening of Long Goodbyes by Paul Murray
An Evening of Long Goodbyes is the first novel by Paul Murray published in 2003, although you may have heard more about his second novel Skippy Dies, which was short listed for several literary awards. This is an original, humorous and at points quite tragic novel, and it's definitely worth a read.
Set in modern Dublin, the novel is narrated by Charles Hythloday who is the daft heir to a cosmetics industry fortune; he is, as the book's blurb describes it, responsible for the 'heroic squandering of the family inheritance'. Charles's life revolves around drinking, eating, and watching old black and white films. He lives in the family's ever crumbling manor home with is sister Bel, his rather vague mother and the ever handy Mrs P the housekeeper. Much to Charles's delight, Mrs P still refers to him as 'Master Charles'.
Although he comes across as a complete fop, disconnected from the modern world, Charles is only really channelling his inner imbecile, it is not all that he is. He is obsessed with silver screen star Gene Tierney and insists that anything even vaguely resembling work is basically akin to slave labour in a jam-jar factory. This is his way of hiding from the real world and his real, overwhelming responsibilities.
It is the same avoidance tactics that Bel uses, with admittedly more subtlety, when she deliberately seeks out relationships with what she considers to be 'ordinary' men. The latest of these ordinary blokes is Frank, a large chap whose head 'resembled some novice potter's first attempt at a soup tureen, bulbous and pasty'. Despite Charles's witheringly harsh description of him, and an introduction which involves an assault, Frank is a decent guy. Frank's worldly experience coming from a deprived area means he is able to help Charles, rather charitably, when he leaves the confines of his estate.
This book however is not just a silly comedy about a guy who gets up to mischief. There is a dark secret at the heart of the Hythloday family. Flashbacks to memories of Charles's deceased father, a master cosmetician by all accounts but not necessarily an excellent father or husband, provides glimpses into their troubled paradise, although the ultimate unravelling of the mystery remains quite surprising and shocking.
Murray's writing has flashes of absolute beauty, with passages that you want to keep returning to again and again. There is an early passage, where Charles remembers Bel having episodes of all-encompassing despair, and here Murray's depiction is simultaneously heart breaking, poignant, and affectionate. One of the best aspects of this book is the relationship between Charles and Bel. They have a deep and enduring affection for one another yet their relationship is fraught with anger and frustrations, like most real life sibling relationships.
At 460 pages long it is a decent sized novel to get your teeth into, but it is one that will not take too long to read. The prose is fast paced and engaging, making it an easy book to pick up and a hard one to put down. It is truly an excellent read.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 6 July 2015
Set in modern Dublin, the novel is narrated by Charles Hythloday who is the daft heir to a cosmetics industry fortune; he is, as the book's blurb describes it, responsible for the 'heroic squandering of the family inheritance'. Charles's life revolves around drinking, eating, and watching old black and white films. He lives in the family's ever crumbling manor home with is sister Bel, his rather vague mother and the ever handy Mrs P the housekeeper. Much to Charles's delight, Mrs P still refers to him as 'Master Charles'.
Although he comes across as a complete fop, disconnected from the modern world, Charles is only really channelling his inner imbecile, it is not all that he is. He is obsessed with silver screen star Gene Tierney and insists that anything even vaguely resembling work is basically akin to slave labour in a jam-jar factory. This is his way of hiding from the real world and his real, overwhelming responsibilities.
It is the same avoidance tactics that Bel uses, with admittedly more subtlety, when she deliberately seeks out relationships with what she considers to be 'ordinary' men. The latest of these ordinary blokes is Frank, a large chap whose head 'resembled some novice potter's first attempt at a soup tureen, bulbous and pasty'. Despite Charles's witheringly harsh description of him, and an introduction which involves an assault, Frank is a decent guy. Frank's worldly experience coming from a deprived area means he is able to help Charles, rather charitably, when he leaves the confines of his estate.
This book however is not just a silly comedy about a guy who gets up to mischief. There is a dark secret at the heart of the Hythloday family. Flashbacks to memories of Charles's deceased father, a master cosmetician by all accounts but not necessarily an excellent father or husband, provides glimpses into their troubled paradise, although the ultimate unravelling of the mystery remains quite surprising and shocking.
Murray's writing has flashes of absolute beauty, with passages that you want to keep returning to again and again. There is an early passage, where Charles remembers Bel having episodes of all-encompassing despair, and here Murray's depiction is simultaneously heart breaking, poignant, and affectionate. One of the best aspects of this book is the relationship between Charles and Bel. They have a deep and enduring affection for one another yet their relationship is fraught with anger and frustrations, like most real life sibling relationships.
At 460 pages long it is a decent sized novel to get your teeth into, but it is one that will not take too long to read. The prose is fast paced and engaging, making it an easy book to pick up and a hard one to put down. It is truly an excellent read.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 6 July 2015
Book review: Us by David Nicholls
David Nicholls established himself as one of my favourite authors after his most popular publication, One Day, hit the shelves a few years back. The book shot Nicholls to instant stardom with world-wide fans and a touching film adaptation and since then, we’ve all been hanging on every unofficial blog post regarding the author, many of which have been laden with promises of a new book. And earlier this year, that new book finally arrived.
Nicholls’ latest publication, titled Us, is an amusing, emotional, and provocative novel that will have you laughing, crying, and most definitely cringing throughout the entire piece.
The book quickly introduces us to Douglas Petersen, a 54-year-old biochemist who is living, what he believes to be, a relatively happy life alongside his artistic wife Connie, and their frequently disgruntled son, Albie. However, in the dark early hours of one morning, Connie reveals to Douglas that as they are now on the cusp of Albie leaving for university, she thinks it is time that she also left the family home, explaining to Douglas that she simply thinks their marriage has run its course. A troubling thing for any individual to hear in the early hours of the morning, worsened by the fact that Douglas - who is still very much in love with his wife, by the way - is about to go on a grand tour of Europe with this wife who wants to leave him and the son who doesn’t like him.
From here, hilarity ensues…
There are missed flights, missing persons, and fond memories as Douglas’ narrative flits beautifully between his time with Connie as it was in comparison to how it stands at the time of writing. The so-called grand tour around Europe is one of the finest journeys I have had the pleasure of reading as Nicholls weaves a marvellous narrative where whatever can go wrong, does. The locations themselves are presented marvellously - which is particularly commendable given that much of Nicholls’ knowledge was gained through Google Maps, he revealed in a recent interview - there is a rich sense of culture littered throughout this journey as Nicholls makes a point of introducing us to the fine-tuned details that his characters see. The claustrophobic sleeping trains and the horrendous hotel bookings were vivid, authentic, and often extremely amusing.
While the plot of the novel is laden with more twists and turns that I ever could have expected from this genre of book - and for that I am extremely grateful - the characters themselves are also stunning, and Nicholls should be thoroughly proud of them. Douglas and Connie are beautiful together, in a very off-beat way; I will forever be appreciative of Douglas being the stick-in-the-mud character while Connie is one who feels the urge to break free from her every day ties (which offers quite the contrast the character spin you’ll find in One Day). The preciseness of Douglas’ character and his general behaviour is quite wonderful to read while Connie offers a stark contrast to this that leaves you wondering how the pair ever got together in the first place - a thought that we share with Douglas on numerous occasions, in fact. Albie is the iconic grumpy teenager throughout who constantly appears torn between doing what he wants and doing what will annoy Douglas (although there are times when these things overlap to create amusing results). Admittedly, the grumpy teenager trope may be a little stereotypical here, but it stills work marvellously in the context of this plot.
I’m not sure that I could love this book more than I already do; it plucks on every heart string and whilst occasionally driving the reader to tears, they are just as likely to be tears of laughter than tears of sadness. The story of youth, marriage, experience, and what happens afterwards, Us is a heart-warming read with a surprisingly happy ending, and I am quietly hoping that this is not the last we see of Douglas Petersen.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 3 July 2015
Nicholls’ latest publication, titled Us, is an amusing, emotional, and provocative novel that will have you laughing, crying, and most definitely cringing throughout the entire piece.
The book quickly introduces us to Douglas Petersen, a 54-year-old biochemist who is living, what he believes to be, a relatively happy life alongside his artistic wife Connie, and their frequently disgruntled son, Albie. However, in the dark early hours of one morning, Connie reveals to Douglas that as they are now on the cusp of Albie leaving for university, she thinks it is time that she also left the family home, explaining to Douglas that she simply thinks their marriage has run its course. A troubling thing for any individual to hear in the early hours of the morning, worsened by the fact that Douglas - who is still very much in love with his wife, by the way - is about to go on a grand tour of Europe with this wife who wants to leave him and the son who doesn’t like him.
From here, hilarity ensues…
There are missed flights, missing persons, and fond memories as Douglas’ narrative flits beautifully between his time with Connie as it was in comparison to how it stands at the time of writing. The so-called grand tour around Europe is one of the finest journeys I have had the pleasure of reading as Nicholls weaves a marvellous narrative where whatever can go wrong, does. The locations themselves are presented marvellously - which is particularly commendable given that much of Nicholls’ knowledge was gained through Google Maps, he revealed in a recent interview - there is a rich sense of culture littered throughout this journey as Nicholls makes a point of introducing us to the fine-tuned details that his characters see. The claustrophobic sleeping trains and the horrendous hotel bookings were vivid, authentic, and often extremely amusing.
While the plot of the novel is laden with more twists and turns that I ever could have expected from this genre of book - and for that I am extremely grateful - the characters themselves are also stunning, and Nicholls should be thoroughly proud of them. Douglas and Connie are beautiful together, in a very off-beat way; I will forever be appreciative of Douglas being the stick-in-the-mud character while Connie is one who feels the urge to break free from her every day ties (which offers quite the contrast the character spin you’ll find in One Day). The preciseness of Douglas’ character and his general behaviour is quite wonderful to read while Connie offers a stark contrast to this that leaves you wondering how the pair ever got together in the first place - a thought that we share with Douglas on numerous occasions, in fact. Albie is the iconic grumpy teenager throughout who constantly appears torn between doing what he wants and doing what will annoy Douglas (although there are times when these things overlap to create amusing results). Admittedly, the grumpy teenager trope may be a little stereotypical here, but it stills work marvellously in the context of this plot.
I’m not sure that I could love this book more than I already do; it plucks on every heart string and whilst occasionally driving the reader to tears, they are just as likely to be tears of laughter than tears of sadness. The story of youth, marriage, experience, and what happens afterwards, Us is a heart-warming read with a surprisingly happy ending, and I am quietly hoping that this is not the last we see of Douglas Petersen.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 3 July 2015
Book review: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo IShiguro
Kazuo Ishiguro has a talent for writing dreamlike novels which challenge your perceptions of the world around you. You know a book is going to be good when the writer is both a multiple award winner and a best selling writer. The two do not always coincide after all.
Ishiguro creates his imagined worlds with such clarity that it is almost impossible not to have it all playing out in your mind as you read. This is probably why two of his novels, The Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go, have been successfully adapted into major films. So, if you have not come across any of his work yet, you really are missing out on something good.
Never Let Me Go was published in 2005 (with the film released in 2010 starring Carey Mulligan, Keira Knightley and Andrew Garfield), so it is neither his début novel nor his most recent, but it is a good place to start if you are new to Ishiguro.
Set in an England quite like the one we live in now, Ishiguro takes real scientific advances and puts them to horrifying use. The story is told by Kathy, a young woman who works as a carer. On her drives to care homes she reminisces about her idyllic childhood growing up alongside her friends Tommy and Ruth at a country boarding school called Hailsham. However, Hailsham is not a normal school. These children have no surnames, nor families, nor any kind of history. They are kept hidden from the world, protected and guided by Guardians rather than teachers.
Kathy describes the masses of artwork they made in hopes of being selected for the mysterious Gallery, and the monthly school hall markets where the children could acquire obscure trinkets for their collections from a selection of charitable donations. Donations are a big feature in the book.
When they grow older, Kathy and her friends leave Hailsham, and are accommodated in another isolated place called The Cottages. There they live amongst a new group of people from schools similar to Hailsham, throwing the friends into a new dynamic and complicating their already tangled friendship. The now young adults begin to come to terms with what looks like a doomed future. However, there is talk amongst the 'veterans' at The Cottages about how Hailsham is special, and that it's former students may have certain opportunities not open to others. It's a situation that creates hope but also shows the underlying desperation of the characters.
I'm sorry for being vague here but I really don't want to spoil this book for you! It is a novel that drip feeds you information, giving you a slowly emerging sense of dread, followed by a confirmation of your worst suspicions. It is not a gory book but it's subject matter can at times be quite difficult. That is often the case with truly excellent novels.
For a mesmerising novel about complex relationships which ultimately considers what it means to be human, Ishiguro is your man.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 24 June 2015
Ishiguro creates his imagined worlds with such clarity that it is almost impossible not to have it all playing out in your mind as you read. This is probably why two of his novels, The Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go, have been successfully adapted into major films. So, if you have not come across any of his work yet, you really are missing out on something good.
Never Let Me Go was published in 2005 (with the film released in 2010 starring Carey Mulligan, Keira Knightley and Andrew Garfield), so it is neither his début novel nor his most recent, but it is a good place to start if you are new to Ishiguro.
Set in an England quite like the one we live in now, Ishiguro takes real scientific advances and puts them to horrifying use. The story is told by Kathy, a young woman who works as a carer. On her drives to care homes she reminisces about her idyllic childhood growing up alongside her friends Tommy and Ruth at a country boarding school called Hailsham. However, Hailsham is not a normal school. These children have no surnames, nor families, nor any kind of history. They are kept hidden from the world, protected and guided by Guardians rather than teachers.
Kathy describes the masses of artwork they made in hopes of being selected for the mysterious Gallery, and the monthly school hall markets where the children could acquire obscure trinkets for their collections from a selection of charitable donations. Donations are a big feature in the book.
When they grow older, Kathy and her friends leave Hailsham, and are accommodated in another isolated place called The Cottages. There they live amongst a new group of people from schools similar to Hailsham, throwing the friends into a new dynamic and complicating their already tangled friendship. The now young adults begin to come to terms with what looks like a doomed future. However, there is talk amongst the 'veterans' at The Cottages about how Hailsham is special, and that it's former students may have certain opportunities not open to others. It's a situation that creates hope but also shows the underlying desperation of the characters.
I'm sorry for being vague here but I really don't want to spoil this book for you! It is a novel that drip feeds you information, giving you a slowly emerging sense of dread, followed by a confirmation of your worst suspicions. It is not a gory book but it's subject matter can at times be quite difficult. That is often the case with truly excellent novels.
For a mesmerising novel about complex relationships which ultimately considers what it means to be human, Ishiguro is your man.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 24 June 2015
Book Review: About a boy - Nick Hornby
The majority of people hear Hugh Grant on the big screen when you drop the title About A Boy into conversation. However, after recently digging out a copy of Nick Hornby’s book, I can now consider this release to be a massively underestimated read for modern bookworms.
The novel was originally published in 1993 and it follows the story of Will, a thirty-something, occasional-drug-user, frequent-womaniser, and all-round mediocre guy who sees his world turned upside down when he encounters 12-year-old Marcus. After infiltrating a Single Parents’ Support group - by pretending to have a son - Will eventually crosses paths with Suzie, who leads him to Fiona, a liberal depressive who appears to be struggling with life generally, and her son - Marcus - specifically. Throughout this novel Hornby weaves a tangled web of human involvement and emotions that, whilst sounding a little difficult to follow initially, is actually stunning, captivating, and just the right amount of funny. As we observe the unlikely relationship develop between Marcus and Will, both of whom have their often outrageous but always amusing personality quirks that rear their heads throughout, we can find something truly special between these characters and, ultimately, the characters that hang from them. Admittedly, I’m not convinced that this novel is about plot; I’m also not convinced that that really matters. Hornby has an impressive display of diverse, troubled, and emotive characters that work together in this two-hundred-and-odd page long snippet of life showing the ups that we love and the downs that we are often discouraged from talking about. Forget what you know of About A Boy, the movie, and grab yourself a copy of About A Boy, the book, because this read was flawless from start to finish. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 20 June 2015 |
Amazon Announces new kindle paperwhite
Amazon has announced a new version of the Kindle Paperwhite with a new display with a resolution of 300 pixels per inch. That's twice the resolution as the last version and the equal of the more expensive Kindle Voyage. However, the price for the Kindle Paperwhite remains the same, at £109.
The new version of the Paperwhite is also the first Kindle e-reader to have support for Amazon's new typesetting engine and new font, Bookerly. The new typesetting engines adjusts character spacing within words as well as giving its books proper hyphenation. It can also handle larger fonts than before. The new Kindle is available for preorder now and should start to ship at the end of June. Neil Gaiman's novel to hit the small screen
Neil Gaiman's award-winning novel American Gods is officially Starz's latest series. The show will be written by Bryan Fuller, who is the creator of Hannibal (one of the best shows currently airing), and has Michael Green as the executive producer.
The novel follows Shadow Moon, an ex-con, and Mr Wednesday after the death of Shadow's wife, Laura. During their journey across the country, they run into a series of gods and magical beings, so it'll definitely be an interesting show to watch. Written by: Kasim Kaey Published: 20 June 2015 |
Book Review: Postmortem by Patricia Cornwell
As a self-proclaimed lover of all things crime and thriller related, I should probably be ashamed to admit that it’s taken me until now to acquaint myself with the Kay Scarpetta series of novels from Patricia Cornwell (better late than never, though, right?). Some twenty-four years on from Postmortem’s original publication, the debut novel from the series is still causing quite a stir amongst critics, and it’s easy to see why.
Postmortem introduces us to the tightly wound character of Dr. Scarpetta who, from the opening pages of this book, is struggling to make it as a female medical examiner in the world of male detectives and politicians. Scarpetta becomes involved with a particularly disturbing case that sees a serial killer targeting seemingly random women who he brutally attacks before strangling them to death. Admittedly the killer and his methods aren’t anything too original - although, they may have been when the book was originally published - however massive props must go to Cornwell’s fine details that are used when it comes to catching him because my word, it’s inspired (and I won’t say more than that for fear of ruining a truly distinctive detail in this book). The first person narrative of Scarpetta is a welcome insight into not only the world of a medical examiner but also the world of a female one, who is clearly struggling in the time in which this book was written. There appears to be corruption around every corner and Cornwell uses her clipped male characters to demonstrate this in an infuriating but often entertaining fashion. Marino is a stand-out male character in this publication who has a touch of the Raymond Chandler’s about him and, despite his outright chauvinism at times, I had warmed to him greatly by the end of this plot, and if nothing else that shows remarkable talent on the part of Cornwell for making such a grizzly detective so likeable. Admittedly, as a female reader in 2015, some of the gender issues that were ‘subtly’ raised in this book did occasionally come across as slightly over-baked. Cornwell wanted to make a statement about the male and female roles within this world through this book and she did - alas, she continued to make it over and over and over and while it’s clear that Scarpetta being a woman is a big problem for the burly men that surround her, I wonder how well the book would flow if we weren’t reminded of this every two or three pages. (There is a delicious side story present in this book dealing with political and police corruption and gripping as this is, this is another thing that seems to happen just because Scarpetta is a woman, which, for me, just detracted from a deeper message that could have appeared here.) Overall Postmortem was a fascinating and entertaining read, and it’s clear why even now there is such excitement and academic exploration stemming from this publication. An impressive opener from Cornwell that lovers of crime should definitely grab themselves a copy of. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 9 June 2015 |
The Interpretation of murder by Jed Rubenfeld
Jed Rubenfeld’s cleverly titled The Interpretation of Murder - a not so subtle nod to Freud’s interpretation of dreams - is a masterful blend of crime, historical, and psychological genres that come together to explore (in a mostly fictional manner) Freud’s time spent in America. Rubenfeld quite openly states that there is a blend of fact and fiction to be found within the novel but, putting that aside, The Interpretation of Murder functions entirely well as a piece of fiction, and a thoroughly entertaining one at that.
Throughout this narrative we are permitted to spend time alongside some of the greatest minds that psychoanalysis has ever seen, and Rubenfeld presents them marvellously. The novel is based around Freud’s visit to the United States of America in 1909 and from the moment he leaves the boat that carried him over, we are catapulted into a world of corruption, murder, and intrigue. A young girl is murdered and another brutally assaulted and this leads to Freud’s involvement in the case, however - despite what the blurb might have you believe - he actually delegates this responsibility to the charming Dr. Younger, who appears throughout the novel and is actually at the very centre of some of the larger scenes and discoveries. Dr. Younger occasionally dips into this novel with a first person narrative allowing his doubts, perceptions, and changing opinions to become part of the main storyline and, intrusive as that perhaps sounds, it was actually very enjoyable. It is clear that Rubenfeld is striving to create a mostly authentic America of the time in which he is writing and, while at times that is welcome, there are occasions when it doesn’t feel necessary. Throughout the book you will encounter a number of miniature history lessons where the reader is brought up to speed on what was happening in America and while I can appreciate why these snippets are present, I’m not convinced they’re entirely necessary. In fact, I found myself so consumed by the twist-ridden plot and the stunning characters that I would have probably believed anything Rubenfeld had to say about 1909 America! Overall, this publication is a stunning piece of fiction and a thoroughly entertaining, historical whodunit. Rubenfeld demonstrates an impressive knowledge of Freud and indeed his visit to America, and this is complemented further by the complexities and authenticities of the additional characters (and analysts) that surround him during the trip. The different narrative perspectives allow for a full circle vision of what is happening to each character at all moments throughout the book, with many sections of the narrative cutting out at the precise moment you wish that they’d continue - which is actually an enjoyable and tension building quality. An absolute must read! Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 9 June 2015 |
Book Review: After the Fall by Charity Norman
This is a book I came across as a result of World Book Night which, for those of you who don't know, is an annual event on the 23rd April where great reads are swapped and shared at events up and down the country. It is an adult version of World Book Day and sadly doesn't come with a £1 voucher, but it does come with the chance to get your hands on a new book for little or no money.
Every year a handful of books are selected and given out for free to encourage the 35% of UK adults who do not regularly read, into taking up reading for pleasure. After the Fall by Charity Norman was one of this years featured books, (although I purchased my copy as I definitely can't pass as one of the 35%) and it is certainly a book to get stuck into.
I have to say, I had not heard of Norman or her writing before, and this is not a text I would normally have picked up, but I am certainly glad I did. It is a gripping, stimulating read with complex characters and an interesting premise.
The story opens with Martha McNamara describing the horror of seeing her five year old son Finn fall from the balcony of their New Zealand paradise home. It is an abrupt way to start a novel, but as Martha sits in Intensive Care watching over her son the story of her family's move from Bedfordshire to the other side of the world begins to unravel.
We learn of the struggles her family faced when Martha's husband Kit lost his job, and their decision to uproot their children, twins Finn and Charlie, and Martha's teenage daughter Sacha. Kit is a promising artist who finds inspiration in New Zealand's beauty and believes he can make a living from his painting, if only his drinking doesn't get in the way.
Although the family find their own country idle by the beach and enchanting neighbours to help them settle, their adjustment is not an easy one. There is a much loved family the McNamaras have left behind in Britain and Sacha's resistance to the move becomes a destructive force in the family.
Back in the hospital, doctors and social workers start to question Martha about how Finn's fall came to happen and why he has finger print bruises on his arm. Kit is not answering Martha's frantic calls and texts, and the critical voice of her deceased mother is resounding in Martha's head, willing her to tell the truth about what happened to her son.
There are no complicated passages to this book which makes it very easy to read, but in this case it does not diminish the quality of the story telling. It is a real page turner which harnesses an interesting story and warm characters, yet it keeps you guessing throughout. An ideal book to take away with you on holiday, or if you just need a bit of escapism.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 26 May 2015
Every year a handful of books are selected and given out for free to encourage the 35% of UK adults who do not regularly read, into taking up reading for pleasure. After the Fall by Charity Norman was one of this years featured books, (although I purchased my copy as I definitely can't pass as one of the 35%) and it is certainly a book to get stuck into.
I have to say, I had not heard of Norman or her writing before, and this is not a text I would normally have picked up, but I am certainly glad I did. It is a gripping, stimulating read with complex characters and an interesting premise.
The story opens with Martha McNamara describing the horror of seeing her five year old son Finn fall from the balcony of their New Zealand paradise home. It is an abrupt way to start a novel, but as Martha sits in Intensive Care watching over her son the story of her family's move from Bedfordshire to the other side of the world begins to unravel.
We learn of the struggles her family faced when Martha's husband Kit lost his job, and their decision to uproot their children, twins Finn and Charlie, and Martha's teenage daughter Sacha. Kit is a promising artist who finds inspiration in New Zealand's beauty and believes he can make a living from his painting, if only his drinking doesn't get in the way.
Although the family find their own country idle by the beach and enchanting neighbours to help them settle, their adjustment is not an easy one. There is a much loved family the McNamaras have left behind in Britain and Sacha's resistance to the move becomes a destructive force in the family.
Back in the hospital, doctors and social workers start to question Martha about how Finn's fall came to happen and why he has finger print bruises on his arm. Kit is not answering Martha's frantic calls and texts, and the critical voice of her deceased mother is resounding in Martha's head, willing her to tell the truth about what happened to her son.
There are no complicated passages to this book which makes it very easy to read, but in this case it does not diminish the quality of the story telling. It is a real page turner which harnesses an interesting story and warm characters, yet it keeps you guessing throughout. An ideal book to take away with you on holiday, or if you just need a bit of escapism.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 26 May 2015
Book review: Snowblind by Ragnar Jonasson
Ragnar Jonasson is an Icelandic author who has recently allowed his fiction to migrate over to the United Kingdom in the form of crime novel, Snowblind. The text itself tracks the disrupted life of Ari Thor Arason, who sees his life uprooted when he accepts a job offer in a remote and isolated Icelandic town where there is allegedly little crime to speak of. Naturally, this quiet and snow-packed town is soon disturbed by a series of startling, unexpected, and seemingly inexplicable events, and not only are the events themselves simultaneously understated yet inspired, but are they communicated by Jonasson through truly stunning prose.
The opening sentence of this novel may well be one of the most beautiful that I’ve ever read, and I was certainly hooked from this moment in. Jonasson weaves the reader through a series of emotional incidents and provocative encounters, sometimes through Ari Thor as the protagonist and sometimes through the eyes of surrounding characters, all of whom contribute and all of whom are relevant, making them incredibly interesting in their own rights. The intricate details - in every aspect of this novel, in fact, not only in the construction of the characters - allow for an entire world to stem from Jonasson’s descriptions, and when Ari Thor feels the walls of snow pressing in around him, we too become claustrophobic.
While Ari Thor admittedly steals the show, the occasions when we slip into the sight-line of other characters not allows for a welcome change of pace and tone, but also allows for much character development. Tomas’s frustration and Ugla’s confusion and excitement, for example, provide welcome infections of emotion throughout, and also serve to verify the view of this town that Ari Thor portrays, something that is clearly shared by others.
Jonasson’s prose throughout this entire novel is stunning, captivating, and frequently borders on the poetic, constructing something that is both beautiful and uncomfortable for the reader. Which is, of course, a remarkable quality in any crime novel. The descriptions regarding the woman found in the snow make for stunning reading, despite the topic at hand, and while Jonasson’s narrative regularly returns to descriptions of snow and weather, he succeeds in doing so in a way that remains fresh for the reader.
Furthermore, the general pace of the novel - including the occasional slips into this italicised narrative that offered a story separate from that of the main narrative - was so well-orchestrated and, through the mixture of short and slightly longer chapters, I often found myself incapable of putting the book down. (The one-more-chapter lie that readers often tell themselves was certainly said a few times regarding this publication.)
Overall this is a simply stunning piece of prose from Jonasson that will certainly put him in the thick of the crime genre in the United Kingdom. A welcome addition to any bookshelf, Snowblind will have you suspicious, enamoured, and ever so slightly chilly from the Prelude to the end.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 21 May 2015
The opening sentence of this novel may well be one of the most beautiful that I’ve ever read, and I was certainly hooked from this moment in. Jonasson weaves the reader through a series of emotional incidents and provocative encounters, sometimes through Ari Thor as the protagonist and sometimes through the eyes of surrounding characters, all of whom contribute and all of whom are relevant, making them incredibly interesting in their own rights. The intricate details - in every aspect of this novel, in fact, not only in the construction of the characters - allow for an entire world to stem from Jonasson’s descriptions, and when Ari Thor feels the walls of snow pressing in around him, we too become claustrophobic.
While Ari Thor admittedly steals the show, the occasions when we slip into the sight-line of other characters not allows for a welcome change of pace and tone, but also allows for much character development. Tomas’s frustration and Ugla’s confusion and excitement, for example, provide welcome infections of emotion throughout, and also serve to verify the view of this town that Ari Thor portrays, something that is clearly shared by others.
Jonasson’s prose throughout this entire novel is stunning, captivating, and frequently borders on the poetic, constructing something that is both beautiful and uncomfortable for the reader. Which is, of course, a remarkable quality in any crime novel. The descriptions regarding the woman found in the snow make for stunning reading, despite the topic at hand, and while Jonasson’s narrative regularly returns to descriptions of snow and weather, he succeeds in doing so in a way that remains fresh for the reader.
Furthermore, the general pace of the novel - including the occasional slips into this italicised narrative that offered a story separate from that of the main narrative - was so well-orchestrated and, through the mixture of short and slightly longer chapters, I often found myself incapable of putting the book down. (The one-more-chapter lie that readers often tell themselves was certainly said a few times regarding this publication.)
Overall this is a simply stunning piece of prose from Jonasson that will certainly put him in the thick of the crime genre in the United Kingdom. A welcome addition to any bookshelf, Snowblind will have you suspicious, enamoured, and ever so slightly chilly from the Prelude to the end.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 21 May 2015
Book review: the Street Lawyer by John Grisham
John Grisham is considered, by many, to be the founding father of the legal thriller sub-genre, and when skimming through his extensive backlog of published works it’s reasonably easy to see why. Grisham has published multiple novels based around legal conflicts and a popular example of this is his 1998 publication, The Street Lawyer.
Now, the opening chapters in this book are quite marvellous. Within a few pages we are unexpectedly dropped into a hostage situation that sees a homeless man, known as Mister, take control of a New York City law firm - or at least, one of their offices and a handful of their prized employees - in an attempt to voice his rage at the country’s rich and inconsiderate (there is more to this storyline it turns out, but you’ll have to wait a few chapters for that). During Mister’s moments inside the firm we’re introduced to our protagonist, Michael Brock, and it is these keys moment that Brock shares with Mister that set up the entire novel. Understandably, Brock is traumatised by the events of that day - more so than his fellow hostages given that Brock was there to see Mister gunned down by police. As a result of this encounter, Brock digs around until he finds Mordecai Green - a street lawyer who has previously represented Mister and, for the record, is one of the finest and most endearing characters I’ve encountered in legal fiction. Green is strong, capable, and principled, so much so that it’s only a matter of time before Brock abandons his eye-watering salary (and his marriage) to join Green’s street law team where they eventually find themselves battling against the law firm that Brock used to work for. (An illegal eviction, a public protest or two, homeless shelters, and a few deaths make for an interesting and twist-riddled legal plot here, which really makes for a fascinating journey.) It’s a classic turnaround and while I like the concept, and felt genuinely moved by the characters and their stories, there is something undeniably preachy about the novel. Michael Brock abandons the life and wife that he has become accustomed to, to take a job that he knows nothing about and a salary that he openly admits that he can’t live on. His family, friends, and associates believe that he’s having some kind of breakdown and, if this was anything other than a Grisham novel, he probably would be having one. However, in the interest of making life better for those less fortunate, Michael Brock seems willing to make his own more difficult - I suppose it’s for the individual reader to decide on how feasible that basic premise is. Admittedly, while there are times when this book feels a little bit like reading what you’re doing wrong in your life, it’s ultimately an enjoyable read which evokes sympathy and hope throughout, and it’s certainly worth picking up a copy if you’re a legal fiction fan. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 18 May 2015 |
Book review: The Associate by John Grisham
As writers become more experienced with their craft their writing inevitably becomes better, it’s a well-known fact (I think?). So it will hardly be a massive surprise that John Grisham’s The Associate, published back in 2009, is a world apart from The Street Lawyer that was published in the late 90s. The Associate is slick, corrupt, and impossible to put-down - and I didn’t feel even a tiny bit guilty after reading it.
The Associate introduces us to Kyle McAvoy who is about to graduate from Yale Law School at the top of his class; he’s the editor in chief of the Yale Law Journal, he has job offers from the most prestigious firms in the country, and a glowing reputation amongst his lecturers and class mates. Unfortunately, a drunken incident from Kyle’s past catches up with him and quickly threatens his future. A security specialist known as Bennie Wright uses Kyle’s dark past to blackmail him into infiltrating the country’s largest law firm and stealing secrets relating to one of the country’s biggest ever legal battles. Between blackmail, illegal eavesdropping, and murder, Kyle finds himself caught in a game with rules he doesn’t understand, surrounded by players that he can’t compete with. The plot itself is interesting and it has enough twists thrown in to build and maintain suspension for the span of the text. Admittedly, I was initially wary of the Kyle character - the incident used against him in the blackmail plot was hard to swallow to begin with and I thought Grisham was playing a risky game in writing a protagonist that was hard to morally side with. However, as the novel progressed Kyle’s situation became more clear and ultimately more sympathy-inducing, allowing for a convincing and steady main character. The likes of Bennie Wright made for particularly interesting reading because, let’s be honest, who doesn’t love a corrupt ex-cop? In fact, more of Bennie Wright would have been lovely; much more lovely than the unfinished business that’s left hanging around the character at the end of the book. There are enough characters to keep you interested - the frat brothers who are dragged along this corrupt journey with Kyle are not only well-rounded but also left me feeling quite pained for them occasionally - and enough plot twists to keep you guessing, allowing The Associate to be a fine addition to Grisham’s growing collection of legal thrillers. An easy and enjoyable read, and certainly a book worth picking up. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 18 May 2015 |
Book Review: Dark Places by Gillian Flynn
Gillian Flynn is best-known for penning the wildly popular Gone Girl novel - in fact, this seems to be the only book that the majority of readers will associate with the author. However, I recently stumbled across an earlier novel of Flynn’s, titled Dark Places, and not only is the novel a fast-paced and twist-ridden read, but it’s also definitely in the same league - if not a league above - the Gone Girl publication (which makes me wonder why on earth this book isn’t more popular?).
Dark Places drops us into the hard-boiled first person narrative of Libby Day who introduces us to her and the world in which she lives by saying that there is something unsavoury inside her. There is a demon of sorts in her blood that she associates with the terrible history held by her family - a history that, throughout the course of this book, is unravelled and pieced back together an in almost unrecognisable shape.
The story of the Day family is disturbing but seemingly simple: One evening, Ben Day, the only boy in the Day household (due to an absent and unreliable drunken father), killed his mother, Patty Day, and two of his younger sisters. Libby Day, the youngest girl of the bunch, managed to escape and later testified that she heard her brother Ben at home that night, which was the testimony that secured his twenty-something year prison sentence for the murders. And that brings us to where the book really begins.
Flynn moves beautifully between the first person narrative of Libby Day and the third person narratives that offer up the final movements of both Patty Day and Ben Day, all of which are delivered in alternating chapters. Libby is constructed with such a brash exterior; she’s an undeniable hard-ass in this novel and it completely works for her as a central character - despite her sometimes being a little challenging for the reader to swallow.
The plot itself is littered with so many twists, turns, and avenues that seem worth exploring, it’s almost impossible to offer a more in-depth summary without giving away some of the most eye-widening moments. The blurb of the book promised me that the night of the Day family murders everyone in the family was hiding something, and while I wouldn’t necessarily agree that everyone had something to hide, it seems that the key figures in this novel certainly did, and their secrets aren’t always easy to catch on to - the mark of a decent thriller, surely.
The book was unexpectedly enjoyable; it had me gripped from the gritty opening sentence right through to the damp ending that somehow felt entirely appropriate for Libby, particularly after the excitement of the plot and the truths that were discovered. Ultimately, Dark Places is a fine modern thriller that can certainly compete with its younger and much more popular sibling (Gone Girl), and it’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 12 May 2015
Dark Places drops us into the hard-boiled first person narrative of Libby Day who introduces us to her and the world in which she lives by saying that there is something unsavoury inside her. There is a demon of sorts in her blood that she associates with the terrible history held by her family - a history that, throughout the course of this book, is unravelled and pieced back together an in almost unrecognisable shape.
The story of the Day family is disturbing but seemingly simple: One evening, Ben Day, the only boy in the Day household (due to an absent and unreliable drunken father), killed his mother, Patty Day, and two of his younger sisters. Libby Day, the youngest girl of the bunch, managed to escape and later testified that she heard her brother Ben at home that night, which was the testimony that secured his twenty-something year prison sentence for the murders. And that brings us to where the book really begins.
Flynn moves beautifully between the first person narrative of Libby Day and the third person narratives that offer up the final movements of both Patty Day and Ben Day, all of which are delivered in alternating chapters. Libby is constructed with such a brash exterior; she’s an undeniable hard-ass in this novel and it completely works for her as a central character - despite her sometimes being a little challenging for the reader to swallow.
The plot itself is littered with so many twists, turns, and avenues that seem worth exploring, it’s almost impossible to offer a more in-depth summary without giving away some of the most eye-widening moments. The blurb of the book promised me that the night of the Day family murders everyone in the family was hiding something, and while I wouldn’t necessarily agree that everyone had something to hide, it seems that the key figures in this novel certainly did, and their secrets aren’t always easy to catch on to - the mark of a decent thriller, surely.
The book was unexpectedly enjoyable; it had me gripped from the gritty opening sentence right through to the damp ending that somehow felt entirely appropriate for Libby, particularly after the excitement of the plot and the truths that were discovered. Ultimately, Dark Places is a fine modern thriller that can certainly compete with its younger and much more popular sibling (Gone Girl), and it’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 12 May 2015
Book Review: The Silent Wife by A.S.A Harrison (spoilers)
From the blurb of the book, A.S.A Harrison’s The Silent Wife sounded like it would be a thoroughly entertaining read. The novel is focussed around the deteriorating ‘marriage’ of Todd and Jodie who have been together for upwards of twenty years. Their unconventional relationship allows for a number of unsavoury incidents to take place in Todd’s private life, and this is something that Jodie repeatedly overlooks, partly due to her general personality and partly due to her apparent need (bordering on desperation) to make her relationship work with this man. A man who, by the way, earns little to know respect or brownie points throughout this entire novel. And before someone jumps in with ‘That’s the point, he’s not a nice guy’, let me say this: I’m not overly taken with his poor wife either.
The novel was okay (which may be a damning assessment in its own right). Given the cheating husband and psychologically damaged wife, it is often compared to Gone Girl and I suppose, in some ways, it is possible to drawn comparisons. However in terms of doting wife gone bad, Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl certainly wins.
The narrative itself was fine. There was an enjoyable flit between characters where the third person narrative followed both husband and wife alternately for a number of chapters, and this certainly allowed for a balanced perspective of their lives, both with each other and away from each other. We observe Todd’s affair and indeed how it gets away from him without him truly wanting it to - an excuse we probably wouldn’t have believed had we not seen it for ourselves - and we also see Jodie playing the doting wife on a day to day basis, every single day, while Todd is out having affairs (and I suppose this is one of my many issues with this book: How did it take twenty years for this woman to snap?).
There’s nothing outrageously wrong with the plot, as such, but it could have been executed in so many different (dare I say better/more effective?) ways that the incidents that actually take place in the book actually felt a little weak and fairly predictable. (And here’s the spoiler!) Woman tolerates cheating husband; cheating husband gets mistress pregnant and is (mostly) forced to leave his wife; cheating husband keeps wife interested by being kind and generous, before having an eviction notice delivered to her; scorned wife arranges to have husband killed. After all of this, she doesn’t even kill him herself? And then puts herself through a world of guilt afterwards? It might be realistic in a lot of ways but for me, it just lacked a psychological punch that really should have been there.
Harrison is clearly a good writer and this book is far from being poorly written! However, I can’t ignore the fact that tricks were missed here and as a reader (constantly on the search for ballsy women in the books that I read), I can’t help but find that a little disappointing.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 5 May 2015
The novel was okay (which may be a damning assessment in its own right). Given the cheating husband and psychologically damaged wife, it is often compared to Gone Girl and I suppose, in some ways, it is possible to drawn comparisons. However in terms of doting wife gone bad, Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl certainly wins.
The narrative itself was fine. There was an enjoyable flit between characters where the third person narrative followed both husband and wife alternately for a number of chapters, and this certainly allowed for a balanced perspective of their lives, both with each other and away from each other. We observe Todd’s affair and indeed how it gets away from him without him truly wanting it to - an excuse we probably wouldn’t have believed had we not seen it for ourselves - and we also see Jodie playing the doting wife on a day to day basis, every single day, while Todd is out having affairs (and I suppose this is one of my many issues with this book: How did it take twenty years for this woman to snap?).
There’s nothing outrageously wrong with the plot, as such, but it could have been executed in so many different (dare I say better/more effective?) ways that the incidents that actually take place in the book actually felt a little weak and fairly predictable. (And here’s the spoiler!) Woman tolerates cheating husband; cheating husband gets mistress pregnant and is (mostly) forced to leave his wife; cheating husband keeps wife interested by being kind and generous, before having an eviction notice delivered to her; scorned wife arranges to have husband killed. After all of this, she doesn’t even kill him herself? And then puts herself through a world of guilt afterwards? It might be realistic in a lot of ways but for me, it just lacked a psychological punch that really should have been there.
Harrison is clearly a good writer and this book is far from being poorly written! However, I can’t ignore the fact that tricks were missed here and as a reader (constantly on the search for ballsy women in the books that I read), I can’t help but find that a little disappointing.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 5 May 2015
Book Review: A Suspension of Mercy by Patricia Highsmith
Patricia Highsmith is one of the more famous female names that can be associated with older detective and crime fiction. However, up until recently my knowledge of her extensive literary works was somewhat limited. And so, after recently reading her novel A Suspension of Mercy, I can now myself recommend that you go out and lay your hands on any Highsmith novel you can find, and devour it. Devour the whole twisted thing.
The premise of A Suspension of Mercy is in fact quite difficult to summarise without giving certain plot elements anyway - nevertheless, I’ll make an attempt.
The protagonist of the piece is an American writer called Sidney Bartleby, who lives in Britain with his English wife, Alicia. Sidney’s writing is mostly of a murder mystery style and he writers these tales predominantly for television production. However, when he becomes caught up with trying to develop a new murder mystery series, Sidney also finds himself becoming equally caught up with the notion of murdering his wife. With these doubts in mind, ultimately causing a strain on his marriage, Alicia opts to take a long holiday away from her troubled husband. However, when the hunt for Alicia begins - and proves fruitless, despite everyone’s best efforts - it’s only a matter of time before the police, the parents, the neighbours, and even Sidney himself start to wonder whether maybe the innocent daydreams have become something much more sinister.
One thing that I’m quickly learning about Highsmith’s writing is that things are rarely as simple as they initially appear to be. In fact, even the blurbs of Highsmith’s novels usually prove to be fairly misleading. So allow me to note here that not only the plot, that I’ve tried to briefly summarise above, but also the mountain of plot twists that I encountered throughout this novel are simply stunning. Highsmith presents a marvellous talent for leading the reader down an obvious path before ducking into a concealed off-road, and that truly makes for a stunning mystery read.
The characters of the book are endearing and startling in a variety of ways so that they themselves reinforce the mystery tone of this book even further. Sidney is a man plagued by guilty, although we never really know why or what for - which leaves us, alongside everyone else in the book, doubting his innocence when it comes to his wife’s disappearance.
The further complexities within the text just make it even richer as the read goes on. After summarising this for some friends recently, one remarked that it sounds like ‘a good version of Gone Girl’, which I suppose is actually fairly accurate. Highsmith keeps you on the edge of your seat in this book and by the end of it, you aren’t even entirely sure which characters you’re cheering on, and which ones deserve the chop (someone always gets the chop in these novels, although it might not be who you expect).
Ultimately, A Suspension of Mercy makes for a charming read and if you’re looking for a new book to keep you company this weekend, you could certainly do a lot worse.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 May 2015
The premise of A Suspension of Mercy is in fact quite difficult to summarise without giving certain plot elements anyway - nevertheless, I’ll make an attempt.
The protagonist of the piece is an American writer called Sidney Bartleby, who lives in Britain with his English wife, Alicia. Sidney’s writing is mostly of a murder mystery style and he writers these tales predominantly for television production. However, when he becomes caught up with trying to develop a new murder mystery series, Sidney also finds himself becoming equally caught up with the notion of murdering his wife. With these doubts in mind, ultimately causing a strain on his marriage, Alicia opts to take a long holiday away from her troubled husband. However, when the hunt for Alicia begins - and proves fruitless, despite everyone’s best efforts - it’s only a matter of time before the police, the parents, the neighbours, and even Sidney himself start to wonder whether maybe the innocent daydreams have become something much more sinister.
One thing that I’m quickly learning about Highsmith’s writing is that things are rarely as simple as they initially appear to be. In fact, even the blurbs of Highsmith’s novels usually prove to be fairly misleading. So allow me to note here that not only the plot, that I’ve tried to briefly summarise above, but also the mountain of plot twists that I encountered throughout this novel are simply stunning. Highsmith presents a marvellous talent for leading the reader down an obvious path before ducking into a concealed off-road, and that truly makes for a stunning mystery read.
The characters of the book are endearing and startling in a variety of ways so that they themselves reinforce the mystery tone of this book even further. Sidney is a man plagued by guilty, although we never really know why or what for - which leaves us, alongside everyone else in the book, doubting his innocence when it comes to his wife’s disappearance.
The further complexities within the text just make it even richer as the read goes on. After summarising this for some friends recently, one remarked that it sounds like ‘a good version of Gone Girl’, which I suppose is actually fairly accurate. Highsmith keeps you on the edge of your seat in this book and by the end of it, you aren’t even entirely sure which characters you’re cheering on, and which ones deserve the chop (someone always gets the chop in these novels, although it might not be who you expect).
Ultimately, A Suspension of Mercy makes for a charming read and if you’re looking for a new book to keep you company this weekend, you could certainly do a lot worse.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 May 2015
Book Review: Don't Point That Thing at Me by Kyril Bonfigliolo
This book came to me as a Christmas present, kindly given because of my long standing love of P.G. Wodehouse, the godfather of upper-class twits and irrepressible silliness. I had not heard before of either Bonfiglioli or his Mortdecai series, of which Don't Point that Thing at Me is the first, but according to a quote from the New Yorker on the book's cover it is like; 'the result of an unholy collaboration between P.G. Wodehouse and Ian Fleming'. With such allusions and the fantastic title, it should surely be an enjoyable read. I have also been reliably informed (thanks to Wikipedia) that there is a cult following for this series of novels.
Sadly however, I will not be joining this following. I was so disappointed with this book which had a gem of a starting point and the blueprint for some really interesting characters. For me this book failed to deliver more than tedium and a headache.
Centred around Charlie Mortdecai, a degenerate (by his own admission) art dealer, the novel follows his attempt to avoid a grizzly death at the hands of Chief Superintendent Martland who is investigating a stolen painting. At some point a collection of incriminating photographs comes into it, but it's hard to tell how because you don't really get a straight explanation.
Maybe my expectations were too high, but I was hoping for a quality caper novel; something funny but a bit devilish too. What I got instead was a lumpen, disjointed tale in which several characters you barely meet and certainly don't care about die. Writing which should be sharp and snappy, zipping the story along with aplomb becomes convoluted, insipid, and ultimately irritating. The flippant narrative style which should heighten the drama through contrast only serves to dampen it, and I found myself wishing that Mortdecai, the narrator, would just speak plainly and get to the point.
Added to this narrative disaster, there isn't a single likeable character amongst the motley bunch Bonfiglioli creates. Mortdecai is smug and neither so smart that he is pithy nor so daft that he is comical. His servant Jock is a morose, bestial character who is not given the space to develop beyond a wily but loyal sidekick. Mortdecai's nemesis Martland is never particularly threatening as an enemy, nor convincing as the mastermind of what is described as an 'Outsider-police Squad'. There are a few women characters latterly in the novel but they all appear to be monstrously insane.
The novel does have a few good moments. I enjoyed the unredeemable Mortdecai being tortured and there were some clever tricks employed to shake off a powder-blue Buick and a couple of special officers. However, there were not enough of these moments to make this novel enjoyable. For me it was a slog to get to the end, and when I achieved that I was relieved and confused, because there were significant portions which I simply couldn't remember. Whole episodes didn't seem to hang together not because they were missing but because they failed to hold my interest. It's a real shame, this novel could have been so much more.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 27 April 2015
Sadly however, I will not be joining this following. I was so disappointed with this book which had a gem of a starting point and the blueprint for some really interesting characters. For me this book failed to deliver more than tedium and a headache.
Centred around Charlie Mortdecai, a degenerate (by his own admission) art dealer, the novel follows his attempt to avoid a grizzly death at the hands of Chief Superintendent Martland who is investigating a stolen painting. At some point a collection of incriminating photographs comes into it, but it's hard to tell how because you don't really get a straight explanation.
Maybe my expectations were too high, but I was hoping for a quality caper novel; something funny but a bit devilish too. What I got instead was a lumpen, disjointed tale in which several characters you barely meet and certainly don't care about die. Writing which should be sharp and snappy, zipping the story along with aplomb becomes convoluted, insipid, and ultimately irritating. The flippant narrative style which should heighten the drama through contrast only serves to dampen it, and I found myself wishing that Mortdecai, the narrator, would just speak plainly and get to the point.
Added to this narrative disaster, there isn't a single likeable character amongst the motley bunch Bonfiglioli creates. Mortdecai is smug and neither so smart that he is pithy nor so daft that he is comical. His servant Jock is a morose, bestial character who is not given the space to develop beyond a wily but loyal sidekick. Mortdecai's nemesis Martland is never particularly threatening as an enemy, nor convincing as the mastermind of what is described as an 'Outsider-police Squad'. There are a few women characters latterly in the novel but they all appear to be monstrously insane.
The novel does have a few good moments. I enjoyed the unredeemable Mortdecai being tortured and there were some clever tricks employed to shake off a powder-blue Buick and a couple of special officers. However, there were not enough of these moments to make this novel enjoyable. For me it was a slog to get to the end, and when I achieved that I was relieved and confused, because there were significant portions which I simply couldn't remember. Whole episodes didn't seem to hang together not because they were missing but because they failed to hold my interest. It's a real shame, this novel could have been so much more.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 27 April 2015
Book Review: Jamaica Inn by Daphne Du Maurier
Last week the Guardian ran a short article titled 'A guide to reading classics for boys', tackling the idea that classic fiction is primarily a genre for girls. Of course there is a wealth of classic literature, and you have to be a particularly picky reader not to find a book amongst them to interest you, regardless of your gender. However, if you are a reader who has been avoiding the classics then let me recommend Jamaica Inn as a good place to set off on your odyssey of literary discovery.
There are several reasons why Daphne du Maurier's smuggler's yarn is a good starting point for those who are apprehensive about classic fiction. Firstly, the language is relatively easy to understand because although it is set in 1820, it was written in the 1930s, and the majority of characters are not from the upper classes but are smugglers, horse thieves, and drunks - plain speakers through and through. Secondly, it combines several genres. It is a Gothic text, a thriller and a romance. And finally, it has been adapted into a film by Alfred Hitchcock and two TV adaptations in 1983 and last year, for those who prefer to have a clear image of each character in their head while reading.
Mary Yellan is our ballsy, no-nonsense heroine, who leaves her home when her mother dies to live with her Aunt Patience. However, since Mary last saw her, Patience has married Joss Merlyn – the notorious landlord of Jamaica Inn, an ominous tavern on the desolate Bodmin moor. Mary soon learns that her new home is not only embroiled in smuggling but is a haven for wreckers (people who trick a ship onto rocks then steal cargo from the wreckage). Mary soon befriends Jem, Joss Merlyn's younger brother, a thief and wildling who is intelligent but worryingly similar to his brother. Her only other acquaintance is the mysterious albino vicar Francis Davey, who causes her to question her own judgement. Isolated, Mary struggles to determine who she can trust, leading to a chase to stop her uncle's wreckers, several close encounters with death for Mary and a shoot out amongst the mists of the Cornish moorland.
I adored this book, it was engrossing and exciting and deeply atmospheric. It's a pleasure read, rather than a challenge, and a good story for a holiday or some escapism. I was, admittedly, a little disappointed by the ending which had a tendency to be a little too vague for my liking. I was left wanting to know what had happened to a few characters, and the wider consequences of certain actions were only briefly alluded to.
However, the final chapter summed up the greater dilemma in Mary's life well. Ultimately, it is the choice to keep herself safe and alone living a modest village life of hard work and worthiness or to risk her life on an uncertain but exciting and adventurous future. If you usually only read contemporary fiction, give classics a try with Jamaica Inn.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 20 April 2015
There are several reasons why Daphne du Maurier's smuggler's yarn is a good starting point for those who are apprehensive about classic fiction. Firstly, the language is relatively easy to understand because although it is set in 1820, it was written in the 1930s, and the majority of characters are not from the upper classes but are smugglers, horse thieves, and drunks - plain speakers through and through. Secondly, it combines several genres. It is a Gothic text, a thriller and a romance. And finally, it has been adapted into a film by Alfred Hitchcock and two TV adaptations in 1983 and last year, for those who prefer to have a clear image of each character in their head while reading.
Mary Yellan is our ballsy, no-nonsense heroine, who leaves her home when her mother dies to live with her Aunt Patience. However, since Mary last saw her, Patience has married Joss Merlyn – the notorious landlord of Jamaica Inn, an ominous tavern on the desolate Bodmin moor. Mary soon learns that her new home is not only embroiled in smuggling but is a haven for wreckers (people who trick a ship onto rocks then steal cargo from the wreckage). Mary soon befriends Jem, Joss Merlyn's younger brother, a thief and wildling who is intelligent but worryingly similar to his brother. Her only other acquaintance is the mysterious albino vicar Francis Davey, who causes her to question her own judgement. Isolated, Mary struggles to determine who she can trust, leading to a chase to stop her uncle's wreckers, several close encounters with death for Mary and a shoot out amongst the mists of the Cornish moorland.
I adored this book, it was engrossing and exciting and deeply atmospheric. It's a pleasure read, rather than a challenge, and a good story for a holiday or some escapism. I was, admittedly, a little disappointed by the ending which had a tendency to be a little too vague for my liking. I was left wanting to know what had happened to a few characters, and the wider consequences of certain actions were only briefly alluded to.
However, the final chapter summed up the greater dilemma in Mary's life well. Ultimately, it is the choice to keep herself safe and alone living a modest village life of hard work and worthiness or to risk her life on an uncertain but exciting and adventurous future. If you usually only read contemporary fiction, give classics a try with Jamaica Inn.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 20 April 2015
Book Review: The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
Markus Zusak’s historical novel, The Book Thief, was published back in 2005, and since then not only has it received numerous awards and featured on The New York Times Best Seller list (for over 230 weeks, might I add), but it can also boast of a popular film adaptation as well. With all of this positive feedback surrounding the novel, it’s surprising that I’ve only just got round to reading it myself; however, it was certainly worth the wait.
The novel is set in Nazi Germany and follows the story of Liesel Meminger, who is adopted by Hans and Rosa Hubermann. The premise of the novel is the same as you’d expect from any other novel dealing with this particular period of history; the language of the novel, however, is something else altogether.
There is actually a first-person narrative used within this book and, believe it or not, your narrator for this story is Death. Throughout Liesel’s life Death is never particularly far away - which perhaps makes him perfectly qualified in his role as narrator here - and through his observations of her he presents her life in a wartime journey, complete with a new family and a new best friend, Rudy, who is a truly beautiful addition to the characters of this book.
Zusak’s language used throughout is stunning; prior to my reading this, someone had told me that there are occasions when the prose actually sounds like poetry, and I’m inclined to agree with that assessment. As if the story wasn’t heartbreaking enough in its own right - for reasons that I won’t reveal; no one likes a spoiler - the observations and inclusions of tiny details, coupled with the truly painful moments of accurate humanity - or in some cases a lack of humanity - make this an amazing read, and once I’d started the book, I couldn’t bring myself to put it down.
As you would expect from the brief premise above, there are casualties here. While we observe, alongside Death, the development of Liesel Meminger - the protagonist, and The Book Thief herself - we are taken on a journey of loss, love, (some more loss, I’m afraid), humour, and humanity. As Death observes the durability of the human spirit, so does the reader, and, despite the traumatic occurrences with the book, there is ultimately something quite up-lifting about this novel. An absolute must-read, The Book Thief is undoubtedly one of the finest books that I’ve read in a long time.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 13 April 2015
The novel is set in Nazi Germany and follows the story of Liesel Meminger, who is adopted by Hans and Rosa Hubermann. The premise of the novel is the same as you’d expect from any other novel dealing with this particular period of history; the language of the novel, however, is something else altogether.
There is actually a first-person narrative used within this book and, believe it or not, your narrator for this story is Death. Throughout Liesel’s life Death is never particularly far away - which perhaps makes him perfectly qualified in his role as narrator here - and through his observations of her he presents her life in a wartime journey, complete with a new family and a new best friend, Rudy, who is a truly beautiful addition to the characters of this book.
Zusak’s language used throughout is stunning; prior to my reading this, someone had told me that there are occasions when the prose actually sounds like poetry, and I’m inclined to agree with that assessment. As if the story wasn’t heartbreaking enough in its own right - for reasons that I won’t reveal; no one likes a spoiler - the observations and inclusions of tiny details, coupled with the truly painful moments of accurate humanity - or in some cases a lack of humanity - make this an amazing read, and once I’d started the book, I couldn’t bring myself to put it down.
As you would expect from the brief premise above, there are casualties here. While we observe, alongside Death, the development of Liesel Meminger - the protagonist, and The Book Thief herself - we are taken on a journey of loss, love, (some more loss, I’m afraid), humour, and humanity. As Death observes the durability of the human spirit, so does the reader, and, despite the traumatic occurrences with the book, there is ultimately something quite up-lifting about this novel. An absolute must-read, The Book Thief is undoubtedly one of the finest books that I’ve read in a long time.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 13 April 2015
Book Review: Psycho by Robert Bloch
It’s a fair assessment to make that Robert Bloch’s Psycho is something of a cult classic. Hitchcock’s transformation of the story from the small book to the big screen catapulted it into the public eye, and it’s pretty much stayed there since. It’s experienced a steady transformation into something that the majority of people have knowledge of, through one medium or another. However, up until recently, I was firmly sat inside the minority of people who know little to nothing about the story.
I knew about Norman Bates, and the hotel he runs with his crazy mother, but that was the extent of my knowledge. So you can imagine my surprise when I got suckered into this little gem of a horror novel. Horror? Crime? Thriller? Who cares? It’s brilliant, irrespective of genre.
The novel, which is reasonably short in length, follows the dysfunctional life of Norman Bates who runs a hotel with his mother. They’re both fascinating characters (I imagine if you’re familiar with the plot already, you’ll see that as something of an understatement) and I absolutely commend Bloch for his construction of them both. The book was an interesting read from a psychological perspective in the here and now, so I can only imagine the reaction these characters received when they were unleashed the first time around. They’re well-developed and uncomfortably convincing, and the occasional slips into the first-person narrative of Norman really hammers that home.
The plot itself is focussed around the relationship between mother and son and how, in their day-to-day lives, they seem to be on a journey of mutual sabotage and cover-ups. There is a notably perverse way in which they take care of each other but, even so, you can’t get away from the feeling that they are constantly looking out for each other in their own special little crazy way.
Unfortunately, Psycho is one of those books where you can’t say too much about it for fear of giving the plot away - and, if there’s anyone reading this review who hasn’t yet read the book (I sincerely recommend you go out and buy a copy, today - yesterday, in fact!) then I really wouldn’t want to drop any spoilers here. All I will say is that Psycho is a brilliant read and I simply couldn’t bring myself to put it down once I’d started. Above all else, it is now clear to me why this book is considered such a classic within its genre.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 9 April 2015
I knew about Norman Bates, and the hotel he runs with his crazy mother, but that was the extent of my knowledge. So you can imagine my surprise when I got suckered into this little gem of a horror novel. Horror? Crime? Thriller? Who cares? It’s brilliant, irrespective of genre.
The novel, which is reasonably short in length, follows the dysfunctional life of Norman Bates who runs a hotel with his mother. They’re both fascinating characters (I imagine if you’re familiar with the plot already, you’ll see that as something of an understatement) and I absolutely commend Bloch for his construction of them both. The book was an interesting read from a psychological perspective in the here and now, so I can only imagine the reaction these characters received when they were unleashed the first time around. They’re well-developed and uncomfortably convincing, and the occasional slips into the first-person narrative of Norman really hammers that home.
The plot itself is focussed around the relationship between mother and son and how, in their day-to-day lives, they seem to be on a journey of mutual sabotage and cover-ups. There is a notably perverse way in which they take care of each other but, even so, you can’t get away from the feeling that they are constantly looking out for each other in their own special little crazy way.
Unfortunately, Psycho is one of those books where you can’t say too much about it for fear of giving the plot away - and, if there’s anyone reading this review who hasn’t yet read the book (I sincerely recommend you go out and buy a copy, today - yesterday, in fact!) then I really wouldn’t want to drop any spoilers here. All I will say is that Psycho is a brilliant read and I simply couldn’t bring myself to put it down once I’d started. Above all else, it is now clear to me why this book is considered such a classic within its genre.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 9 April 2015
Book Review: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
Gillian Flynn’s outrageously popular novel Gone Girl hit the shelves a while ago, however, despite my general love of reading, I steered well and truly clear of it. For the first year or so after its release, people were recommending it to me everywhere I went! Now, in the interest of being honest, it was probably a form of literary snobbery that put me off this book to begin with. Anything that is praised beyond belief by the reading majority usually turns out to be something that isn’t actually that good - see Fifty Shades of Grey - so I thought, pff, there’s no way this book is as good as people are telling me it is.
However, despite my disinterest in the novel, I did find myself eventually watching the film - which, in a bizarre twist of events, actually encouraged me to read the book. And now I have, my main source of disappointment is that I didn’t read it sooner.
Flynn writes in not one but two first person narratives that allows you to see through the eyes of both protagonists, Nick and Amy Dunne. The duality of these narrative voices was unexpected - I had no idea that that was how the book was written - but wildly enjoyable nevertheless, and this provided a brilliant spin on the ‘he said, she said’ element to a novel of this sort. As we observe the disappearance of his wife through Nick’s voice, we observe an allegedly abusive relationship through the diary of Amy - and I won’t discuss how the narratives evolve beyond that, on the off chance that there are people out there who still haven’t familiarised themselves with the story.
The characters are believable, consistent, and emotive. Alongside the surrounding characters in the book, the reader themselves is drawn into this powerful suspicion that Nick is perhaps responsible for his missing wife and as the rest of the characters ask questions, you do as well. The emotional rollercoaster tucked inside this book is a convincing and enjoyable one, and my only wish is that I’d allowed myself to experience this narrative structure prior to seeing the film because, I imagine if you don’t know what’s going to happen, Flynn’s layout of the text is going to be an almighty shock.
Okay, academically speaking there are one hundred and one (good and bad) things that I’d like to address about this book. However, when you consider Gone Girl for what it is - a contemporary, mainstream (dare I use that word?), novel of the thriller genre - it certainly lives up to its description. It’s easy, on-the-edge-of-your-seat reading, and (especially if the plot hasn’t been ruined for you by reviews, or indeed the film) it’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 7 April 2015
However, despite my disinterest in the novel, I did find myself eventually watching the film - which, in a bizarre twist of events, actually encouraged me to read the book. And now I have, my main source of disappointment is that I didn’t read it sooner.
Flynn writes in not one but two first person narratives that allows you to see through the eyes of both protagonists, Nick and Amy Dunne. The duality of these narrative voices was unexpected - I had no idea that that was how the book was written - but wildly enjoyable nevertheless, and this provided a brilliant spin on the ‘he said, she said’ element to a novel of this sort. As we observe the disappearance of his wife through Nick’s voice, we observe an allegedly abusive relationship through the diary of Amy - and I won’t discuss how the narratives evolve beyond that, on the off chance that there are people out there who still haven’t familiarised themselves with the story.
The characters are believable, consistent, and emotive. Alongside the surrounding characters in the book, the reader themselves is drawn into this powerful suspicion that Nick is perhaps responsible for his missing wife and as the rest of the characters ask questions, you do as well. The emotional rollercoaster tucked inside this book is a convincing and enjoyable one, and my only wish is that I’d allowed myself to experience this narrative structure prior to seeing the film because, I imagine if you don’t know what’s going to happen, Flynn’s layout of the text is going to be an almighty shock.
Okay, academically speaking there are one hundred and one (good and bad) things that I’d like to address about this book. However, when you consider Gone Girl for what it is - a contemporary, mainstream (dare I use that word?), novel of the thriller genre - it certainly lives up to its description. It’s easy, on-the-edge-of-your-seat reading, and (especially if the plot hasn’t been ruined for you by reviews, or indeed the film) it’s definitely worth picking up a copy.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 7 April 2015
Book Review: Fup by Jim Dodge
I first read this book several years ago, and it was such a revelation that I have been steadfastly recommending it to anyone who will listen ever since. So I thought that it was about time I gave it a second reading, just to make sure that it is actually as good a read as I remember.
Fup is a very short novel by Jim Dodge, a poet and a novelist. Dodge utilises his skills as a poet to make his story sing on the page, and all the while maintaining a very direct style of prose. The narrative is not burdened by copious amounts of descriptive detail, each word used is precisely the word that is needed and as a result the book reads as if it is being spoken. If you can muster up a Californian drawl in your mind as you read, then it gets even better.
There is an old world feel to the text which suits the subject matter perfectly. Set in contemporary Northern California, it's the story of 99 year old Granddaddy Jake, his 22 year old, 6ft 5” grandson Tiny, and their pet duck, Fup. Living on an isolated ranch, Granddaddy Jake is a keen gambler convinced that he has the key to immortality, a recipe for Ol' Death Whisper whisky given to him by a dying Indian man. He spends his time sipping pints of the stuff on the porch watching the day pass and being still. Tiny is his opposite, an energetic young man who is obsessed with crafting fences around the ranch and hunting for his nemesis, Lockjaw, a monstrously large wild pig.
Fup the duck is just as much of a character as the two men. Fup is found as a duckling in one of Tiny's fence post holes after an attack by Lockjaw. Nursed back to life with a drop of Ol' Death Whisper, Fup eats far more than even a human might manage and grows to an alarming size. She enjoys watching Westerns at the drive-in movies, can communicate through a sort of quack code and would be a quite good at checkers if only she wasn't such a sore loser.
Sadly, it is a rarity to find a book that is as totally accepting of it's own characters as this book is. Not once is there any suggestion that there is something wrong with Tiny for being so interested in making fences, or that Granddaddy Jake should be ashamed of his excessive drinking, gambling, or tendency to rage against the rest of the world. Fup is a character that inspires mirth not derision, and when faced with the threatening outside influences of taxes, social workers and movie theatre managers this unusual family stick together with pride. It will not take much of your time or effort to read this book but it is well worth picking up. It is a charming, wise and funny book which has a real sense of gravitas to it.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 28 March 2015
Fup is a very short novel by Jim Dodge, a poet and a novelist. Dodge utilises his skills as a poet to make his story sing on the page, and all the while maintaining a very direct style of prose. The narrative is not burdened by copious amounts of descriptive detail, each word used is precisely the word that is needed and as a result the book reads as if it is being spoken. If you can muster up a Californian drawl in your mind as you read, then it gets even better.
There is an old world feel to the text which suits the subject matter perfectly. Set in contemporary Northern California, it's the story of 99 year old Granddaddy Jake, his 22 year old, 6ft 5” grandson Tiny, and their pet duck, Fup. Living on an isolated ranch, Granddaddy Jake is a keen gambler convinced that he has the key to immortality, a recipe for Ol' Death Whisper whisky given to him by a dying Indian man. He spends his time sipping pints of the stuff on the porch watching the day pass and being still. Tiny is his opposite, an energetic young man who is obsessed with crafting fences around the ranch and hunting for his nemesis, Lockjaw, a monstrously large wild pig.
Fup the duck is just as much of a character as the two men. Fup is found as a duckling in one of Tiny's fence post holes after an attack by Lockjaw. Nursed back to life with a drop of Ol' Death Whisper, Fup eats far more than even a human might manage and grows to an alarming size. She enjoys watching Westerns at the drive-in movies, can communicate through a sort of quack code and would be a quite good at checkers if only she wasn't such a sore loser.
Sadly, it is a rarity to find a book that is as totally accepting of it's own characters as this book is. Not once is there any suggestion that there is something wrong with Tiny for being so interested in making fences, or that Granddaddy Jake should be ashamed of his excessive drinking, gambling, or tendency to rage against the rest of the world. Fup is a character that inspires mirth not derision, and when faced with the threatening outside influences of taxes, social workers and movie theatre managers this unusual family stick together with pride. It will not take much of your time or effort to read this book but it is well worth picking up. It is a charming, wise and funny book which has a real sense of gravitas to it.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 28 March 2015
Book Review: The Killer Inside Me By Jim thompson
The Killer Inside Me is a Jim Thompson novel that was published back in 1952, although you certainly shouldn’t let the latter put you off. The novel is praised as being a stunning first person narrative that manipulates the reader into some remarkably uncomfortable places and, after reading the book for myself, I’m inclined to agree.
The novel is written in a narrative from the perspective of Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford, who is highly-thought-of in his local community. A stand-up character according to everyone else, Ford is actually nursing what he refers to as a ‘sickness’ - something that the reader become privy to the further they venture into the book. Concealing a dark past full of previous crimes - that his adopted brother took responsibility and punishment for - Ford takes the reader on an emotional and sometimes horrific rollercoaster ride where we read his thoughts, urges, and paranoia firsthand - and the end result is something absurdly powerful.
Thompson’s use of language in this book is commendable; there are entire academic essays written just about Ford’s use of metaphor and cliché and, if you read the clipped and often aggression language present here, you’ll soon understand why. Befitting of Ford’s actual character, the language contributes to much of his personality as we see him in a stand-off-ish way during many of his conversations - not that the locals around him seem to have noticed that for themselves.
Additionally, the level of violence in this book should also be commented on - if for no other reason than to warn potential readers what they can expect. While I’ve already commented on the aggressive tone of the language - which compliments the overall purpose of the book beautifully - the beatings and various other acts of violence present within the text are also quite stunning, in many senses of the word.
This book is a welcome jolt for any crime reader and it’s certainly as relevant now as it was when it was first published. Thompson has created something truly memorable here and, while I’m assured the recent film adaptation is a worthy watch in itself, I truthfully can’t recommend the book highly enough.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 13 March 2015
The novel is written in a narrative from the perspective of Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford, who is highly-thought-of in his local community. A stand-up character according to everyone else, Ford is actually nursing what he refers to as a ‘sickness’ - something that the reader become privy to the further they venture into the book. Concealing a dark past full of previous crimes - that his adopted brother took responsibility and punishment for - Ford takes the reader on an emotional and sometimes horrific rollercoaster ride where we read his thoughts, urges, and paranoia firsthand - and the end result is something absurdly powerful.
Thompson’s use of language in this book is commendable; there are entire academic essays written just about Ford’s use of metaphor and cliché and, if you read the clipped and often aggression language present here, you’ll soon understand why. Befitting of Ford’s actual character, the language contributes to much of his personality as we see him in a stand-off-ish way during many of his conversations - not that the locals around him seem to have noticed that for themselves.
Additionally, the level of violence in this book should also be commented on - if for no other reason than to warn potential readers what they can expect. While I’ve already commented on the aggressive tone of the language - which compliments the overall purpose of the book beautifully - the beatings and various other acts of violence present within the text are also quite stunning, in many senses of the word.
This book is a welcome jolt for any crime reader and it’s certainly as relevant now as it was when it was first published. Thompson has created something truly memorable here and, while I’m assured the recent film adaptation is a worthy watch in itself, I truthfully can’t recommend the book highly enough.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 13 March 2015
Book Review: Burial Rites by Hannah Kent
Set in the often brutally inhospitable landscape of rural Iceland, Burial Rites, the début novel by Hannah Kent, tells the consuming story of convicted murderess Agnes Magnúsdóttir in the months before her execution in 1829. It's an arresting novel based around a true story, interwoven with atmospheric Icelandic poetry and snippets of traditional sagas.
The novel opens with Agnes, charged with the murder of famous herbalist Natan Ketilsson, being transported from jail to the remote village of Kornsá. Here she lives under the supervision of a District Officer and his apprehensive family until the date of her execution is settled. We are told that Agnes is a particularly dangerous and unnatural person, yet passages from Agnes's point of view show her to be a rational, steadfast, and ultimately kind character. Agnes is counselled by the inexperienced Assistant Reverend Tóti, who coaxes her into telling her story, and the novel unravels revealing her nomadic past and the events that led to Natan's death.
Although it is concerned with solving a crime, and it is thrilling to read, I am loath to define it as a crime novel or thriller. It is a complex and intriguing tale of hard living in a country where, we are reminded, 'There's more than one way a body can die.' Yes, there is a crime that's barely been solved, and the time pressure of an impending execution but this is a novel that won't be rushed. The seasons change and the day to day tasks of life in the country are vividly depicted, easing Agnes into her memories and carving a visceral, fleshy character out of the criminal.
Kent has clearly gone to a lot of effort to embellish her work with accurate details of Icelandic social history, although I doubt the usefulness of the short guide to pronunciation at the front of the text. It is slightly off putting to pick up a book and find it suggesting you need to learn a new language just to read it. Of course, you don't need to, you just need to flick past that page and get to the tantalising prologue.
Agnes is an intelligent and empathic anti-heroine to build a novel around, and it is easy to warm to her as the family at Kornsá do. At first treated with great suspicion, she eventually becomes a valued member of the household, and in much the same way this book is one that really grows on you as you read it.
If you're a fan of a good mystery, or simply a good story, then this is a book for you. There's enough here to get stuck into, it's not predictable but neither is it such a gnarled and twisted tale that it becomes unbelievable or unreadable. If you're looking for something to distract you from a long journey, a bout of flu, or you're simply looking for an excuse to cosy up under a blanket for an evening, then Burial Rites is for you.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 9 March 2015
The novel opens with Agnes, charged with the murder of famous herbalist Natan Ketilsson, being transported from jail to the remote village of Kornsá. Here she lives under the supervision of a District Officer and his apprehensive family until the date of her execution is settled. We are told that Agnes is a particularly dangerous and unnatural person, yet passages from Agnes's point of view show her to be a rational, steadfast, and ultimately kind character. Agnes is counselled by the inexperienced Assistant Reverend Tóti, who coaxes her into telling her story, and the novel unravels revealing her nomadic past and the events that led to Natan's death.
Although it is concerned with solving a crime, and it is thrilling to read, I am loath to define it as a crime novel or thriller. It is a complex and intriguing tale of hard living in a country where, we are reminded, 'There's more than one way a body can die.' Yes, there is a crime that's barely been solved, and the time pressure of an impending execution but this is a novel that won't be rushed. The seasons change and the day to day tasks of life in the country are vividly depicted, easing Agnes into her memories and carving a visceral, fleshy character out of the criminal.
Kent has clearly gone to a lot of effort to embellish her work with accurate details of Icelandic social history, although I doubt the usefulness of the short guide to pronunciation at the front of the text. It is slightly off putting to pick up a book and find it suggesting you need to learn a new language just to read it. Of course, you don't need to, you just need to flick past that page and get to the tantalising prologue.
Agnes is an intelligent and empathic anti-heroine to build a novel around, and it is easy to warm to her as the family at Kornsá do. At first treated with great suspicion, she eventually becomes a valued member of the household, and in much the same way this book is one that really grows on you as you read it.
If you're a fan of a good mystery, or simply a good story, then this is a book for you. There's enough here to get stuck into, it's not predictable but neither is it such a gnarled and twisted tale that it becomes unbelievable or unreadable. If you're looking for something to distract you from a long journey, a bout of flu, or you're simply looking for an excuse to cosy up under a blanket for an evening, then Burial Rites is for you.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 9 March 2015
Book Review: The Confession by John Grisham |
Book Review: The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling |
As a committed fan of crime/detective/thriller fiction, I felt a little embarrassed to admit that I had reached the grand age of *ahem* and never picked up a John Grisham novel. With an absurd amount of published material to speak of, in terms of selecting a Grisham novel I wasn’t exactly sure where to begin. However, during a clear-out at a local library a well-thumbed copy of The Confession jumped out at me and, after finishing the book, I feel confident in branding it one of the most thought-provoking, emotive, and hard-hitting pieces of crime/thriller (adventure - according to my local library) fiction that I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.
The premise of the book is as follows: In 1998, in a small city tucked away somewhere in Texas, a young girl was kidnapped, repeatedly raped, murdered, and then disposed of. Nine years later, in the period in which the novel is set, the state of Texas is about to execute the wrong man for this crime. With Donte Drumm, the young man accused of this straight out of high-school, waiting for his death sentence to arrive and Travis Boyette, the actual murderer, flitting between confessions and wild goose chases, Grisham has created something terrifyingly topical in The Confession that even now, several years after its original publication, many people could do with reading. On a more technical note, the narrative and general quality of writing here is, as I expected, of a high standard. However, not high enough to make it inaccessible. Grisham, master of fiction in many ways, has succeeded in telling this story from a variety of perspectives, with the occasional peak through the eyes of an unsung character allowing for a much-needed break from the intensity of those at the centre of this story. The characters constructed here are wonderful, and I would - and possibly will - return to them again and again with the same delight that I had in reading this novel the first time around. Donte Drumm and his family who have seen him suffer in prison for nearly a decade are, quite simply, heart-breaking; Grisham has created something beautiful here, particularly between Donte and his mother who, between the two of them, actually brought me to tears on more than one occasion whilst reading this book. Even Travis, one of the most disgusting characters that I’ve encountered throughout my years of reading fiction, is suitably fascinating, frustrating, and capable of inducing mass amounts of discomfort, not only in the reader but also in the characters unfortunate enough to come into contact with him. As I am desperate to avoid ruining this for anyone, this criticism will be suitably vague, however it must be said; there was something a little unsatisfying about how Grisham dealt with the Travis character in the end. And that’s all I’ll say on the matter. Alongside these central figures are the likes of Robbie Flak, the lawyer fighting for the freedom of Donte, and Keith Schroeder, the poor minister who gets dragged along on Boyette’s horrendous journey of confession. These two characters in particular are just beautiful, authentic, and awe-inspiring, and they repeatedly bring hope to what is undoubtedly a hopeless situation. A simply stunning piece of fiction, The Confession is a book so topical it will undoubtedly stay with any reader long after they have completed the final page. Raising many uncomfortable questions here, Grisham has not only provided a challenge of political views, but also a challenge for readers as we are dropped into a horrendous situation and, alongside these marvellous characters, left there to struggle to find a way out. A truly marvellous, worthwhile read. Written by: Charlotte Barnes Published: 19 February 2015 |
Starting on Sunday is the latest book adaptation by the BBC, a much hyped three-part drama of J.K. Rowling's The Casual Vacancy. There are plenty of well known faces involved, including Michael Gambon and Keeley Hawes, and it looks set to be a good watch. So, is it worth a quick read before the series reaches a climax and any surprises are spoilt forever? In short: Yes.
Rowling's writing is stylistically straight forward which makes it a pleasant and quick read, yet the story itself is not simplistic. The characters each have their own complexities and there are certainly some challenging scenes. What begins as a fairly average depiction of a bickering, middle class town turns into an interesting, and ultimately tragic, take on the perceptions, misconceptions and relationships in a small community. The story is based around a local election in the fictional town of Pagford, a chocolate-boxy sort of place with a nearby council estate. This estate, The Fields, is at the centre of tensions between the local councillors. In the opening chapter Barry Fairbrother, a key figure in the council, promptly dies leaving a void in both the council and the lives of many local residents. The main plot line that follows is the competition for Barry's now vacant council seat which could end the dispute over The Fields. However, that isn't really what the book is about (thank goodness). This is actually about a collection of very different individuals who must find a way to live alongside one another in what is really quite a claustrophobic environment. Although the book is critical of the people in this community, it is clear that Rowling is trying to encourage ideas of community. In a scene which sees several characters ignore the distress of a lone, vulnerable child there is no mistaking the intention to show the importance of looking up from ones own life and acting as a community. It is admittedly not a particularly original book. There is plenty of writing out there about middle class snobbery and tough kids from estates who just can't get a break. If you're a fan of Harry Potter you'll find the Mollison family rather reminiscent of the Dursleys. With the smug and obese Howard at it's head, his gossipy social climbing wife Shirley, the distinctly average son they're so devoted to and then a fourth member of the family whom they barely mention because they see her as abnormal, they're basically the same family 20 years on. Add to this the truculent teenagers, the smug lawyers, the aloof doctor, and the single mother desperate for romance and there is a lot of convention. Whilst I would have preferred less stereotypical characters, they are used to good effect. The end result is a collection of recognisable characters who unravel as the story progresses, so it is worth sticking with Rowling to see these conventions disintegrate. It is a book I held off reading when it was first published because of the hype, but ahead of the adaptation it has been an enjoyable read and I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out on screen. Written by: Annie Moss Published: 14 February 2015 |
Book Review: Poppet by Mo Hayder
It is surely the mark of a good book when, upon completion, you immediately rush out and buy another title by the same author without even stopping to read the blurb. And that was my exact response after finishing Mo Hayder’s creepy crime thriller, Poppet. The novel combines crime with psychological thriller, throwing in a welcome splash of the supernatural for good measure, amounting to something truly creepy and absolutely impossible to put down.
Poppet is one of several books in the critically acclaimed Jack Caffrey series - although, I didn’t know this myself when I purchased the book, and it certainly didn’t hinder my enjoyment or understanding of the text, so don’t let that put you off. The novel is centred around Beechway High Secure Unit - a psychiatric hospital - and the troubled patients who, during a series of power cuts, have repeatedly had encounters with a ghostly creature they refer to as The Maude. However, after unexplained deaths and incidents of self-harm, it seems that the patients are not the only ones living in fear of this creature and, as hysteria spreads to the staff, one character in particular begins to search for a more likely - although, as it turns out, even more disturbing - reason behind these incidents.
The novel itself was an absolute delight to read. Hayder breezes through her characters with great ease, allowing snippets of their own thoughts, feelings, and (many, many) fears to slip into the narrative, with no disruption to the overall fluidity of the text. Additionally, there is a commendable balance achieved here as the novel persists in moving the reader not only around the characters but also around their respective scenery, homes, and places of work. While the narrative does not exist entirely inside the Unit, Hayder ensures that throughout this troubling journey, wherever our characters lead us, we willingly follow - okay, perhaps not always we willingly. As a reader you are sometimes shouting at AJ (the staff member at the centre of these disturbing discoveries), urging him to turn back and leave things be but nevertheless, you are drawn in.
For me, another attractive element of this novel is that, despite the well-established, ghostly drama occurring in the Unit, all the dominant characters in this text are endowed with - if you will - sub-plots, or rather sub-stories, as well. Caffery is not only drawn into this series of crimes, but is also struggling to close a previous case, which seems to spark a potentially romantic relationship with another officer. AJ is the staff member at the hospital who is interested in investigating these occurrences, but alongside that we are also treated to delightful snapshots of his home life with his eccentric aunt and his intuitive dog, who offer a welcome rest from the tension found in the rest of the novel. Ultimately it means that there is never a moment where nothing is happening, even if it’s only Patience (AJ’s aforementioned aunt) making a breakfast big enough to feed an army.
The plot here becomes so intricate that it seems practically impossible to discuss it without giving away some major features, which I certainly don’t want to do. What I will say is this: Poppet is a wonderful and thrilling read, and it really did feel impossible to put down. The first book in as long as I can remember to have me reaching for my nightlight, Poppet is a worthwhile read for anyone looking for something that promises a supernatural tinge to their usual crime novel.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 12 February 2015
Poppet is one of several books in the critically acclaimed Jack Caffrey series - although, I didn’t know this myself when I purchased the book, and it certainly didn’t hinder my enjoyment or understanding of the text, so don’t let that put you off. The novel is centred around Beechway High Secure Unit - a psychiatric hospital - and the troubled patients who, during a series of power cuts, have repeatedly had encounters with a ghostly creature they refer to as The Maude. However, after unexplained deaths and incidents of self-harm, it seems that the patients are not the only ones living in fear of this creature and, as hysteria spreads to the staff, one character in particular begins to search for a more likely - although, as it turns out, even more disturbing - reason behind these incidents.
The novel itself was an absolute delight to read. Hayder breezes through her characters with great ease, allowing snippets of their own thoughts, feelings, and (many, many) fears to slip into the narrative, with no disruption to the overall fluidity of the text. Additionally, there is a commendable balance achieved here as the novel persists in moving the reader not only around the characters but also around their respective scenery, homes, and places of work. While the narrative does not exist entirely inside the Unit, Hayder ensures that throughout this troubling journey, wherever our characters lead us, we willingly follow - okay, perhaps not always we willingly. As a reader you are sometimes shouting at AJ (the staff member at the centre of these disturbing discoveries), urging him to turn back and leave things be but nevertheless, you are drawn in.
For me, another attractive element of this novel is that, despite the well-established, ghostly drama occurring in the Unit, all the dominant characters in this text are endowed with - if you will - sub-plots, or rather sub-stories, as well. Caffery is not only drawn into this series of crimes, but is also struggling to close a previous case, which seems to spark a potentially romantic relationship with another officer. AJ is the staff member at the hospital who is interested in investigating these occurrences, but alongside that we are also treated to delightful snapshots of his home life with his eccentric aunt and his intuitive dog, who offer a welcome rest from the tension found in the rest of the novel. Ultimately it means that there is never a moment where nothing is happening, even if it’s only Patience (AJ’s aforementioned aunt) making a breakfast big enough to feed an army.
The plot here becomes so intricate that it seems practically impossible to discuss it without giving away some major features, which I certainly don’t want to do. What I will say is this: Poppet is a wonderful and thrilling read, and it really did feel impossible to put down. The first book in as long as I can remember to have me reaching for my nightlight, Poppet is a worthwhile read for anyone looking for something that promises a supernatural tinge to their usual crime novel.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 12 February 2015
Book Review: The Time Machine by H. G. Wells
Often when I've finished quite a long book and I'm still full of the enthusiastic hunger to read, I'll take a little reading holiday by reading a very short book. I thought that H. G. Wells' The Time Machine would be an excellent break between the thick contemporary novels I'm currently working my way through. I've had this text on my bookcase since I was at school when we briefly used the first chapter to learn about narrative voice. I couldn't remember why I hadn't continued reading and as it's a classic I assumed that it must be worth finishing.
I now remember why I stopped reading. It is deathly dull. It's one of the most tedious, stagnant books I've ever read. I actually had to resort to bribing myself with a chapter of something better for every chapter of The Time Machine I finished.
I am sure that there are plenty of you out there who will think what I am saying is sacrilege - and whilst I appreciate that this book was revolutionary in its time - I can't hide how much I resent this book for wasting my time now. The only positive I can take away from this is that at least I have finished the book now and I'll never have to read it again.
The actual story itself didn't leave much of an impression, so it is a little hard for me to accurately relay it back to you. From the hazy depths of despair which this book has been mentally filed into I can tell you that it's about a nameless Time Traveller, who gathers his equally nameless friends to show off his new invention, a time machine. So far, so good. It's an interesting premise for a story with lots of interesting places to go. It should result in a really fascinating and gripping story.
The guests think it's one of his usual jokes and forget all about it until they go to dinner at his house a week later and the Time Traveller turns up half way through the meal looking and acting like he's just escaped an asylum. He then tells them his very long-winded tale of how he *Spoiler Alert* went to future, befriended several giggling idiots, lost his machine, discovered that the world still has the concept of farming, gets his machine back and returns home a bit peckish. And once the narrator has finished repeating the Time Travellers' waffling monologue, we discover that most of the dinner guests still think it's an elaborate joke.
The descriptive detail somehow manages to be both patchy and excessive so that it's hard to get a clear picture in your mind of what Wells' future looks like. Important details get lost amongst the less significant and often changing thoughts of the Time Traveller. There were some interesting moments, particularly when the Time Traveller meets some underground dwellers, but there simply wasn't enough to make this a pleasurable read.
If you're already a sci-fi fan then you will probably be able to read this and appreciate it as the godfather of a beloved genre, but for the rest of us there is simply nothing here to make wading through the stilted prose worthwhile.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 9 February 2015
I now remember why I stopped reading. It is deathly dull. It's one of the most tedious, stagnant books I've ever read. I actually had to resort to bribing myself with a chapter of something better for every chapter of The Time Machine I finished.
I am sure that there are plenty of you out there who will think what I am saying is sacrilege - and whilst I appreciate that this book was revolutionary in its time - I can't hide how much I resent this book for wasting my time now. The only positive I can take away from this is that at least I have finished the book now and I'll never have to read it again.
The actual story itself didn't leave much of an impression, so it is a little hard for me to accurately relay it back to you. From the hazy depths of despair which this book has been mentally filed into I can tell you that it's about a nameless Time Traveller, who gathers his equally nameless friends to show off his new invention, a time machine. So far, so good. It's an interesting premise for a story with lots of interesting places to go. It should result in a really fascinating and gripping story.
The guests think it's one of his usual jokes and forget all about it until they go to dinner at his house a week later and the Time Traveller turns up half way through the meal looking and acting like he's just escaped an asylum. He then tells them his very long-winded tale of how he *Spoiler Alert* went to future, befriended several giggling idiots, lost his machine, discovered that the world still has the concept of farming, gets his machine back and returns home a bit peckish. And once the narrator has finished repeating the Time Travellers' waffling monologue, we discover that most of the dinner guests still think it's an elaborate joke.
The descriptive detail somehow manages to be both patchy and excessive so that it's hard to get a clear picture in your mind of what Wells' future looks like. Important details get lost amongst the less significant and often changing thoughts of the Time Traveller. There were some interesting moments, particularly when the Time Traveller meets some underground dwellers, but there simply wasn't enough to make this a pleasurable read.
If you're already a sci-fi fan then you will probably be able to read this and appreciate it as the godfather of a beloved genre, but for the rest of us there is simply nothing here to make wading through the stilted prose worthwhile.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 9 February 2015
Book Review: The Abrupt Physics of Dying by Paul E. Hardisty
Paul E. Hardisty’s debut novel, The Abrupt Physics of Dying - an amazing title, don’t you agree? - landed on my desk last week and I was, admittedly, hesitant. The novel falls into the genre of eco-thriller, something I am fairly unfamiliar and inexperienced with; however, it seems that regardless of what your experience with the genre is, Hardisty has made this not only an enjoyable book but also an entirely approachable one, offering a rather impressive debut piece of fiction in the process.
The novel is centred around the character of Claymore Straker, an oil company engineer working in Yemen, who finds himself unexpectedly caught up in the world of terrorists. Throughout the novel Clay is faced with a series of difficult decisions, all of which will cost lives and money if he doesn’t make his choices in time. During the story presented in this text, we observe troubled villagers who are all falling sick with an unknown illness, demanding terrorists who are pushing their own agendas, and oil companies who - frankly - don’t seem that much better than the terrorists themselves at times! And if that wasn’t enough excitement for one novel, our protagonist is also nurturing a dark secret of a violent nature pertaining to his past; however, in this fast-paced world of corruption and deceit, it seems impossible for much to stay secret for long.
Not only is the plot well-developed and entirely intricate, but the written content is so tight, and so polished, it deserves individual commendation here. Hardisty is a true wordsmith in respect to his ability to transfer a literal landscape onto a page, so much so that despite my utter ignorance when it comes to the geographical references in the text, I was still fully equipped to design and appreciate them as I read the novel, thanks to the in-depth and fine-tuned descriptions provided.
Additionally, Hardisty has created a durable character in the form of Clay Straker. The fan-favourite ‘good guy with a past’ persona is something that has been tried and tested throughout literature across the ages and it has, and I think always will, be a popular character design. And it seems that in Straker we have a fine example of exactly why that model works so well for so many readers. The strength of this character is admirable, and he is certainly constructed in an intriguing manner to justify his appearance in future novels - which, I have heard, is a real possibility with talk of a sequel floating around this release.
Ultimately, this is a fine debut for both author and publisher! A well-crafted, admirably constructed, and convincing tale of modern corruption, touching on topical issues, The Abrupt Physics of Dying has introduced Hardisty as a serious player in the (eco-) thriller genre, and I expect impressive things from him over the coming years.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 4 February 2015
The novel is centred around the character of Claymore Straker, an oil company engineer working in Yemen, who finds himself unexpectedly caught up in the world of terrorists. Throughout the novel Clay is faced with a series of difficult decisions, all of which will cost lives and money if he doesn’t make his choices in time. During the story presented in this text, we observe troubled villagers who are all falling sick with an unknown illness, demanding terrorists who are pushing their own agendas, and oil companies who - frankly - don’t seem that much better than the terrorists themselves at times! And if that wasn’t enough excitement for one novel, our protagonist is also nurturing a dark secret of a violent nature pertaining to his past; however, in this fast-paced world of corruption and deceit, it seems impossible for much to stay secret for long.
Not only is the plot well-developed and entirely intricate, but the written content is so tight, and so polished, it deserves individual commendation here. Hardisty is a true wordsmith in respect to his ability to transfer a literal landscape onto a page, so much so that despite my utter ignorance when it comes to the geographical references in the text, I was still fully equipped to design and appreciate them as I read the novel, thanks to the in-depth and fine-tuned descriptions provided.
Additionally, Hardisty has created a durable character in the form of Clay Straker. The fan-favourite ‘good guy with a past’ persona is something that has been tried and tested throughout literature across the ages and it has, and I think always will, be a popular character design. And it seems that in Straker we have a fine example of exactly why that model works so well for so many readers. The strength of this character is admirable, and he is certainly constructed in an intriguing manner to justify his appearance in future novels - which, I have heard, is a real possibility with talk of a sequel floating around this release.
Ultimately, this is a fine debut for both author and publisher! A well-crafted, admirably constructed, and convincing tale of modern corruption, touching on topical issues, The Abrupt Physics of Dying has introduced Hardisty as a serious player in the (eco-) thriller genre, and I expect impressive things from him over the coming years.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 4 February 2015
Book Review: Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay
The first novel in the Dexter series, titled Darkly Dreaming Dexter, was published back in 2004. I’m not entirely sure why now, eleven years after its original publication, I have decided to try on this series but one thing I do know is that I’m certainly glad that I have, and after spending the earlier part of this week wading through this first novel, I’m sure that I’ll be picking up the next one in the near future.
For those who aren’t aware, the Dexter series revolves around the main character Dexter - go figure - who is a blood spatter analyst by day, and a remarkably successful serial killer by night. The basic premise itself is attractive enough to warrant my attention, but when I look at this through a pair of literary spectacles, the whole thing becomes even more attractive.
Jeff Lindsay, the author of the series, has made a bold but genius move to write this novel in a first person narrative and because of this, there is literally no way to escape the undeniable charm of Dexter Morgan - despite his questionable hobby. Throughout the novel we observe Dexter tracking another serial killer, who he develops a deep admiration for throughout the text.
The plot itself offers a really difficult scenario to digest but, thanks to how it’s portrayed in Lindsay’s narrative technique, it becomes not only plausible but also something that I felt completely absorbed in. It may one of the few books I’ve read in my entire life where, firstly, the serial killer is my favourite character, and secondly, I didn’t want the killer to be caught - sorry, I should specify, I didn’t want Dexter the serial killer to be caught. As for this other serial killer, well, he became quite intriguing over the course of the book, and I was quite relieved to discover his identity before the end… But I won’t go ruining that with specifics.
People have been recommending this series to me for some time now, and for one reason or another I have completely resisted. However, having read the first instalment, I now can’t fathom why it’s taken me so long to step into Dexter’s world and have a look what all the fuss about. So if you’ve been toying with the idea of picking up Dexter, then you definitely need to read this book. Right now. Yesterday, even! Because even now, over a decade after publication, it’s still outstanding in its genre, and definitely worth a read.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 23 January 2015
For those who aren’t aware, the Dexter series revolves around the main character Dexter - go figure - who is a blood spatter analyst by day, and a remarkably successful serial killer by night. The basic premise itself is attractive enough to warrant my attention, but when I look at this through a pair of literary spectacles, the whole thing becomes even more attractive.
Jeff Lindsay, the author of the series, has made a bold but genius move to write this novel in a first person narrative and because of this, there is literally no way to escape the undeniable charm of Dexter Morgan - despite his questionable hobby. Throughout the novel we observe Dexter tracking another serial killer, who he develops a deep admiration for throughout the text.
The plot itself offers a really difficult scenario to digest but, thanks to how it’s portrayed in Lindsay’s narrative technique, it becomes not only plausible but also something that I felt completely absorbed in. It may one of the few books I’ve read in my entire life where, firstly, the serial killer is my favourite character, and secondly, I didn’t want the killer to be caught - sorry, I should specify, I didn’t want Dexter the serial killer to be caught. As for this other serial killer, well, he became quite intriguing over the course of the book, and I was quite relieved to discover his identity before the end… But I won’t go ruining that with specifics.
People have been recommending this series to me for some time now, and for one reason or another I have completely resisted. However, having read the first instalment, I now can’t fathom why it’s taken me so long to step into Dexter’s world and have a look what all the fuss about. So if you’ve been toying with the idea of picking up Dexter, then you definitely need to read this book. Right now. Yesterday, even! Because even now, over a decade after publication, it’s still outstanding in its genre, and definitely worth a read.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 23 January 2015
Book Review: All The Birds, Singing by Evie Wyld
All the Birds, Singing is a beautifully written novel which tells a story unlike any other. Switching between the sodden, windswept British Isles and the endless scorching landscape of the Australian outback, the writing is detailed, sensory and completely absorbing. This book is so vivid and engrossing that I actually had to create a playlist of suitable background music to fit the filmic scenes Wyld has created. Even though it's only January, this book is already a strong contender for the best book I'll read this year.
If you're a keen reader, Wyld's is a name worth familiarising yourself with. This is only her second novel, yet she's already made it as a Granta Best Young British Novelist, been selected by the BBC as one of twelve best new writers (a good sign for future adaptations), and her work has been on longlists, shortlists and on the even-shorter-winner-lists for numerous awards.
However, if all this literary glow is a little too dazzling for you, fear not, this isn't an intimidating read. It's a short book of just over 200 pages and you don't need to have a particularly high brow to enjoy it. Wyld's novel has some serious grit; there's sex, there's violence and there's a lot of whisky being drunk.
The story is focused on the character of Jake, a young Australian woman who lives an obscure life of seclusion as a sheep farmer on an unnamed British island (I pictured Father Ted's Craggy Island but without the Irish accents). The chapters alternate between telling the story of Jake's present day struggles against an unknown predator which has been chewing up her sheep, and telling the story of Jake's dark past in Australia, stretching ever further back with each visit. Although the two threads of Jake's life pull away from one another, they keep a pace so that the writing never feels stalled or frustrating. Jake's refusal to befriend any of the local young farmers is mirrored by scenes of her time as the only woman amongst a gang of burly men on a remote Outback sheep shearing station.
Jake's mysterious past continues to unravel as we see more of her self-inflicted isolation, and as soon as you think you've got the measure of Jake she grows another inch. This book is not, thankfully, a predictable read. There are several surprising moments, and Wyld keeps you waiting until the very end to find out how Jake acquired the scars that stretch across her lower back.
All the Birds, Singing is a distinctly chilling book. You know all along that there is something deeply disturbing at the root of Jake's need to escape from her past, but the truth is never what you expect. For me, what really sets All the Birds, Singing apart from the crowd is the way Wyld has managed to take an actively hostile character, a character who hordes kitchen knives under her bed and barely attempts to be civil to the people she meets, and make her someone you want to get to know. Wyld creates a complex character then shows us why we should try to understand her. It's a story that gets inside your head and stays there. Read it. Seriously, read it.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 18 January 2015
If you're a keen reader, Wyld's is a name worth familiarising yourself with. This is only her second novel, yet she's already made it as a Granta Best Young British Novelist, been selected by the BBC as one of twelve best new writers (a good sign for future adaptations), and her work has been on longlists, shortlists and on the even-shorter-winner-lists for numerous awards.
However, if all this literary glow is a little too dazzling for you, fear not, this isn't an intimidating read. It's a short book of just over 200 pages and you don't need to have a particularly high brow to enjoy it. Wyld's novel has some serious grit; there's sex, there's violence and there's a lot of whisky being drunk.
The story is focused on the character of Jake, a young Australian woman who lives an obscure life of seclusion as a sheep farmer on an unnamed British island (I pictured Father Ted's Craggy Island but without the Irish accents). The chapters alternate between telling the story of Jake's present day struggles against an unknown predator which has been chewing up her sheep, and telling the story of Jake's dark past in Australia, stretching ever further back with each visit. Although the two threads of Jake's life pull away from one another, they keep a pace so that the writing never feels stalled or frustrating. Jake's refusal to befriend any of the local young farmers is mirrored by scenes of her time as the only woman amongst a gang of burly men on a remote Outback sheep shearing station.
Jake's mysterious past continues to unravel as we see more of her self-inflicted isolation, and as soon as you think you've got the measure of Jake she grows another inch. This book is not, thankfully, a predictable read. There are several surprising moments, and Wyld keeps you waiting until the very end to find out how Jake acquired the scars that stretch across her lower back.
All the Birds, Singing is a distinctly chilling book. You know all along that there is something deeply disturbing at the root of Jake's need to escape from her past, but the truth is never what you expect. For me, what really sets All the Birds, Singing apart from the crowd is the way Wyld has managed to take an actively hostile character, a character who hordes kitchen knives under her bed and barely attempts to be civil to the people she meets, and make her someone you want to get to know. Wyld creates a complex character then shows us why we should try to understand her. It's a story that gets inside your head and stays there. Read it. Seriously, read it.
Written by: Annie Moss
Published: 18 January 2015
Book Review: The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell
I first came across David Mitchell when he released Cloud Atlas back in 2004. I had just started secondary school and, being filled with that hubris that comes with youth, I put the book to the side, dismissing it for a better book. In this case, Eragon. Fast forward to 2012 and the film for Cloud Atlas comes out, a beautiful film that aspired to be something that it could not. It flew too close to the sun and was burned but it was still a great film. And my interest in Mr Mitchell reignited. However, due to laziness, I still have not read Cloud Atlas but somehow managed to get my hands on his newest novel, The Bone Clocks.
The Bone Clocks concerns itself with the idea of immortality in two different ways; that of dying and coming back in another body and the traditional idea of staying young forever. However, you won't find this out until around the 450 page mark of the novel, something that is inherently frustrating (don't worry, that's not a spoiler because there are hints everywhere). The meat of the book is definitely on its characters, spinning from one segment in 1984 to another in the early 2000s to another in 2015. Mitchell seems to have found his thing and his thing is having an epistolary work, in which there are several different parts by different characters relating to the whole (this is the same thing he does with Cloud Atlas).
Holly Sykes is our main(ish) character and the book concerns itself with people who run into her. As a character, she's alright. She starts off as a mouthy teenager and the book runs to the end of her life. However, it's frustrating that we only get two parts from her, one at the start and one at the end. Otherwise, the glimpses we get from her are from other characters who are writing the other parts of the novel. Holly is definitely interesting yet we aren't given the chance to explore her life as much as we could. Instead, we get glimpses of her from the eyes of an author who can't write like he used to or her husband or a boy who manages to meet her at a ski resort. The other characters in the novel are pretty good, given that we only have a hundred or so pages to get acquainted with them before we move on to the next, but they don't seem to reveal more of the plot, until the aforementioned 450 page mark. Up until that point, the plot is hinted at but never fully revealed, so essentially, you have to get through pages and pages of characters whom you don't care for to get to the plot... which isn't that good. Mitchell falls into the trap most authors do when they attempt to make something up; he doesn't explain as much as we need him to, resulting in passages of words that we don't quite understand yet the characters all do. Some explanation comes in the form of Holly, who is our vehicle as she is in the same position as us, yet this doesn't help either because the information she receives is oddly short.
There's no denying that Mitchell is a great writer. There are sentences in this novel that are beautiful, but this style of his (again, I have not read Cloud Atlas, so I cannot compare) is frustrating. Maybe it worked for him before but in this particular occasion, it just serves to keep the reader from completely understanding what is going on. And that's just not good. I found myself tiring of the novel towards the end, as it also went on for too long. Overall, a good read for fans of the author but if you want his best work, the internet tells me you should read Cloud Atlas.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 5 January 2015
The Bone Clocks concerns itself with the idea of immortality in two different ways; that of dying and coming back in another body and the traditional idea of staying young forever. However, you won't find this out until around the 450 page mark of the novel, something that is inherently frustrating (don't worry, that's not a spoiler because there are hints everywhere). The meat of the book is definitely on its characters, spinning from one segment in 1984 to another in the early 2000s to another in 2015. Mitchell seems to have found his thing and his thing is having an epistolary work, in which there are several different parts by different characters relating to the whole (this is the same thing he does with Cloud Atlas).
Holly Sykes is our main(ish) character and the book concerns itself with people who run into her. As a character, she's alright. She starts off as a mouthy teenager and the book runs to the end of her life. However, it's frustrating that we only get two parts from her, one at the start and one at the end. Otherwise, the glimpses we get from her are from other characters who are writing the other parts of the novel. Holly is definitely interesting yet we aren't given the chance to explore her life as much as we could. Instead, we get glimpses of her from the eyes of an author who can't write like he used to or her husband or a boy who manages to meet her at a ski resort. The other characters in the novel are pretty good, given that we only have a hundred or so pages to get acquainted with them before we move on to the next, but they don't seem to reveal more of the plot, until the aforementioned 450 page mark. Up until that point, the plot is hinted at but never fully revealed, so essentially, you have to get through pages and pages of characters whom you don't care for to get to the plot... which isn't that good. Mitchell falls into the trap most authors do when they attempt to make something up; he doesn't explain as much as we need him to, resulting in passages of words that we don't quite understand yet the characters all do. Some explanation comes in the form of Holly, who is our vehicle as she is in the same position as us, yet this doesn't help either because the information she receives is oddly short.
There's no denying that Mitchell is a great writer. There are sentences in this novel that are beautiful, but this style of his (again, I have not read Cloud Atlas, so I cannot compare) is frustrating. Maybe it worked for him before but in this particular occasion, it just serves to keep the reader from completely understanding what is going on. And that's just not good. I found myself tiring of the novel towards the end, as it also went on for too long. Overall, a good read for fans of the author but if you want his best work, the internet tells me you should read Cloud Atlas.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 5 January 2015
Book Review: Gone Girl by Gillian Flyn
Of course I would read the book after watching the film, which is just brilliant by the way and if you have not watched, I recommend you do so. Immediately. Just maybe not with a partner.
Gone Girl concerns itself with the disappearance of a one Amy Dunne, married to Nick Dunne, who is then accused of killing her. There's a plot twist, a really big one, but I'm not going to reveal that. The novel is simply brilliant. Gillian Flynn, the woman who has written the novel, is an amazing author. The novel is written from the perspective of two people, one of whom changes their voice completely at the half way point in the novel, and Flynn handles each voice perfectly. It's an amazing feat and should definitely be celebrated.
As for the plot... There's not much I can say without spoiling it for those that haven't read it/seen the film but let me just say this: Though I was entirely aware of the twist that occurs, having previously watched the film, reading the book made me forget that the twist ever occurred. At one point, I found myself asking the same questions that the police officers in the novel were; Nick, did you actually kill your wife? The fact that Flynn can make me forget the film ever existed is a testament to her writing. It might not be filled with long words or quotable sentences (though one section of the book is entirely quotable because of its content - you'll know what I'm talking about when you come across it) but her writing is astounding in its simplicity. It draws you in, makes you forget that you're reading a fictional novel, and isn't that what writers want?
Read this book. Watch the film. Both are excellent.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 31 December 2014
Gone Girl concerns itself with the disappearance of a one Amy Dunne, married to Nick Dunne, who is then accused of killing her. There's a plot twist, a really big one, but I'm not going to reveal that. The novel is simply brilliant. Gillian Flynn, the woman who has written the novel, is an amazing author. The novel is written from the perspective of two people, one of whom changes their voice completely at the half way point in the novel, and Flynn handles each voice perfectly. It's an amazing feat and should definitely be celebrated.
As for the plot... There's not much I can say without spoiling it for those that haven't read it/seen the film but let me just say this: Though I was entirely aware of the twist that occurs, having previously watched the film, reading the book made me forget that the twist ever occurred. At one point, I found myself asking the same questions that the police officers in the novel were; Nick, did you actually kill your wife? The fact that Flynn can make me forget the film ever existed is a testament to her writing. It might not be filled with long words or quotable sentences (though one section of the book is entirely quotable because of its content - you'll know what I'm talking about when you come across it) but her writing is astounding in its simplicity. It draws you in, makes you forget that you're reading a fictional novel, and isn't that what writers want?
Read this book. Watch the film. Both are excellent.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 31 December 2014
Book Review: Jimmy Cricket by Kevin Brooke
Admittedly, I’m not quite the target market in mind for Kevin Brooke’s Young Adult novel, Jimmy Cricket, that was released late September. However, the fact that I enjoyed it - despite not being the audience this book was written for - should speak volumes about the quality of this touching piece of fiction that will undoubtedly reach out to younger and older readers alike.
Jimmy Cricket tells the story of 15-year-old Jimmy who is forced to move in with his aging grandmother following the death of his parents. As if that wasn’t difficult enough for any teenager to deal with, Jimmy repeatedly falls in with the wrong crowd and finds his adolescence hi-jacked by his best friend, Dean, who often seems to hinder more than help.
It’s emotional, touching, and entirely accurate and that’s why, irrespective of the age of the reader, Jimmy’s antics - that involve petty theft, too much alcohol, and, shock horror, the first love of his life - will prove to be completely relatable.
Brooke’s prose is accessible, and his tendency to finish chapters at the precise point that you wish to know more is a worthy skill for any writer. I’ve said before that the mark of good fiction is whether it passes the one-more-chapter test, and Jimmy Cricket certainly does. I needed to know what he was going to do next, and I needed to frown judgementally - whilst quietly sympathising - when he made yet another mistake.
The reader observes Jimmy pushed from pillar to post by his friends, whilst making a number of typical teenager mistakes with his first girlfriend, Dayla - who proves to be an important character in the book. However, she’s not quite as important as Mark, the latest in a long line of family support workers who are sent to help Jimmy and his grandmother. I’ll deliberately skirt around the character here, because I don’t want to ruin things for potential readers, but Mark is not only well-constructed but he’s also entirely necessary and complimentary to the character of Jimmy - they fit so well together, and ultimately lend a genuine poignancy to many points within the book.
Overall, it’s a neat little novel. Brooke writes his characters with conviction, creating convincing scenarios in which the reader can’t help but feel sympathy, disappointment, and sometimes even embarrassment as we are catapulted into the all-too-familiar world of teenage life, as seen by Jimmy.
Jimmy Cricket is available to buy now from Amazon and through the Black Pear Press website; and, if you want to know more about the author, you can read our interview with him in Performance & Arts today as well.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 10 October 2014
Jimmy Cricket tells the story of 15-year-old Jimmy who is forced to move in with his aging grandmother following the death of his parents. As if that wasn’t difficult enough for any teenager to deal with, Jimmy repeatedly falls in with the wrong crowd and finds his adolescence hi-jacked by his best friend, Dean, who often seems to hinder more than help.
It’s emotional, touching, and entirely accurate and that’s why, irrespective of the age of the reader, Jimmy’s antics - that involve petty theft, too much alcohol, and, shock horror, the first love of his life - will prove to be completely relatable.
Brooke’s prose is accessible, and his tendency to finish chapters at the precise point that you wish to know more is a worthy skill for any writer. I’ve said before that the mark of good fiction is whether it passes the one-more-chapter test, and Jimmy Cricket certainly does. I needed to know what he was going to do next, and I needed to frown judgementally - whilst quietly sympathising - when he made yet another mistake.
The reader observes Jimmy pushed from pillar to post by his friends, whilst making a number of typical teenager mistakes with his first girlfriend, Dayla - who proves to be an important character in the book. However, she’s not quite as important as Mark, the latest in a long line of family support workers who are sent to help Jimmy and his grandmother. I’ll deliberately skirt around the character here, because I don’t want to ruin things for potential readers, but Mark is not only well-constructed but he’s also entirely necessary and complimentary to the character of Jimmy - they fit so well together, and ultimately lend a genuine poignancy to many points within the book.
Overall, it’s a neat little novel. Brooke writes his characters with conviction, creating convincing scenarios in which the reader can’t help but feel sympathy, disappointment, and sometimes even embarrassment as we are catapulted into the all-too-familiar world of teenage life, as seen by Jimmy.
Jimmy Cricket is available to buy now from Amazon and through the Black Pear Press website; and, if you want to know more about the author, you can read our interview with him in Performance & Arts today as well.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 10 October 2014
Book Review: Sugar Hall Written by Tiffany Murray
The one fear that I take to every ghost story is that the author, irrespective of their talents as a writer, will simply not be able to capture a haunting enough quality, through the written word, for the book to have its desired impact. However it seems that this was a misplaced fear when it came to my reading of Sugar Hall by Tiffany Murray, a book that, without question, captures the horror of the characters, and left me looking over my shoulder once or twice as well.
This stunning publication, set in the heart of the English countryside which, I think, perhaps made me love it a little more, delves into the lives of the Sugar family - or rather, what is left of it. Following the death of her husband, Lilia Sugar moves into the infamous and ominous Sugar Hall, which now belongs to her son, Dieter. However, it isn’t long before the house - or rather the ghostly inhabitant of the house - draws the family into a world of discomfort, terror, and a classic haunting, that Murray communicates perfectly throughout this text.
Dieter soon introduces the idea of his imaginary friend - also known as a ghost that only Dieter can see, and it is this ghost that is single-handedly responsible for the torment suffered by this three-piece family throughout the text.
The narrative, constructed in a well-rounded manner, allows for a variety of perspectives to shine from all the characters - including the occasional glimpse into the mind and the intentions of the aforementioned ghost-boy, who has a fascinating history in his own right. In fact, it is through the history of this ghostly character that Sugar Hall is not only a statement made towards the genre of ghost stories, but also towards the historical novel genre, given the heavy undertones of a long-forgotten-England that successfully seep through the storyline.
Murray flawlessly moves through her characters and their emotional reactions to this current situation, allowing each character to be important and revealing in critical parts of the novel. Not only are the characters convincing, but they’re also endearing and relatable, two qualities that will undoubtedly draw readers further into this tale!
These qualities, alongside the more horror-based aspects of the plot, allow for a convincing ghost story that confirms to some of the most classic conventions of the genre - including some moments where I found myself physically grimacing as I read what was happening! A worthy addition to the bookshelf of any ghost story fan - although I would recommend this book to anyone, not just experienced readers - Sugar Hall draws in its audience with convincing characters, big reveals, and emotional punches that work together to provide a truly memorable, and truly British, ghost story.
You can read more about Sugar Hall, and purchase a copy, by accessing the Seren Books website, which is available here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 October 2014
This stunning publication, set in the heart of the English countryside which, I think, perhaps made me love it a little more, delves into the lives of the Sugar family - or rather, what is left of it. Following the death of her husband, Lilia Sugar moves into the infamous and ominous Sugar Hall, which now belongs to her son, Dieter. However, it isn’t long before the house - or rather the ghostly inhabitant of the house - draws the family into a world of discomfort, terror, and a classic haunting, that Murray communicates perfectly throughout this text.
Dieter soon introduces the idea of his imaginary friend - also known as a ghost that only Dieter can see, and it is this ghost that is single-handedly responsible for the torment suffered by this three-piece family throughout the text.
The narrative, constructed in a well-rounded manner, allows for a variety of perspectives to shine from all the characters - including the occasional glimpse into the mind and the intentions of the aforementioned ghost-boy, who has a fascinating history in his own right. In fact, it is through the history of this ghostly character that Sugar Hall is not only a statement made towards the genre of ghost stories, but also towards the historical novel genre, given the heavy undertones of a long-forgotten-England that successfully seep through the storyline.
Murray flawlessly moves through her characters and their emotional reactions to this current situation, allowing each character to be important and revealing in critical parts of the novel. Not only are the characters convincing, but they’re also endearing and relatable, two qualities that will undoubtedly draw readers further into this tale!
These qualities, alongside the more horror-based aspects of the plot, allow for a convincing ghost story that confirms to some of the most classic conventions of the genre - including some moments where I found myself physically grimacing as I read what was happening! A worthy addition to the bookshelf of any ghost story fan - although I would recommend this book to anyone, not just experienced readers - Sugar Hall draws in its audience with convincing characters, big reveals, and emotional punches that work together to provide a truly memorable, and truly British, ghost story.
You can read more about Sugar Hall, and purchase a copy, by accessing the Seren Books website, which is available here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 October 2014
Book Review: The Deposition of Father McGreevy Written by Brian O'Doherty
If you’re a firm literature fan, then The Deposition of Father McGreevy by Brian O’Doherty might ring something of a bell for you, given that it was short-listed for The Man Booker Prize back in 2000. If you don’t follow literary prizes then there’s a good chance that this book might have slipped through your net over recent years. However, after delving into this complex and unsettling narrative, it’s safe to say that it’s definitely worthy of a place on anyone’s reading list - providing, that is, you have a strong stomach…
The novel deals with the still-fresh issues of a struggling Ireland which sees Catholics, Protestants, and hundreds of problems for the country. Or rather, more specifically, problems for the village in which this novel is set. We are quickly introduced to a quiet corner of Ireland in which this novel takes place, that sees a few members of the community actually living outside the village, in their own congregation as it were, up a steep and often dangerous mountain. This flock, who mostly exist separately from the main-village members, are subject to so much pain, prejudice, and loss throughout this novel, that it’s difficult to not feel moved by the characters. The narrative voice that is re-telling this, however, the title character Father McGreevy, certainly does not make it an easy story to digest.
Rest assured there are no plot-spoilers here, because this is certainly a story that hits you hard, and I wouldn’t want to ruin that. However, what I will say is that O’Doherty has succeeded in capturing not only the torment of a mountain-village and the prejudices they faced, but also the torment of an entire country at the time in which this novel is set. The deprivation of those characters living on the mountain - who are at the forefront of this story, and ultimately at the forefront of the reader’s emotions for this book - is hard to digest, and as the Father’s narrative continues, it only becomes more difficult.
Ultimately, the reader is catapulted into a heart-breaking scenario from which the older the characters are, the less able they are to escape…
Arcadia Books, the publishers behind this publication, did warn me that elements of the story were dark, but it was nevertheless a good read - an assessment that, now I have finished the book, I’m inclined to agree with. It’s emotional, startling, and provocative in so many ways, and it is certainly a book that I will remember. With each character prompting an emotional reaction from the reader - whether that be admiration, pity, or disgust - it is inevitable that readers will find themselves drawn into this narrative and the characters that exist within it, ultimately forcing us to make judgements on these men, alongside the judgements communicated by the seemingly bitter Father McGreevy.
A stunning and eye-opening read, The Deposition of Father McGreevy successfully brings light to a number of long-forgotten elements of Irish history, whilst pulling the reader into one of the most pain-ridden tales I have read in some time.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 22 September 2014
The novel deals with the still-fresh issues of a struggling Ireland which sees Catholics, Protestants, and hundreds of problems for the country. Or rather, more specifically, problems for the village in which this novel is set. We are quickly introduced to a quiet corner of Ireland in which this novel takes place, that sees a few members of the community actually living outside the village, in their own congregation as it were, up a steep and often dangerous mountain. This flock, who mostly exist separately from the main-village members, are subject to so much pain, prejudice, and loss throughout this novel, that it’s difficult to not feel moved by the characters. The narrative voice that is re-telling this, however, the title character Father McGreevy, certainly does not make it an easy story to digest.
Rest assured there are no plot-spoilers here, because this is certainly a story that hits you hard, and I wouldn’t want to ruin that. However, what I will say is that O’Doherty has succeeded in capturing not only the torment of a mountain-village and the prejudices they faced, but also the torment of an entire country at the time in which this novel is set. The deprivation of those characters living on the mountain - who are at the forefront of this story, and ultimately at the forefront of the reader’s emotions for this book - is hard to digest, and as the Father’s narrative continues, it only becomes more difficult.
Ultimately, the reader is catapulted into a heart-breaking scenario from which the older the characters are, the less able they are to escape…
Arcadia Books, the publishers behind this publication, did warn me that elements of the story were dark, but it was nevertheless a good read - an assessment that, now I have finished the book, I’m inclined to agree with. It’s emotional, startling, and provocative in so many ways, and it is certainly a book that I will remember. With each character prompting an emotional reaction from the reader - whether that be admiration, pity, or disgust - it is inevitable that readers will find themselves drawn into this narrative and the characters that exist within it, ultimately forcing us to make judgements on these men, alongside the judgements communicated by the seemingly bitter Father McGreevy.
A stunning and eye-opening read, The Deposition of Father McGreevy successfully brings light to a number of long-forgotten elements of Irish history, whilst pulling the reader into one of the most pain-ridden tales I have read in some time.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 22 September 2014
Book Review: Mirror Image by Beth Murray
For me, there are two things that indicate a good book. The first is one-more-chapter syndrome, which is, of course, the burning need to read one more chapter - despite it making you late for absolutely everything else you have going on in your life. The second is how quickly you read the book. So the fact that I read Beth Murray’s Mirror Image in a weekend - a weekend that was full of family visits, EP launches, and other bits and pieces that kept me busy - and the fact that I stayed awake much later than my usual bed time (two nights in a row, no less) just to squeeze in a couple more chapters, should speak volumes about this book.
The novel itself offers the tale of a female serial killer with a supernatural twist, which seems to be a fairly popular approach these days. Throughout the plot, we track the process, progress, and downfall of a young serial killer called Sarah who, she believes/claims, can see people’s dark sides by looking at their reflections in mirrors. It is this revelation that leads to her first kill, however, over the course of the novel it eventually becomes apparent that Sarah herself is making a transition from murderous vigilante to cold-blooded killer, culminating in her own reflection revealing the startling truth to her character.
With this soul-seeing element ticking the first supernatural box, the second strand in this area appears in Sarah’s relationship with the investigating officer, Jack Daniels. Side note: I really wanted more to be made out of this chap’s name, because I certainly raised an eyebrow the first time that I read it. Throughout the novel it becomes apparent that there is some strange cosmic link between the two characters, which has almost allowed them to track each other throughout the hunt for Sarah. While the characters weren’t necessarily aware of this link, it certainly became an interesting element of the narrative, particularly as readers were allowed to see things that the characters themselves weren’t.
The plot itself was intriguing to me. This killer who kills killers idea seems to be almost trendy at the minute, with many novels adopting this sort of frame work in recent years, however the supernatural element to the text does add something extra. Additionally, in endowing the killer with this alleged power, the narrative heavily justifies the first murders by explaining that it was ‘evil’ people that were being disposed of here. However, as the plot progressed, it soon became apparent that the killer was choosing her victims based on her own morals, rather than any visions she may or may not have had regarding the state of their souls. The dual-narrative that saw half of our time spent with Sarah and half spent with Jack allowed this development to be quite explicit, given that Jack was talking the reader through much of this. Admittedly, this felt a little disruptive to begin with, however once I’d become accustomed to the narrative style, it actually began to feel like Jack was communicating with me as a reader, rather than simply spoon-feeding me information. Ultimately, it served to create an interesting reader-character relationship, which left me feeling quite invested in both the killer and the cop that was hunting her.
The one big surprise for me was the ending - don’t worry, I won’t ruin it for you! Nevertheless, it was so far from what I was expecting that I might even go as far to say that it was my favourite aspect of the plot. Creating an unexpected resolve to the story, and the strange relationship that exists between Jack and Sarah, Murray has successfully achieved a cyclical ending that genuinely leaves the text on an ‘Oh no…’ sort of feeling - which is, of course, what we are all looking for from this style of novel.
Overall this is a compact, impressive, and well-developed little novel that strikes a lovely balance between two main characters, who are simultaneously worlds apart and right next to each other - sometimes literally - which ultimately creates a striking relationship; a relationship that, might I add, the reader themselves is eventually drawn in to. A promising offering from Beth Murray, I’m optimistic that there will be more novels of this ilk appearing from her in the not-too-distant future.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 15 September 2014
The novel itself offers the tale of a female serial killer with a supernatural twist, which seems to be a fairly popular approach these days. Throughout the plot, we track the process, progress, and downfall of a young serial killer called Sarah who, she believes/claims, can see people’s dark sides by looking at their reflections in mirrors. It is this revelation that leads to her first kill, however, over the course of the novel it eventually becomes apparent that Sarah herself is making a transition from murderous vigilante to cold-blooded killer, culminating in her own reflection revealing the startling truth to her character.
With this soul-seeing element ticking the first supernatural box, the second strand in this area appears in Sarah’s relationship with the investigating officer, Jack Daniels. Side note: I really wanted more to be made out of this chap’s name, because I certainly raised an eyebrow the first time that I read it. Throughout the novel it becomes apparent that there is some strange cosmic link between the two characters, which has almost allowed them to track each other throughout the hunt for Sarah. While the characters weren’t necessarily aware of this link, it certainly became an interesting element of the narrative, particularly as readers were allowed to see things that the characters themselves weren’t.
The plot itself was intriguing to me. This killer who kills killers idea seems to be almost trendy at the minute, with many novels adopting this sort of frame work in recent years, however the supernatural element to the text does add something extra. Additionally, in endowing the killer with this alleged power, the narrative heavily justifies the first murders by explaining that it was ‘evil’ people that were being disposed of here. However, as the plot progressed, it soon became apparent that the killer was choosing her victims based on her own morals, rather than any visions she may or may not have had regarding the state of their souls. The dual-narrative that saw half of our time spent with Sarah and half spent with Jack allowed this development to be quite explicit, given that Jack was talking the reader through much of this. Admittedly, this felt a little disruptive to begin with, however once I’d become accustomed to the narrative style, it actually began to feel like Jack was communicating with me as a reader, rather than simply spoon-feeding me information. Ultimately, it served to create an interesting reader-character relationship, which left me feeling quite invested in both the killer and the cop that was hunting her.
The one big surprise for me was the ending - don’t worry, I won’t ruin it for you! Nevertheless, it was so far from what I was expecting that I might even go as far to say that it was my favourite aspect of the plot. Creating an unexpected resolve to the story, and the strange relationship that exists between Jack and Sarah, Murray has successfully achieved a cyclical ending that genuinely leaves the text on an ‘Oh no…’ sort of feeling - which is, of course, what we are all looking for from this style of novel.
Overall this is a compact, impressive, and well-developed little novel that strikes a lovely balance between two main characters, who are simultaneously worlds apart and right next to each other - sometimes literally - which ultimately creates a striking relationship; a relationship that, might I add, the reader themselves is eventually drawn in to. A promising offering from Beth Murray, I’m optimistic that there will be more novels of this ilk appearing from her in the not-too-distant future.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 15 September 2014
J.K. Rowling Writes New Short Story About Harry Potter!
J.K. Rowling has written a new story about Harry Potter, but don't get your hopes up too much. The story, a short news article written in the voice of Rita Skeeter, a journalist from the Harry Potter universe, only features Harry Potter, rather than being all about him.
The story is live on Pottermore in a series of articles that Rowling has been writing about the Quidditch World Cup, in anticipation of the actual World Cup. The story features Harry, Hermione, and Ron, as well as talking about some of the other famous characters from the stories. It seems that middle age isn't treating our characters as well as one might hope it would; Harry has silver threads in his hair, whilst Ron's hair is thinning.
Check out the story on Pottermore now, thought the site has slowed down to a crawl and you will need an account to actually view the story. However, you will be able to find some copies floating around the internet, such as this one, where you can read the article easily.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 9 July 2014
The story is live on Pottermore in a series of articles that Rowling has been writing about the Quidditch World Cup, in anticipation of the actual World Cup. The story features Harry, Hermione, and Ron, as well as talking about some of the other famous characters from the stories. It seems that middle age isn't treating our characters as well as one might hope it would; Harry has silver threads in his hair, whilst Ron's hair is thinning.
Check out the story on Pottermore now, thought the site has slowed down to a crawl and you will need an account to actually view the story. However, you will be able to find some copies floating around the internet, such as this one, where you can read the article easily.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 9 July 2014
Book Review: Midnight, dhaka by Mir Mahfuz Ali
You’ve probably noticed that I’ve been on a bit of a poetry kick lately, so I delved into this latest collection, Midnight, Dhaka, eagerly hoping to find splashes of colour and culture. Having now completed the book, in one sitting I might add, I can confidently confirm that splashes of colour and culture is a massive understatement in terms of what this stunning collection gives to a reader.
My review notes for this say things like ‘fascinating manipulation of form’ and ‘amazing ability to write opening lines that will leave you stunned’ - this second one refers specifically to Nandita, the opening lines for which are: ‘Someone could have told me / you have to rot before you ripen’, a line that stayed with me throughout my reading of this collection. The text as a whole is littered with rich and ripe descriptions of a culture that I’m not at all familiar with, but I was altogether intrigued by throughout this journey that is cleverly constructed and articulated by this exceptionally talented poet.
The manipulation of form, combined with such a rich cultural feel, is different, daring, and refreshing, with some pieces adopting different presentations altogether and appearing as something more like prose poetry - Baby Snatchers’ Hill, which is an amazing story in itself, being a prime example of this. Furthermore, we are frequently introduced to different presentations on the page that mark the writing as poetry, but deviate from forms that we would perhaps anticipate - something which I particularly enjoyed. Early Morning, Polished Boots offers a fine example of this as we are greeted with indentations, strange lineation and frequent markers, or breaks if you will, that demonstrate just a few of the ways this author plays about with his texts.
Overall this is an absolutely stunning collection of poetry that pulled me into this culture and introduced me to many aspects of it, and all in such a short space of time. Mir Mahfuz Ali offers his readers a taste of both the familiar and unfamiliar in terms of subject matter and form, blending both together effortlessly and communicating aspects of his emotional life in such a way that makes it accessible to a massive audience. Harsh and previously unaddressed realities are dealt with in this book, particularly through poems such as Bullet, and I absolutely commend this skilful author for this stunning achievement.
Midnight, Dhaka is published by Seren Books and is available to buy by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 7 July 2014
My review notes for this say things like ‘fascinating manipulation of form’ and ‘amazing ability to write opening lines that will leave you stunned’ - this second one refers specifically to Nandita, the opening lines for which are: ‘Someone could have told me / you have to rot before you ripen’, a line that stayed with me throughout my reading of this collection. The text as a whole is littered with rich and ripe descriptions of a culture that I’m not at all familiar with, but I was altogether intrigued by throughout this journey that is cleverly constructed and articulated by this exceptionally talented poet.
The manipulation of form, combined with such a rich cultural feel, is different, daring, and refreshing, with some pieces adopting different presentations altogether and appearing as something more like prose poetry - Baby Snatchers’ Hill, which is an amazing story in itself, being a prime example of this. Furthermore, we are frequently introduced to different presentations on the page that mark the writing as poetry, but deviate from forms that we would perhaps anticipate - something which I particularly enjoyed. Early Morning, Polished Boots offers a fine example of this as we are greeted with indentations, strange lineation and frequent markers, or breaks if you will, that demonstrate just a few of the ways this author plays about with his texts.
Overall this is an absolutely stunning collection of poetry that pulled me into this culture and introduced me to many aspects of it, and all in such a short space of time. Mir Mahfuz Ali offers his readers a taste of both the familiar and unfamiliar in terms of subject matter and form, blending both together effortlessly and communicating aspects of his emotional life in such a way that makes it accessible to a massive audience. Harsh and previously unaddressed realities are dealt with in this book, particularly through poems such as Bullet, and I absolutely commend this skilful author for this stunning achievement.
Midnight, Dhaka is published by Seren Books and is available to buy by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 7 July 2014
Book Review: The Magicians by Lev Grossman
After hearing that The Magicians, the first in a series of books written by Lev Grossman (the first two are already published with the third coming out later this year) was going to be transformed into a TV show by SyFy, I bought the book in the hope that SyFy's judgement was worth the money. I've finished the book in the past few hours and I still don't know whether I like it or not.
Advertised heavily as the Harry Potter for adults, The Magicians follows Quentin, an (assumed) eighteen year old who is about to take an interview to get into university (or college, as the Americans call it). However, upon arriving at the interview, his interviewer is dead, he is given an envelope, and upon opening the envelope, Quentin is taken to a magical school to take an exam. And so begins the next five years of his education (all pushed into one book, with space for an adventure at the end... somehow) where Quentin learns magic in 'the real world'.
The book, and the following books, are meant to take the childlike enjoyment of the magic in Harry Potter and put it into the real world, to show that magic isn't all fun and games; it's actually hard work. However, Grossman really fails to show this. He puts splatterings of alcohol, drugs, sex, and swearing into his book in the hope that it will make it seem more grown up but it really doesn't. If anything, the book borders on boring. Quentin goes from class to class, learning about things that the reader doesn't necessarily care about and anything exciting is made boring by the writer's writing style which is more tell than show. Any writer or reader will know that it is essential to show your readers what is happening rather than telling them. The distinction is one of great importance; showing your reader engages them, telling them bores them. I would venture that 95% of the book is told to us, with a mere 5% shown. Grossman starts off telling us that Quentin is depressed, rather than showing us. He tells us about the exam, rather than showing us. He tells us about the magic, rather than showing us. The entire book reads like exposition from a Michael Bay film and it's irritating.
However, those rare moments that he does show (particularly towards the end) are engaging and show that Grossman actually has talent as a writer. The scenes, which I won't describe because of spoilers, are written well and thoroughly engaged me. However, he slips back into telling here and there and the transition is jolting, which kept me from really enjoying those few parts of the book that seemed to actually engage me.
As for the characters; Quentin is completely selfish, spoilt, and depressed. He hates the world, he hates his life, and he so badly wants everything to be better. He obsesses over this book series he read when he was a child (oddly similar to The Chronicles of Narnia) throughout the entire book. When he finally gets into the magic school, one would think that he would become a little happier but instead, he just finds the entire thing depressing. I understand that Grossman is attempting to show that Hogwarts isn't fun, but here, it's just boring and there's little to no character arc or transformation. Quentin essentially goes from being a little selfish, to a lot selfish, to only come back to being the same level of selfishness he was at the start. The same can be said of the rest of the characters; whatever personality trait they have when you first meet them stays with them until the very end. Nobody in this book changes at all.
One thing that stuck out to me when I was reading this book was how ridiculously similar it is to Harry Potter. I knew that the book was meant to be a Harry Potter for adults so there might be a few similarities but here, they border on plagiarism. Not only does Quentin receive invitation to the school through an envelope, but the headmaster of the school is a powerful childlike figure. The school is also a really old castle and the school calender is exactly the same as a British school, despite being set in America. As well as striking similarities to Harry Potter, the book series inside the book that Quentin reads as a child and obsesses over for literally years is basically Narnia with different characters; in the book series, the characters discover another world by going through a grandfather clock. The similarities are completely ridiculous and really gives off the impression that Grossman doesn't have an original bone in his body.
Overall, the fact that Grossman told and didn't show bored me, the similarities between Harry Potter and Narnia meant that I knew what would happen before it happened, and the sex, drugs, swearing, and alcohol that Grossman puts into the book isn't sufficient enough for me to take it as an adult Harry Potter. However, that said, Grossman can write. It's clear from the scenes where he shows and doesn't tell that he has the capability to write and that's what frustrates me about the book; the writing itself is good, just not the writing style. The second book, entitled The Magician King, is available to buy now, though I'm not entirely sure if I want to continue reading this book series.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 4 July 2014
Advertised heavily as the Harry Potter for adults, The Magicians follows Quentin, an (assumed) eighteen year old who is about to take an interview to get into university (or college, as the Americans call it). However, upon arriving at the interview, his interviewer is dead, he is given an envelope, and upon opening the envelope, Quentin is taken to a magical school to take an exam. And so begins the next five years of his education (all pushed into one book, with space for an adventure at the end... somehow) where Quentin learns magic in 'the real world'.
The book, and the following books, are meant to take the childlike enjoyment of the magic in Harry Potter and put it into the real world, to show that magic isn't all fun and games; it's actually hard work. However, Grossman really fails to show this. He puts splatterings of alcohol, drugs, sex, and swearing into his book in the hope that it will make it seem more grown up but it really doesn't. If anything, the book borders on boring. Quentin goes from class to class, learning about things that the reader doesn't necessarily care about and anything exciting is made boring by the writer's writing style which is more tell than show. Any writer or reader will know that it is essential to show your readers what is happening rather than telling them. The distinction is one of great importance; showing your reader engages them, telling them bores them. I would venture that 95% of the book is told to us, with a mere 5% shown. Grossman starts off telling us that Quentin is depressed, rather than showing us. He tells us about the exam, rather than showing us. He tells us about the magic, rather than showing us. The entire book reads like exposition from a Michael Bay film and it's irritating.
However, those rare moments that he does show (particularly towards the end) are engaging and show that Grossman actually has talent as a writer. The scenes, which I won't describe because of spoilers, are written well and thoroughly engaged me. However, he slips back into telling here and there and the transition is jolting, which kept me from really enjoying those few parts of the book that seemed to actually engage me.
As for the characters; Quentin is completely selfish, spoilt, and depressed. He hates the world, he hates his life, and he so badly wants everything to be better. He obsesses over this book series he read when he was a child (oddly similar to The Chronicles of Narnia) throughout the entire book. When he finally gets into the magic school, one would think that he would become a little happier but instead, he just finds the entire thing depressing. I understand that Grossman is attempting to show that Hogwarts isn't fun, but here, it's just boring and there's little to no character arc or transformation. Quentin essentially goes from being a little selfish, to a lot selfish, to only come back to being the same level of selfishness he was at the start. The same can be said of the rest of the characters; whatever personality trait they have when you first meet them stays with them until the very end. Nobody in this book changes at all.
One thing that stuck out to me when I was reading this book was how ridiculously similar it is to Harry Potter. I knew that the book was meant to be a Harry Potter for adults so there might be a few similarities but here, they border on plagiarism. Not only does Quentin receive invitation to the school through an envelope, but the headmaster of the school is a powerful childlike figure. The school is also a really old castle and the school calender is exactly the same as a British school, despite being set in America. As well as striking similarities to Harry Potter, the book series inside the book that Quentin reads as a child and obsesses over for literally years is basically Narnia with different characters; in the book series, the characters discover another world by going through a grandfather clock. The similarities are completely ridiculous and really gives off the impression that Grossman doesn't have an original bone in his body.
Overall, the fact that Grossman told and didn't show bored me, the similarities between Harry Potter and Narnia meant that I knew what would happen before it happened, and the sex, drugs, swearing, and alcohol that Grossman puts into the book isn't sufficient enough for me to take it as an adult Harry Potter. However, that said, Grossman can write. It's clear from the scenes where he shows and doesn't tell that he has the capability to write and that's what frustrates me about the book; the writing itself is good, just not the writing style. The second book, entitled The Magician King, is available to buy now, though I'm not entirely sure if I want to continue reading this book series.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 4 July 2014
Book Review: The Hitting Game By Graham Clifford
A poetry fan to my very core, I was eager to delve into Graham Clifford’s recent collection, The Hitting Game. It was clear from the opening poem, On the Dispersal of Water, a nugget of intricate description and thought-provoking imagery, that this was going to be an interesting collection, and the rest of the publication certainly lived up to that initial judgement.
Clifford weaves a world in each poem, drawing the reader into sometimes ambiguous surroundings and leaving them to pick a part the clues within the verse. This established poet, whilst draping some things in mystery, does employ startlingly different techniques throughout this whole collection, with some poems being direct and perhaps even blunt - which is, actually, part of their charm. A fine example of this being a later addition to the publication, Restoring “graham”, in which we see a marvellous display of technological language - or perhaps that should be spin-offs from technological language - that instruct the reader on how to reboot the author, as it were. Interestingly, this fine-tuned poem stands next to another favourite of poem of mine, The Best Poem Ever Written, which is a wonderful poem, particularly if you are reading it as a fellow-writer - extremely relatable ideas communicated through this piece.
So many things are addressed in this short but wonderful collection, it highlights that Clifford really can write about anything he turns his hand to, wandering with ease between the topics of writing, being a father, and many other things that one or two readers are sure to relate to. With the likes of How to Hurt and About my Daughter bringing a deep authenticity to the individual texts within this collection, we are not only getting a wonderful taste of the author’s abilities, but also of the author himself, which I particularly enjoyed.
Clifford’s use and manipulation of form is also worth noting briefly here, as it quickly becomes apparent that the author is open to experimentation with his presentation of texts, something that I greatly appreciated. Varying use of stanza length, indentations of lines, incorporation of other sources; they may all be relatively simple techniques, but how they are used speaks volumes here, and they serve to add another layer of variety to this touching collection.
A bite-size book of emotion, humour, and reality (although this reality is sometimes pleasantly obscure or askew thanks to the author’s exploration of certain topics), The Hitting Game is a worthy purchase for any poetry fan, and it's available to buy now from Seren Books by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 30 June 2014
Clifford weaves a world in each poem, drawing the reader into sometimes ambiguous surroundings and leaving them to pick a part the clues within the verse. This established poet, whilst draping some things in mystery, does employ startlingly different techniques throughout this whole collection, with some poems being direct and perhaps even blunt - which is, actually, part of their charm. A fine example of this being a later addition to the publication, Restoring “graham”, in which we see a marvellous display of technological language - or perhaps that should be spin-offs from technological language - that instruct the reader on how to reboot the author, as it were. Interestingly, this fine-tuned poem stands next to another favourite of poem of mine, The Best Poem Ever Written, which is a wonderful poem, particularly if you are reading it as a fellow-writer - extremely relatable ideas communicated through this piece.
So many things are addressed in this short but wonderful collection, it highlights that Clifford really can write about anything he turns his hand to, wandering with ease between the topics of writing, being a father, and many other things that one or two readers are sure to relate to. With the likes of How to Hurt and About my Daughter bringing a deep authenticity to the individual texts within this collection, we are not only getting a wonderful taste of the author’s abilities, but also of the author himself, which I particularly enjoyed.
Clifford’s use and manipulation of form is also worth noting briefly here, as it quickly becomes apparent that the author is open to experimentation with his presentation of texts, something that I greatly appreciated. Varying use of stanza length, indentations of lines, incorporation of other sources; they may all be relatively simple techniques, but how they are used speaks volumes here, and they serve to add another layer of variety to this touching collection.
A bite-size book of emotion, humour, and reality (although this reality is sometimes pleasantly obscure or askew thanks to the author’s exploration of certain topics), The Hitting Game is a worthy purchase for any poetry fan, and it's available to buy now from Seren Books by clicking here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 30 June 2014
Book Review: Fan By Danny Rhodes
Danny Rhodes’ most recent novel, entitled Fan, was pitched to me as a football novel, but after reading it, I can assure you that it’s so much more than that. Travelling between two timelines, we observe John Finch, the protagonist of the piece, existing in 1989 and struggling to exist in 2004, as he constantly battles the memories of the Hillsborough incident that have plagued him since the tragedy happened.
Okay, I’ll hold my hands up and admit that I didn’t exactly slip into this novel with ease. I know little to nothing about football so yes, I initially felt a little out of my comfort zone. However, a few chapters in I quickly realised that there is much more happening here than a few games of footie! Fan is an intriguing and apt exploration of not only football, but the entire culture that surrounds the game and indeed how that impacts the lives of the fans who watch it. Furthermore, in the main character Finch we see a life alongside football matches and brawls, allowing and even encouraging the reader to see an entirely different side to both the game and the devoted fans, which is refreshingly contrary to the images portrayed by more mainstream media.
Battling against his current life, John, who is un-happily engaged to Kelly, packs himself up and heads off to his home town, after a rather grisly incident at the school where he teaches. As we are catapulted back to the gloomy town where John spent his youthful years, we are also literally catapulted back in time through the medium of spoken memories, direct flashbacks, and indeed reports on football matches - a narrative technique that was extremely innovative, I feel. Marked by clear changes in font and such like, the time changes are extremely easy to monitor and, unlike other novels that adopt this technique, they bleed into each other flawlessly, creating a fluid feel throughout the different time-frames.
As much a novel about life as it is about football, Fan succeeds in exploring how unexpected incidents can occur at any given time, and indeed how those incidents can change things in ways that we would never have initially anticipated. Rhodes explores many issues through not only Finch, but also the characters that surround him, many of whom are quick to remind the protagonist that he’s lucky to have got out of the town when he did. Also playing greatly on the notion of unfinished business, Rhodes frequently uses this text to remind the reader that not all unfinished business is destined to be resolved, as Finch returns from his painful trip down memory lane with few of the answers he set out to find.
Not only can we see the tragedy of Hillsborough through the eyes of Finch but also through his football-obsessed comrades who also attended that game, and who have since battled with the memories of it. While some of them have dealt with it, in questionable and equally tragic ways, some have simply opted to ignore it; and this, if nothing else, serves to demonstrate how alive that horrendous incident still is to this very day, despite it having happened so many years ago.
Let it be known that Danny Rhodes was at Hillsborough on April 15th, 1989, and it certainly shows in the telling of this story. Rhodes captures not only the horror of that day, but also the horror that has followed around the fans that survived since, lacing himself and his memories into every page of this emotional read.
Fan is undoubtedly a worthy read and I don’t just mean for football fans! Putting forward an array of thought-provoking messages and eye-opening truths, this novel has certainly done justice to Hillsborough and those who were involved.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 24 June 2014
Okay, I’ll hold my hands up and admit that I didn’t exactly slip into this novel with ease. I know little to nothing about football so yes, I initially felt a little out of my comfort zone. However, a few chapters in I quickly realised that there is much more happening here than a few games of footie! Fan is an intriguing and apt exploration of not only football, but the entire culture that surrounds the game and indeed how that impacts the lives of the fans who watch it. Furthermore, in the main character Finch we see a life alongside football matches and brawls, allowing and even encouraging the reader to see an entirely different side to both the game and the devoted fans, which is refreshingly contrary to the images portrayed by more mainstream media.
Battling against his current life, John, who is un-happily engaged to Kelly, packs himself up and heads off to his home town, after a rather grisly incident at the school where he teaches. As we are catapulted back to the gloomy town where John spent his youthful years, we are also literally catapulted back in time through the medium of spoken memories, direct flashbacks, and indeed reports on football matches - a narrative technique that was extremely innovative, I feel. Marked by clear changes in font and such like, the time changes are extremely easy to monitor and, unlike other novels that adopt this technique, they bleed into each other flawlessly, creating a fluid feel throughout the different time-frames.
As much a novel about life as it is about football, Fan succeeds in exploring how unexpected incidents can occur at any given time, and indeed how those incidents can change things in ways that we would never have initially anticipated. Rhodes explores many issues through not only Finch, but also the characters that surround him, many of whom are quick to remind the protagonist that he’s lucky to have got out of the town when he did. Also playing greatly on the notion of unfinished business, Rhodes frequently uses this text to remind the reader that not all unfinished business is destined to be resolved, as Finch returns from his painful trip down memory lane with few of the answers he set out to find.
Not only can we see the tragedy of Hillsborough through the eyes of Finch but also through his football-obsessed comrades who also attended that game, and who have since battled with the memories of it. While some of them have dealt with it, in questionable and equally tragic ways, some have simply opted to ignore it; and this, if nothing else, serves to demonstrate how alive that horrendous incident still is to this very day, despite it having happened so many years ago.
Let it be known that Danny Rhodes was at Hillsborough on April 15th, 1989, and it certainly shows in the telling of this story. Rhodes captures not only the horror of that day, but also the horror that has followed around the fans that survived since, lacing himself and his memories into every page of this emotional read.
Fan is undoubtedly a worthy read and I don’t just mean for football fans! Putting forward an array of thought-provoking messages and eye-opening truths, this novel has certainly done justice to Hillsborough and those who were involved.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 24 June 2014
Book Review: My Family and Other Superheroes Written by Jonathan Edwards
Jonathan Edwards’ poetry collection, My Family And Other Superheroes, is a stunning and emotive compilation of family-orientated verse that is laden with emotion, close observations, and personal touches. Edwards successfully combines an apt amount of emotion and humour, combining the two to make a touching publication that succeeds in plucking at the heart strings of family life whilst avoiding the dreaded clichés that are often found within this type of writing.
Edwards uses varying verse techniques to compile information and fond memories about his own relatives, often falling back on images such as ‘all we Edwardses are holding hands’ (taken from Evel Knievel Jumps Over My Family) that succeed in maintaining this strong sense of family solidarity throughout the entire collection - although that’s not to say that other elements of the author’s life are not also explored, because there are many things worth noting here.
A favourite element of Edwards’ writing, for me personally, is his stunning use of location. Living and working in Wales, Edwards succeeds in incorporating so many local references that, even for a reader who is unfamiliar with the country, add something truly beautiful to many of these individual poems. The rich descriptions and endearing portraits provided throughout this body of work provide not only a strong sense of location, but also pride, adding what feels like another personal touch here.
The collection is divided into sections, with three and four offering an array of relationships that branch outside of the family that we have been introduced to; however, even these latter poems retain an authenticity that allows them to be just as poignant and relatable for a reader. As Edwards constructs other characters throughout his poetic narrative, we begin to see a wider perspective of both the country in which he resides and the people who exist around him, both of which are things I was appreciative of in my first reading (and even more appreciative of in my second reading - yes, this is a book you’ll want to return to).
While it feels challenging to pick just one poem as my favourite from this amazing collection, if pushed, I would have to say my favourite is The Voice In Which My Mother Read To Me. Even if you’re not a poetry fan, you simply must find and read this poem, and appreciate it’s beauty and directness in describing something that many of us have experienced ourselves. For me, this short burst down memory lane between the author and his mother is an apt, beautiful, and well-observed example of family dynamics that provides a perfect insight into what readers can expect from this collection as a whole. It’s just stunning.
A beautiful depiction of family life, My Family And Other Superheroes sees Jonathan Edwards draw on popular culture and the changing world around him in order to describe the constant state of his family and their life together. A collection that I initially described to a friend as ‘a warm and homely hug’, Edwards pulls us into these poems, alongside several generations of Edwardses, and takes us on a welcome journey throughout Wales, and I for one hope to see more from this poet in the future.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 22 June 2014
Edwards uses varying verse techniques to compile information and fond memories about his own relatives, often falling back on images such as ‘all we Edwardses are holding hands’ (taken from Evel Knievel Jumps Over My Family) that succeed in maintaining this strong sense of family solidarity throughout the entire collection - although that’s not to say that other elements of the author’s life are not also explored, because there are many things worth noting here.
A favourite element of Edwards’ writing, for me personally, is his stunning use of location. Living and working in Wales, Edwards succeeds in incorporating so many local references that, even for a reader who is unfamiliar with the country, add something truly beautiful to many of these individual poems. The rich descriptions and endearing portraits provided throughout this body of work provide not only a strong sense of location, but also pride, adding what feels like another personal touch here.
The collection is divided into sections, with three and four offering an array of relationships that branch outside of the family that we have been introduced to; however, even these latter poems retain an authenticity that allows them to be just as poignant and relatable for a reader. As Edwards constructs other characters throughout his poetic narrative, we begin to see a wider perspective of both the country in which he resides and the people who exist around him, both of which are things I was appreciative of in my first reading (and even more appreciative of in my second reading - yes, this is a book you’ll want to return to).
While it feels challenging to pick just one poem as my favourite from this amazing collection, if pushed, I would have to say my favourite is The Voice In Which My Mother Read To Me. Even if you’re not a poetry fan, you simply must find and read this poem, and appreciate it’s beauty and directness in describing something that many of us have experienced ourselves. For me, this short burst down memory lane between the author and his mother is an apt, beautiful, and well-observed example of family dynamics that provides a perfect insight into what readers can expect from this collection as a whole. It’s just stunning.
A beautiful depiction of family life, My Family And Other Superheroes sees Jonathan Edwards draw on popular culture and the changing world around him in order to describe the constant state of his family and their life together. A collection that I initially described to a friend as ‘a warm and homely hug’, Edwards pulls us into these poems, alongside several generations of Edwardses, and takes us on a welcome journey throughout Wales, and I for one hope to see more from this poet in the future.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 22 June 2014
Book Review: Vampire Federation: Uprising by Scott G. Mariani
Scott G. Mariani's book, Vampire Federation: Uprising, is the first book of a series about vampires, but don't let that put you off. The series of books has no sparkling vampires, like that other 'great' vampire series does.
In Mariani's book, vampires have been around forever but because human civilisation has flourished over the past few decades, namely in technology, the Vampire Federation (VF) was born. A government that made sure that vampires didn't cross the lines they set in place. They've also created Nosferol (a weapon against vampires), Vambloc (an injection that heals vampire victims so they don't turn or remember anything), and Solazol (allows vampires to walk in the sunlight). However, there appears to be a vampire, Gabriel Stone, who wants vampires to be vampires.
Our main character, or one of two main characters, is Alex(andra) Bishop, a VF officer who goes around killing vampires that go against the law. She's the typical hard ass female character who wins the respect of her male counterparts by refusing to adhere to female stereotypes whilst looking sexy at the same time. We're introduced to her as she takes out a few of her vampire brethren just as they feed on a victim. However, just like all the other typical hard ass female characters, Alex has a flaw; she's emotionally conflicted because she lost someone in a past life.
Our second main character is Joel Solomon, a human police officer who, after killing his grandfather after a vampire attack in his youth, has forgotten all about that and decided to be normal. However, after he starts to investigate unusual deaths, he is brought back into the vampire world where he helps Alex take down Gabriel Stone.
I will say this of Mariani; he knows how to do actions. The chapters in the book are very short (the longest was about seven pages, the shortest was one) which gives the book a really frantic pace. He goes for the all out action writing, where heads are blown off here, there, everywhere, and there's blood everywhere. Guns are pulled out, vampires are biting everyone, people are dying left, right, and centre. Etc. However, though the action is good, I feel that everything else is rather undeveloped.
His characters are all rather one dimensional. Solomon has one motive and that's ridding the world of vampires. He has nothing else to him but that. We don't get to see the rest of his life or anyone else he talks to. Apparently, Solomon talks to no one in his life. We don't even get a description of his house. The only depth that Mariani gives the character is his guilt over killing his grandfather, though even that is justified, giving the character nothing really.
Alex is the same. She works hard at her job and doesn't seem to have a personal life at all. When her partner dies about a quarter into the book, not only did I not feel anything because he wasn't fleshed out properly, but Alex thinks nothing of it except for a simple "I'm sorry," before moving on.
Gabriel Stone is the typical villain; all handsome and threats but no action. He walks around like some caricature of an evil James Bond, dressed in suits, driving fancy cars, and picking up women everywhere. His sister, Lilith, is an absurdly evil woman who wants nothing more from life but to kill people. Every scene with her in it is completely over the top.
As for the plot, it was completely predictable and ran like an action film. Mariani is not subtle with his writing at all. Things would happen and I would have already guessed them a few chapters behind. The romance between Alex and Joel is completely convoluted and comes out of nowhere; they spend about a day together before they sleep with one another. It's absurd and only exists in an attempt to give the ending that much more of an emotional punch but doesn't work very well, especially given Alex's background.
Despite good reviews I had received from friends over this book, I have to say it disappointed me. A good read if you need to waste an hour or two, but don't expect anything life changing from this.
Both Vampire Federation: Uprising and Vampire Federation: The Cross are available to buy now, with the third coming out later this year.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 18 June 2014
In Mariani's book, vampires have been around forever but because human civilisation has flourished over the past few decades, namely in technology, the Vampire Federation (VF) was born. A government that made sure that vampires didn't cross the lines they set in place. They've also created Nosferol (a weapon against vampires), Vambloc (an injection that heals vampire victims so they don't turn or remember anything), and Solazol (allows vampires to walk in the sunlight). However, there appears to be a vampire, Gabriel Stone, who wants vampires to be vampires.
Our main character, or one of two main characters, is Alex(andra) Bishop, a VF officer who goes around killing vampires that go against the law. She's the typical hard ass female character who wins the respect of her male counterparts by refusing to adhere to female stereotypes whilst looking sexy at the same time. We're introduced to her as she takes out a few of her vampire brethren just as they feed on a victim. However, just like all the other typical hard ass female characters, Alex has a flaw; she's emotionally conflicted because she lost someone in a past life.
Our second main character is Joel Solomon, a human police officer who, after killing his grandfather after a vampire attack in his youth, has forgotten all about that and decided to be normal. However, after he starts to investigate unusual deaths, he is brought back into the vampire world where he helps Alex take down Gabriel Stone.
I will say this of Mariani; he knows how to do actions. The chapters in the book are very short (the longest was about seven pages, the shortest was one) which gives the book a really frantic pace. He goes for the all out action writing, where heads are blown off here, there, everywhere, and there's blood everywhere. Guns are pulled out, vampires are biting everyone, people are dying left, right, and centre. Etc. However, though the action is good, I feel that everything else is rather undeveloped.
His characters are all rather one dimensional. Solomon has one motive and that's ridding the world of vampires. He has nothing else to him but that. We don't get to see the rest of his life or anyone else he talks to. Apparently, Solomon talks to no one in his life. We don't even get a description of his house. The only depth that Mariani gives the character is his guilt over killing his grandfather, though even that is justified, giving the character nothing really.
Alex is the same. She works hard at her job and doesn't seem to have a personal life at all. When her partner dies about a quarter into the book, not only did I not feel anything because he wasn't fleshed out properly, but Alex thinks nothing of it except for a simple "I'm sorry," before moving on.
Gabriel Stone is the typical villain; all handsome and threats but no action. He walks around like some caricature of an evil James Bond, dressed in suits, driving fancy cars, and picking up women everywhere. His sister, Lilith, is an absurdly evil woman who wants nothing more from life but to kill people. Every scene with her in it is completely over the top.
As for the plot, it was completely predictable and ran like an action film. Mariani is not subtle with his writing at all. Things would happen and I would have already guessed them a few chapters behind. The romance between Alex and Joel is completely convoluted and comes out of nowhere; they spend about a day together before they sleep with one another. It's absurd and only exists in an attempt to give the ending that much more of an emotional punch but doesn't work very well, especially given Alex's background.
Despite good reviews I had received from friends over this book, I have to say it disappointed me. A good read if you need to waste an hour or two, but don't expect anything life changing from this.
Both Vampire Federation: Uprising and Vampire Federation: The Cross are available to buy now, with the third coming out later this year.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 18 June 2014
book Review: Carnal Acts by Sam Alexander
Despite having a page of review notes in front of me, I really don’t know where to begin when it comes to Sam Alexander’s ‘debut’ novel, Carnal Acts. I use ‘debut’ hesitantly here as, for anyone who doesn’t yet know, Sam Alexander is in fact a pseudonym - the author, who still has not revealed their identity, is apparently a popular British crime writer, and it was a source of frustration throughout the entire novel that I couldn’t work out exactly who the writer behind this amazing book is. Incidentally, I finished the novel four days ago and I still haven’t worked it out and yes, it’s still a source of frustration!
The novel itself, however, is bloody marvellous.
We are immediately catapulted into the major crime unit for Northumberland and County Durham, where we encounter our crime-fighting dream team (sort of), DI Joni Pax and DCI Hector ‘Heck’ Rutherford. These characters are stunning! Both are battling personal demons - Heck has recently recovered from serious health problems, while Joni has recently recovered from a vicious stabbing at her previous post in London - and are forced to confront the scars that these incidents have left them with, whilst battling the Albanian mafia who have infiltrated the local area - with the help of a few unlikely local residents.
Whoever Sam Alexander is, I absolutely applaud them for putting a female detective in the centre of a crime novel. I loved everything about Joni’s character, including the ball-busting attitude she brings against her misogynistic associates, many of whom seem to determined to force her out of her own case. Joni and Heck work together wonderfully, with other characters such as Pancake - don’t ask, you’ll find out more when you read the novel - and Moonbeam - again, all will be revealed - working to create a close and convincing network of characters around them, who are all interesting and entirely significant in their own right.
The narrative, made up of reasonably short chapters, has a tendency to jump around, offering different viewpoints all the time - which is something that I came to love, and something that I think would work perfectly in a film adaptation of the book. While we spend a significant period of time with Joni, Heck, their respective family members, and indeed other members of the police force, we also spend a lot of time with Suzana, a prostitute who has escaped from an Albanian brothel, and is now on the run from both the Police (who need to question her for murder) and the Albanians who she once worked for. This tortured and troubled girl brings another amazing character to this text - she also brings a touch of Lisbeth Salander to the novel, so brace yourselves for that - and from the beginning, I was really on her team.
Admittedly, there were moments in this novel that drove me absolutely crazy. I’m a massive fan of crime novels, so it’s my natural instinct to try and keep up with the detective work happening within the story - something which felt completely impossible with Carnal Acts! The plot is so intricate and complex that I found that just as I had a eureka moment and worked out an integral element of the case, Alexander threw something else in that sent me plummeting back into a state of not knowing what on earth was going on! Also, this anonymous author has an outstanding skill for making you question who the bad guys really are, which added a little something extra to this novel.
While I may not know who the author is, I do know that this book is outstanding, inspired, and worthy of a spot on anyone’s book shelf. Sam Alexander has not only created an amazing crime novel here, but she/he has also created wonderful crime characters who, before I’d even finished reading the novel, I had decided I wanted to see again - so you can only imagine my delight when the publisher recently announced that the author has been signed for a sequel. One of many marvellous crime novels to emerge from 2014 so far, Carnal Acts has brought with the latest crime-fighting duo to set hearts alight and leave minds wondering.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 16 June 2014
The novel itself, however, is bloody marvellous.
We are immediately catapulted into the major crime unit for Northumberland and County Durham, where we encounter our crime-fighting dream team (sort of), DI Joni Pax and DCI Hector ‘Heck’ Rutherford. These characters are stunning! Both are battling personal demons - Heck has recently recovered from serious health problems, while Joni has recently recovered from a vicious stabbing at her previous post in London - and are forced to confront the scars that these incidents have left them with, whilst battling the Albanian mafia who have infiltrated the local area - with the help of a few unlikely local residents.
Whoever Sam Alexander is, I absolutely applaud them for putting a female detective in the centre of a crime novel. I loved everything about Joni’s character, including the ball-busting attitude she brings against her misogynistic associates, many of whom seem to determined to force her out of her own case. Joni and Heck work together wonderfully, with other characters such as Pancake - don’t ask, you’ll find out more when you read the novel - and Moonbeam - again, all will be revealed - working to create a close and convincing network of characters around them, who are all interesting and entirely significant in their own right.
The narrative, made up of reasonably short chapters, has a tendency to jump around, offering different viewpoints all the time - which is something that I came to love, and something that I think would work perfectly in a film adaptation of the book. While we spend a significant period of time with Joni, Heck, their respective family members, and indeed other members of the police force, we also spend a lot of time with Suzana, a prostitute who has escaped from an Albanian brothel, and is now on the run from both the Police (who need to question her for murder) and the Albanians who she once worked for. This tortured and troubled girl brings another amazing character to this text - she also brings a touch of Lisbeth Salander to the novel, so brace yourselves for that - and from the beginning, I was really on her team.
Admittedly, there were moments in this novel that drove me absolutely crazy. I’m a massive fan of crime novels, so it’s my natural instinct to try and keep up with the detective work happening within the story - something which felt completely impossible with Carnal Acts! The plot is so intricate and complex that I found that just as I had a eureka moment and worked out an integral element of the case, Alexander threw something else in that sent me plummeting back into a state of not knowing what on earth was going on! Also, this anonymous author has an outstanding skill for making you question who the bad guys really are, which added a little something extra to this novel.
While I may not know who the author is, I do know that this book is outstanding, inspired, and worthy of a spot on anyone’s book shelf. Sam Alexander has not only created an amazing crime novel here, but she/he has also created wonderful crime characters who, before I’d even finished reading the novel, I had decided I wanted to see again - so you can only imagine my delight when the publisher recently announced that the author has been signed for a sequel. One of many marvellous crime novels to emerge from 2014 so far, Carnal Acts has brought with the latest crime-fighting duo to set hearts alight and leave minds wondering.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 16 June 2014
Book Review: Moscow Bound by Adrian Churchward
Moscow Bound by Adrian Churchward, as far as I’m concerned, is nothing short of a masterpiece of political fiction. Straying drastically outside my comfort zone - I will openly admit that while I adore crime novels, I know little to nothing about politics - the novel suckered me in from the opening chapter and once I was drawn in, I literally couldn’t pull myself away from this fascinating, intriguing, and often startling plot.
The novel is based around abuse of state power in Russia, with various nods to other countries along the journey. While Human Rights lawyer Scott Mitchell is drawn into a world of corruption and intrigue by the glamorous Ekaterina Romanova, is quickly becomes apparent that, naturally, not everything in this novel is as it initially appeared to be. While Romanova has enlisted the help of Mitchell in order to find her father, who she believes has been unlawfully detained by the government for years without a fair trial, the couple soon stumble into a world of terrifying political and governmental cover ups that not only complicate their search for Romanova’s father, but also lead to them being accused of murder (and many other crimes) too.
Along the way there are unearthed secrets and political cover-ups-gone-bad that will have you itching to the turn the page just to see what the next chapter has to offer. A crime and thriller novel rolled into one, Moscow Bound promises political corruption and abuse of state power, and it certainly does not fail deliver.
Churchward has created a vast array of fascinating and engaging characters, many of whom have shady pasts that will make your eyes water - although in some instances, that’s indeed part of their charm. Admittedly, Romanova and Mitchell are the characters that have stuck with me the most since finishing the book. Their intricate and often-amusing power-play relationship that they develop over the course of their time together adds an interesting layer to the novel as a whole, and, while I don’t suspect there is a romantic future for the characters, it certainly added an interesting dimension to this opening novel.
As Churchward flits from one scene to another throughout the chapters, often using these location changes to signal a character change too, he allows us to drift in and out of the consciousness of many of the central characters. We are constantly changing perspectives ourselves as readers, making for a well-rounded novel altogether.
Additionally, the use of location in this novel is authentic and stunning, which adds to the overall authenticity and credibility of the text as a whole. It is apparent that Churchward is experienced in this area, and his wealth of knowledge has aided greatly in this book.
Without question, Moscow Bound is certainly a novel worth adding to your bookshelf. Never in my life have I been so disappointed to finish a book, plagued by the knowledge that I would have to wait a year for the next instalment of the trilogy. A stunning political thriller that succeeds in raising as many questions, if not more questions, that it even manages to answer, Moscow Bound is a worthy read for anyone looking for an eye-opening plotline that comes complete with a surprise around every corner.
Don’t forget to head over to Performance & Arts today where you can read our interview with Adrian Churchward too.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 13 June 2014
The novel is based around abuse of state power in Russia, with various nods to other countries along the journey. While Human Rights lawyer Scott Mitchell is drawn into a world of corruption and intrigue by the glamorous Ekaterina Romanova, is quickly becomes apparent that, naturally, not everything in this novel is as it initially appeared to be. While Romanova has enlisted the help of Mitchell in order to find her father, who she believes has been unlawfully detained by the government for years without a fair trial, the couple soon stumble into a world of terrifying political and governmental cover ups that not only complicate their search for Romanova’s father, but also lead to them being accused of murder (and many other crimes) too.
Along the way there are unearthed secrets and political cover-ups-gone-bad that will have you itching to the turn the page just to see what the next chapter has to offer. A crime and thriller novel rolled into one, Moscow Bound promises political corruption and abuse of state power, and it certainly does not fail deliver.
Churchward has created a vast array of fascinating and engaging characters, many of whom have shady pasts that will make your eyes water - although in some instances, that’s indeed part of their charm. Admittedly, Romanova and Mitchell are the characters that have stuck with me the most since finishing the book. Their intricate and often-amusing power-play relationship that they develop over the course of their time together adds an interesting layer to the novel as a whole, and, while I don’t suspect there is a romantic future for the characters, it certainly added an interesting dimension to this opening novel.
As Churchward flits from one scene to another throughout the chapters, often using these location changes to signal a character change too, he allows us to drift in and out of the consciousness of many of the central characters. We are constantly changing perspectives ourselves as readers, making for a well-rounded novel altogether.
Additionally, the use of location in this novel is authentic and stunning, which adds to the overall authenticity and credibility of the text as a whole. It is apparent that Churchward is experienced in this area, and his wealth of knowledge has aided greatly in this book.
Without question, Moscow Bound is certainly a novel worth adding to your bookshelf. Never in my life have I been so disappointed to finish a book, plagued by the knowledge that I would have to wait a year for the next instalment of the trilogy. A stunning political thriller that succeeds in raising as many questions, if not more questions, that it even manages to answer, Moscow Bound is a worthy read for anyone looking for an eye-opening plotline that comes complete with a surprise around every corner.
Don’t forget to head over to Performance & Arts today where you can read our interview with Adrian Churchward too.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 13 June 2014
Book Review: The Maze Runner by James Dashner
The Maze Runner, a book written by James Dashner, is another one of those dystopian books given the book-to-film adaptation by Hollywood in order to use the established fanbase to sell tickets. However, if the trailers are anything to go by, The Maze Runner seems like a film that has some brains, as well as the usual action and romance that one can expect from these types of films.
Given that I had heard the name thrown around here and there, I decided to take the jump and purchase the first book in the four book series, The Maze Runner. The set-up is rather simple; Thomas, our main character, wakes up in a cage that is going up. When it reaches its destination, he finds that he is in a strange place called the Glade, which is surrounded by four tall walls. Outside these walls is the maze itself, a place that has shifting walls and strange creatures living inside it. Runners run through the maze everyday to try and find a way out before the doors close on them. However, after Thomas's usual entrance, another teenager is sent through the cage, a girl (which has never happened before) and then things start get crazy.
After reading books such as Divegent and The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones, I was pleased with the lack of romance in this book. In fact, by the end of the book, there was actually no romance at all. Though there were hints placed throughout the novel, the romance itself never actually transpired and that was refreshing for me. Where those books had quite a hand in the romantic aspects of life, this book focussed on Thomas's fear and curiosity as he roved around the Glades and learnt about the new life he was living. And what a life that was; the teenagers had managed to build a society of sorts within the Glades, with set leaders put in place.
As a character, I can't say I found Thomas that interesting. He was rather bland, not really offering an opinion on anything that happened. Instead, he just happened to do things that had never happened before and solve a puzzle (through a really strange way that was quite convenient) that effectively solves all problems. His transformation from someone who had just arrived at the Glades to being the one who would save everyone was rather quick and abrupt. I would have appreciated a little more time between the two different Thomas's. The other characters act in a similar manner. They exhibited one character trait and hung onto that trait until the end of the novel; the angry one, the leader one, the naive one, the evil one, etc. They were all rather bland and did what they needed to, not really showing any other aspect of their character. It felt as though most were there for exposition, whilst others simply existed for conflict. There was no real emotional weight with any of them.
The prose itself was effortless to read, the writing simple and easy. There's no gems here, like you might find in one of John Green's novel, but that's not a fault with the book. In fact, it helped move the book along rather nicely, pushing you forward without being too obtuse. It also strays from being too simple, as some certain books do (read: Divergent), staying in a nice middle ground between the two.
As for the ending, I can't say I'm too excited to see what happens in the second book, though I may purchase it sometime soon. The book runs how you would expect, with an ending that is designed to hook readers onto the next one. If anything, I'm excited to see how the film portrays the book, as there a lot of inside-Thomas's-head parts.
The Maze Runner can be bought from any book shop worldwide. The film has a release date of the 10th of October, 2014, and you can watch the trailer here.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 12 June 2014
Given that I had heard the name thrown around here and there, I decided to take the jump and purchase the first book in the four book series, The Maze Runner. The set-up is rather simple; Thomas, our main character, wakes up in a cage that is going up. When it reaches its destination, he finds that he is in a strange place called the Glade, which is surrounded by four tall walls. Outside these walls is the maze itself, a place that has shifting walls and strange creatures living inside it. Runners run through the maze everyday to try and find a way out before the doors close on them. However, after Thomas's usual entrance, another teenager is sent through the cage, a girl (which has never happened before) and then things start get crazy.
After reading books such as Divegent and The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones, I was pleased with the lack of romance in this book. In fact, by the end of the book, there was actually no romance at all. Though there were hints placed throughout the novel, the romance itself never actually transpired and that was refreshing for me. Where those books had quite a hand in the romantic aspects of life, this book focussed on Thomas's fear and curiosity as he roved around the Glades and learnt about the new life he was living. And what a life that was; the teenagers had managed to build a society of sorts within the Glades, with set leaders put in place.
As a character, I can't say I found Thomas that interesting. He was rather bland, not really offering an opinion on anything that happened. Instead, he just happened to do things that had never happened before and solve a puzzle (through a really strange way that was quite convenient) that effectively solves all problems. His transformation from someone who had just arrived at the Glades to being the one who would save everyone was rather quick and abrupt. I would have appreciated a little more time between the two different Thomas's. The other characters act in a similar manner. They exhibited one character trait and hung onto that trait until the end of the novel; the angry one, the leader one, the naive one, the evil one, etc. They were all rather bland and did what they needed to, not really showing any other aspect of their character. It felt as though most were there for exposition, whilst others simply existed for conflict. There was no real emotional weight with any of them.
The prose itself was effortless to read, the writing simple and easy. There's no gems here, like you might find in one of John Green's novel, but that's not a fault with the book. In fact, it helped move the book along rather nicely, pushing you forward without being too obtuse. It also strays from being too simple, as some certain books do (read: Divergent), staying in a nice middle ground between the two.
As for the ending, I can't say I'm too excited to see what happens in the second book, though I may purchase it sometime soon. The book runs how you would expect, with an ending that is designed to hook readers onto the next one. If anything, I'm excited to see how the film portrays the book, as there a lot of inside-Thomas's-head parts.
The Maze Runner can be bought from any book shop worldwide. The film has a release date of the 10th of October, 2014, and you can watch the trailer here.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 12 June 2014
Book Review: The House on Poultney road Written by Stephanie Boddy
When it comes to horror, whether it’s a film or a piece of literature, nothing adds fear to the audience like telling them the story they are about to hear is somehow based on real life events. Whether it’s a retelling of something set in stone, or something that’s loosely based on something else, we all love a good ghost story. The genre has excited many audiences over the years and it seems that now even modern audiences are still thrilled by the prospect of some real-life ghostly interaction, and Stephanie Boddy’s hit novel The House on Poultney Road is living evidence of that.
The novel, which is based on true life events experienced by the author’s own family, revolves around a hundred years of haunting, providing a narrative that is not only based in present day, but also succeeds in transporting the reader to a different time completely, adding something like a feeling of authenticity to the ghostly tale. While Boddy has stated that her mission wasn’t to convince readers of the truth behind the story, the conviction that can be noted in her telling of this account is touching, convincing, and certainly adds a little something extra to the reader’s experience and involvement in the piece.
While I’m hesitant to divulge too many details about the plot - the point of a ghost story is that the reader doesn’t know what’s coming, and I would hate to deprive potential readers of that thrill - I will say that Boddy is nowhere near short of material in terms of keeping a reader on their toes. With many scenes designed to having you reaching for a comforting light night (maybe you should read this book in the day time, actually), this bite size portion of horror writing is undoubtedly laden with what I would call classic horror encounters and scenes, making it a well-crafted and commendable addition to the collection of any ghost story fans.
The book, coming in at just over two hundred and fifty pages, is an accessible read for anyone looking for something that they can enjoy over an afternoon or two - or maybe at night, depending on how brave you’re feeling.
The nature of the ghost story is that the reader is left hanging at the end of the tale, something I definitely experienced with this book, as I know other readers did too. So it’s a delight - and frankly quite a relief - to know that Stephanie will be releasing a sequel to the surprisingly successful novel at some point in the future where she will attempt to answer questions and complete storylines that have been introduced in this debut novel.
The book is available on both Amazon UK and Amazon US, and for more information about the author herself you can head over to our Performance & Arts section today to read our exciting interview with her.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 10 June 2014
The novel, which is based on true life events experienced by the author’s own family, revolves around a hundred years of haunting, providing a narrative that is not only based in present day, but also succeeds in transporting the reader to a different time completely, adding something like a feeling of authenticity to the ghostly tale. While Boddy has stated that her mission wasn’t to convince readers of the truth behind the story, the conviction that can be noted in her telling of this account is touching, convincing, and certainly adds a little something extra to the reader’s experience and involvement in the piece.
While I’m hesitant to divulge too many details about the plot - the point of a ghost story is that the reader doesn’t know what’s coming, and I would hate to deprive potential readers of that thrill - I will say that Boddy is nowhere near short of material in terms of keeping a reader on their toes. With many scenes designed to having you reaching for a comforting light night (maybe you should read this book in the day time, actually), this bite size portion of horror writing is undoubtedly laden with what I would call classic horror encounters and scenes, making it a well-crafted and commendable addition to the collection of any ghost story fans.
The book, coming in at just over two hundred and fifty pages, is an accessible read for anyone looking for something that they can enjoy over an afternoon or two - or maybe at night, depending on how brave you’re feeling.
The nature of the ghost story is that the reader is left hanging at the end of the tale, something I definitely experienced with this book, as I know other readers did too. So it’s a delight - and frankly quite a relief - to know that Stephanie will be releasing a sequel to the surprisingly successful novel at some point in the future where she will attempt to answer questions and complete storylines that have been introduced in this debut novel.
The book is available on both Amazon UK and Amazon US, and for more information about the author herself you can head over to our Performance & Arts section today to read our exciting interview with her.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 10 June 2014
Book review: The Piano Player's Son written by Lindsay Stanberry-Flyyn
The Piano Player’s Son is an intricately constructed rollercoaster of human emotion that sees its main characters crumble beneath the unexpected pressures of life, only to pick themselves up again before the final chapter - well, mostly. The novel is a stunning example and exploration of how difficult life can become in such a short space of time, and I absolutely could not put it down.
The narrative is weaved around a family of characters who are suffering from the news of their father’s death. As everyone mourns Henry, the patriarchal figure who has passed, abandoning his family and leaving them with more questions than they have answers, it soon becomes apparent that the recent death in the family is not the only problem these characters are facing.
George is pursuing a painting career, while Grace is desperate to escape her over-bearing Italian husband; Isabel is recovering from losing her own family following on her husband’s infidelity, while Rick, the eldest, most-dominant and certainly the most-difficult to love character (although the mother definitely isn’t an easy-to-love character at times either) is dealing with a wife who has cancer and a teenage daughter who’s so disobedient, it’s no surprise Rick is left feeling a little miserable.
For me, the most stunning aspect of this novel is how absolutely true to life it is. I’m not professing to have lived through the same things as these characters because I certainly haven’t, but some people, potentially even some readers, will have done. Stanberry-Flynn succeeds in compiling entirely feasible scenarios that happen to people on a day-to-day basis and laying them before the reader, chapter after chapter, in this thoroughly emotional but absolutely marvellous read.
As far as I’m concerned the mark of any good book is whether you say ‘I’ll just read one more chapter’, and that’s exactly what I did whilst reading this. With Stanberry-Flynn offering a point-of-view shift throughout the chapters, we experience a well-rounded perspective of each character and their individual troubles as we flit from one sibling to the next. The beauty here of course is that you are simply driven to read on for chapters at a time, if for no other reason than to discover the end result of something that was introduced three chapters ago, and there you are, still dying to find out what happened, or how the letter ended, or what Grace decided to do. Stanberry-Flynn cashes in on these character changes massively, creating depth within her novel and ultimately making her characters even more accessible to a reading audience.
Not only is this a gripping read, but it’s also a relatively easy one. It was an absolute pleasure to read this book for hours at a time, and while I may have felt emotionally drained, I was still more than willing to pick it up again after a ten minute tea break.
The Piano Player’s Son is a stunning story following the lives of people who fall victim to many things beyond their control, monitoring not only how they deal with these situations, but also what happens next as a result of them. The characters are believable, the plot is marvellous, with an ending that I definitely wasn’t expecting, and I am quietly hoping that Stanberry-Flynn will seriously consider continuing this narrative in a future novel, because this family certainly has another book in them.
Don’t forget to head over to Performance & Arts today where you can read our interview with Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn too.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 3 June 2014
The narrative is weaved around a family of characters who are suffering from the news of their father’s death. As everyone mourns Henry, the patriarchal figure who has passed, abandoning his family and leaving them with more questions than they have answers, it soon becomes apparent that the recent death in the family is not the only problem these characters are facing.
George is pursuing a painting career, while Grace is desperate to escape her over-bearing Italian husband; Isabel is recovering from losing her own family following on her husband’s infidelity, while Rick, the eldest, most-dominant and certainly the most-difficult to love character (although the mother definitely isn’t an easy-to-love character at times either) is dealing with a wife who has cancer and a teenage daughter who’s so disobedient, it’s no surprise Rick is left feeling a little miserable.
For me, the most stunning aspect of this novel is how absolutely true to life it is. I’m not professing to have lived through the same things as these characters because I certainly haven’t, but some people, potentially even some readers, will have done. Stanberry-Flynn succeeds in compiling entirely feasible scenarios that happen to people on a day-to-day basis and laying them before the reader, chapter after chapter, in this thoroughly emotional but absolutely marvellous read.
As far as I’m concerned the mark of any good book is whether you say ‘I’ll just read one more chapter’, and that’s exactly what I did whilst reading this. With Stanberry-Flynn offering a point-of-view shift throughout the chapters, we experience a well-rounded perspective of each character and their individual troubles as we flit from one sibling to the next. The beauty here of course is that you are simply driven to read on for chapters at a time, if for no other reason than to discover the end result of something that was introduced three chapters ago, and there you are, still dying to find out what happened, or how the letter ended, or what Grace decided to do. Stanberry-Flynn cashes in on these character changes massively, creating depth within her novel and ultimately making her characters even more accessible to a reading audience.
Not only is this a gripping read, but it’s also a relatively easy one. It was an absolute pleasure to read this book for hours at a time, and while I may have felt emotionally drained, I was still more than willing to pick it up again after a ten minute tea break.
The Piano Player’s Son is a stunning story following the lives of people who fall victim to many things beyond their control, monitoring not only how they deal with these situations, but also what happens next as a result of them. The characters are believable, the plot is marvellous, with an ending that I definitely wasn’t expecting, and I am quietly hoping that Stanberry-Flynn will seriously consider continuing this narrative in a future novel, because this family certainly has another book in them.
Don’t forget to head over to Performance & Arts today where you can read our interview with Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn too.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 3 June 2014
Book Review: Throwaways (Die Hard For Girls series - Book Two) By Jenny Thomson
Throwaways is the second novel in the Die Hard for Girls series, written by up and coming Scottish crime author Jenny Thomson. The books, as the series title would suggest, tend to pack a bit of punch, with the first instalment impressing us massively and leaving us eager for more!
At the end of Hell to Pay, the first book in the series, protagonist Nancy Kerr and her Ex Pat boyfriend Tommy McIntyre are being tipped off that somebody is kidnapping prostitutes from the streets of Glasgow. The second novel in the series picks up from where this left off with the two vigilantes looking into this further…
Having been a victim of kidnap and brutality at the hands of her parents’ murderers, Nancy is determined to make sure that these girls, who no one else appears to care about, are found.
Unlike most crime dramas where the protagonist is an extremely intelligent detective that solves the case, in Throwaways Nancy has gone from being an ordinary law abiding citizen to being an amazingly tough and strong-willed vigilante. The best thing about Nancy just being a normal woman hiding behind a tough exterior is that we get a sense of the character’s personality throughout the novel from her feeling sorry for the young girls who have gone missing, to her outrage about how little people seem to care, including the police who are meant to be investigating the abductions. The way she refuses to give up when their investigations meet a dead end is empowering and emotive. Similarly, we as readers are also drawn into her pain when her ex-boyfriend, Michael, drops a huge bombshell about Tommy (no spoilers, but definitely prepare yourselves for a shock!). We experience everything alongside Nancy, including the few highs and extreme lows that she suffers through, making her a three-dimensional character that readers are drawn to and fascinated by, despite her vigilante role within the series.
Alongside the emotional aspect communicated beautifully through the Nancy character, the book also offers a lot of action, including twists and turns that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Thomson is no stranger to a shock-horror moment, and she incorporates these into the text flawlessly, leaving you not only stunned by what you’ve read, but also eager to see what will happen as a result of it.
One of the best things about the Die Hard for Girls books is the fact that it shows that women don’t have to be victims and that they can be powerful, determined, and capable of pretty much anything.
In a similar fashion to the first instalment of the series, Throwaways ends with Nancy and Tommy being given a lead on a crime that someone wants them to look into. Thomson has dangled the next storyline in front of our very eyes, and I for one cannot wait to see what will happen in the third book of this brilliant series.
To hear more about the Die Hard for Girls series, head over to Performance & Arts today where we’re interviewing Jenny Thomson about the series and her future plans for other writing projects.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes and Grace Williams
Published: 30 May 2014
At the end of Hell to Pay, the first book in the series, protagonist Nancy Kerr and her Ex Pat boyfriend Tommy McIntyre are being tipped off that somebody is kidnapping prostitutes from the streets of Glasgow. The second novel in the series picks up from where this left off with the two vigilantes looking into this further…
Having been a victim of kidnap and brutality at the hands of her parents’ murderers, Nancy is determined to make sure that these girls, who no one else appears to care about, are found.
Unlike most crime dramas where the protagonist is an extremely intelligent detective that solves the case, in Throwaways Nancy has gone from being an ordinary law abiding citizen to being an amazingly tough and strong-willed vigilante. The best thing about Nancy just being a normal woman hiding behind a tough exterior is that we get a sense of the character’s personality throughout the novel from her feeling sorry for the young girls who have gone missing, to her outrage about how little people seem to care, including the police who are meant to be investigating the abductions. The way she refuses to give up when their investigations meet a dead end is empowering and emotive. Similarly, we as readers are also drawn into her pain when her ex-boyfriend, Michael, drops a huge bombshell about Tommy (no spoilers, but definitely prepare yourselves for a shock!). We experience everything alongside Nancy, including the few highs and extreme lows that she suffers through, making her a three-dimensional character that readers are drawn to and fascinated by, despite her vigilante role within the series.
Alongside the emotional aspect communicated beautifully through the Nancy character, the book also offers a lot of action, including twists and turns that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Thomson is no stranger to a shock-horror moment, and she incorporates these into the text flawlessly, leaving you not only stunned by what you’ve read, but also eager to see what will happen as a result of it.
One of the best things about the Die Hard for Girls books is the fact that it shows that women don’t have to be victims and that they can be powerful, determined, and capable of pretty much anything.
In a similar fashion to the first instalment of the series, Throwaways ends with Nancy and Tommy being given a lead on a crime that someone wants them to look into. Thomson has dangled the next storyline in front of our very eyes, and I for one cannot wait to see what will happen in the third book of this brilliant series.
To hear more about the Die Hard for Girls series, head over to Performance & Arts today where we’re interviewing Jenny Thomson about the series and her future plans for other writing projects.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes and Grace Williams
Published: 30 May 2014
Book Review: Paris requiem by Lisa Appignanesi
While I’ve never been particularly fond of historical fiction - if indeed that’s the correct term to apply here - there is something remarkable about the way in which author Lisa Appignanesi transports her readers back to Paris, 1899, and throws them into a world of crime, corruption, and mystery. In the novel, Paris Requiem, we are catapulted through time and into the middle of a complex story of family dispute where we see James Norton, a born and bred American gentleman, journey to Paris to retrieve his siblings. However, as you’d expect from a crime novel, the drama doesn’t stop there…
Upon arriving in Paris, James discovers that his brother, Raf, has become romantically entangled with a mysterious Jewish woman who goes by the name of Olympe; not only that, but their sister, Ellie, is in failing health and it seems, in opening chapters of this marvellous text at least, that she shows little signs of improving. Naturally, things become more complicated as the plot progresses, with the death of the beautiful Olympe acting as the catalyst for further confusion and startling revelations from an array of these intricately-constructed characters.
Appignanesi has spared no expense in her construction of not only these individual characters, but also of the world in which they reside. The Dreyfus case, the hot-topic of Paris at the time in which this novel is set, is not neglected here, but never does it trespass on this book as being a spectacular novel in its own right. Commendation is certainly warranted for the in-depth historical research that was obviously undertaken by the author in preparation of writing the novel. Appignanesi’s use of historical fact, intertwined with her own remarkable fiction, is breath-taking at times, and it soon becomes remarkable to observe how the two elements easily blend into each other as the text progresses.
Furthermore, the writing of the novel itself certainly deserves a mention here. The locations, journeys, and descriptions that we share with these fascinating characters successfully pulls the reader into this scenario, offering what appears to be an authentic taste of the trials and tribulations suffered by the city at this point in history.
Shying away from no uncomfortable topics, Appignanesi explores the likes of social prejudices and anti-Semitism as much as she does familial relationships, making for a well-rounded novel that succeeds in exploring every issue that it introduces to the reader. A flawless exploration of a factual history and a fictional family, Appignanesi succeeds in conjuring old Paris and making it compatible with a new audience. This is undoubtedly a worthwhile addition to any bookshelf!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 26 May 2014
Upon arriving in Paris, James discovers that his brother, Raf, has become romantically entangled with a mysterious Jewish woman who goes by the name of Olympe; not only that, but their sister, Ellie, is in failing health and it seems, in opening chapters of this marvellous text at least, that she shows little signs of improving. Naturally, things become more complicated as the plot progresses, with the death of the beautiful Olympe acting as the catalyst for further confusion and startling revelations from an array of these intricately-constructed characters.
Appignanesi has spared no expense in her construction of not only these individual characters, but also of the world in which they reside. The Dreyfus case, the hot-topic of Paris at the time in which this novel is set, is not neglected here, but never does it trespass on this book as being a spectacular novel in its own right. Commendation is certainly warranted for the in-depth historical research that was obviously undertaken by the author in preparation of writing the novel. Appignanesi’s use of historical fact, intertwined with her own remarkable fiction, is breath-taking at times, and it soon becomes remarkable to observe how the two elements easily blend into each other as the text progresses.
Furthermore, the writing of the novel itself certainly deserves a mention here. The locations, journeys, and descriptions that we share with these fascinating characters successfully pulls the reader into this scenario, offering what appears to be an authentic taste of the trials and tribulations suffered by the city at this point in history.
Shying away from no uncomfortable topics, Appignanesi explores the likes of social prejudices and anti-Semitism as much as she does familial relationships, making for a well-rounded novel that succeeds in exploring every issue that it introduces to the reader. A flawless exploration of a factual history and a fictional family, Appignanesi succeeds in conjuring old Paris and making it compatible with a new audience. This is undoubtedly a worthwhile addition to any bookshelf!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 26 May 2014
Book Review: Brand New Ancients by Kate Tempest
I’ve been on something of a poetry kick for the last week or so; or perhaps that should read performance poetry kick given that the books I’ve been reading have been written by some of the finest spoken word artists this country can boast of. The latest one to keep me busy for a few hours was Brand New Ancients, by Kate Tempest, which comes complete with a disclaimer that the entire text should be read aloud.
Rather than constructing a collection of multiple poems, Tempest has instead opted to write one poem (yes, one poem that’s about 60 pages long) that tells the tale of two families and how their lives are inextricably bound together through early events. As implied by the title of the piece, Tempest endeavours to incorporate elements of mythological tales into both her characters and her assessments of humanity as a whole that seem to punctuate sections of the narrative. Ultimately, what is achieved here is a fascinating blend of old and new that, rather than existing separately from each other, seem to have joined forces for this amazing piece of work in order to portray the modern day characters as Brand New Ancients.
Weaving an almost philosophical feel into the text, Tempest has made old stories transferable into a new era, and has made a modern masterpiece in the process.
Shifting over to the use of language, form, and such like, Tempest is no stranger to changing things up a bit. If your concern here would be the monotony of reading the same rhyme and beat for 60-odd pages then fear not, because the text shifts shapes and rhythms repeatedly, demonstrating Tempest’s vast array of writing abilities in terms of poetic form. The rhymes are not always straight forward - as is typical of more modern poetry - and some of them seem to only work when read aloud, which is of course why this text requires that from the reader. Although, having said that, let it not be thought that the text doesn’t work on the page because it absolutely does.
For those who are unfamiliar with Kate Tempest and her previous work, it’s worth noting that alongside poetry, Tempest is also a popular story-teller and rapper, and those elements play equal parts in this text. The internal rhyme, alongside the aforementioned rhymes that only appear when the text is spoken, successfully show Tempest’s rapping roots while the character and plot of the poem reveal her remarkable story-telling abilities too. Honestly, there isn’t a box that this doesn’t tick!
If you’re looking for a taste of Brand New Ancients, you can access a video of Tempest herself performing the introduction of her work by clicking here. And, if this amazing and emotive performance intrigues you, you can grab yourselves a copy of the complete work by heading over to Amazon UK.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 4 May 2014
Rather than constructing a collection of multiple poems, Tempest has instead opted to write one poem (yes, one poem that’s about 60 pages long) that tells the tale of two families and how their lives are inextricably bound together through early events. As implied by the title of the piece, Tempest endeavours to incorporate elements of mythological tales into both her characters and her assessments of humanity as a whole that seem to punctuate sections of the narrative. Ultimately, what is achieved here is a fascinating blend of old and new that, rather than existing separately from each other, seem to have joined forces for this amazing piece of work in order to portray the modern day characters as Brand New Ancients.
Weaving an almost philosophical feel into the text, Tempest has made old stories transferable into a new era, and has made a modern masterpiece in the process.
Shifting over to the use of language, form, and such like, Tempest is no stranger to changing things up a bit. If your concern here would be the monotony of reading the same rhyme and beat for 60-odd pages then fear not, because the text shifts shapes and rhythms repeatedly, demonstrating Tempest’s vast array of writing abilities in terms of poetic form. The rhymes are not always straight forward - as is typical of more modern poetry - and some of them seem to only work when read aloud, which is of course why this text requires that from the reader. Although, having said that, let it not be thought that the text doesn’t work on the page because it absolutely does.
For those who are unfamiliar with Kate Tempest and her previous work, it’s worth noting that alongside poetry, Tempest is also a popular story-teller and rapper, and those elements play equal parts in this text. The internal rhyme, alongside the aforementioned rhymes that only appear when the text is spoken, successfully show Tempest’s rapping roots while the character and plot of the poem reveal her remarkable story-telling abilities too. Honestly, there isn’t a box that this doesn’t tick!
If you’re looking for a taste of Brand New Ancients, you can access a video of Tempest herself performing the introduction of her work by clicking here. And, if this amazing and emotive performance intrigues you, you can grab yourselves a copy of the complete work by heading over to Amazon UK.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 4 May 2014
Book Review: I Am Nobody's Nigger by Dean Atta
As far as I’m concerned, poetry is a massively underrated genre. Over recent years it seems to have contracted this social stigma that it is somehow for the literary elite and I can promise you now, as a writer and reader of this amazing form, it certainly is not. Poetry is no longer mysterious metaphors, nor is it a contest between writers to find the most obscure way of saying something relatively simple, although I can appreciate that the classics might have you believe otherwise. So with all of the above in mind, for the experienced reader and for those who are perhaps hesitant to branch into the genre, I am recommending Dean Atta’s collection, I Am Nobody’s Nigger.
I bought this collection at the start of year but, because of university and other commitments, it’s been sat on my shelf since then waiting for me to have a spare few hours to read it. Well last weekend I finally settled down with the intention of reading one or two poems, as a taster; I actually ended up sitting down for, well, I’m not even sure how long, and reading through the whole emotional collection, one hard-hitting poem at a time, until the book was finished, and I was drained.
A handful of poems in, it quickly became apparent that these creations were destined to be performed, or at the very least read aloud, although you shouldn’t let that put you off - they’re just as beautiful on the page, too.
Atta’s voice is apparent through every addition to this publication as we are weaved through the emotional journey of a young, gay, black man who boldly addresses everything from parental abandonment (something which actually left me in tears) to one-night-stands in London, and a few other places, if I remember rightly. No stone is left unturned as we are taken on a journey with this author and, long after the last poems have finished, that journey stays with you.
For the purposes of the review, I will assess the collection as a distinctive compilation of both personal and social issues that are completely relatable for the youths of today. Atta successfully explores issues that are not only relevant to his own life but also relevant on a wider cultural scale, which by default makes him a poet worth watching in these turbulent and sometimes frightening times. A certain authenticity is added to the thoughts here through the revelations about Atta’s own personal life and I must admit that, while he preaches about modern day problems and how, or in some circumstances if, we can even resolve them, Atta does not paint himself an angel. He is as frank about his own behaviour as he is about the behaviour of others and for that, I commend him.
Much as I would love to write an objective review, it’s hard to remain quiet about something has been so inspiring to you, which this collection honestly has. Atta clambers onto his soap box and boasts a world of opinions and, if you aren’t feeling fired up and ready to fight for something, anything, by the end of this book, then you simply must have read it wrong. He neatly observes elements of the world and the self and communicates them beautifully through this collection of (performance) poems that, I’m sure, are just the beginning of a long and successful career for this young writer.
Undoubtedly a collection worth adding to the bookshelf, whether you are a lover of poetry not. I Am Nobody’s Nigger is available to buy from Amazon right now, and it is certainly worth purchasing for those looking for something new, brave, and eye-opening.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 May 2014
I bought this collection at the start of year but, because of university and other commitments, it’s been sat on my shelf since then waiting for me to have a spare few hours to read it. Well last weekend I finally settled down with the intention of reading one or two poems, as a taster; I actually ended up sitting down for, well, I’m not even sure how long, and reading through the whole emotional collection, one hard-hitting poem at a time, until the book was finished, and I was drained.
A handful of poems in, it quickly became apparent that these creations were destined to be performed, or at the very least read aloud, although you shouldn’t let that put you off - they’re just as beautiful on the page, too.
Atta’s voice is apparent through every addition to this publication as we are weaved through the emotional journey of a young, gay, black man who boldly addresses everything from parental abandonment (something which actually left me in tears) to one-night-stands in London, and a few other places, if I remember rightly. No stone is left unturned as we are taken on a journey with this author and, long after the last poems have finished, that journey stays with you.
For the purposes of the review, I will assess the collection as a distinctive compilation of both personal and social issues that are completely relatable for the youths of today. Atta successfully explores issues that are not only relevant to his own life but also relevant on a wider cultural scale, which by default makes him a poet worth watching in these turbulent and sometimes frightening times. A certain authenticity is added to the thoughts here through the revelations about Atta’s own personal life and I must admit that, while he preaches about modern day problems and how, or in some circumstances if, we can even resolve them, Atta does not paint himself an angel. He is as frank about his own behaviour as he is about the behaviour of others and for that, I commend him.
Much as I would love to write an objective review, it’s hard to remain quiet about something has been so inspiring to you, which this collection honestly has. Atta clambers onto his soap box and boasts a world of opinions and, if you aren’t feeling fired up and ready to fight for something, anything, by the end of this book, then you simply must have read it wrong. He neatly observes elements of the world and the self and communicates them beautifully through this collection of (performance) poems that, I’m sure, are just the beginning of a long and successful career for this young writer.
Undoubtedly a collection worth adding to the bookshelf, whether you are a lover of poetry not. I Am Nobody’s Nigger is available to buy from Amazon right now, and it is certainly worth purchasing for those looking for something new, brave, and eye-opening.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 May 2014
Book review: Cold Hearts by Gunnar Staalesen
As far as I’m concerned, you just can’t beat a good crime novel; so when Arcadia Books posted me a copy of Gunnar Staalesen’s Cold Hearts, I was eager to get stuck in! Staalesen himself has been branded by critics already as ‘A Norwegian Chandler’, so before I’d even opened the book I already had exceptionally high hopes for its content, and I’m relieved to report that I was not at all disappointed.
The book is an intriguing exploration of the darker side of Norway; a side littered with prostitutes, murderers, and mob-members, all of whom are brazenly hunted down and confronted by the protagonist of the piece, Varg Veum. Rather than creating this corrupt world within the confines of an official police environment, Staalesen opted to make the Veum character a private investigator - a commendable decision given how much freedom this then introduces to the text in terms of how Veum’s investigation can develop.
After being called upon by a young prostitute who is concerned for the safety of a fellow street-girl who seems to have disappeared, Veum is catapulted into a world of missing persons and shady dealings and honestly, I was absolutely absorbed from the first chapter. As he begins his hunt for the Margrethe, the missing prostitute, Veum discovers more than he could have possibly anticipated finding and, as I wandered through the book alongside the detective, I found myself just as shocked as he was at every stunning revelation, of which there are many.
I’m reluctant to divulge too much information in terms of the plot because, despite sounding relatively simple on paper, Staalesen has actually weaved a complex world, with unexpected ties and big reveals hidden around every corner. So, for fear of ruining the text for potential readers, I will resist the temptation to reveal anything else other than this: at the end of one particular chapter, my jaw literally dropped.
The book is just a stunning piece of fiction - there is no other way to describe it. Staalesen flits between emotive and sometimes even poetic language, and the more clipped style that we would anticipate in more traditional hardboiled fiction from this genre. The Veum character, whilst upholding certain elements of the detective stereotype, is actually infinitely more endearing than the likes of Philip Marlowe which leaves us not only warming to him in his official capacity, but also on a more personal level, too - something which is achieved further through the presence of a family behind the scenes of his detective work. With even the minor characters in the book being created with a wealth of quirks, it’s safe to say that Staalesen’s development and use of character is nothing short of wonderful.
Another enjoyable aspect of the novel - I know, there are so many, but I promise I’ll stop soon - is the marvellous use of location! For me, the fear with reading a translated novel is that the authenticity and indeed the cultural stamp of the original text will not translate into a different language. However, with the impressive amount of location markers that can be found within the novel, there is certainly no chance of that happening! Every move Veum makes is punctuated with details of where he’s actually taking us and, while the place names may not mean much to a reader initially, they soon become another familiar aspect of the book and by the time I was a quarter of the way through, I knew exactly where Veum was taking me.
A stunning publication that delves into not only the dark elements of a country, but also the dark elements of humankind, Staalesen leaves no grisly stone unturned in his exploration of human behaviour, and how sometimes, even we don’t understand our actions. A marvellous addition to the bookshelf of any crime-reader, and the perfect text to introduce yourselves to this intriguing genre for those looking for something new to try.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 20 April 2014
The book is an intriguing exploration of the darker side of Norway; a side littered with prostitutes, murderers, and mob-members, all of whom are brazenly hunted down and confronted by the protagonist of the piece, Varg Veum. Rather than creating this corrupt world within the confines of an official police environment, Staalesen opted to make the Veum character a private investigator - a commendable decision given how much freedom this then introduces to the text in terms of how Veum’s investigation can develop.
After being called upon by a young prostitute who is concerned for the safety of a fellow street-girl who seems to have disappeared, Veum is catapulted into a world of missing persons and shady dealings and honestly, I was absolutely absorbed from the first chapter. As he begins his hunt for the Margrethe, the missing prostitute, Veum discovers more than he could have possibly anticipated finding and, as I wandered through the book alongside the detective, I found myself just as shocked as he was at every stunning revelation, of which there are many.
I’m reluctant to divulge too much information in terms of the plot because, despite sounding relatively simple on paper, Staalesen has actually weaved a complex world, with unexpected ties and big reveals hidden around every corner. So, for fear of ruining the text for potential readers, I will resist the temptation to reveal anything else other than this: at the end of one particular chapter, my jaw literally dropped.
The book is just a stunning piece of fiction - there is no other way to describe it. Staalesen flits between emotive and sometimes even poetic language, and the more clipped style that we would anticipate in more traditional hardboiled fiction from this genre. The Veum character, whilst upholding certain elements of the detective stereotype, is actually infinitely more endearing than the likes of Philip Marlowe which leaves us not only warming to him in his official capacity, but also on a more personal level, too - something which is achieved further through the presence of a family behind the scenes of his detective work. With even the minor characters in the book being created with a wealth of quirks, it’s safe to say that Staalesen’s development and use of character is nothing short of wonderful.
Another enjoyable aspect of the novel - I know, there are so many, but I promise I’ll stop soon - is the marvellous use of location! For me, the fear with reading a translated novel is that the authenticity and indeed the cultural stamp of the original text will not translate into a different language. However, with the impressive amount of location markers that can be found within the novel, there is certainly no chance of that happening! Every move Veum makes is punctuated with details of where he’s actually taking us and, while the place names may not mean much to a reader initially, they soon become another familiar aspect of the book and by the time I was a quarter of the way through, I knew exactly where Veum was taking me.
A stunning publication that delves into not only the dark elements of a country, but also the dark elements of humankind, Staalesen leaves no grisly stone unturned in his exploration of human behaviour, and how sometimes, even we don’t understand our actions. A marvellous addition to the bookshelf of any crime-reader, and the perfect text to introduce yourselves to this intriguing genre for those looking for something new to try.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 20 April 2014
Book Review: Zenith Hotel by Oscar Coop-Phane
Zenith Hotel is Oscar Coop-Phane’s debut novel, translated from French by the talented Ros Schwartz. The publication was only released in English, by Arcadia Books, on March 30th of this year, but already the novel has caused excitement and much discussion amongst book reviewers across the internet.
This outstanding novel is a marvellous introduction to the skills of Coop-Phane, who cleverly uses a series of vignettes to introduce the reader to well-developed characters, whose narratives are punctuated by that of the protagonist, Nanou. The Nanou character, who introduces herself as a common prostitute from the beginning of the text, serves to create an intricate tie between the surrounding characters, all of whom are oblivious to each other’s existence. This element of the text causes pause for thought in itself, prompting a fascinating exploration of how many of us are somehow linked to each other, through ways we may not even be aware of.
The intricacies of their relationships do however come second to the awe-inspiring intricacies of each character. In each section of the book you will find yourself introduced to a new person, and with each character you will find yourself taken aback by the things they bring to this short text. If I was forced to isolate a favourite, it would have to be Robert; I will however resist from saying why - you’ll see for yourselves when you read the book. With all of them possessing unique and remarkably realistic quirks, Coop-Phane has successfully captured both real and disturbing elements of society through his gritty representation of Paris. I use the word gritty deliberately, because this is certainly not the Paris that many readers will be previously acquainted with.
Coop-Phane has created a world of isolation here, where characters are lonely, miserable, and often reaching out for companionship - which they find in the Nanou character. Rotten as this world may appear at times, as a reader I couldn’t help but find myself completely drawn into it, and the explanation for that is, I believe, Coop-Phane’s impressive grasp over the language used here. There are so many beautiful descriptions, some of which are so touching you would expect to find them buried within a poem, rather than hidden inside a short novel that revolves around a prostitute and her obscure clients - although, perhaps this is what allows the language to be such a captivating feature. Every morning when Nanou has her first coffee, washing away fuzzy teeth and animal tastes from the previous evening, we as readers are right there with her; irrespective of her lady of the night role, she’s a fascinating character and I for one found myself living with her, coffee by coffee and client by client, for the duration of the text. While Coop-Phane’s language may sometimes be hyperbolic, as is true with most novels, there is a realist element here that makes it impossible not to fall into the book and tread the creaky floorboards with the rest of these lost souls, and that’s what allows this book to be so memorable long after you’ve finished the final page.
Try as I might, I simply can’t find fault here. It’s absolutely stunning and I wouldn’t hesitate at all in recommending it to anyone looking for a good, short read - let’s not forget, Coop-Phane manages to achieve all of the above in just 99 pages. An award-winning novelist through this book already, Coop-Phane is certainly a writer worth keeping your eye on; particularly in the next year or two, when he will be releasing his next novel, titled Tomorrow, Berlin.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 April 2014
This outstanding novel is a marvellous introduction to the skills of Coop-Phane, who cleverly uses a series of vignettes to introduce the reader to well-developed characters, whose narratives are punctuated by that of the protagonist, Nanou. The Nanou character, who introduces herself as a common prostitute from the beginning of the text, serves to create an intricate tie between the surrounding characters, all of whom are oblivious to each other’s existence. This element of the text causes pause for thought in itself, prompting a fascinating exploration of how many of us are somehow linked to each other, through ways we may not even be aware of.
The intricacies of their relationships do however come second to the awe-inspiring intricacies of each character. In each section of the book you will find yourself introduced to a new person, and with each character you will find yourself taken aback by the things they bring to this short text. If I was forced to isolate a favourite, it would have to be Robert; I will however resist from saying why - you’ll see for yourselves when you read the book. With all of them possessing unique and remarkably realistic quirks, Coop-Phane has successfully captured both real and disturbing elements of society through his gritty representation of Paris. I use the word gritty deliberately, because this is certainly not the Paris that many readers will be previously acquainted with.
Coop-Phane has created a world of isolation here, where characters are lonely, miserable, and often reaching out for companionship - which they find in the Nanou character. Rotten as this world may appear at times, as a reader I couldn’t help but find myself completely drawn into it, and the explanation for that is, I believe, Coop-Phane’s impressive grasp over the language used here. There are so many beautiful descriptions, some of which are so touching you would expect to find them buried within a poem, rather than hidden inside a short novel that revolves around a prostitute and her obscure clients - although, perhaps this is what allows the language to be such a captivating feature. Every morning when Nanou has her first coffee, washing away fuzzy teeth and animal tastes from the previous evening, we as readers are right there with her; irrespective of her lady of the night role, she’s a fascinating character and I for one found myself living with her, coffee by coffee and client by client, for the duration of the text. While Coop-Phane’s language may sometimes be hyperbolic, as is true with most novels, there is a realist element here that makes it impossible not to fall into the book and tread the creaky floorboards with the rest of these lost souls, and that’s what allows this book to be so memorable long after you’ve finished the final page.
Try as I might, I simply can’t find fault here. It’s absolutely stunning and I wouldn’t hesitate at all in recommending it to anyone looking for a good, short read - let’s not forget, Coop-Phane manages to achieve all of the above in just 99 pages. An award-winning novelist through this book already, Coop-Phane is certainly a writer worth keeping your eye on; particularly in the next year or two, when he will be releasing his next novel, titled Tomorrow, Berlin.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 April 2014
Book Review: Gods of Chicago by AJ Sikes
AJ Sikes adores the world of noir fiction, this much I know from experience; however, this knowledge alone did not prepare me for the intricate world that I found myself lost in when I started reading his latest publication, Gods of Chicago.
The novel, which Sikes himself defines as noir urban fantasy, is set in an alternative, historical Chicago City that is littered with crooked politicians, mob members, and nosy journalists - which leads me to introduce the protagonist of the piece, Mitchell Brand. Brand is one in a long line of convincing characters that contribute to the brilliance of this text. While they all have their frustration-inducing moments, the central characters are fairly believable and, in-keeping with the clipped and hardboiled detective-esque tones of the text, Brand even has his own threatening female to defend himself against in the form of Emma Farnsworth.
Sikes deserves commendation for developing such intriguing characters who come complete with so many individual complexities, they may well be modelled on real life people. In creating so many issues and insecurities here, the real life elements of these people are not only intricate but also entirely believable, which certainly leads to an element of reality in this strange world of murder, mystery, and mobsters. It’s also worth noting that the main man of the piece, Brand, is plagued by memories of a war that contributes greatly to his troubled character. Through a series of recollections and uncontrollable flashbacks, we are catapulted into the consciousness of the character who enlightens the reader to elements of his violent past, that aid in explaining his current predicament - once an investigative journalist, always an investigative journalist, it seems.
During Brand’s attempt to rumble the many gangsters that torment both his fellow characters and the Chicago City in which he lives, Sikes pushes his creativity further to create an utterly convincing picture of a sci-fi city that never was. However, with his in-depth descriptions and utterly convincing explorations of the city in which this novel is set, it would be difficult to criticise the area as unrealistic. Sikes’ extensive knowledge of Chicago shines through in this piece, as he clearly manipulates an enticing blend of reality and fiction onto the page - something that is not strictly limited to this scenery either, with some real-life characters also adding to the authenticity of Sikes’ 1920s Chicago (keep an eye out for the likes of Al Capone and Frank Nitti who are big players here).
If I was forced to find fault with the novel, the only thing I could honestly comment on is the sheer concentration that it took to fully digest the opening chapters. It’s an intricate world that Sikes has created here, which is wonderful, but it does require some deep attention while you introduce yourself to this Chicago, which is unlike any other I’ve seen. Admittedly, this initial wobble could be explained away by the fact that I don’t often read noir novels - the fact that I not only read and finished this book, but also that I thoroughly enjoyed it, surely speaks for itself as a review of the text in its entirety.
Despite my lack of familiarity with noir fiction, I can certainly appreciate this book as a new-to-the-genre reader. It’s gritty, it’s grim, and it’s utterly enticing - with scenery that pulls you into this alternate Chicago City, and characters that take you along on their life-threatening rollercoaster journeys, there actually isn’t much to dislike about this novel. For fans of the noir genre, it’s certainly worth investing in a copy of this book; and for those who are yet to experience this style of writing, well, you could certainly do worse than settling down with this first instalment of the GoC series.
The book is available as a Kindle download through both Amazon UK and Amazon US.
Make sure you head over to Performance & Arts today for our interview with AJ Sikes, too - available here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 April 2014
The novel, which Sikes himself defines as noir urban fantasy, is set in an alternative, historical Chicago City that is littered with crooked politicians, mob members, and nosy journalists - which leads me to introduce the protagonist of the piece, Mitchell Brand. Brand is one in a long line of convincing characters that contribute to the brilliance of this text. While they all have their frustration-inducing moments, the central characters are fairly believable and, in-keeping with the clipped and hardboiled detective-esque tones of the text, Brand even has his own threatening female to defend himself against in the form of Emma Farnsworth.
Sikes deserves commendation for developing such intriguing characters who come complete with so many individual complexities, they may well be modelled on real life people. In creating so many issues and insecurities here, the real life elements of these people are not only intricate but also entirely believable, which certainly leads to an element of reality in this strange world of murder, mystery, and mobsters. It’s also worth noting that the main man of the piece, Brand, is plagued by memories of a war that contributes greatly to his troubled character. Through a series of recollections and uncontrollable flashbacks, we are catapulted into the consciousness of the character who enlightens the reader to elements of his violent past, that aid in explaining his current predicament - once an investigative journalist, always an investigative journalist, it seems.
During Brand’s attempt to rumble the many gangsters that torment both his fellow characters and the Chicago City in which he lives, Sikes pushes his creativity further to create an utterly convincing picture of a sci-fi city that never was. However, with his in-depth descriptions and utterly convincing explorations of the city in which this novel is set, it would be difficult to criticise the area as unrealistic. Sikes’ extensive knowledge of Chicago shines through in this piece, as he clearly manipulates an enticing blend of reality and fiction onto the page - something that is not strictly limited to this scenery either, with some real-life characters also adding to the authenticity of Sikes’ 1920s Chicago (keep an eye out for the likes of Al Capone and Frank Nitti who are big players here).
If I was forced to find fault with the novel, the only thing I could honestly comment on is the sheer concentration that it took to fully digest the opening chapters. It’s an intricate world that Sikes has created here, which is wonderful, but it does require some deep attention while you introduce yourself to this Chicago, which is unlike any other I’ve seen. Admittedly, this initial wobble could be explained away by the fact that I don’t often read noir novels - the fact that I not only read and finished this book, but also that I thoroughly enjoyed it, surely speaks for itself as a review of the text in its entirety.
Despite my lack of familiarity with noir fiction, I can certainly appreciate this book as a new-to-the-genre reader. It’s gritty, it’s grim, and it’s utterly enticing - with scenery that pulls you into this alternate Chicago City, and characters that take you along on their life-threatening rollercoaster journeys, there actually isn’t much to dislike about this novel. For fans of the noir genre, it’s certainly worth investing in a copy of this book; and for those who are yet to experience this style of writing, well, you could certainly do worse than settling down with this first instalment of the GoC series.
The book is available as a Kindle download through both Amazon UK and Amazon US.
Make sure you head over to Performance & Arts today for our interview with AJ Sikes, too - available here.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 1 April 2014
Book review: On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft, Written By Stephen King
There seems to be a lot of stigma attached to writers who write about writing, and if I’m being completely honest, I can appreciate why. While many of you love to grab a good book that you can settle down with for a few hours at a time, not many people give much thought to the blood, sweat, and literal tears that go into the production of a text - and why should you? You’re readers, not writers; it’s not your concern.
So I suppose if you’re looking for a gripping storyline that will have you on the edge of your seat for hours at a time, then you should disregard this review right now. However, if you’re a writer and you’re looking for a fellow writer to share your creative groans and grumbles with, then I can’t recommend Stephen King’s On Writing highly enough.
While journalism is my day-to-day pass time, I am at heart a creative writer - or at least, I like to think of myself as one! So when one of my lecturers at university name-dropped this Stephen King text into a seminar, I made sure it was the first book that I went out and purchased that week. After reading it cover to cover in two sittings, I can assure you that it certainly wasn’t money wasted.
Okay, the text isn’t cutting edge in terms of when it was released given that it was first published back in 2000, but under no circumstances should you let that deter you from grabbing a copy. The pearls of wisdom planted throughout this text are timeless and not only did I enjoy reading them, but I’m also 100% sure that I will be returning to them from time to time during my life as a writer.
The publication is cleverly divided into different, equally interesting, topics, ranging from what you should and shouldn’t do as a writer, all the way through to how the infamous Stephen King first started writing (which, you might be pleased to know, was with a stack of rejection letters that he kept pinned to his bedroom wall!). This practical guide for writers is neatly punctuated with refreshing snippets from King’s own autobiography, offering light at the end of the dark creative tunnel that even the great masters of the art find themselves stumbling over their words now and then. King fondly reflects on advice that was given to him many years ago, when he was first applying for publications in magazines, and eventually shifts into his own advice for the new generation of writers that he sometimes sternly addresses in this book. Make no mistake, a handful of pages in King makes it quite clear that if you aren’t serious about your craft then he simply does not have time for you - consider yourselves warned.
Perhaps it’s unfair to say that this book isn’t worth buying unless you‘re a writer; however, I would certainly go as far to say that this isn’t a book for people who only read fiction. While King may be the master of horror, this book isn’t in the same category as the likes of Carrie and The Shining, nor was it intended to be.
Overall I thoroughly enjoyed it, both the tips and tricks for those working in the trade (or perhaps that should be those trying to work in the trade) and the autobiographical anecdotes that not only offer a refreshing and endearing view of King as a writer, but also as a person away from his writing. A truly wonderful investment for anyone interested in the craft of creativity.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 17 February 2014
So I suppose if you’re looking for a gripping storyline that will have you on the edge of your seat for hours at a time, then you should disregard this review right now. However, if you’re a writer and you’re looking for a fellow writer to share your creative groans and grumbles with, then I can’t recommend Stephen King’s On Writing highly enough.
While journalism is my day-to-day pass time, I am at heart a creative writer - or at least, I like to think of myself as one! So when one of my lecturers at university name-dropped this Stephen King text into a seminar, I made sure it was the first book that I went out and purchased that week. After reading it cover to cover in two sittings, I can assure you that it certainly wasn’t money wasted.
Okay, the text isn’t cutting edge in terms of when it was released given that it was first published back in 2000, but under no circumstances should you let that deter you from grabbing a copy. The pearls of wisdom planted throughout this text are timeless and not only did I enjoy reading them, but I’m also 100% sure that I will be returning to them from time to time during my life as a writer.
The publication is cleverly divided into different, equally interesting, topics, ranging from what you should and shouldn’t do as a writer, all the way through to how the infamous Stephen King first started writing (which, you might be pleased to know, was with a stack of rejection letters that he kept pinned to his bedroom wall!). This practical guide for writers is neatly punctuated with refreshing snippets from King’s own autobiography, offering light at the end of the dark creative tunnel that even the great masters of the art find themselves stumbling over their words now and then. King fondly reflects on advice that was given to him many years ago, when he was first applying for publications in magazines, and eventually shifts into his own advice for the new generation of writers that he sometimes sternly addresses in this book. Make no mistake, a handful of pages in King makes it quite clear that if you aren’t serious about your craft then he simply does not have time for you - consider yourselves warned.
Perhaps it’s unfair to say that this book isn’t worth buying unless you‘re a writer; however, I would certainly go as far to say that this isn’t a book for people who only read fiction. While King may be the master of horror, this book isn’t in the same category as the likes of Carrie and The Shining, nor was it intended to be.
Overall I thoroughly enjoyed it, both the tips and tricks for those working in the trade (or perhaps that should be those trying to work in the trade) and the autobiographical anecdotes that not only offer a refreshing and endearing view of King as a writer, but also as a person away from his writing. A truly wonderful investment for anyone interested in the craft of creativity.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 17 February 2014
Book Review: The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson
Is it really legitimate to review the second book in a trilogy without having completed the series? Well I’m not sure, but this book, independent of its siblings, has some interesting characteristics that are worth looking into (characteristics that make me contemplate whether to even complete the series).
The Girl Who Played with Fire follows the hugely successful crime novel The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo boasts an undeniably riveting plot, unraveling with all the twists, turns and in this case the social commentary that a good modern crime novel should have. However, this plot didn’t unravel as gracefully as number one in the series, in fact it kind of just fell down, like a poster falling off the wall in the night: scary, but insignificant.
This may have happened for a few reasons. Firstly, this book had a gradual and intriguing beginning which seemed to implicate mathematical equations as a central theme. Lisbeth Salander, the protagonist, is painted during this book and the first as a misunderstood, mysterious and almost completely autonomous character. Her ability to determinedly focus on intricacies and technology meant that not only was she a world class computer hacker, a skill that interplays largely with the storyline, but she also grew an obsession with a mathematical equation renowned for its impossibility to complete. Unless I missed something vital, like say a secret chapter, the importance of the equations seemed to inexplicably deteriorate as the plot thickened. What Larsson may have wanted to do was draw an allegory between mathematical equations and Salander’s life. Perhaps, but his attempt at being philosophical in this novel was clearly lost on me.
Secondly, Larsson’s relationship with female empowerment in this book, and in the first, threw me somewhat. On the one hand, he conjures the picture of Salander as a formidable, dangerous and independent character, battling with bad and powerful men. With this portrayal of the protagonist and some of the quotes in the first book, it seemed he could have been addressing the notion that many Western countries have a forward thinking exterior that appears to be a fair and progressive place for women when really they’re masking an evil misogynistic root. But one of the fundamental messages – that men get away with sexual abuse because of flawed institutional practices – seemed to be shrouded in a male fantasist way of viewing women. For example, his main character only seemed to ‘become’ a woman when she got a boob job; and the male protagonist in the first book has a sexual relationship with almost every significant female in the story. Working out whether not I find the books perverse took me away from getting into the story – maybe that is why I couldn’t fathom why equations were all over the place.
And finally: someone fire or at least administer a ‘performance review’ to the translator, seriously. This series was translated from Swedish to English, but in this book the translation doesn’t do plot or its sentiments justice. Some of the more delicate scenes are ruined by incongruent and abrasive words and vice versa – and this isn’t just me searching for a completely consolidated plot. At points it just did not read well. Translation wasn’t an issue in The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo – and this is what is putting me off reading the final in the series, the 746 paged ‘Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest’, just in case the translation gets progressively worse.
All in all, a ‘mixed’ review, indeed!
Written by: Siya Mngaza
Published: 10 February 2014
The Girl Who Played with Fire follows the hugely successful crime novel The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo boasts an undeniably riveting plot, unraveling with all the twists, turns and in this case the social commentary that a good modern crime novel should have. However, this plot didn’t unravel as gracefully as number one in the series, in fact it kind of just fell down, like a poster falling off the wall in the night: scary, but insignificant.
This may have happened for a few reasons. Firstly, this book had a gradual and intriguing beginning which seemed to implicate mathematical equations as a central theme. Lisbeth Salander, the protagonist, is painted during this book and the first as a misunderstood, mysterious and almost completely autonomous character. Her ability to determinedly focus on intricacies and technology meant that not only was she a world class computer hacker, a skill that interplays largely with the storyline, but she also grew an obsession with a mathematical equation renowned for its impossibility to complete. Unless I missed something vital, like say a secret chapter, the importance of the equations seemed to inexplicably deteriorate as the plot thickened. What Larsson may have wanted to do was draw an allegory between mathematical equations and Salander’s life. Perhaps, but his attempt at being philosophical in this novel was clearly lost on me.
Secondly, Larsson’s relationship with female empowerment in this book, and in the first, threw me somewhat. On the one hand, he conjures the picture of Salander as a formidable, dangerous and independent character, battling with bad and powerful men. With this portrayal of the protagonist and some of the quotes in the first book, it seemed he could have been addressing the notion that many Western countries have a forward thinking exterior that appears to be a fair and progressive place for women when really they’re masking an evil misogynistic root. But one of the fundamental messages – that men get away with sexual abuse because of flawed institutional practices – seemed to be shrouded in a male fantasist way of viewing women. For example, his main character only seemed to ‘become’ a woman when she got a boob job; and the male protagonist in the first book has a sexual relationship with almost every significant female in the story. Working out whether not I find the books perverse took me away from getting into the story – maybe that is why I couldn’t fathom why equations were all over the place.
And finally: someone fire or at least administer a ‘performance review’ to the translator, seriously. This series was translated from Swedish to English, but in this book the translation doesn’t do plot or its sentiments justice. Some of the more delicate scenes are ruined by incongruent and abrasive words and vice versa – and this isn’t just me searching for a completely consolidated plot. At points it just did not read well. Translation wasn’t an issue in The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo – and this is what is putting me off reading the final in the series, the 746 paged ‘Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest’, just in case the translation gets progressively worse.
All in all, a ‘mixed’ review, indeed!
Written by: Siya Mngaza
Published: 10 February 2014
Book review: S by Doug Dorst and J. J. Abrams... Kind of
J.J. Abrams is one of my favourite directors. He's responsible for Lost and the new Star Trek films, and, while he's done more than those two, they're what come to mind when I hear the name J.J. Abrams. And now it appears that he's directed a book. Okay, he hasn't directed a book; he came up with an idea and went to an author, Doug Dorst, and asked said author to write the book. And my God, what a book it is.
S has been called a strange book by many and there's a reason for that. It arrives in a black slip cover that has a sticker on the edge that you need to break to get the book out. Once you do, you'll find that S is actually Ship of Thesus and has a library references on the back... and a library timetable on the first page. You also find that the book has frantic scribblings inside it as well as pieces of paper and postcards that have been passed between the two people who appear to be having a conversation on the pages of this book. And Ship of Thesus appears to be about a imagined author who wrote an imagined book and is written by an imagined author... Strange, right?
And yet it works. S is one of the best books I've read in a while and rightfully so. The initial book, that is, Ship of Thesus, is exhilarating itself. It reads more like a Lovecraft novel than a Dorst novel but I guess that's what Dorst's plan was. The characters are so vivid and the plot is amazing and it truly is brilliant. And then you have the second story, the story of the two people who are writing on the margins of the book; Jen and Eric. Jen is an English undergrad and Eric is a researcher and the two form a relationship about the book by writing notes and passing each other letters about their lives.
It turns out that V.M. Straka (the person who wrote Ship of Thesus) is a writer who has had a controversial life, a life where he appears to have stayed hidden away from people. He also appears to have had a relationship with the translator of the book, FXC (who writes footnotes for the text), and the leader of some conspiracy group of political writers.
All in all, there appears to be four different stories in this book; Ship of Thesus (the book itself), V.M. Straka's life (the author of Ship of Thesus), FXC (the translator who writes footnotes inside the book) and Eric and Jen's relationship with one another. If you're thinking that's a little suffocating, then you would be correct. I attempted to read this book all at once (the initial story, the footnotes and the scribbles in the margins) and I had to stop after a few pages. Trying to keep hold of all these stories at the same time was quite hard so I started again, reading Ship of Thesus first and then the footnotes and scribblings in the margin.
In a world where people appear to be questioning how long print books are going to stay in print form, S does come as a bit of fresh air. This book is something that could not be transformed into an eBook and for that, I am grateful. I love the Kindle and I love eBooks but at least we have one reason to keep print books in print now.
S is available at Amazon and other such book selling places.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 22 January 2014
S has been called a strange book by many and there's a reason for that. It arrives in a black slip cover that has a sticker on the edge that you need to break to get the book out. Once you do, you'll find that S is actually Ship of Thesus and has a library references on the back... and a library timetable on the first page. You also find that the book has frantic scribblings inside it as well as pieces of paper and postcards that have been passed between the two people who appear to be having a conversation on the pages of this book. And Ship of Thesus appears to be about a imagined author who wrote an imagined book and is written by an imagined author... Strange, right?
And yet it works. S is one of the best books I've read in a while and rightfully so. The initial book, that is, Ship of Thesus, is exhilarating itself. It reads more like a Lovecraft novel than a Dorst novel but I guess that's what Dorst's plan was. The characters are so vivid and the plot is amazing and it truly is brilliant. And then you have the second story, the story of the two people who are writing on the margins of the book; Jen and Eric. Jen is an English undergrad and Eric is a researcher and the two form a relationship about the book by writing notes and passing each other letters about their lives.
It turns out that V.M. Straka (the person who wrote Ship of Thesus) is a writer who has had a controversial life, a life where he appears to have stayed hidden away from people. He also appears to have had a relationship with the translator of the book, FXC (who writes footnotes for the text), and the leader of some conspiracy group of political writers.
All in all, there appears to be four different stories in this book; Ship of Thesus (the book itself), V.M. Straka's life (the author of Ship of Thesus), FXC (the translator who writes footnotes inside the book) and Eric and Jen's relationship with one another. If you're thinking that's a little suffocating, then you would be correct. I attempted to read this book all at once (the initial story, the footnotes and the scribbles in the margins) and I had to stop after a few pages. Trying to keep hold of all these stories at the same time was quite hard so I started again, reading Ship of Thesus first and then the footnotes and scribblings in the margin.
In a world where people appear to be questioning how long print books are going to stay in print form, S does come as a bit of fresh air. This book is something that could not be transformed into an eBook and for that, I am grateful. I love the Kindle and I love eBooks but at least we have one reason to keep print books in print now.
S is available at Amazon and other such book selling places.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 22 January 2014
Book Review: Cells by Harriet Grace
I’ll say it: Cells is not my usual type of book. It’s a contemporary novel that follows the lives of middle-class characters (mostly) who have spent their lives torn between their careers and their option of starting a family, only to discover that the latter option is no longer something that they can achieve. It’s a real-life novel that successfully addresses issues that many modern day readers will, on some level at least, be able to relate to and I must admit, I think it’s fantastic.
Grace’s characters are wonderful creations, that we come to know intimately through the frequent shifts in narrative that happen across chapters. Unlike other texts, I would say this novel succeeds in creating not one, but three protagonists, all of whom demand sympathy and interest in their own right.
The text is weaved around the life of Martha, a high-flying Features Editor of a national newspaper, who is married to Grant, a successful psychoanalyst. On the surface they appear to be a very fortunate couple, living a financially comfortable life in a wonderful house - something which is beautifully described by Grace throughout the novel. However, something is missing from their union, and we soon discover that this void is baby-shaped; despite IVF treatment, it seems the couple are unable to conceive, opening the door to a rollercoaster of touching emotions from both sides of the couple. Emotions that are eventually complicated further by Jon, the third protagonist of the piece, who acts as a startling opposite to our leading couple. The mid-twenties character who works at Martha’s newspaper soon infiltrates the lives of Martha and Grant, forcing them to acknowledge interesting truths and ask uncomfortable questions, all of which contributes to the trying tone of this novel. However, don’t fret, that is certainly a strong point!
The character involvement in this particular text is absolutely flawless. Not only does Grace succeed in creating strong and believable characters, but she gives us an opening into their deepest and darkest thoughts through the first person perspectives that she communicates throughout the chapters. Admittedly, the narrative shifts can be challenging towards the beginning however I soon found myself falling into something like a rhythm and, as each chapter heading introduced the narrative voice for the upcoming pages, I found a burst of excitement at seeing this shift. It was something that not only heightened the characters, and my emotional responses to them, but also prevented the novel from being stale - every chapter gives you a new and different perspective, something that not many novels can successfully achieve.
Alongside Grace’s wonderful characters you will find brilliant descriptions, intriguing sub-plots and marvellous locations that succeed in adding a touch of authenticity to the text. Overall, a thrilling and emotional novel that addresses some of the most prominent and relevant issues of this generation. Grace succeeds in finding a balance between the distraught emotions of Martha at discovering she cannot have a child, and Grant, who appears to feel something like conflict at the discovery; Jon, also, creates a perfect viewing platform for the reader simply by looking in on the troubled couple, offering yet another angle through which we observe their trauma, whilst adding his own entertainment to the text through his, well, somewhat odd lifestyle.
A touching book that would be a welcome addition to the shelf of any reader! Cells is available via Amazon in both paperback and Kindle format, which you can purchase by clicking here.
Make sure you head over to Performance & Arts, by clicking here, to check out our interview with Harriet where she talks about Cells and reveals her plans for a future release!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 January 2014
Grace’s characters are wonderful creations, that we come to know intimately through the frequent shifts in narrative that happen across chapters. Unlike other texts, I would say this novel succeeds in creating not one, but three protagonists, all of whom demand sympathy and interest in their own right.
The text is weaved around the life of Martha, a high-flying Features Editor of a national newspaper, who is married to Grant, a successful psychoanalyst. On the surface they appear to be a very fortunate couple, living a financially comfortable life in a wonderful house - something which is beautifully described by Grace throughout the novel. However, something is missing from their union, and we soon discover that this void is baby-shaped; despite IVF treatment, it seems the couple are unable to conceive, opening the door to a rollercoaster of touching emotions from both sides of the couple. Emotions that are eventually complicated further by Jon, the third protagonist of the piece, who acts as a startling opposite to our leading couple. The mid-twenties character who works at Martha’s newspaper soon infiltrates the lives of Martha and Grant, forcing them to acknowledge interesting truths and ask uncomfortable questions, all of which contributes to the trying tone of this novel. However, don’t fret, that is certainly a strong point!
The character involvement in this particular text is absolutely flawless. Not only does Grace succeed in creating strong and believable characters, but she gives us an opening into their deepest and darkest thoughts through the first person perspectives that she communicates throughout the chapters. Admittedly, the narrative shifts can be challenging towards the beginning however I soon found myself falling into something like a rhythm and, as each chapter heading introduced the narrative voice for the upcoming pages, I found a burst of excitement at seeing this shift. It was something that not only heightened the characters, and my emotional responses to them, but also prevented the novel from being stale - every chapter gives you a new and different perspective, something that not many novels can successfully achieve.
Alongside Grace’s wonderful characters you will find brilliant descriptions, intriguing sub-plots and marvellous locations that succeed in adding a touch of authenticity to the text. Overall, a thrilling and emotional novel that addresses some of the most prominent and relevant issues of this generation. Grace succeeds in finding a balance between the distraught emotions of Martha at discovering she cannot have a child, and Grant, who appears to feel something like conflict at the discovery; Jon, also, creates a perfect viewing platform for the reader simply by looking in on the troubled couple, offering yet another angle through which we observe their trauma, whilst adding his own entertainment to the text through his, well, somewhat odd lifestyle.
A touching book that would be a welcome addition to the shelf of any reader! Cells is available via Amazon in both paperback and Kindle format, which you can purchase by clicking here.
Make sure you head over to Performance & Arts, by clicking here, to check out our interview with Harriet where she talks about Cells and reveals her plans for a future release!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 January 2014
Book Series Review: Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin
Game of Thrones, written by George R.R. Martin, is actually the first book in the series; A Song of Ice and Fire but has become synonymous with the series as a whole, thanks to the TV show that HBO has constructed around it. It currently sits at technically five books, physically seven (Martin split the third and the fifth into two separate books because they are that large), with Martin writing the sixth right now.
I have just finished reading the series. I started in June of 2013 and finished a day before the year ended. And I'm still not over it. Let me explain.
I was introduced to the series by a few friends who told me to watch the TV show. I did. And I was hooked almost immediately, not just by the incredible acting and the set design, but by the plot. So when I found out that the show was actually based on books, I went out and bought them.
The books are even more incredible. Martin writes like a man possessed by his own novel. His sentences are deliciously constructed, the characters as complex as you'd want them to be. He writes pages and pages about the beautiful food that has been laid out on tables for Kings to eat, about the glorious battles and the bitter taste of defeat, about the back stabbing, the back biting, the gossiping, the men, the women, the dwarves. The wit, the banter, the laughs, the jokes. This series has everything!
And it even has dragons...
The story itself is about politics, when you boil it down to its core. It's set in an alternate reality where the world is run by fat Kings who employ knights to do their dirty work. The King, Robert Baratheon, sits on the throne and it turns out that his wife appears to be doing some very unsavoury things with other men. And so the fight begins. A boy is thrown out of a roof, a man sets out to do war, a woman is sold to the Dothraaki King (the King of an uncivilised people) to regain the throne. The story is brilliant and keeps you captivated until the very last word, as it did me.
I'm actually upset that it's over but more so impatient for the next one. Martin has stated that he doesn't actually know when the sixth book (entitled The Winds of Winter) is going to be released and if you read the Wikipedia page on his series, you'll soon learn, as I did myself, that he doesn't really keep to times and dates all that well. Suffice it to say that I may be waiting a very long time for the next book to come out.
But hey, at least until then, I have season 4 of the TV show to keep me occupied. And boy, do a lot of things happen in the second part of book three and book four.
If you're thinking about reading the books, I would suggest watching the show first. Yes, it's full of spoilers but I found that I read the books a lot easier after watching the show. The books are incredibly long, with the largest coming in at well over a thousand pages. However, if you're more of a book person, by all means, add this to your library. It's definitely worth it.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 4 January 2014
I have just finished reading the series. I started in June of 2013 and finished a day before the year ended. And I'm still not over it. Let me explain.
I was introduced to the series by a few friends who told me to watch the TV show. I did. And I was hooked almost immediately, not just by the incredible acting and the set design, but by the plot. So when I found out that the show was actually based on books, I went out and bought them.
The books are even more incredible. Martin writes like a man possessed by his own novel. His sentences are deliciously constructed, the characters as complex as you'd want them to be. He writes pages and pages about the beautiful food that has been laid out on tables for Kings to eat, about the glorious battles and the bitter taste of defeat, about the back stabbing, the back biting, the gossiping, the men, the women, the dwarves. The wit, the banter, the laughs, the jokes. This series has everything!
And it even has dragons...
The story itself is about politics, when you boil it down to its core. It's set in an alternate reality where the world is run by fat Kings who employ knights to do their dirty work. The King, Robert Baratheon, sits on the throne and it turns out that his wife appears to be doing some very unsavoury things with other men. And so the fight begins. A boy is thrown out of a roof, a man sets out to do war, a woman is sold to the Dothraaki King (the King of an uncivilised people) to regain the throne. The story is brilliant and keeps you captivated until the very last word, as it did me.
I'm actually upset that it's over but more so impatient for the next one. Martin has stated that he doesn't actually know when the sixth book (entitled The Winds of Winter) is going to be released and if you read the Wikipedia page on his series, you'll soon learn, as I did myself, that he doesn't really keep to times and dates all that well. Suffice it to say that I may be waiting a very long time for the next book to come out.
But hey, at least until then, I have season 4 of the TV show to keep me occupied. And boy, do a lot of things happen in the second part of book three and book four.
If you're thinking about reading the books, I would suggest watching the show first. Yes, it's full of spoilers but I found that I read the books a lot easier after watching the show. The books are incredibly long, with the largest coming in at well over a thousand pages. However, if you're more of a book person, by all means, add this to your library. It's definitely worth it.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 4 January 2014
Book Review: Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
This multi-layered modern novel explores quite critically the experience of love and relationships, and the concept of mental health for migrants to the west. The tale is woven together by the story of an astute young couple, whose relationship is threatened by distance. It unfurls excitingly as they attempt to withstand a transatlantic relationship – one lover in Nigeria, the other in Britain.
Adichie’s debut novel Purple Hibiscus gained critical acclaim with its insightful scrutiny of politics in Nigeria. This novel widens the lenses and gives a portrayal of how consumerism and class can take form in American, Nigerian and British lives. The funniest parts of Americanah are when Adichie so effortlessly pulls apart stereotypes and highlights unconscious biases many minorities in the West are actively battling with.
This book gives an unthreatening insight into the way different races perceive identity and very honestly questions how the concept of race in America can infringe upon personal relationships. Does one only become ‘black’ when they step outside Africa?
A novel like this can have the reader questioning their perceptions and even poking fun at people mirrored in Adidche’s portrayal of modern life. All in all, an entertaining, intelligent and romantic read.
Written by: Siya Mngaza
Published: 4 December 2013
Adichie’s debut novel Purple Hibiscus gained critical acclaim with its insightful scrutiny of politics in Nigeria. This novel widens the lenses and gives a portrayal of how consumerism and class can take form in American, Nigerian and British lives. The funniest parts of Americanah are when Adichie so effortlessly pulls apart stereotypes and highlights unconscious biases many minorities in the West are actively battling with.
This book gives an unthreatening insight into the way different races perceive identity and very honestly questions how the concept of race in America can infringe upon personal relationships. Does one only become ‘black’ when they step outside Africa?
A novel like this can have the reader questioning their perceptions and even poking fun at people mirrored in Adidche’s portrayal of modern life. All in all, an entertaining, intelligent and romantic read.
Written by: Siya Mngaza
Published: 4 December 2013
Book Review: Legend Series by Marie Lu
The literary world has been overcome with a myriad of dystopian novels (for those of you that don’t know, a dystopian novel is a novel that takes place in the future, after something (virus outbreak, world war three, zombies, etc) has happened and wiped out most of humanity. They normally involve a totalitarian government and a protagonist that takes it down), a la The Hunger Games, and the Legend series, written by Marie Lu, is no different. But it is different and its differences make it so much better than other books out there that follow the same genre tropes (Divergent, I’m looking at you).
The Legend series follows the same dystopian stereotypes, in that it’s the future and the world is a lot different than what we know of it now. It’s based in America, where America has been split into two – the Republic and the Colonies. The Republic are the ones in control and the Colonies are the ones that are fighting back. But that’s not what this book series is about. Yes, they play a part, but this book series is about our two protagonists: June and Day. June is the smartest sixteen year old ever whilst Day is a criminal that seeks to take down the Republic after they tried to experiment on him. June’s brother, who is just as smart as her, is taken down (supposedly) by Day and June tracks him down. In the second and third book, things take a spin for the worse, with June and Day splitting, the relationship between the Republic and the Colonies becoming worse and worse and a whole host of other things that I won’t spoil for you.
First of all, this series has three books (Legend, Prodigy and Champion) and each book is so much more better than the last. When I first read Legend, I was in awe. Prodigy made that awe build and it finally came to a mind blowing end in Champion. And that is all due to Lu’s writing. It is incredible. There’s no other way to describe it. There are few writers out there that can write books from two different first person point of views and do it so well and Lu is definitely one of them. She writes both characters, June and Day, so well that, even without the font difference in their chapters, I would have been able to tell who was speaking because their voices are that unique and different. June is strict, smart, intelligent, logical; whereas Day, although just as smart, is emotional, lets his anger get the best of him and the writing reflects this. I have never read a YA series like this before. I even think it’s better than The Hunger Games and that’s saying something.
Although the writing is great, the plot is just as great, if not better. Despite the fact that we have a female and male protagonist, there isn’t a great effort placed on their relationship, like there is in other books (Divergent). In fact, the relationship that the two share is so realistic given the dimensions of what has happened. The plot is at the forefront the entire time and it is great, with twists that I didn’t see coming. I think the ending of Champion is the first time since the ending of The Hunger Games that made me actually gasp in shock. It was so shocking, so unpredictable, that it felt like someone had just whisked the ground out from under my feet and that’s what I want from the books I read.
All in all, this was a great book series. I heartily recommend it to anyone who likes dystopian novels. It’s amazing and I think it needs to get a lot more recognition than it has right now. There are rumours about a film supposedly being made for it but I’m not entirely sure about that! Hats off to you Marie Lu, you’ve created something amazing.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 22 November 2013
The Legend series follows the same dystopian stereotypes, in that it’s the future and the world is a lot different than what we know of it now. It’s based in America, where America has been split into two – the Republic and the Colonies. The Republic are the ones in control and the Colonies are the ones that are fighting back. But that’s not what this book series is about. Yes, they play a part, but this book series is about our two protagonists: June and Day. June is the smartest sixteen year old ever whilst Day is a criminal that seeks to take down the Republic after they tried to experiment on him. June’s brother, who is just as smart as her, is taken down (supposedly) by Day and June tracks him down. In the second and third book, things take a spin for the worse, with June and Day splitting, the relationship between the Republic and the Colonies becoming worse and worse and a whole host of other things that I won’t spoil for you.
First of all, this series has three books (Legend, Prodigy and Champion) and each book is so much more better than the last. When I first read Legend, I was in awe. Prodigy made that awe build and it finally came to a mind blowing end in Champion. And that is all due to Lu’s writing. It is incredible. There’s no other way to describe it. There are few writers out there that can write books from two different first person point of views and do it so well and Lu is definitely one of them. She writes both characters, June and Day, so well that, even without the font difference in their chapters, I would have been able to tell who was speaking because their voices are that unique and different. June is strict, smart, intelligent, logical; whereas Day, although just as smart, is emotional, lets his anger get the best of him and the writing reflects this. I have never read a YA series like this before. I even think it’s better than The Hunger Games and that’s saying something.
Although the writing is great, the plot is just as great, if not better. Despite the fact that we have a female and male protagonist, there isn’t a great effort placed on their relationship, like there is in other books (Divergent). In fact, the relationship that the two share is so realistic given the dimensions of what has happened. The plot is at the forefront the entire time and it is great, with twists that I didn’t see coming. I think the ending of Champion is the first time since the ending of The Hunger Games that made me actually gasp in shock. It was so shocking, so unpredictable, that it felt like someone had just whisked the ground out from under my feet and that’s what I want from the books I read.
All in all, this was a great book series. I heartily recommend it to anyone who likes dystopian novels. It’s amazing and I think it needs to get a lot more recognition than it has right now. There are rumours about a film supposedly being made for it but I’m not entirely sure about that! Hats off to you Marie Lu, you’ve created something amazing.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 22 November 2013
Book Review: Divergent by Veronica Roth
I was told by a close friend to read the book Divergent and its subsequent sequel, Insurgent, as they were ‘good books’ and if I had liked The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, I would like these too. Now that's a decent recommendation given how big The Hunger Games have become and the fact that, despite the incredibly simple writing and the nonsensical first half of the third book, I liked them, which made me want to read this series.
That was mistake number one.
Mistake number two was not checking reviews of these books before walking into Waterstones and buying them.
Mistake number three was reading them. I'm one of those people who has to finish a book series, no matter how much I hate it (read: I read the entire Twilight series. Oh yeah).
Onto the actual review.
Divergent is the first book and tells the reader about how it's in the future and how people are set up into factions (there's five and they're all different aspects of personality such as honesty, intelligence, bravery, blah). The main character, Beatrice, who later on changes her name to Tris, has to take an aptitude test at the age of sixteen, like everyone else, to determine what faction they need to go in. Normally, people have two choices, she has three because she's DIVERGENT (ooh) and she picks dauntless, which is this kick-ass faction that basically guard the city from whatever is outside. She then meets this tough guy who falls in love with her despite him being incredibly tough and her being a wimp and oh look there's some form of government trickery. Didn't see that coming. Nope. Not at all. The second book, Insurgent, takes this up a notch but still really predictable and the third book, Allegiant? Oh my God. Who publishes these things? Who?
The main problem I have with Roth and, in fact, this entire series, is her writing. It is not good. Don't get me wrong, the writing in The Hunger Games is simple but that's because the main character doesn't have much of an education and it does kind of develop a little. In Roth's series, the writing is incredibly wishy-washy. She throws in big words here and there, doesn't really know how to describe things, it's awkward and some of the things the people say just aren't realistic at all. In fact, I felt as though all the dialogue was incredibly contrived.
Now, onto the actual plot. It doesn't make sense. I mean, she had a good premise and there was some intrigue in the first book but the second just didn't do anything and the third offers an answer for why this is set up but it's not a very good answer. In fact, it's so full of loopholes that I can't believe someone actually thought this up. When I was reading the explanation for why these people lived in factions, I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes too much just in case I gave myself whiplash or something.
The main character, Tris? She's whiny and annoys me. However, her love interest, who they name Four because it's really cool to be named after a number(!), was actually cool. He was interesting and mysterious and so fans of the book wanted him to talk (the books are written in first person and so we only ever got the insight of Tris for the first two books). And Roth delivered. But oh my God, she delivered in the worst way ever. His character development had set him up as being this macho man who wasn't scared of anything and could do whatever he wanted and that was interesting, that was cool. But she flips his entire character on its head and makes him into this emotional man child who doesn't even know how to feed himself, let alone lead a rebellion or do anything worth while. Roth also includes several "sexy" scenes into the third book. Sexy has air quotes because they're not sexy. At all. In fact, they're awkward to read and the scenes almost always happen around other characters and it's just plain awkward. Roth does not have the writing skills to pull off two different characters (another problem with her writing from Four's perspective is that his and Tris's voice sound exactly the same), nor does she have the skills to write sex scenes. In fact, I think Roth needs to just stop for a moment and re-evaluate her position as an author.
However, I seem to be in the incredibly small percentage of people who have read this book series and don't like it. If you head on over to goodreads, you'll find that people love this book. Same on Amazon. But take it from me, a slightly intellectual person; this book series is seriously not for you if you want plot consistency, good character development, good writing...anything that makes a book a book really. If you want that in a YA dystopian, I heavily, HEAVILY, recommend The Hunger Games or the Legend series by Marie Lu. They're incredibly different from one another and whilst the writing is simple in The Hunger Games, the writing in Legend is simply amazing. In fact, the third book, entitled Champion, is being released on November 5th and I am so excited for that.
All in all, avoid. It's just another one of those books that teenagers like because they just, I don't know, they just like it.
I will never get these few hours back.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 1 November 2013
That was mistake number one.
Mistake number two was not checking reviews of these books before walking into Waterstones and buying them.
Mistake number three was reading them. I'm one of those people who has to finish a book series, no matter how much I hate it (read: I read the entire Twilight series. Oh yeah).
Onto the actual review.
Divergent is the first book and tells the reader about how it's in the future and how people are set up into factions (there's five and they're all different aspects of personality such as honesty, intelligence, bravery, blah). The main character, Beatrice, who later on changes her name to Tris, has to take an aptitude test at the age of sixteen, like everyone else, to determine what faction they need to go in. Normally, people have two choices, she has three because she's DIVERGENT (ooh) and she picks dauntless, which is this kick-ass faction that basically guard the city from whatever is outside. She then meets this tough guy who falls in love with her despite him being incredibly tough and her being a wimp and oh look there's some form of government trickery. Didn't see that coming. Nope. Not at all. The second book, Insurgent, takes this up a notch but still really predictable and the third book, Allegiant? Oh my God. Who publishes these things? Who?
The main problem I have with Roth and, in fact, this entire series, is her writing. It is not good. Don't get me wrong, the writing in The Hunger Games is simple but that's because the main character doesn't have much of an education and it does kind of develop a little. In Roth's series, the writing is incredibly wishy-washy. She throws in big words here and there, doesn't really know how to describe things, it's awkward and some of the things the people say just aren't realistic at all. In fact, I felt as though all the dialogue was incredibly contrived.
Now, onto the actual plot. It doesn't make sense. I mean, she had a good premise and there was some intrigue in the first book but the second just didn't do anything and the third offers an answer for why this is set up but it's not a very good answer. In fact, it's so full of loopholes that I can't believe someone actually thought this up. When I was reading the explanation for why these people lived in factions, I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes too much just in case I gave myself whiplash or something.
The main character, Tris? She's whiny and annoys me. However, her love interest, who they name Four because it's really cool to be named after a number(!), was actually cool. He was interesting and mysterious and so fans of the book wanted him to talk (the books are written in first person and so we only ever got the insight of Tris for the first two books). And Roth delivered. But oh my God, she delivered in the worst way ever. His character development had set him up as being this macho man who wasn't scared of anything and could do whatever he wanted and that was interesting, that was cool. But she flips his entire character on its head and makes him into this emotional man child who doesn't even know how to feed himself, let alone lead a rebellion or do anything worth while. Roth also includes several "sexy" scenes into the third book. Sexy has air quotes because they're not sexy. At all. In fact, they're awkward to read and the scenes almost always happen around other characters and it's just plain awkward. Roth does not have the writing skills to pull off two different characters (another problem with her writing from Four's perspective is that his and Tris's voice sound exactly the same), nor does she have the skills to write sex scenes. In fact, I think Roth needs to just stop for a moment and re-evaluate her position as an author.
However, I seem to be in the incredibly small percentage of people who have read this book series and don't like it. If you head on over to goodreads, you'll find that people love this book. Same on Amazon. But take it from me, a slightly intellectual person; this book series is seriously not for you if you want plot consistency, good character development, good writing...anything that makes a book a book really. If you want that in a YA dystopian, I heavily, HEAVILY, recommend The Hunger Games or the Legend series by Marie Lu. They're incredibly different from one another and whilst the writing is simple in The Hunger Games, the writing in Legend is simply amazing. In fact, the third book, entitled Champion, is being released on November 5th and I am so excited for that.
All in all, avoid. It's just another one of those books that teenagers like because they just, I don't know, they just like it.
I will never get these few hours back.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 1 November 2013
Book Review: Queen of Alendeotor by Jan Doncom
Queen of Alendeortor is the début novel of Jan Doncom, and it falls firmly under the genres of Mystery, Fantasy and Adventure. If this sounds like your kind of read then you can get hold of it here in many different formats by clicking here, and, an extra bonus, some of the formats are free!
So to actually talk about the book. We meet the main character, Estean, a servant who inadvertently witnesses a murder of a knight, which is bad enough, what's worse is that he then gets blamed for the murder and so he goes on the run to clear his name. To top it off, he soon finds out the Queen of Alendeortor (who he used to play with as a child) is involved in this treachery. The main thing you should probably know about Estean is that he has audible hallucinations, in this world this would mean he's probably schizophrenic; in his world, it means he often comes across as crazy, but he's actually in contact with the underverse and is conversing with ghosts, who give pretty sound advice, for the record. On his journey Estean travels different lands and receives help from people who don't always want to be helping him, including a vegetarian with selective mutism and a drunk.
But will Estean clear his name? I'm not giving that away. Read the book and find out for yourselves!
The beauty of writing for Mad Hatter Reviews is that you will encounter genres that you wouldn't normally pick out for yourself. For me Queen of Alendeortor fell into this category, but when I gave it a chance I actually read it all in one sitting. Despite not having much experience in this genre, I don't feel it's the most original of ideas. However, it is well put together and the story flows well; it certainly managed to hold my interest!
There are twists and turns and no obvious plot flaws that I can see. I read another review of this release that mentioned a character who died aged 16, described as a child, and yet the race became an adult at 14. Well, I never particularly questioned this, I work for the NHS and sometimes a person is considered an adult at 16, sometimes at 18 and sometimes it depends on their mental capacity / maturity. So I noticed the difference, but accepted it, either way, not an especially gaping flaw! There is a scene in Chapter 4 set in a tavern and features the drunk; Ponto, which features a riddle that actual made me chuckle out loud. Not something I was expecting from a fantasy based novel! Based on this book, I look forward to reading further releases from Jan Doncom and would definitely recommend this particular release for fans of the fantasy genre.
Written by: Michelle Bradford
Published: 30 October 2013
So to actually talk about the book. We meet the main character, Estean, a servant who inadvertently witnesses a murder of a knight, which is bad enough, what's worse is that he then gets blamed for the murder and so he goes on the run to clear his name. To top it off, he soon finds out the Queen of Alendeortor (who he used to play with as a child) is involved in this treachery. The main thing you should probably know about Estean is that he has audible hallucinations, in this world this would mean he's probably schizophrenic; in his world, it means he often comes across as crazy, but he's actually in contact with the underverse and is conversing with ghosts, who give pretty sound advice, for the record. On his journey Estean travels different lands and receives help from people who don't always want to be helping him, including a vegetarian with selective mutism and a drunk.
But will Estean clear his name? I'm not giving that away. Read the book and find out for yourselves!
The beauty of writing for Mad Hatter Reviews is that you will encounter genres that you wouldn't normally pick out for yourself. For me Queen of Alendeortor fell into this category, but when I gave it a chance I actually read it all in one sitting. Despite not having much experience in this genre, I don't feel it's the most original of ideas. However, it is well put together and the story flows well; it certainly managed to hold my interest!
There are twists and turns and no obvious plot flaws that I can see. I read another review of this release that mentioned a character who died aged 16, described as a child, and yet the race became an adult at 14. Well, I never particularly questioned this, I work for the NHS and sometimes a person is considered an adult at 16, sometimes at 18 and sometimes it depends on their mental capacity / maturity. So I noticed the difference, but accepted it, either way, not an especially gaping flaw! There is a scene in Chapter 4 set in a tavern and features the drunk; Ponto, which features a riddle that actual made me chuckle out loud. Not something I was expecting from a fantasy based novel! Based on this book, I look forward to reading further releases from Jan Doncom and would definitely recommend this particular release for fans of the fantasy genre.
Written by: Michelle Bradford
Published: 30 October 2013
Book Review: The Hours by Michael Cunningham
I find it hard to believe that any writer on the face of the earth is brave enough to compete with the literary legend that is Virginia Woolf. However, Michael Cunningham obviously wasn’t afraid of the mammoth task he was taking on when he decided to write The Hours.
The novel, which was released back in 1998, not only revisits Woolf’s own creation in the form of Mrs Dalloway, but it mutilates it into something that is a thoroughly enjoyable (and much more accessible) read. Cunningham brings the traditional tale into a more contemporary setting, manipulating the plot and characters into a much more modern mould. But that’s not all he does…
Alongside the trip down memory lane that features the narrative of Clarissa Vaughan, fondly nicknamed Mrs D by a close associate in the novel, Cunningham also creates two more narratives that run alongside this one. Throughout the novel we are also introduced to the narrative of Laura Brown and, if you can believe it, Virginia Woolf herself who, through the writing style of Cunningham, is divulging her thoughts in regards to her creation of Mrs Dalloway, which she is writing in The Hours.
I know, it sounds a little complicated, but I assure you it’s worth a read!
Cunningham flits between these tortured characters, created worlds, ideas and personal dilemmas for all of them; however, whilst dipping in and out of these separate worlds, we are still plagued by a sense of continuity from one character to the next. There is a tie between these women and, while the extent of that tie may not become apparent until the closing pages of the novel, it is a tie that were are on some level aware throughout the entire text.
This short burst of prose succeeds in capturing not one, but three powerful and distraught female voices as we are treated to front row seats to observe the female psyche. The most fascinating of all, of course, being that of Woolf which, thanks to a vast amount of research on Cunningham’s part, is communicated to the reader flawlessly.
Overall, it’s a memorable and enjoyable read, regardless of your thoughts on Woolf’s literature, and I was certainly impressed to observe how the task was executed. A worthwhile read for anyone looking for something psychology stimulating and emotionally touching to sink their teeth into.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 27 October 2013
The novel, which was released back in 1998, not only revisits Woolf’s own creation in the form of Mrs Dalloway, but it mutilates it into something that is a thoroughly enjoyable (and much more accessible) read. Cunningham brings the traditional tale into a more contemporary setting, manipulating the plot and characters into a much more modern mould. But that’s not all he does…
Alongside the trip down memory lane that features the narrative of Clarissa Vaughan, fondly nicknamed Mrs D by a close associate in the novel, Cunningham also creates two more narratives that run alongside this one. Throughout the novel we are also introduced to the narrative of Laura Brown and, if you can believe it, Virginia Woolf herself who, through the writing style of Cunningham, is divulging her thoughts in regards to her creation of Mrs Dalloway, which she is writing in The Hours.
I know, it sounds a little complicated, but I assure you it’s worth a read!
Cunningham flits between these tortured characters, created worlds, ideas and personal dilemmas for all of them; however, whilst dipping in and out of these separate worlds, we are still plagued by a sense of continuity from one character to the next. There is a tie between these women and, while the extent of that tie may not become apparent until the closing pages of the novel, it is a tie that were are on some level aware throughout the entire text.
This short burst of prose succeeds in capturing not one, but three powerful and distraught female voices as we are treated to front row seats to observe the female psyche. The most fascinating of all, of course, being that of Woolf which, thanks to a vast amount of research on Cunningham’s part, is communicated to the reader flawlessly.
Overall, it’s a memorable and enjoyable read, regardless of your thoughts on Woolf’s literature, and I was certainly impressed to observe how the task was executed. A worthwhile read for anyone looking for something psychology stimulating and emotionally touching to sink their teeth into.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 27 October 2013
Book Review: 500 tips for fat girls by Mary Lambert
I’ll admit, up until recently Mary Lambert, for me, was just the beautiful voice behind Macklemore’s touching single Same Love, and the spin-off single that was released after that, She Keeps Me Warm. I had no idea that alongside being an amazing musician, Lambert was also a brilliant writer and spoken word artist. That’s right, folks, this lady covers it all .
Lambert recently released her debut collection of poetry, 500 tips for fat girls, and it is, hands down, one of the most creative and touching collections I have come across in a long time!
The short and sweet collection of hard to swallow poetry deals with an array of issues such as sexual abuse, unhappiness with one’s body image and, of course, being in love, meaning this short release really does have something for everyone. Lambert, with her creative lack of punctuation, has created a unique series of texts all of which are littered with a marvellous mixture of creative imagery and charming simplicity making for a gorgeous tone throughout the entire text.
While Lambert deals with issues close to her heart, she also offers a light in the dark for those who are struggling with themselves. She advises, be a work in progress, a heart-warming message that spans the duration of this collection.
A perfect book for one sitting, Lambert’s debut collection will creatively tear you apart before you giving you a list of reasons why you should always put yourself back together. Emotionally-charged and beautifully written, Lambert’s collection, which you can find online by clicking here, is a worthwhile purchase for any poetry fan looking for something new to sink their teeth into.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 24 October 2013
Lambert recently released her debut collection of poetry, 500 tips for fat girls, and it is, hands down, one of the most creative and touching collections I have come across in a long time!
The short and sweet collection of hard to swallow poetry deals with an array of issues such as sexual abuse, unhappiness with one’s body image and, of course, being in love, meaning this short release really does have something for everyone. Lambert, with her creative lack of punctuation, has created a unique series of texts all of which are littered with a marvellous mixture of creative imagery and charming simplicity making for a gorgeous tone throughout the entire text.
While Lambert deals with issues close to her heart, she also offers a light in the dark for those who are struggling with themselves. She advises, be a work in progress, a heart-warming message that spans the duration of this collection.
A perfect book for one sitting, Lambert’s debut collection will creatively tear you apart before you giving you a list of reasons why you should always put yourself back together. Emotionally-charged and beautifully written, Lambert’s collection, which you can find online by clicking here, is a worthwhile purchase for any poetry fan looking for something new to sink their teeth into.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 24 October 2013
Book Review: Autobiography by Morrissey
Morrissey certainly wasn't joking when he claimed to "bear more grudges than lonely high court judges." His much anticipated Autobiography surrenders a large proportion of the narrative to settling old scores and insulting enemies, which rather lets down the poetic and intriguing storytelling of a Dickensian childhood.
Fans will relish the unexpected revelations: his dislike of Sandie Shaw; the offers of appearances on Friends and Emmerdale; Chrissie Hynde biting a dog in a London pub; teenage sleepovers; the Californian home next door to Johnny Depp. But Morrissey's Autobiography could never completely satisfy - the pressure to live up to suitably tongue-in-cheek publication under the Penguin Classics series is simply too great.
The former Smiths frontman makes many revelations, but fails to be totally honest about some of the most important events; as such, the reasons behind the break up of The Smiths continue to be slightly obscured by Morrissey's ego, which never accepts blame. The shock end to The Smiths career came at the height of their powers, and the separation seems to be blamed on exhaustion and miscommunication. Morrissey writes that the ending “happened as quickly and as unemotionally as this sentence took to describe it.” Morrissey recites a letter he received from Johnny Marr which explains Marr’s impression of events: “I will say that I honestly hated the sort of people we had become.”
The most enjoyable sections of Autobiography are undoubtedly Morrissey's descriptions of "Victorian knife-plunging Manchester" in which "my childhood is streets upon streets upon streets." The Mancunian aspect is always present, in Morrissey's lyrics and Autobiography, and his childhood is remembered with disgust yet accompanied by a nagging affection. Morrissey is at his most sympathetic when enthusing about his literary and musical heroes, so it is a shame that the bitchiness and misguided publication as a Penguin Classic will inspire more discussion than the well-written parts of Autobiography.
Naturally the NME receives a lengthy criticism, and we are treated to a most thorough character assassination of Julie Burchill. Ever the dramatist, Morrissey writes that Burchill’s “naked body probably kills off marine plankton in the North Sea.” Morrissey’s anger is probably justified, but his bitchiness is unnecessary, especially since the NME issued an apology last year. His bandmates do not pass unscathed, particularly Mike Joyce, whom Morrissey describes as “a flea looking for a dog.”
Everyone has an opinion about Moz and his autobiography will leave no one the fence. The obsessive will devour, the hater will use it as kindle to inflame their hatred, and hopefully the more magnanimous fans will continue to take the good with the bad.
Written by: Clarissa Hopkins
Published: 21 October 2013
Fans will relish the unexpected revelations: his dislike of Sandie Shaw; the offers of appearances on Friends and Emmerdale; Chrissie Hynde biting a dog in a London pub; teenage sleepovers; the Californian home next door to Johnny Depp. But Morrissey's Autobiography could never completely satisfy - the pressure to live up to suitably tongue-in-cheek publication under the Penguin Classics series is simply too great.
The former Smiths frontman makes many revelations, but fails to be totally honest about some of the most important events; as such, the reasons behind the break up of The Smiths continue to be slightly obscured by Morrissey's ego, which never accepts blame. The shock end to The Smiths career came at the height of their powers, and the separation seems to be blamed on exhaustion and miscommunication. Morrissey writes that the ending “happened as quickly and as unemotionally as this sentence took to describe it.” Morrissey recites a letter he received from Johnny Marr which explains Marr’s impression of events: “I will say that I honestly hated the sort of people we had become.”
The most enjoyable sections of Autobiography are undoubtedly Morrissey's descriptions of "Victorian knife-plunging Manchester" in which "my childhood is streets upon streets upon streets." The Mancunian aspect is always present, in Morrissey's lyrics and Autobiography, and his childhood is remembered with disgust yet accompanied by a nagging affection. Morrissey is at his most sympathetic when enthusing about his literary and musical heroes, so it is a shame that the bitchiness and misguided publication as a Penguin Classic will inspire more discussion than the well-written parts of Autobiography.
Naturally the NME receives a lengthy criticism, and we are treated to a most thorough character assassination of Julie Burchill. Ever the dramatist, Morrissey writes that Burchill’s “naked body probably kills off marine plankton in the North Sea.” Morrissey’s anger is probably justified, but his bitchiness is unnecessary, especially since the NME issued an apology last year. His bandmates do not pass unscathed, particularly Mike Joyce, whom Morrissey describes as “a flea looking for a dog.”
Everyone has an opinion about Moz and his autobiography will leave no one the fence. The obsessive will devour, the hater will use it as kindle to inflame their hatred, and hopefully the more magnanimous fans will continue to take the good with the bad.
Written by: Clarissa Hopkins
Published: 21 October 2013
Book Review: Hell To Pay by Jenny Thomson
Jenny Thomson is most famously known for her six self help books, published under the name Jennifer Thomson, but now she has now decided to take a turn at writing fiction. Her first novella, Hell to Pay, is the first in a three part series that she has dubbed Die Hard for Girls.
I’ll admit I’m not usually a fan of crime fiction, but I was pleasantly surprised when I settled down to read Hell to Pay. The book starts of with the lead protagonist, Nancy Kerr, waking up in a psychiatric hospital unable to remember how she came to be there. After numerous therapy sessions with a psychiatrist, Nancy begins to remember walking into her parents home to discover that both of her parents had been murdered and then being brutally attacked by her parents killers, which happened 14 months earlier. Nancy vows that she will no longer play the victim and decides that she will hunt down the person/people responsible for her parents’ deaths the moment she is released from the facility.
Along the way we are also introduced to Tommy, a young man who is seeking revenge for the murder of his brother which had been ordered by Sandy McNabb, the same man who had ordered the hit on Nancy’s parents and the attack on Nancy.
Despite how Nancy is shown to be a powerless victim at the beginning of the novel, we see her progressing into a strong, powerful and vengeful lead character who will not stop until her attackers have paid for the pain and suffering that they have caused her.
When Nancy Finally tracks down the two men responsible for attacking her, we see her committing some brutal acts and begin to feel sickened by what she is capable of but there are numerous points within the book that remind us that Nancy is not some cold-hearted killer and that she was the victim to begin with. For example, when one of her attackers states that they don’t understand why she has kidnapped them, as they don‘t even recognise her, she shows him the scars he inflicted on her as he attacked her and states ‘You really don’t recognise your handy work?’
Ultimately the book is a fast-paced read with multiple twists and turns that keep you on the edge. Thomson has succeeded in making a likeable character, despite her brutality throughout the text, that audiences will find themselves rooting for, whether they agree with her behaviour or not. It’s a classic tale of revenge and I would definitely recommend it for fans of crime thriller fiction.
Hell to Pay is available in paperback and Kindle format from Amazon UK, which you can access by clicking here.
Written by: Grace Williams
Published: 18 October 2013
I’ll admit I’m not usually a fan of crime fiction, but I was pleasantly surprised when I settled down to read Hell to Pay. The book starts of with the lead protagonist, Nancy Kerr, waking up in a psychiatric hospital unable to remember how she came to be there. After numerous therapy sessions with a psychiatrist, Nancy begins to remember walking into her parents home to discover that both of her parents had been murdered and then being brutally attacked by her parents killers, which happened 14 months earlier. Nancy vows that she will no longer play the victim and decides that she will hunt down the person/people responsible for her parents’ deaths the moment she is released from the facility.
Along the way we are also introduced to Tommy, a young man who is seeking revenge for the murder of his brother which had been ordered by Sandy McNabb, the same man who had ordered the hit on Nancy’s parents and the attack on Nancy.
Despite how Nancy is shown to be a powerless victim at the beginning of the novel, we see her progressing into a strong, powerful and vengeful lead character who will not stop until her attackers have paid for the pain and suffering that they have caused her.
When Nancy Finally tracks down the two men responsible for attacking her, we see her committing some brutal acts and begin to feel sickened by what she is capable of but there are numerous points within the book that remind us that Nancy is not some cold-hearted killer and that she was the victim to begin with. For example, when one of her attackers states that they don’t understand why she has kidnapped them, as they don‘t even recognise her, she shows him the scars he inflicted on her as he attacked her and states ‘You really don’t recognise your handy work?’
Ultimately the book is a fast-paced read with multiple twists and turns that keep you on the edge. Thomson has succeeded in making a likeable character, despite her brutality throughout the text, that audiences will find themselves rooting for, whether they agree with her behaviour or not. It’s a classic tale of revenge and I would definitely recommend it for fans of crime thriller fiction.
Hell to Pay is available in paperback and Kindle format from Amazon UK, which you can access by clicking here.
Written by: Grace Williams
Published: 18 October 2013
Book Review: Grace Williams Says It Loud by Emma Henderson
My personal preference in terms of literature would never have led me to read Grace Williams Says It Loud; it certainly isn’t my usual cup of literary tea, so I approached the text with apprehension about what would lie within the pages. Never did I expect to be so moved, repulsed, alarmed and reassured, all in the space of one book…
The novel follows the story of Grace Williams, a mentally and physically handicapped girl who was born into a time period that didn’t understand her. The text, which is written entirely from Grace’s perspective, incorporates us into her turbulent life beginning with her family who, after receiving advice from close-minded doctors and discovering they were expecting a new baby to join the family, opted to put Grace into a mental institution of sorts where her specific needs will be catered to.
You are quickly catapulted into an alien society where Grace is treated in manner that would never be permitted in this day and age, which is exactly what makes this book so powerful and emotional. The cruel and hard-to-read treatment of not only Grace, but also the other patients that we become emotionally attached to, ultimately make this book an extremely challenging read - so consider yourselves warned!
Throughout the text Grace develops a touching relationship with fellow patient Daniel, leading Henderson to incorporate an unexpected romance of sorts into this otherwise trying story. Grace and Daniel soon become inseparable and successfully demonstrate, over the course of several years, that love can survive even in the most difficult of circumstances.
Now you’ve heard the details of the charming and sometimes challenging plot line of the novel, I feel like I’m obligated to warn you that this is in no way an easy read. The treatment of Grace, and Daniel at some points in the text, is just too much to digest! Obviously, this is a deliberate move on Henderson’s part; the story would not pack the same punch if these scenes were absent, so I can appreciate their importance, but it doesn’t make them any easier to read. If you’re looking for something easy and light-hearted to skim your way through, then I would avoid Grace Williams at all costs; if you’re prepared for an emotional rollercoaster and a string of characters that you will fall completely in love with, through the good and bad times depicted, then I can’t recommend this book more. I can honestly say it is unlike any book I have ever read and because of that, Grace Williams, and her extraordinary life, is now a firm Mad Hatter Reviews favourite.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 12 October 2013
The novel follows the story of Grace Williams, a mentally and physically handicapped girl who was born into a time period that didn’t understand her. The text, which is written entirely from Grace’s perspective, incorporates us into her turbulent life beginning with her family who, after receiving advice from close-minded doctors and discovering they were expecting a new baby to join the family, opted to put Grace into a mental institution of sorts where her specific needs will be catered to.
You are quickly catapulted into an alien society where Grace is treated in manner that would never be permitted in this day and age, which is exactly what makes this book so powerful and emotional. The cruel and hard-to-read treatment of not only Grace, but also the other patients that we become emotionally attached to, ultimately make this book an extremely challenging read - so consider yourselves warned!
Throughout the text Grace develops a touching relationship with fellow patient Daniel, leading Henderson to incorporate an unexpected romance of sorts into this otherwise trying story. Grace and Daniel soon become inseparable and successfully demonstrate, over the course of several years, that love can survive even in the most difficult of circumstances.
Now you’ve heard the details of the charming and sometimes challenging plot line of the novel, I feel like I’m obligated to warn you that this is in no way an easy read. The treatment of Grace, and Daniel at some points in the text, is just too much to digest! Obviously, this is a deliberate move on Henderson’s part; the story would not pack the same punch if these scenes were absent, so I can appreciate their importance, but it doesn’t make them any easier to read. If you’re looking for something easy and light-hearted to skim your way through, then I would avoid Grace Williams at all costs; if you’re prepared for an emotional rollercoaster and a string of characters that you will fall completely in love with, through the good and bad times depicted, then I can’t recommend this book more. I can honestly say it is unlike any book I have ever read and because of that, Grace Williams, and her extraordinary life, is now a firm Mad Hatter Reviews favourite.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 12 October 2013
Short Story Review: Paste by Henry James
Here at Mad Hatter Reviews, we love a classic piece of literature and it doesn’t get more classic than literature from the Victorian era, does it?
Henry James made a name for himself with short novels, such as Turn of the Screw, that established him as a brilliant writer. However, alongside these full length novels, James also produced a number of short stories, one of which was the ominous Paste.
A pocket-sized short story that comes in at just under 6, 000 words, Paste is a quick and intriguing read that is weaved around three key characters: Charlotte, Arthur, and Mrs Guy. Intricately presenting and exploring Victorian attitudes towards status, social standing and, believe it or not, jewellery, James cleverly constructs three characters that are designed to show different perspectives of Victorian society that makes for an interesting read.
The plot is bound to a set of pearls that may or may not be real; the dilemma of whether they are real, and if so, what should be done with them, presents confusion and conflict for every character in the text. While all of them view the jewellery in a different manner, for very different reasons and motives, it highlights an array of questions that grow beyond the single question of what Victorian society was like and begins to raise ideas of what exactly the members of that society stood for, particularly with the undertones of corruption that are delicately littered throughout the body of the story.
Overall, this nugget of fiction makes for an interesting read which seems to raise more questions than it answers, which is certainly no criticism. The text, which is available for free online, is definitely worth a read for any fan of James or Victorian literature looking for a little taste of old school that they can digest quickly!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 8 October 2013
Henry James made a name for himself with short novels, such as Turn of the Screw, that established him as a brilliant writer. However, alongside these full length novels, James also produced a number of short stories, one of which was the ominous Paste.
A pocket-sized short story that comes in at just under 6, 000 words, Paste is a quick and intriguing read that is weaved around three key characters: Charlotte, Arthur, and Mrs Guy. Intricately presenting and exploring Victorian attitudes towards status, social standing and, believe it or not, jewellery, James cleverly constructs three characters that are designed to show different perspectives of Victorian society that makes for an interesting read.
The plot is bound to a set of pearls that may or may not be real; the dilemma of whether they are real, and if so, what should be done with them, presents confusion and conflict for every character in the text. While all of them view the jewellery in a different manner, for very different reasons and motives, it highlights an array of questions that grow beyond the single question of what Victorian society was like and begins to raise ideas of what exactly the members of that society stood for, particularly with the undertones of corruption that are delicately littered throughout the body of the story.
Overall, this nugget of fiction makes for an interesting read which seems to raise more questions than it answers, which is certainly no criticism. The text, which is available for free online, is definitely worth a read for any fan of James or Victorian literature looking for a little taste of old school that they can digest quickly!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 8 October 2013
Book Review: Sula by Toni Morrison
I first stumbled across the work of Toni Morrison by chance while browsing the trusty family bookshelf a few years ago. Since then I have had a steady love affair with Morrison's novels, which ooze such originality and expertise that I find them hard to negatively criticise. Sula is no exception to this statement. This classic novel harbours several layers, so although this was my second time reading it, my attention was drawn to new themes that unfolded quite beautifully throughout the text.
Historically Morrison has been both praised and condemned for putting a lens on the racial climate in America; so the natural inclination of the reader might be to look for what this text says about race. However, Sula boasts much more than just racial commentary - as with any great novel, it says tonnes about us as humans.
This tale is set in a vivacious black community located in the hills of post-World War I Ohio. Morrison plays with the concept of size and relativity by ironically calling the town, up the hills, The Bottom. It vividly conveys the kind of social and economic inequalities in the early 1900s for black Americans. Yes, the topic of race is pertinent for contextualising this story, but the generous introduction to the tale - centred largely on describing the intricacies of life as an African American – has the primary function of making the book inclusive to all readers. Morrison mentions in her foreword that the detailed emphasis on the racial setting was to accommodate readers of all racial backgrounds and this feature is not typical of her work. This explanation allows the reader to hone in on the varied and fruitful content in this book aside from race.
Sula is woven together by the development of an enchanted and cursed friendship between two girls, who become bound to one another following a terrible event. Endearingly defiant, their friendship is formed and survives in spite of fierce disapproval from the mother of one of these girls. Protective of her social standing (as one of the only things she has to hold on to), the mother doesn’t want her daughter associating with someone she views as coming from bad stock.
Morrison's in depth examination of the female bond, independent of male influence, is entirely thought provoking. The endurance and fragility of friendship is analysed as if with a fine-tooth comb, provoking plenty of self-centred thoughts in the mind of the reader (if you are anything like me!).
For the reader who likes to dabble in a bit of philosophical thinking, this is a must read. You'll be asking yourself questions like 'Are the socially constructed requirements of relationships achievable for flawed human animals?' Such questions are engendered by Morrison's ability to craft her characters so well. It is this ability which enables her to demonstrate how the presence or absence of a sense of self is fundamental in friendship.
Morrison also enables the reader to explore the perception of love for different generations. In a scene between mother and daughter, one party views the provision of basic necessities like food and shelter as an adequate expression of love and affection. Again, Morrison touches upon a universal concept – how the conditions of a generation affect their expectations of parenting.
If you enjoy wildly imaginative yet essentially human imagery, this one is for you. Although the setting is worlds apart from 21st century Britain, Morrison’s ability to portray timeless human battles had me chuckling for all of its familiarity. It is a timeless classic that I will no doubt read again in the future and I definitely recommend it.
Written by: Siya Mngaza
Published: 6 October 2013
Historically Morrison has been both praised and condemned for putting a lens on the racial climate in America; so the natural inclination of the reader might be to look for what this text says about race. However, Sula boasts much more than just racial commentary - as with any great novel, it says tonnes about us as humans.
This tale is set in a vivacious black community located in the hills of post-World War I Ohio. Morrison plays with the concept of size and relativity by ironically calling the town, up the hills, The Bottom. It vividly conveys the kind of social and economic inequalities in the early 1900s for black Americans. Yes, the topic of race is pertinent for contextualising this story, but the generous introduction to the tale - centred largely on describing the intricacies of life as an African American – has the primary function of making the book inclusive to all readers. Morrison mentions in her foreword that the detailed emphasis on the racial setting was to accommodate readers of all racial backgrounds and this feature is not typical of her work. This explanation allows the reader to hone in on the varied and fruitful content in this book aside from race.
Sula is woven together by the development of an enchanted and cursed friendship between two girls, who become bound to one another following a terrible event. Endearingly defiant, their friendship is formed and survives in spite of fierce disapproval from the mother of one of these girls. Protective of her social standing (as one of the only things she has to hold on to), the mother doesn’t want her daughter associating with someone she views as coming from bad stock.
Morrison's in depth examination of the female bond, independent of male influence, is entirely thought provoking. The endurance and fragility of friendship is analysed as if with a fine-tooth comb, provoking plenty of self-centred thoughts in the mind of the reader (if you are anything like me!).
For the reader who likes to dabble in a bit of philosophical thinking, this is a must read. You'll be asking yourself questions like 'Are the socially constructed requirements of relationships achievable for flawed human animals?' Such questions are engendered by Morrison's ability to craft her characters so well. It is this ability which enables her to demonstrate how the presence or absence of a sense of self is fundamental in friendship.
Morrison also enables the reader to explore the perception of love for different generations. In a scene between mother and daughter, one party views the provision of basic necessities like food and shelter as an adequate expression of love and affection. Again, Morrison touches upon a universal concept – how the conditions of a generation affect their expectations of parenting.
If you enjoy wildly imaginative yet essentially human imagery, this one is for you. Although the setting is worlds apart from 21st century Britain, Morrison’s ability to portray timeless human battles had me chuckling for all of its familiarity. It is a timeless classic that I will no doubt read again in the future and I definitely recommend it.
Written by: Siya Mngaza
Published: 6 October 2013
Book Review: Lorien Legacies series by Pittacus Lore
The Lorien Legacies is, for now, a book series with four books, with a fifth most likely coming out in the next year.
I stumbled onto the series after watching the film back in 2011 and, whilst the film didn't interest me as much as the trailers led me to believe it would, I thought that the books would be better. They were not. The first book stumbled along and read more like a script for a film instead of an actual interesting book so, suffice it to say, I was disappointed. But I had to finish the series and now, four books down the line, things haven't changed much…
Much like the film, things in the book just seem to happen and they're incredibly predictable. The twists are seen coming from chapters away and any build up of suspense or tension just fails.
Now don't get me wrong, the concept of the books (aliens from another planet with strange powers on the run from another alien race that wants to kill them) seems like it would be interesting. However, it just isn't done very well in these books.
The character development is so bad! The book, as well as the previous three, shifts from the POV of certain characters and they're all in first person which makes it incredibly hard to know which character you're reading about. It also becomes a hindrance that each narrative voice sounds so similar. The dialogue itself is also incredibly cheesy and contrived. The aliens all seem like generic characters; you have the leader who doesn't want to be the leader but has to be the leader, the angry one who's emotionally weak, the hot chick who kicks ass, the hot chick who wants to learn how to kick ass, the geek and the fat one.
That said, I will most likely buy the other book and read that as well solely because I cannot leave a series unread. Hey, they must be doing something right because the series has sold quite a lot and has a huge gathering on the internet!
Oh well, bring on the next one I suppose.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 30 September 2013
I stumbled onto the series after watching the film back in 2011 and, whilst the film didn't interest me as much as the trailers led me to believe it would, I thought that the books would be better. They were not. The first book stumbled along and read more like a script for a film instead of an actual interesting book so, suffice it to say, I was disappointed. But I had to finish the series and now, four books down the line, things haven't changed much…
Much like the film, things in the book just seem to happen and they're incredibly predictable. The twists are seen coming from chapters away and any build up of suspense or tension just fails.
Now don't get me wrong, the concept of the books (aliens from another planet with strange powers on the run from another alien race that wants to kill them) seems like it would be interesting. However, it just isn't done very well in these books.
The character development is so bad! The book, as well as the previous three, shifts from the POV of certain characters and they're all in first person which makes it incredibly hard to know which character you're reading about. It also becomes a hindrance that each narrative voice sounds so similar. The dialogue itself is also incredibly cheesy and contrived. The aliens all seem like generic characters; you have the leader who doesn't want to be the leader but has to be the leader, the angry one who's emotionally weak, the hot chick who kicks ass, the hot chick who wants to learn how to kick ass, the geek and the fat one.
That said, I will most likely buy the other book and read that as well solely because I cannot leave a series unread. Hey, they must be doing something right because the series has sold quite a lot and has a huge gathering on the internet!
Oh well, bring on the next one I suppose.
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 30 September 2013
Book Review: Millionaire by Kasim Kaey
When I started reading Millionaire, I was immediately struck by its dedication: “For those who have been told they cannot do something… For the weirdos of this generation who will one day rule over others. For everyone”. Coupled with five star Amazon reviews, I was genuinely excited to see what this novel, published through the Amazon Kindle program, had to offer.
I was not disappointed! Millionaire is a tragic, moving piece of fiction, telling the stories of a number of characters whose lives are intricately woven together by the fallout of a series of events. We are introduced to the protagonist, Aseel Hossain, a seemingly ordinary young man who, just like any other teenager at high school, is looking forward to the end of year trip to Drayton Manor theme park. The descriptions of school life, and the school itself, “a grey building, depressing as it was formidable”, are completely relatable - one of Kaey’s literary strengths.
The main action, and the first defining moment of the text takes place early, only chapters into the story, and even though the event is hinted in the book’s description, I was genuinely shocked when it took place, and for that reason, I won’t spoil it for you! It is a testament to the ability of the author when a known event can still be surprising and actually, incredibly moving, for the reader.
As the story progresses, more characters are introduced, each with their own sad experiences, making me feel for each character. The tone of the book is very sad, and Kaey deals with a number of emotions, so much so that I had to take the occasional break from the novel, as at times it did seem that there was no way out for these poor people, but I was pleasantly surprised to find a layer of humour and sarcastic wit within the dialogue which provides light relief. Taking on a project so complex comes with many pitfalls, and the author’s bravery for taking on the mammoth task of allowing multiple characters to grow and develop is no small task, and is to be applauded. And yet, Kaey skilfully fleshes out each character well; these are not flat, two dimensional characters, but real people dealing with conflict who the reader can easily develop an affinity for, but without compromise to the plot, which moves at a rapid pace, making it very readable.
The dialogue is by far one of Kaey’s best strengths. The novel is so easy to read in part because the speech lifts from the pages, it’s realistic, honest and uncontrived. It’s so unassuming that it’s almost overshadowed by the actual content of the story, but it’s easy to appreciate the sense of normality and reality it brings.
All novels are going to have their own faults, yet thankfully, with ‘Millionaire’, they are relatively few. To nit-pick, I can only fault the few spelling and grammatical errors that exist, but these are easily overlooked. Some people may take issue with the melancholy, which is why I found it important to highlight, as some may find it overwhelming.
Make no mistake, this is not the happiest novel in the world, but I believe readers possess a special sort of masochism, and reading about sadness of such a quantity becomes cathartic. Even if this doesn’t sound like your typical choice of novel, I urge you to read it anyway. Millionaire is an exercise in contemplation of universal themes; of love, loss, and ultimately, of life. It will make you think about your own life, at the very least it will make you grateful that you haven’t experienced hardship to the extent of these characters, it will make you feel.
Kasim Kaey is a self-published author, who has to date published 5 novels through the Kindle publishing program, including a trilogy, titled Revil. You can buy Millionaire for the Amazon Kindle here.
Written by: Hannah Whitehouse
Published: 26 September 2013
I was not disappointed! Millionaire is a tragic, moving piece of fiction, telling the stories of a number of characters whose lives are intricately woven together by the fallout of a series of events. We are introduced to the protagonist, Aseel Hossain, a seemingly ordinary young man who, just like any other teenager at high school, is looking forward to the end of year trip to Drayton Manor theme park. The descriptions of school life, and the school itself, “a grey building, depressing as it was formidable”, are completely relatable - one of Kaey’s literary strengths.
The main action, and the first defining moment of the text takes place early, only chapters into the story, and even though the event is hinted in the book’s description, I was genuinely shocked when it took place, and for that reason, I won’t spoil it for you! It is a testament to the ability of the author when a known event can still be surprising and actually, incredibly moving, for the reader.
As the story progresses, more characters are introduced, each with their own sad experiences, making me feel for each character. The tone of the book is very sad, and Kaey deals with a number of emotions, so much so that I had to take the occasional break from the novel, as at times it did seem that there was no way out for these poor people, but I was pleasantly surprised to find a layer of humour and sarcastic wit within the dialogue which provides light relief. Taking on a project so complex comes with many pitfalls, and the author’s bravery for taking on the mammoth task of allowing multiple characters to grow and develop is no small task, and is to be applauded. And yet, Kaey skilfully fleshes out each character well; these are not flat, two dimensional characters, but real people dealing with conflict who the reader can easily develop an affinity for, but without compromise to the plot, which moves at a rapid pace, making it very readable.
The dialogue is by far one of Kaey’s best strengths. The novel is so easy to read in part because the speech lifts from the pages, it’s realistic, honest and uncontrived. It’s so unassuming that it’s almost overshadowed by the actual content of the story, but it’s easy to appreciate the sense of normality and reality it brings.
All novels are going to have their own faults, yet thankfully, with ‘Millionaire’, they are relatively few. To nit-pick, I can only fault the few spelling and grammatical errors that exist, but these are easily overlooked. Some people may take issue with the melancholy, which is why I found it important to highlight, as some may find it overwhelming.
Make no mistake, this is not the happiest novel in the world, but I believe readers possess a special sort of masochism, and reading about sadness of such a quantity becomes cathartic. Even if this doesn’t sound like your typical choice of novel, I urge you to read it anyway. Millionaire is an exercise in contemplation of universal themes; of love, loss, and ultimately, of life. It will make you think about your own life, at the very least it will make you grateful that you haven’t experienced hardship to the extent of these characters, it will make you feel.
Kasim Kaey is a self-published author, who has to date published 5 novels through the Kindle publishing program, including a trilogy, titled Revil. You can buy Millionaire for the Amazon Kindle here.
Written by: Hannah Whitehouse
Published: 26 September 2013
Stephen King Voices Nerves about new novel, Doctor Sleep
It seems that writing veteran Stephen King has, during an interview with the BBC, voiced concerns and anxieties about his new book, Doctor Sleep, that is being marketed as a sequel novel to his hit publication, The Shining.
King has admitted that he anticipates the majority of the reviews for this new publication, which will be released later this month, will actually be a comparison between the new release and the original novel that it claims to follow on from. The author admitted to having done some research in online forums where he discovered most fans saying they will happily read the novel, but they don’t expect it to be as good as The Shining. King, who during the interview said that he is now, aged 65, a completely different writer in comparison to when he wrote The Shining (which he completed with he was 28), has since voiced the hope that upon reading the release, fans will in fact say that the new book is better.
During the discussion with BBC’s arts editor, Will Gompertz, King explained that people are generally harder to scare these days than they were when he began writing. He explained that readers "have gotten a lot more savvy about the tricks that novel writers and film-makers use to scare them with". Because of this, King explained that he hoped to create characters that readers could fall in love with, and sincerely care about, and that in that reader-character attachment lies the opportunity for him to create horror.
Doctor Sleep, rather than being a direct follow-on from The Shining, merely picks up on a trace of it, tracking the life of the survivor, Danny Torrance. In the novel, Danny now works at a hospice, as a carer for the sick, and uses his psychic abilities that we were introduced to us in The Shining to help those who are dying to move from one world to the next. During his time at the hospice, he meets a young girl who he discovers has the name abilities as him but has, however, fallen victim to predators who psychically feed off children such as her.
The basic plot of the novel, which certainly sounds like a Stephen King production, sounds intriguing and emotive - but how will fans react to it when it is released later this month?
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 19 September 2013
King has admitted that he anticipates the majority of the reviews for this new publication, which will be released later this month, will actually be a comparison between the new release and the original novel that it claims to follow on from. The author admitted to having done some research in online forums where he discovered most fans saying they will happily read the novel, but they don’t expect it to be as good as The Shining. King, who during the interview said that he is now, aged 65, a completely different writer in comparison to when he wrote The Shining (which he completed with he was 28), has since voiced the hope that upon reading the release, fans will in fact say that the new book is better.
During the discussion with BBC’s arts editor, Will Gompertz, King explained that people are generally harder to scare these days than they were when he began writing. He explained that readers "have gotten a lot more savvy about the tricks that novel writers and film-makers use to scare them with". Because of this, King explained that he hoped to create characters that readers could fall in love with, and sincerely care about, and that in that reader-character attachment lies the opportunity for him to create horror.
Doctor Sleep, rather than being a direct follow-on from The Shining, merely picks up on a trace of it, tracking the life of the survivor, Danny Torrance. In the novel, Danny now works at a hospice, as a carer for the sick, and uses his psychic abilities that we were introduced to us in The Shining to help those who are dying to move from one world to the next. During his time at the hospice, he meets a young girl who he discovers has the name abilities as him but has, however, fallen victim to predators who psychically feed off children such as her.
The basic plot of the novel, which certainly sounds like a Stephen King production, sounds intriguing and emotive - but how will fans react to it when it is released later this month?
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 19 September 2013
Book Review: The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
Now, after having recently revisited the brilliance of Steinbeck, I felt compelled to write a review of The Grapes of Wrath, a book which I seem to get more and more from with each reading. Thoroughly deserving of the Pulitzer Prize which he received for it, The Grapes of Wrath is a book that captures the essence of its era in a way which not many other books can claim to, and I'm always in awe of this novel no matter how many times I return to it.
If you're familiar with it, which I'm sure many of you are, you'll know that the story line follows the journey of the Joad family, as they try to escape the Dust Bowl devastating their home and way of life by seeking a new life in California in the wake of many family tragedies. However, the plight and despair of the Joads only increases upon their arrival, as they struggle desperately to earn a living in the cutthroat and exploitative land of California that is horrifyingly different to what they were promised.
However, and this is something I find particularly special about the book, Steinbeck intersects each chapter of the story with another that purely focuses on the landscape and what is happening to America. This, I feel, he uses to excellent effect, providing a solid and unrelentingly sad indictment of the farming corporations of California and their exploitation of thousands of migrant workers at the time, realising the plight of the Joads as a widespread issue as well as simply part of the bigger picture.
The book is just so strikingly brilliant in the way that it absolutely leaves the reader distraught at the events within it, purely by being so real, and so horrifying in the way in which it reveals the darkness of human nature. Steinbeck himself says in the author's note that "I've done my damndest to rip a reader's nerves to rags," and that he certainly manages, evoking strong emotions of desolation and almost an anger in the injustice suffered by the Joads within the reader, or myself at least.
While I often find with the "classic" novels that they are incredibly culturally significant, I don't particularly enjoy reading them at times, but this is an issue that I've never faced with The Grapes of Wrath and it never ceases to captivate me. This is a book that will leave you in awe of Steinbeck's skill as a writer and a storyteller, and I certainly recommend it.
The Grapes of Wrath is a tale of corruption, of plight, and of sorrow, but these things aside it is a tale of family. Steinbeck, drawing upon his own experiences of family and of ranch work, crafts a tale which really gets to the core of the humanity of the Joads and so many people just like them that they encounter on the road, causing the reader to develop a particularly real connection to the characters, and he greatly contrasts the humanity and kindness of the migrant workers to the cold, lifeless machinations of the big corporations who seek to exploit them. I find this novel as compelling as it is tragic, and it truly is a masterpiece of American Literature. If I could recommend that you
read—or even re-read— one novel, it would have to be the Grapes of Wrath.
Incredibly well written and undoubtedly a powerful piece of literature, The Grapes of Wrath is an overwhelmingly real take on the inner humanity, or lack thereof, surrounding the Great Depression as well as the arduous journey endured by so many migrant workers, and fully deserves its praise as both a Pulitzer Prize-winner and a classic novel.
Written by: Harry Jackson
Published: 16 September 2013
If you're familiar with it, which I'm sure many of you are, you'll know that the story line follows the journey of the Joad family, as they try to escape the Dust Bowl devastating their home and way of life by seeking a new life in California in the wake of many family tragedies. However, the plight and despair of the Joads only increases upon their arrival, as they struggle desperately to earn a living in the cutthroat and exploitative land of California that is horrifyingly different to what they were promised.
However, and this is something I find particularly special about the book, Steinbeck intersects each chapter of the story with another that purely focuses on the landscape and what is happening to America. This, I feel, he uses to excellent effect, providing a solid and unrelentingly sad indictment of the farming corporations of California and their exploitation of thousands of migrant workers at the time, realising the plight of the Joads as a widespread issue as well as simply part of the bigger picture.
The book is just so strikingly brilliant in the way that it absolutely leaves the reader distraught at the events within it, purely by being so real, and so horrifying in the way in which it reveals the darkness of human nature. Steinbeck himself says in the author's note that "I've done my damndest to rip a reader's nerves to rags," and that he certainly manages, evoking strong emotions of desolation and almost an anger in the injustice suffered by the Joads within the reader, or myself at least.
While I often find with the "classic" novels that they are incredibly culturally significant, I don't particularly enjoy reading them at times, but this is an issue that I've never faced with The Grapes of Wrath and it never ceases to captivate me. This is a book that will leave you in awe of Steinbeck's skill as a writer and a storyteller, and I certainly recommend it.
The Grapes of Wrath is a tale of corruption, of plight, and of sorrow, but these things aside it is a tale of family. Steinbeck, drawing upon his own experiences of family and of ranch work, crafts a tale which really gets to the core of the humanity of the Joads and so many people just like them that they encounter on the road, causing the reader to develop a particularly real connection to the characters, and he greatly contrasts the humanity and kindness of the migrant workers to the cold, lifeless machinations of the big corporations who seek to exploit them. I find this novel as compelling as it is tragic, and it truly is a masterpiece of American Literature. If I could recommend that you
read—or even re-read— one novel, it would have to be the Grapes of Wrath.
Incredibly well written and undoubtedly a powerful piece of literature, The Grapes of Wrath is an overwhelmingly real take on the inner humanity, or lack thereof, surrounding the Great Depression as well as the arduous journey endured by so many migrant workers, and fully deserves its praise as both a Pulitzer Prize-winner and a classic novel.
Written by: Harry Jackson
Published: 16 September 2013
One Million Lovely Letters Book to Be released!
Earlier this year, thanks to Twitter, my attention was turned to a project called One Million Lovely Letters. The project, that was started by a lovely lady called Jodi Ann Bickley, involves sending letters of support and comfort out to people in need. And it’s that simple.
The project was started by Bickley some years ago, however it only reached its height earlier this year. In the beginning, the project was based around leaving little notes and letters in places where people might find them. Now, after more hits on her blog than I can possibly keep up with (so I don’t know how she manages it!), Bickley’s One Million Lovely Letters has gone global. With people accessing the blog all around the world and emailing her, either for themselves or for someone they know, she is in constant demand to send people hugs and love in envelopes, and the project shows no sign of slowing down.
Bickley, who has suffered severe health problems in recent years, has devoted her time and energy into writing these letters to people who need them, using her own times of trouble as inspiration.
Now you might be wondering why this is in the Books section of our website, well, allow me to explain…
A few months ago, when it was being brought to people’s attention just how widespread this project had become, Bickley was given the opportunity to create a book of letters. Hodder and Stoughton will be the publisher of the collection and, now Bickley has officially finished writing the book, it’s available to pre-order on Amazon (if I’m not mistaken!) ahead of its release which will take place in March 2014.
For more information on this wonderful project, and the equally wonderful book publication that will soon arrive, you can check out the official One Million Lovely Letters blog. Bickley also publicised her work further during a TEDx talk earlier this year, which you can watch below.
The project was started by Bickley some years ago, however it only reached its height earlier this year. In the beginning, the project was based around leaving little notes and letters in places where people might find them. Now, after more hits on her blog than I can possibly keep up with (so I don’t know how she manages it!), Bickley’s One Million Lovely Letters has gone global. With people accessing the blog all around the world and emailing her, either for themselves or for someone they know, she is in constant demand to send people hugs and love in envelopes, and the project shows no sign of slowing down.
Bickley, who has suffered severe health problems in recent years, has devoted her time and energy into writing these letters to people who need them, using her own times of trouble as inspiration.
Now you might be wondering why this is in the Books section of our website, well, allow me to explain…
A few months ago, when it was being brought to people’s attention just how widespread this project had become, Bickley was given the opportunity to create a book of letters. Hodder and Stoughton will be the publisher of the collection and, now Bickley has officially finished writing the book, it’s available to pre-order on Amazon (if I’m not mistaken!) ahead of its release which will take place in March 2014.
For more information on this wonderful project, and the equally wonderful book publication that will soon arrive, you can check out the official One Million Lovely Letters blog. Bickley also publicised her work further during a TEDx talk earlier this year, which you can watch below.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 13 September 2013
Published: 13 September 2013
Book Review: Reality, Reality by Jackie Kay
It was after attending one of Jackie Kay’s readings, at a festival earlier this Summer, that I fell a little bit in love with her writing abilities. While Kay dipped in and out of poems and short stories, new and old, I found myself truly captivated by her endearing characters and intricate storylines that, rather than being limited by the short story genre, they instead seem to be perfectly contained within it.
Kay’s most recent publication, Reality, Reality, was the anthology that I look home with me after that reading and since then, I have not only read the tales, but I have read and re-read them more times than I can recall! It’s a touching short story anthology littered with complex emotions and slap-your-thigh moments that will have you chuckling to yourself from behind the pages. Kay succeeds in combining emotion and humour, creating a marvellous collection that perfectly depicts aspects of life that many of us would prefer to keep hidden.
The collection boasts of brilliant characters encased in their own little worlds; worlds that Kay has spared no creative expense in creating! It would be impossible to isolate a favourite piece in the publication because every component throws something entirely new at you.
The First Lady of Song is a memorable tale, centred around a tortured female who is trapped within an ever-changing life that she seems desperate to finally escape - I shan’t say anything too specific about that because really, it is a tale that you should discover for yourselves. These Are Not My Clothes was another addition to the collection that stood apart from the rest; with the endearing chorus line of ‘These are not my clothes’ echoed throughout the text, it seems impossible to avoid falling a little bit in love with the carefully constructed character that lies at the centre of the story, embodying the stereotypical old lady that we have all met at some point during our lives.
There are two main themes, I feel, that are frequently turned to throughout the collection, the first one of which is food. The title story, Reality, Reality, which opens the collection, introduces this idea through the main character who appears to be in a cooking competition with herself. This tale boasts yet another quirky character that, after meeting Jackie Kay in person, I feel comfortable saying seems to have some of her own character quirks mixed in - something which I suppose could be said about many of the female characters that feature in this publication! Mini Me, which is not only a hilarious addition to the collection but also an alarmingly accurate depiction of dieting (for me, anyway!), again returns to the topic of food but in such an amusing way, this is certainly a credit to the anthology.
Sex, which appears to be another prominent theme within the collection, is thrown under the spotlight on more than occasion in the stories, raising questions about not only how good it is, but also how necessary it is! With this remark I am making specific reference to the story Bread Bin, which is a magnificent tale that throws into question how important sex is in comparison to other things in life; it is through questions such as these that Kay manages to explore the middle-aged and elderly women who are the main characters on this entire publication.
Kay successfully manages to manoeuvre her literature away from the stereotypical tales of young women and their romantic tragedies; in doing so, she has shifted the focus onto a collection of older women who not only make for fascinating reading, but who are also much easier to relate to! Overall, this is an entirely flawless collection that will have you in both laughter and tears before the final page. A worthwhile book to invest in for anyone who is a fan of Kay; an equally brilliant investment for anyone looking for bite-sized stories that will keep you entertained from beginning to end - Kay certainly ticks all boxes with this release!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 12 September 2013
Kay’s most recent publication, Reality, Reality, was the anthology that I look home with me after that reading and since then, I have not only read the tales, but I have read and re-read them more times than I can recall! It’s a touching short story anthology littered with complex emotions and slap-your-thigh moments that will have you chuckling to yourself from behind the pages. Kay succeeds in combining emotion and humour, creating a marvellous collection that perfectly depicts aspects of life that many of us would prefer to keep hidden.
The collection boasts of brilliant characters encased in their own little worlds; worlds that Kay has spared no creative expense in creating! It would be impossible to isolate a favourite piece in the publication because every component throws something entirely new at you.
The First Lady of Song is a memorable tale, centred around a tortured female who is trapped within an ever-changing life that she seems desperate to finally escape - I shan’t say anything too specific about that because really, it is a tale that you should discover for yourselves. These Are Not My Clothes was another addition to the collection that stood apart from the rest; with the endearing chorus line of ‘These are not my clothes’ echoed throughout the text, it seems impossible to avoid falling a little bit in love with the carefully constructed character that lies at the centre of the story, embodying the stereotypical old lady that we have all met at some point during our lives.
There are two main themes, I feel, that are frequently turned to throughout the collection, the first one of which is food. The title story, Reality, Reality, which opens the collection, introduces this idea through the main character who appears to be in a cooking competition with herself. This tale boasts yet another quirky character that, after meeting Jackie Kay in person, I feel comfortable saying seems to have some of her own character quirks mixed in - something which I suppose could be said about many of the female characters that feature in this publication! Mini Me, which is not only a hilarious addition to the collection but also an alarmingly accurate depiction of dieting (for me, anyway!), again returns to the topic of food but in such an amusing way, this is certainly a credit to the anthology.
Sex, which appears to be another prominent theme within the collection, is thrown under the spotlight on more than occasion in the stories, raising questions about not only how good it is, but also how necessary it is! With this remark I am making specific reference to the story Bread Bin, which is a magnificent tale that throws into question how important sex is in comparison to other things in life; it is through questions such as these that Kay manages to explore the middle-aged and elderly women who are the main characters on this entire publication.
Kay successfully manages to manoeuvre her literature away from the stereotypical tales of young women and their romantic tragedies; in doing so, she has shifted the focus onto a collection of older women who not only make for fascinating reading, but who are also much easier to relate to! Overall, this is an entirely flawless collection that will have you in both laughter and tears before the final page. A worthwhile book to invest in for anyone who is a fan of Kay; an equally brilliant investment for anyone looking for bite-sized stories that will keep you entertained from beginning to end - Kay certainly ticks all boxes with this release!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 12 September 2013
Book Review: The Bone Season by Samantha Shannon
Not many people I know have actually heard of The Bone Season by Samantha Shannon but I've been following it for a few months now, eagerly awaiting the day I would be able to read it. First, a little bit of background: Shannon is a 21 year old woman from Oxford, London who wrote a book (the first in a seven book series), was paid over £100,000 for it and, was called the next J.K. Rowling! You don't throw stuff like that around unless you're onto a sure winner, right?
And let me tell you, this book is a sure winner.
It combines dystopia with supernatural events and even some budding romance and I can tell you now, it got me hooked right from the start.
The story is about a sixteen year old, Paige Mahoney, who is a clairvoyant. She lives in London in an alternate timeline to ours where clairvoyants are real and are attacked and hunted down for who they are. One night, she kills two guards by using her power and is taken to Oxford, where she is held as a slave by a mysterious race called the Rephaim, who are also clairvoyants but much more powerful than she could ever be. And so ensues a cat and mouse game between Paige and the Rephaims and her personal Rephaim, Warden, who, let's just say, is a beautiful man and, sparks fly.
I found this book to be thoroughly enjoyable. I liked the character development, I liked the plot, I liked the ending. I had read a few reviews on the internet before going in (which is something I may not do in the future) and they told me that Shannon infodumps quite a bit but I found that, after the first fifty odd pages, the info dumping kind of stopped and the plot just took over!
It is a fairly lengthy novel, however, coming in at well over 400 pages but I found that I flew through it and couldn't wait to get to the next chapter.
I will, however, say this: I was sat there, reading this book, and all I could think was "how on earth is this plot going to fit into seven books?" Don't get me wrong, it’s an amazing plot, complex with complicated characters, but I don't know, I got the feel that maybe it would be much better off being a four book series? Or possibly five… but seven? I don't see it myself but we'll see what Shannon comes up with.
I just hope they don't kill the film like they normally do with these book to film adaptations. I'm not sure how much faith I have in Andy Serkis being at the head of it either. Gollum, really?
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 11 September 2013
And let me tell you, this book is a sure winner.
It combines dystopia with supernatural events and even some budding romance and I can tell you now, it got me hooked right from the start.
The story is about a sixteen year old, Paige Mahoney, who is a clairvoyant. She lives in London in an alternate timeline to ours where clairvoyants are real and are attacked and hunted down for who they are. One night, she kills two guards by using her power and is taken to Oxford, where she is held as a slave by a mysterious race called the Rephaim, who are also clairvoyants but much more powerful than she could ever be. And so ensues a cat and mouse game between Paige and the Rephaims and her personal Rephaim, Warden, who, let's just say, is a beautiful man and, sparks fly.
I found this book to be thoroughly enjoyable. I liked the character development, I liked the plot, I liked the ending. I had read a few reviews on the internet before going in (which is something I may not do in the future) and they told me that Shannon infodumps quite a bit but I found that, after the first fifty odd pages, the info dumping kind of stopped and the plot just took over!
It is a fairly lengthy novel, however, coming in at well over 400 pages but I found that I flew through it and couldn't wait to get to the next chapter.
I will, however, say this: I was sat there, reading this book, and all I could think was "how on earth is this plot going to fit into seven books?" Don't get me wrong, it’s an amazing plot, complex with complicated characters, but I don't know, I got the feel that maybe it would be much better off being a four book series? Or possibly five… but seven? I don't see it myself but we'll see what Shannon comes up with.
I just hope they don't kill the film like they normally do with these book to film adaptations. I'm not sure how much faith I have in Andy Serkis being at the head of it either. Gollum, really?
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 11 September 2013
Book Review: Under the Skin by Michel Faber
If, like me, you haven't heard of Michel Faber, then don't worry about it - by the end of this review, you‘ll be rushing out to by his book. Faber isn’t exactly a well known person in the world of writing, partly because his last book was published in 2008 so he’s somewhat outdated in the writing scene. However another likely reason is that the majority of authors don’t quite reach the levels of stardom, like J.K. Rowling, and because of that many writers go unnoticed.
That's not to say that Mr Faber isn't a good writer, though…
I only happened to find out about this book because it's being made into a film, with Scarlett Johansson playing the heroine, which peaked my interest. So much so, that I went out and bought the book and read it within days.
The premise of the novel is this: Isserley, a woman, drives up and down the Scottish highways looking for muscular male men. She can't have fat or skinny men, they have to fit a certain criteria. Once she finds what she's looking for, she picks them up, drugs them and takes them back to the farm she lives on. And that's all I'm going to say because to say more would give the entire book away…
This book has to be one of the most creepy books I have read! Right from the get go, I was questioning why she was picking these men up, what she was doing back on the farm with them. Just why in general! And Isserley herself is one of the oddest female heroines I've met; she's smart, very smart, but she's just plain weird.
And the narrative! It's so frustratingly brilliant! Faber writes this book so slowly; literally nothing will happen within chapters and you know, you just know, that something is going to happen but he doesn't let it. It's that amazing restraint that he demonstrates in this book that makes it even more tense and, I‘ll say it again, downright creepy. The tension building is a commendable feature throughout the entire novel.
A thoroughly creepy book and brilliantly constructed book, I think perhaps this guy could even give Stephen King a run for his money (or is that too far?)…
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 10 September 2013
That's not to say that Mr Faber isn't a good writer, though…
I only happened to find out about this book because it's being made into a film, with Scarlett Johansson playing the heroine, which peaked my interest. So much so, that I went out and bought the book and read it within days.
The premise of the novel is this: Isserley, a woman, drives up and down the Scottish highways looking for muscular male men. She can't have fat or skinny men, they have to fit a certain criteria. Once she finds what she's looking for, she picks them up, drugs them and takes them back to the farm she lives on. And that's all I'm going to say because to say more would give the entire book away…
This book has to be one of the most creepy books I have read! Right from the get go, I was questioning why she was picking these men up, what she was doing back on the farm with them. Just why in general! And Isserley herself is one of the oddest female heroines I've met; she's smart, very smart, but she's just plain weird.
And the narrative! It's so frustratingly brilliant! Faber writes this book so slowly; literally nothing will happen within chapters and you know, you just know, that something is going to happen but he doesn't let it. It's that amazing restraint that he demonstrates in this book that makes it even more tense and, I‘ll say it again, downright creepy. The tension building is a commendable feature throughout the entire novel.
A thoroughly creepy book and brilliantly constructed book, I think perhaps this guy could even give Stephen King a run for his money (or is that too far?)…
Written by: Kasim Kaey
Published: 10 September 2013
Book Review: Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Neil Gaiman was born in the UK but now lives in the States; he discovered a love of reading at a young age which clearly impacted on his career path: journalist, graphic novelist, biographer, poet, song writer, screen play writer and author for all ages. He has won a multitude of literary awards and with good reason!
Neverwhere was initially written as a TV series for the BBC, but Gaiman describes how as the script morphed into something that didn't quite correlate with the images in his head, so to keep his sanity he wrote a novel of precisely how he wanted it to be. I find this an fascinating concept; as an avid reader, who emphatically hates some films because they just don't add up to what I envisaged when I read the book, it is interesting to know that this notion works both ways. Gaiman discusses that with Neverwhere he wanted to write a book for adults similar to the books he'd loved as a child, such as Alice in Wonderland. So even though this is not a recent book by any stretch of the imagination, I feel it is quite appropriate for Mad Hatter Reviews!
Neverwhere tells the story of Richard Mayhew, a young businessman living in London whose life is being mapped out for him by his fiancée Jessica. Until one day as they are on their way to meet Jessica's boss they come across an injured girl in the street. Jessica is happy to step over her and carry on, however, Richard can not bring himself to leave the girl. This is where everything changes, he walks away from Jessica with the injured girl (Door) in his arms, Jessica responds by breaking off the engagement and Richard's life rapidly divides into two worlds: London Above and London Below.
Richard teams up with London Below characters, entitled Lady Door and Marquis de Carabas, on a quest to find out who killed Lady Door's family and why. They travel through London's underbelly and encounter all manner of its inhabitants whilst trying to avoid the infamously sadistic killers Mr Croup and Mr Vandemar. We discover the enchanting floating market and that many well known places in London Above have rather literal interpretations in London Below: Knightsbridge is Night's Bridge, a bridge where the darkness is solid, real, invading of your senses, where nightmares are realities and where not everyone survives. Angel Islington is an angel called Islington and Earl's Court is, well, a court run by an Earl. You get the idea.
I don't think it would be a plot spoiler to say that good triumphs over evil in this book, but there are good twists and turns to get there. The characters are well formed and initial appearances can be deceiving! Throughout the book, all Richard really wants is to get back to normality and London Above, but does he get this opportunity? Well, there's only one way to find out.
Written by: Michelle Bradford
Published: 9 September 2013
Neverwhere was initially written as a TV series for the BBC, but Gaiman describes how as the script morphed into something that didn't quite correlate with the images in his head, so to keep his sanity he wrote a novel of precisely how he wanted it to be. I find this an fascinating concept; as an avid reader, who emphatically hates some films because they just don't add up to what I envisaged when I read the book, it is interesting to know that this notion works both ways. Gaiman discusses that with Neverwhere he wanted to write a book for adults similar to the books he'd loved as a child, such as Alice in Wonderland. So even though this is not a recent book by any stretch of the imagination, I feel it is quite appropriate for Mad Hatter Reviews!
Neverwhere tells the story of Richard Mayhew, a young businessman living in London whose life is being mapped out for him by his fiancée Jessica. Until one day as they are on their way to meet Jessica's boss they come across an injured girl in the street. Jessica is happy to step over her and carry on, however, Richard can not bring himself to leave the girl. This is where everything changes, he walks away from Jessica with the injured girl (Door) in his arms, Jessica responds by breaking off the engagement and Richard's life rapidly divides into two worlds: London Above and London Below.
Richard teams up with London Below characters, entitled Lady Door and Marquis de Carabas, on a quest to find out who killed Lady Door's family and why. They travel through London's underbelly and encounter all manner of its inhabitants whilst trying to avoid the infamously sadistic killers Mr Croup and Mr Vandemar. We discover the enchanting floating market and that many well known places in London Above have rather literal interpretations in London Below: Knightsbridge is Night's Bridge, a bridge where the darkness is solid, real, invading of your senses, where nightmares are realities and where not everyone survives. Angel Islington is an angel called Islington and Earl's Court is, well, a court run by an Earl. You get the idea.
I don't think it would be a plot spoiler to say that good triumphs over evil in this book, but there are good twists and turns to get there. The characters are well formed and initial appearances can be deceiving! Throughout the book, all Richard really wants is to get back to normality and London Above, but does he get this opportunity? Well, there's only one way to find out.
Written by: Michelle Bradford
Published: 9 September 2013
Tom Conrad Releases new Romantic Comedy
That Semicolon Bitch Had To Die was probably one of my favourite Tom Conrad releases. It was amusing, it was heartfelt and it was certainly an accurate depiction of the romantic relationships had by your average writer (c’mon, we’ve all thought about dumping someone simply because of their poor use of grammar, haven’t we?). It introduced us to the fabulous character Frankie Drake, who experienced trials and tribulations with the woman he thought he loved. Honestly, if you’re looking for a good little e-book to get stuck into, I can’t recommend this enough.
I’ll admit that I fell a little bit in love with Frankie, and that’s why I’m so delighted to hear that Conrad has incorporated him into his latest release, That Coxom & Blondage Affair, which was published this week!
The e-book returns to the heartbroken Frankie who is now trying his hand at online dating. According to the book’s Amazon description, it is also something of a parody of the dreaded 50 Shades of Grey, which anyone with good taste in literature will no doubt find amusing. As Frankie attempts to recover from his latest disaster he weaves himself a new romantic web in which he becomes entangled, providing both amusement and life lessons for the romantically inexperienced character.
I know I’m probably selling this book to you as a sequel, however it is important to mention that the construction of the text allows it to work as a standalone release. For those of you who haven’t read That Semicolon Bitch Had To Die, fear not, you won’t be lost; for those of you who have, this will be a welcome return to the world of an amusing and well-constructed character.
The e-book is available now, from both Amazon UK and Amazon US, and it certainly promises to be a brilliant read for anyone looking for a little romantic comedy to fall into.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 September 2013
I’ll admit that I fell a little bit in love with Frankie, and that’s why I’m so delighted to hear that Conrad has incorporated him into his latest release, That Coxom & Blondage Affair, which was published this week!
The e-book returns to the heartbroken Frankie who is now trying his hand at online dating. According to the book’s Amazon description, it is also something of a parody of the dreaded 50 Shades of Grey, which anyone with good taste in literature will no doubt find amusing. As Frankie attempts to recover from his latest disaster he weaves himself a new romantic web in which he becomes entangled, providing both amusement and life lessons for the romantically inexperienced character.
I know I’m probably selling this book to you as a sequel, however it is important to mention that the construction of the text allows it to work as a standalone release. For those of you who haven’t read That Semicolon Bitch Had To Die, fear not, you won’t be lost; for those of you who have, this will be a welcome return to the world of an amusing and well-constructed character.
The e-book is available now, from both Amazon UK and Amazon US, and it certainly promises to be a brilliant read for anyone looking for a little romantic comedy to fall into.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 6 September 2013
Book Review: Web of the City by Harlan ellison
As genre writers go, they don’t come much more prolific or decorated than Harlan Ellison. Winner of multiple Hugo, Edgar, Bram Stoker and Locus Poll awards, his mantelpiece may well be constructed from reinforced concrete.
Though predominantly a writer of speculative fiction, Web of the City is one of many works he has written outside his regular genre. Originally penned (or rather, typewritten) while Ellison was in Ranger basic training in 1956, it is a work of fiction based upon his time undercover in a Brooklyn street gang. It tells the story of Rusty Santoro, former president of The Cougars, a violent, semi-organised gang of street hoodlums and brawlers. Determined to leave his old life behind him, Rusty has been taken under the wing of teacher Carl Pancoast, who encourages him to nurture the genuine academic ability that he has. His former gang comrades won’t let him go easily though – their code being something akin to the modern ‘blood in, blood out.’
Make no mistake, Ellison is a fearsome character. He wrote Web of the City (originally published as Rumble) at night, following days of the most gruelling military training in existence. When his peers complained about the clicking of the typewriter, he settled the arguments with his fists. Bearing that in mind, you might well contemplate that the street gang he joined had a lucky escape. You needn’t doubt the authenticity of this book; Ellison’s credentials as a fighter are impeccable.
Nevertheless, it has not aged particularly well. While there are elements of the book that are universal across the decades (violent teenage nihilism, drug abuse, promiscuity), the dated slang in the dialogue gives proceedings the feeling of a costume drama, and the lack of swearing is jarring given that the characters have no qualms about knife fights and heroin abuse. On that note, something seems amiss about the drug content. Does heroin really sharpen you up for a bit of the old ultra-violence? I’m no expert, but I’m inclined to believe the heavily implied “no” of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting.
Where Web of the City does excel is as a matter of historical record. In our culture, we’re often led to believe that the 1950s was an era of idyllic conformism, before sex and rebellion were invented. The edgiest things got was when Danny Zucco types groped their dates at the drive in. Ellison points out what an absurd fiction this is. Life is cheap in the world of The Cougars. Adult authority is negligible; Rusty’s mother is unable to control him even with desperate appeals to his emotions, and when a teacher invokes the principal in an attempt to bring him into line, the threat is so hollow it’s almost comical. Though adults are present, there is something of Lord of the Flies to the book, with a society of children tearing itself apart. It’s easy to imagine a 50s-era moral panic over unruly teenagers, given the horrific violence Ellison reports them inflicting on each other.
Web of the City is intriguing from the point of view of a historian. In terms of prose, it’s not electrifying or atmospheric, in fact it’s rather dry, with Ellison’s attempts to inject pathos often falling flat. Still, this is a first novel, clunky and tentative, and like virtually all first novels is comfortably surpassed by the author’s more assured later work. If you’re in the market for a bewitching story of corrupted youth, Web of the City may not be what you’re looking for. If, however, you have a keen interest in the less-reported flip-side of 50s culture, you could do worse than to give it a whirl.
Written by: Mike Stafford
Published: 4 September 2013
Though predominantly a writer of speculative fiction, Web of the City is one of many works he has written outside his regular genre. Originally penned (or rather, typewritten) while Ellison was in Ranger basic training in 1956, it is a work of fiction based upon his time undercover in a Brooklyn street gang. It tells the story of Rusty Santoro, former president of The Cougars, a violent, semi-organised gang of street hoodlums and brawlers. Determined to leave his old life behind him, Rusty has been taken under the wing of teacher Carl Pancoast, who encourages him to nurture the genuine academic ability that he has. His former gang comrades won’t let him go easily though – their code being something akin to the modern ‘blood in, blood out.’
Make no mistake, Ellison is a fearsome character. He wrote Web of the City (originally published as Rumble) at night, following days of the most gruelling military training in existence. When his peers complained about the clicking of the typewriter, he settled the arguments with his fists. Bearing that in mind, you might well contemplate that the street gang he joined had a lucky escape. You needn’t doubt the authenticity of this book; Ellison’s credentials as a fighter are impeccable.
Nevertheless, it has not aged particularly well. While there are elements of the book that are universal across the decades (violent teenage nihilism, drug abuse, promiscuity), the dated slang in the dialogue gives proceedings the feeling of a costume drama, and the lack of swearing is jarring given that the characters have no qualms about knife fights and heroin abuse. On that note, something seems amiss about the drug content. Does heroin really sharpen you up for a bit of the old ultra-violence? I’m no expert, but I’m inclined to believe the heavily implied “no” of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting.
Where Web of the City does excel is as a matter of historical record. In our culture, we’re often led to believe that the 1950s was an era of idyllic conformism, before sex and rebellion were invented. The edgiest things got was when Danny Zucco types groped their dates at the drive in. Ellison points out what an absurd fiction this is. Life is cheap in the world of The Cougars. Adult authority is negligible; Rusty’s mother is unable to control him even with desperate appeals to his emotions, and when a teacher invokes the principal in an attempt to bring him into line, the threat is so hollow it’s almost comical. Though adults are present, there is something of Lord of the Flies to the book, with a society of children tearing itself apart. It’s easy to imagine a 50s-era moral panic over unruly teenagers, given the horrific violence Ellison reports them inflicting on each other.
Web of the City is intriguing from the point of view of a historian. In terms of prose, it’s not electrifying or atmospheric, in fact it’s rather dry, with Ellison’s attempts to inject pathos often falling flat. Still, this is a first novel, clunky and tentative, and like virtually all first novels is comfortably surpassed by the author’s more assured later work. If you’re in the market for a bewitching story of corrupted youth, Web of the City may not be what you’re looking for. If, however, you have a keen interest in the less-reported flip-side of 50s culture, you could do worse than to give it a whirl.
Written by: Mike Stafford
Published: 4 September 2013
Irish Poet Seamus Heaney passes away, age 74
‘Between my finger and my thumb / The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.’
There is a weight of sorrow lingering amongst readers and writers alike today as we are greeted with the sad news that the infamous Irish poet, Seamus Heaney, has passed away in hospital at the age of 74.
In 1995, Heaney was given the Nobel Prize ‘for works of lyrical beauty and ethical depth, which exalt everyday miracles and the living past’. Over the course of his lifetime, and writing career, he became a favourite of many a poetry-lover and to this day, is considered to be the best poet to emerge from Ireland since W. B. Yeats.
Over the course of his colourful life, Heaney won the Forward Prize in 2010 (after being nominated for the award three times), the TS Eliot Prize, was made an Honorary Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and also spent some time teaching poetry at Oxford University.
In addition, let us not overlook the countless collections of outstanding poetry that were distributed by him over the course of his lifetime. Heaney was responsible for some of the most iconic and well-known lines in literature, one of which lies at the beginning of this article, and through those works of raw beauty he will be remembered by friends, family and fans alike.
While his remaining family has requested that they be given some time to mourn and digest this shocking news, they have assured sources that information regarding the funeral will be announced in due time.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 30 August 2013
There is a weight of sorrow lingering amongst readers and writers alike today as we are greeted with the sad news that the infamous Irish poet, Seamus Heaney, has passed away in hospital at the age of 74.
In 1995, Heaney was given the Nobel Prize ‘for works of lyrical beauty and ethical depth, which exalt everyday miracles and the living past’. Over the course of his lifetime, and writing career, he became a favourite of many a poetry-lover and to this day, is considered to be the best poet to emerge from Ireland since W. B. Yeats.
Over the course of his colourful life, Heaney won the Forward Prize in 2010 (after being nominated for the award three times), the TS Eliot Prize, was made an Honorary Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and also spent some time teaching poetry at Oxford University.
In addition, let us not overlook the countless collections of outstanding poetry that were distributed by him over the course of his lifetime. Heaney was responsible for some of the most iconic and well-known lines in literature, one of which lies at the beginning of this article, and through those works of raw beauty he will be remembered by friends, family and fans alike.
While his remaining family has requested that they be given some time to mourn and digest this shocking news, they have assured sources that information regarding the funeral will be announced in due time.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 30 August 2013
Review: Deep Echoes by Sean P Wallace
Deep Echoes, a young adult fantasy novel written by Sean P Wallace, is an intricate tale that oozes elements of science fiction whilst exploring moral and emotional dilemmas that I suspect will be particularly relevant to Wallace’s target audience. It explores the psychological and physical entrapment of protagonist Maya who, as we see throughout the course of the novel, has not only her actions to consider but also their catastrophic consequences on those around her.
The novel is set in the world of Geos, where a religion (not entirely unlike those in this world) dominates the majority of the population. It seems that the youth of this world, without much choice in the matter, are drawn into an academy where they are trained in the teachings of Sol (to put a familiar term to it, Sol is Geos’ equivalent of this world’s God). Maya, a member of this academy, is being trained alongside her close companion Chain so they both may graduate as Contegons, also known as religious warriors.
In the typical teenage habit of self-exploration, Maya soon decides to explore both herself and the cult-like religion she has been drawn into, only to discover that her faith isn’t as steady as she would have others believe. It soon becomes apparent to her that she cannot live a life of lies by worshipping something, or rather someone, that she does not believe in; armed with this information and determination, she resolves to flee the academy, which is, of course, what prompts a world of trouble to fall upon the head of our young rogue.
The opening chapters of the novel also introduce us to Chain, Maya’s once-comrade who turns from her in a state of outrage upon hearing her doubts in Sol; and Snow, an unsuspecting young boy on the outside of the academy who is pulled into the life of Maya through her trickery and manipulation of him. It soon becomes apparent that Maya’s actions, and the actions she has forced others to make, will cause a spiral of events that neither she nor her accidental partners in crime could have imagined.
Deep Echoes is a thrilling tale of rebellion and consequences in a world dominated by, dare I used this term, brain washed people in power. The character development is flawless throughout the text; each predominant character is so well explored that within a few chapters, you already find yourself rooting for the escaped Maya and praying that her plans end well. The descriptions and development of the world itself also deserve great praise; Wallace has successfully created a believable world that, should the novel gain more mainstream attention, would certainly not look out of place being recreated on a cinema screen - if The Hunger Games can do it, I see no reason why Deep Echoes would not transfer equally as well.
It truly is a thrilling tale of religion, intrigue and finding your feet as a young adult (something which many young adults, and even some older ones, will enjoy reading about). The book is available for download via Wallace’s personal site, which you can access here. It can be downloaded in a variety of formats and Wallace, in true humble writer fashion, has even made the downloads free for anyone who wishes to obtain a copy, stating that people may donate a price for the book only if they wish to. Available in ePub, MOBI or HTML format (or on your Kindle device if you feel like paying for it - which, let’s face it, would be awfully nice), there really is no excuse not to download this novel and get stuck into it immediately, you certainly won’t be disappointed!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 27 August 2013
The novel is set in the world of Geos, where a religion (not entirely unlike those in this world) dominates the majority of the population. It seems that the youth of this world, without much choice in the matter, are drawn into an academy where they are trained in the teachings of Sol (to put a familiar term to it, Sol is Geos’ equivalent of this world’s God). Maya, a member of this academy, is being trained alongside her close companion Chain so they both may graduate as Contegons, also known as religious warriors.
In the typical teenage habit of self-exploration, Maya soon decides to explore both herself and the cult-like religion she has been drawn into, only to discover that her faith isn’t as steady as she would have others believe. It soon becomes apparent to her that she cannot live a life of lies by worshipping something, or rather someone, that she does not believe in; armed with this information and determination, she resolves to flee the academy, which is, of course, what prompts a world of trouble to fall upon the head of our young rogue.
The opening chapters of the novel also introduce us to Chain, Maya’s once-comrade who turns from her in a state of outrage upon hearing her doubts in Sol; and Snow, an unsuspecting young boy on the outside of the academy who is pulled into the life of Maya through her trickery and manipulation of him. It soon becomes apparent that Maya’s actions, and the actions she has forced others to make, will cause a spiral of events that neither she nor her accidental partners in crime could have imagined.
Deep Echoes is a thrilling tale of rebellion and consequences in a world dominated by, dare I used this term, brain washed people in power. The character development is flawless throughout the text; each predominant character is so well explored that within a few chapters, you already find yourself rooting for the escaped Maya and praying that her plans end well. The descriptions and development of the world itself also deserve great praise; Wallace has successfully created a believable world that, should the novel gain more mainstream attention, would certainly not look out of place being recreated on a cinema screen - if The Hunger Games can do it, I see no reason why Deep Echoes would not transfer equally as well.
It truly is a thrilling tale of religion, intrigue and finding your feet as a young adult (something which many young adults, and even some older ones, will enjoy reading about). The book is available for download via Wallace’s personal site, which you can access here. It can be downloaded in a variety of formats and Wallace, in true humble writer fashion, has even made the downloads free for anyone who wishes to obtain a copy, stating that people may donate a price for the book only if they wish to. Available in ePub, MOBI or HTML format (or on your Kindle device if you feel like paying for it - which, let’s face it, would be awfully nice), there really is no excuse not to download this novel and get stuck into it immediately, you certainly won’t be disappointed!
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 27 August 2013
Review: An American Detective in London, a Short Story by Tom Conrad
Tom Conrad, a popular name in the world of ‘indie authors’, is expanding his writing portfolio once more and, in a bid to pull away from the fun side of writing (that you can see in releases such as Rich Pickings for Ravens), he has released a much more serious and challenging read in the form of short story, An American Detective in London.
The beauty of this story is that it cleverly manipulates the conventions of both traditional and hard-boiled style detective fiction and incorporates them into one character. The protagonist, ‘an American Detective’, also known as Eden Kane, appears to abide by the rules of the formally acknowledged Police force during the day, morphing into a violent vigilante as soon as night falls, reeking havoc on the streets that he feels are ignored by the Police. While Kane is a challenging and moral-stretching creation, he certainly serves his purpose in the role of a detective playing by his own set of rules, and this will certainly be a fascinating read for anyone who is a fan of the detective genre.
Admittedly, the opening chapter is a little rough around the edges, however if you can push past that, you’ll find a marvellous story buried beneath…
The issue with creating the Kane-style character is that their actions have to be justified, thus, given how horrific Kane’s actions are (I’ll try to keep the juicy details to myself), the people he is defending and saving need to be being drastically violated to warrant his overall behaviour towards the criminals. I’m aware of this, and because of this awareness, I can entirely understand why Conrad created such grim scenes in the opening pages of this story; it doesn’t make it any easier to read, however it is crucial to not only the character development of Kane but also to the reader-attachment to him, thus making it an essential element of the piece. My one warning, relating to these graphic opening pages, is that you should under no circumstances ignore the warning attached to the story by Conrad himself who is completely upfront about the graphic contents of the tale - so you can’t that say you weren’t warned.
Awkward as it might be for the majority of audiences to read through, these first pages do paint the entire picture for the text to follow in which we track Kane through a sordid world of underage sex-workers. The plot is complex, intriguing and, in some parts, downright shocking, as we follow the actions of a crazed detective who is not only playing his own game of justice, but is also battling an array of personal demons and at some points questionable morals as he goes.
I’ll be honest: I’m struggling to find a fault with this release. It’s a fast-paced, grabs-you-by-the-shoulders, detective story that is littered with moral conflicts not only for the characters within the tale but also for the readers who are inevitably being drawn into it. If this is the prelude to further Eden Kane stories, which Conrad has led us to believe that it is, then we are certainly in for a treat as this character and his stories progress, with there already being hints at deeper issues and elements to this hard-boiled man of the law.
An American Detective in London, Kindle edition, is available to buy from both Amazon UK and Amazon US and it will certainly be a welcome addition to the collection of any fans of this genre.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 15 August 2013
The beauty of this story is that it cleverly manipulates the conventions of both traditional and hard-boiled style detective fiction and incorporates them into one character. The protagonist, ‘an American Detective’, also known as Eden Kane, appears to abide by the rules of the formally acknowledged Police force during the day, morphing into a violent vigilante as soon as night falls, reeking havoc on the streets that he feels are ignored by the Police. While Kane is a challenging and moral-stretching creation, he certainly serves his purpose in the role of a detective playing by his own set of rules, and this will certainly be a fascinating read for anyone who is a fan of the detective genre.
Admittedly, the opening chapter is a little rough around the edges, however if you can push past that, you’ll find a marvellous story buried beneath…
The issue with creating the Kane-style character is that their actions have to be justified, thus, given how horrific Kane’s actions are (I’ll try to keep the juicy details to myself), the people he is defending and saving need to be being drastically violated to warrant his overall behaviour towards the criminals. I’m aware of this, and because of this awareness, I can entirely understand why Conrad created such grim scenes in the opening pages of this story; it doesn’t make it any easier to read, however it is crucial to not only the character development of Kane but also to the reader-attachment to him, thus making it an essential element of the piece. My one warning, relating to these graphic opening pages, is that you should under no circumstances ignore the warning attached to the story by Conrad himself who is completely upfront about the graphic contents of the tale - so you can’t that say you weren’t warned.
Awkward as it might be for the majority of audiences to read through, these first pages do paint the entire picture for the text to follow in which we track Kane through a sordid world of underage sex-workers. The plot is complex, intriguing and, in some parts, downright shocking, as we follow the actions of a crazed detective who is not only playing his own game of justice, but is also battling an array of personal demons and at some points questionable morals as he goes.
I’ll be honest: I’m struggling to find a fault with this release. It’s a fast-paced, grabs-you-by-the-shoulders, detective story that is littered with moral conflicts not only for the characters within the tale but also for the readers who are inevitably being drawn into it. If this is the prelude to further Eden Kane stories, which Conrad has led us to believe that it is, then we are certainly in for a treat as this character and his stories progress, with there already being hints at deeper issues and elements to this hard-boiled man of the law.
An American Detective in London, Kindle edition, is available to buy from both Amazon UK and Amazon US and it will certainly be a welcome addition to the collection of any fans of this genre.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 15 August 2013
Review: Noir Carnival, a Short Story Collection Edited by K. A. Laity
The short story genre, despite old criticisms, is receiving much more attention these days; it is the perfect companion to anyone who is absorbed in their busy lifestyle and simply does not have time for a novel - which, these days, is the majority of us. Additionally, while some may be willing to argue that you will never get the same plot and character development in a short story that you find in a longer release, there are stunning collections, such as Noir Carnival, to throw in their faces and prove them completely and utterly wrong.
This marvellous collection, which landed in my inbox a few weeks ago, is littered with literary gems that I thoroughly enjoyed reading from beginning to end. The editor of the collection, K. A. Laity, opens the book with her short story Introduction: Caravan, which truly captures the grim essence of these tales and gives you a small taster of what will follow.
While there is a common thread running through the body of this release, which is the carnival (or in some cases, ties to the carnival), each story successfully manages to incorporate other elements into the anthology, such as romance, friendship, abandonment and crime. The collection is full to the brim with complex romantic relationships, noted in In the Mouth of the Beast by Li Huijia, Mister Know-It-All by Richard Godwin, which was one of my favourite entries in this collection, and Leave No Trace by A. J. Sikes in which we follow the outright adorable relationship between the young couple (or at least, soon-to-be-couple), Mickey and Delia, as they learn how to appease their town’s underground monster.
Another fascinating element worth commenting on is the characters themselves that we encounter across the individual stories. Allow me to place a strong emphasis here on the women within the collection, most of whom are strong, captivating and, if I may say so, extremely ballsy! Jan Kozlowski’s Family Blessings is the first story that introduces us to dominant female characters, even when faced with a disgusting situation (I won’t divulge too much, but this is certainly a shocking but brilliant addition to this collection); followed by the equally dominant females that feature in stories such as She’s My Witch by Paul D. Brazill and Buffalo Brendan and the Big Top Ballot by Allan Watson which is not only another favourite of mine, but also a marvellous twist on the concept of the wrath of a woman scorned.
Alongside these prominent strands, you will also find an array of other eye-catching literary techniques and topics that ensure this anthology ticks as many creepy boxes as possible (and I mean that as compliment!). Trapped by Joan De La Haye is a fascinating entry if for no other reason that its unique narrative style in which the person within the story is talking to you directly; it was a welcome and pleasant spin on the narratives employed by other writers in the book. So with the ‘manipulation of narrative techniques’ box well and truly ticked, we can move on to appreciate other surprises, such as the unpleasant Natural Flavouring by Rebecca Snow, that will undoubtedly make you think twice about eating at a carnival again, and Things Happen Here After Dark by Sheri White, which is the token scary clown story in the collection - between the clown himself and the tricks he plays in the duration of this short story, I think White has managed to create a clown that Stephen King himself would be proud (or perhaps even jealous) of.
As a whole, the collection is quirky, colourful and thoroughly entertaining and honestly, I was sad to see the close of it. Although the final tale, The Teeth Behind the Beard by James Bennett, was certainly one of the stronger entries, littered with crime, romance and seriously unexpected twists and outcomes - this anthology definitely finished on a high note. The book, which is available from both Amazon UK and Amazon US in paperback and Kindle formats, would be a welcome addition to any short story fan’s collection and I cannot recommend it enough for those of you looking for an exciting, albeit somewhat disturbing in parts, book to get stuck into.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 14 August 2013
This marvellous collection, which landed in my inbox a few weeks ago, is littered with literary gems that I thoroughly enjoyed reading from beginning to end. The editor of the collection, K. A. Laity, opens the book with her short story Introduction: Caravan, which truly captures the grim essence of these tales and gives you a small taster of what will follow.
While there is a common thread running through the body of this release, which is the carnival (or in some cases, ties to the carnival), each story successfully manages to incorporate other elements into the anthology, such as romance, friendship, abandonment and crime. The collection is full to the brim with complex romantic relationships, noted in In the Mouth of the Beast by Li Huijia, Mister Know-It-All by Richard Godwin, which was one of my favourite entries in this collection, and Leave No Trace by A. J. Sikes in which we follow the outright adorable relationship between the young couple (or at least, soon-to-be-couple), Mickey and Delia, as they learn how to appease their town’s underground monster.
Another fascinating element worth commenting on is the characters themselves that we encounter across the individual stories. Allow me to place a strong emphasis here on the women within the collection, most of whom are strong, captivating and, if I may say so, extremely ballsy! Jan Kozlowski’s Family Blessings is the first story that introduces us to dominant female characters, even when faced with a disgusting situation (I won’t divulge too much, but this is certainly a shocking but brilliant addition to this collection); followed by the equally dominant females that feature in stories such as She’s My Witch by Paul D. Brazill and Buffalo Brendan and the Big Top Ballot by Allan Watson which is not only another favourite of mine, but also a marvellous twist on the concept of the wrath of a woman scorned.
Alongside these prominent strands, you will also find an array of other eye-catching literary techniques and topics that ensure this anthology ticks as many creepy boxes as possible (and I mean that as compliment!). Trapped by Joan De La Haye is a fascinating entry if for no other reason that its unique narrative style in which the person within the story is talking to you directly; it was a welcome and pleasant spin on the narratives employed by other writers in the book. So with the ‘manipulation of narrative techniques’ box well and truly ticked, we can move on to appreciate other surprises, such as the unpleasant Natural Flavouring by Rebecca Snow, that will undoubtedly make you think twice about eating at a carnival again, and Things Happen Here After Dark by Sheri White, which is the token scary clown story in the collection - between the clown himself and the tricks he plays in the duration of this short story, I think White has managed to create a clown that Stephen King himself would be proud (or perhaps even jealous) of.
As a whole, the collection is quirky, colourful and thoroughly entertaining and honestly, I was sad to see the close of it. Although the final tale, The Teeth Behind the Beard by James Bennett, was certainly one of the stronger entries, littered with crime, romance and seriously unexpected twists and outcomes - this anthology definitely finished on a high note. The book, which is available from both Amazon UK and Amazon US in paperback and Kindle formats, would be a welcome addition to any short story fan’s collection and I cannot recommend it enough for those of you looking for an exciting, albeit somewhat disturbing in parts, book to get stuck into.
Written by: Charlotte Barnes
Published: 14 August 2013
