Katheryn Thompson's Blog, page 5

October is Black History Month, so I thought I'd round up some of my favourite recent reads about Black history. Feel free to let me know your own recommendations!

1. Surge by Jay Bernard (2019)



This debut collection of poetry explores the New Cross Massacre of 1981, and a chapter of British history that often goes unacknowledged. If you enjoyed this, check out Steve McQueen's docuseries Uprising (2021).

2. African Europeans: An Untold History by Olivette Otélé (2020)



This work of non-fiction does what it says on the tin. If you enjoyed this, check out Afropean: Notes from Black Europe by Johny Pitts (2019).

3. The First Woman by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi (2020)



Where better to turn for Black history than to Ugandan origin tales? This coming-of-age story is set during Idi Amin's dictatorship.

4. The Prophets by Robert Jones Jr. (2021)



Black history is often synonymous with the slave trade. The Prophets shows how stories about this period of history can be imbued with hope as well as pain.

5. Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi (2016)



An epic story about the persistence of racism and colonialism through time, from an author better known for her more recent Transcendent Kingdom.

6. A Brief History of Seven Killings by Marlon James



A remarkable book about the attempted assassination of Bob Marley in Kingston, 1976. If you enjoyed this, I'd recommend Steve McQueen's Small Axe (2020) and Uprising (2021).

The first book I read in September was The Assistant by Kjell Ola Dahl (translated by Don Bartlett), a Nordic Noir thriller set in interwar and prohibition-era Norway.



I really enjoyed the setting of The Assistant, which made the story that bit different from other thrillers. I appreciated how easily the author (and translator) evoked the places he was writing about, as if he knew them well. The Assistant moves between timelines to weave the story together, and I enjoyed seeing more and more pieces of the puzzle fall into place. I liked the way The Assistant balances the bigger picture with close attention to detail; in terms of both the historical setting and the characters' backstories, and the case that is the focus of the book. The characterisation owes a lot to the noir genre, and I liked never quite knowing who to trust.

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Next up was Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors by Sonali Dev, a Jane Austen retelling about an immigrant Indian family descended from royalty, who have built their lives in San Francisco.



Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors achieves the perfect balance between being a contemporary retelling of Pride and Prejudice, and being a romance in its own right. It ticks all the right clichés, with a little help from Jane Austen, queen of the misunderstanding, while creating characters that feel like individuals and a plot that feels fresh. By setting her story in the contemporary world, Sonali Dev is able to bring new meanings to the "pride" and "prejudice" of Austen's classic; bringing out the best of the original, and adding something new into the mix. Pride and Prejudice is the perfect comfort read, and so is this captivating retelling.

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After this came The Chateau by Catherine Cooper, a twisty new thriller from an author I hadn't read before.



The Chateau is an incredibly compelling read. The baseline story is a domestic drama, fascinating in its own right, through which Catherine Cooper scatters seeds of distrust. And just as you're settling into the story, she hits you with a bombshell. I never knew where this story would go next, but, for all its twists and turns, Cooper resists the temptation to make the plot too dramatic or implausible. It is the way she portrays ordinary life, but through a distorted lens, that I loved so much. Be warned: this isn't a book you will want to put down.

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I hoped to continue my streak of good books with Mrs. March by Virginia Feito, about which I'd heard great things.



Mrs March is a superb example of an unreliable narrator. I loved the level of detail Virginia Fieto pays to Mrs March's everyday existence, and the way she introduces tiny cracks into the surface, which grow into something monstrous. Mrs March is a fascinating character, and I thoroughly enjoyed inhabiting her perspective. Feito has a wonderful way of combining comedy with horror, realism with fantasy, and I look forward to whatever she writes next. The only reason I didn't give Mrs March five stars is because it ended with a few too many loose ends and unanswered questions for my liking - but not enough to hamper by enjoyment of this inventive and captivating book.

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Next up was Rock Paper Scissors by Alice Feeney, a psychological thriller everyone seemed to be talking about.



Rock Paper Scissors is a gripping thriller, which kept me guessing until the end. I liked the creepy, domestic premise of a couple trying to fix their marriage with a weekend away to Scotland, although it was a little jarring to read about a snowstorm during a heatwave! I liked the added twist that the couple suspected each other, as well as an unknown outsider and their own overactive imaginations; and the way the book switches between the characters' perspectives only adds to the mystery. This is a couple with a lot to hide, and while I liked that Alice Feeney keeps her readers guessing, I think that maybe there was a bit too much going on in the plot. This is the first book I've read by Alice Feeney, but I doubt it will be the last.

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Having loved the film adaptation of Misery by Stephen King, I was excited to see the book on my library's shelves.



I usually prefer to read a book before watching an adaptation, but I really enjoyed reading Misery with the actors in mind, filling in the film version of the story with all the extra details supplied by the book. I also didn't always love the way Annie was written, and I think without having Kathy Bates' performance in mind, Annie Wilkes might have felt a little two-dimensional at times. Misery wasn't quite a five-star read for me, but it definitely lived up to the excitement I felt when I spied it on my library's shelves. A surprisingly thoughtful, and compulsively readable, book that I'm sure to be thinking about for some time to come!

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My next read, also from the library, was Macbeth by Jo Nesbø (translated by Don Bartlett), which had been on my to-read list for too long.



I loved the way Nesbø writes, almost overwrites, Macbeth as he pulls the reader into the dark and twisted world he has created. I especially loved the declining town the story is set in, and I think fans of Scandi-Noir won't be disappointed. I think Jo Nesbø has captured the heart of Shakespeare's Macbeth, and that was always bound to be a good read. I often find it difficult to differentiate between characters when reading a play, so I like to read Shakespeare's plays with the actors from a performance in mind, but I think that next time I pick up his Macbeth, it will be Nesbø's characters that I imagine.

You can read my full review here.

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The last of my library haul was Thirteen by Steve Cavanagh, which I decided to read as a standalone otherwise I knew I would never get round to it.



The serial killer isn't on trial. He's on the jury... is a tagline I couldn't resist. I generally enjoy legal thrillers, and Thirteen was no exception. I loved the fast pace of the story, as Eddie Flynn investigates the case while the trial is already underway, and I loved all the little details of the legal proceedings. I particularly liked the insights into the jury selection, which I found interesting in their own right as well as in their relevance to the plot. Thirteen is a page-turning read, centred on a dark and innovative premise. It works well as a standalone, although I'm sure this is a series I would enjoy if I gave myself time to read it.

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Up next was Win by Harlan Coben, one of my most highly anticipated books of the year.



I loved getting to spend the whole book with Win, and I thought Harlan Coben did an impressive job of putting the reader inside Win's head without making the story off-putting for the reader. The plot was twisty enough to keep me guessing, without becoming unnecessarily complicated, and I liked the inclusion of different storylines. Win wasn't quite a five star read for me, because I thought there was a lot of baggage that came with the story, courtesy of the Myron and Micky Bolitar series. I also thought that, at times, Coben tried a bit too hard to make Win more palatable. However, Win is a very promising start to a series I will definitely be following.

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Setting aside how I feel about its author, I've always loved the Harry Potter series, and I decided that I was due for a reread. In September, I read books one to five.



I'd forgotten how short the first three are, and I particularly liked the way (with all of them) the endings aren't dragged out. I loved the attention to detail and the intricacy of the world-building. The ingenuity of the Triwizard Tournament is one of the reasons Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is one of my favourites. Knowing what came next didn’t stop me from eagerly turning the page, or from laughing out loud. I also loved picking up on all the hints of what's to come. This remains a witty, imaginative, and utterly compelling series.

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This is my first foray into the Hogarth Shakespeare project, but hopefully it won't be my last. I love the idea of pairing contemporary authors with Shakespearean plays, and, although I haven't read much from Jo Nesbø, Macbeth envisioned as a crime novel is a premise that appealed to me.



I loved the way Nesbø writes, almost overwrites, Macbeth as he pulls the reader into the dark and twisted world he has created. I especially loved the declining town the story is set in, and I think fans of Scandi-Noir won't be disappointed. This town, and its corrupt police force, are the perfect setting for the greed and ambition at the heart of Macbeth, and although some of the narrator's references were a bit obvious, I thought the updated setting added a lot to the relevance of these themes. I liked the addition to the story of drug addiction, which, again, could be a bit obvious at times, but which also added to the instability of Macbeth in interesting ways.

Nesbø didn't always seem to know what to do with the supernatural elements of Shakespeare's Macbeth, and I thought some approaches worked better than others. I thought his borrowing of Shakespeare's ghosts worked really well, and I liked the way Hecate's knowledge had worldly explanations but still remained something to be feared. I was less convinced by the other 'witches', especially Strega, whose description I found unnecessarily offensive but also confusing.

Macbeth is a glorious slice of crime noir, and I (perhaps controversially) would love to see more crime fiction of this length. Women characters are often done a disservice in this genre, and I was disappointed that more of the characters weren't gender-swapped (it is never made clear that the story's setting bars this from being a possibility). Despite some initial scepticism, however, I soon came to love what Nesbø had done with Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth.

I really enjoyed reading this one. I think Jo Nesbø has captured the heart of Shakespeare's Macbeth, and that was always bound to be a good read. I often find it difficult to differentiate between characters when reading a play, so I like to read Shakespeare's plays with the actors from a performance in mind, but I think that next time I pick up his Macbeth, it will be Nesbø's characters that I imagine.

The first book I read in August was The Devil and the Dark Water by Stuart Turton.



A murder on the high seas. A remarkable detective duo. A demon who may or may not exist.

I don't read a lot of historical fiction, but I was intrigued by the premise of The Devil and the Dark Water. The claustrophobic setting of a ship at sea appealed to me, and I wasn't disappointed. There was distrust simmering between and among the passengers and crew even before the first signs of trouble, and the tension slowly builds as the violence onboard escalates. Stuart Turton also capitalises on his choice of setting in vivid descriptions, which enable the reader not only to picture the ship, but also to hear, smell, and feel it. We are utterly immersed in the world he has created.

The Devil and the Dark Water is a well-plotted book with a satisfying conclusion, which held my attention throughout. I love the characters Turton has created, and even as he borrows from the Sherlock Holmes archetype, his writing feels fresh and interesting. The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle is definitely going on my to-read list.

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Next up was The Pier Falls, a collection of short stories by Mark Haddon, which I chose after reading the short story 'The Pier Falls' in The Penguin Book of the Contemporary British Short Story.



It turns out that I really like Mark Haddon's style of writing, especially his attention to detail and his matter-of-fact way of describing everyday life. I definitely want to read more from him. I also enjoyed how dark the stories in this collection are. Although none of the short stories supplanted 'The Pier Falls' as my favourite, there were a few which I think will prove as memorable.

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I followed this one with another short story, Something Special by Iris Murdoch, one of my favourite authors.



This one wasn't at all what I was expecting; I've grown to expect certain things from Murdoch's books, and Something Special was very different. There is much more dialogue, much less philosophising, and only hints at the usual themes Murdoch writes about - partly because Something Special is so short. The characters are interesting, especially the main character who reminds me of Murdoch's usual protagonists, and I enjoyed the fact that the story is set in Dublin, which is unusual for Murdoch but which she captures really well.

Murdoch manages to pack a lot into such a slim book, and Something Special has a lot to offer, but without more to go on, I felt I could only give this book three stars.

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My next pick was Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, which I thought it was finally time I read.



Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde is such a well-known story that you think you'll have heard it all before, until you actually start reading and discover that the protagonist is a man called Mr Utterson. I can see how this book might disappoint some readers, but the way Robert Louis Stevenson tells his story does have its advantages - especially to a reader who is already aware of the big reveal. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde is a delightfully atmospheric read from the beginning, and although I was most interested in the information revealed in the conclusion, I did enjoy the way Stevenson teases the reader with the monstrous truth.

This edition also includes Stevenson's short story 'The Bottle Imp', which is an interesting read, and an short essay by John Sutherland, which is thought-provoking if a little outdated.

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I followed this one with the even creepier The Turn of the Screw by Henry James.



A delightfully evocative Gothic novel, which follows the expected format while offering plenty of the unexpected. This tale unfurls slowly, but tension simmers throughout. The reader is never quite sure where they are with The Turn of the Screw, which is what I enjoyed most about this atmospheric and ambiguous ghost story.

The Turn of the Screw lived up to its reputation, and has piqued my interest in its author.

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After enjoying The Devil and the Dark Water so much, I chose The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, Stuart Turton's debut, as my next read.



This is an incredibly creative book, and it was only when I tried to explain the plot to someone that I realised how well Stuart Turton handles such a sprawling and complicated story. For anyone worried about repetitions, it's worth knowing that although Evelyn Hardcastle is destined to die over and again, our protagonist is the man trying to solve her murder, and he wakes up each morning in the body of a different guest. The characters are fascinating, and I love the way Turton describes our protagonist inhabiting their bodies, fighting with their personalities.

With such an original premise and such a complicated plot, there were bound to be questions left unanswered and moments that don't quite add up. That's why I have given The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle four stars instead of five. But I really enjoyed this fresh take on (what can be) a tired genre, and I look forward to whatever Turton writes next.

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My next read was Intimacies by Katie Kitamura, which came highly recommended and with a cover I couldn't resist.



I read Intimacies in one sitting. Katie Kitamura's clear-cut prose sucked me in from the first line, and the deceptively simple storyline held me spellbound until the last.

I loved the level of detail Kitamura pays to the protagonist's work as a translator; one of many ways this story explores the idea of intimacy. It's a brilliant idea to take one concept and pick it apart in this way, and I think our awareness of the book's title adds new layers of meaning to the protagonist's encounters. I loved the way Kitamura describes the protagonist's uncomfortable encounters with men, which I'm sure will ring true for many female readers, and the way she shows an awareness of her own female gaze through a reference to art. I also loved the way Kitamura talks about the International Court, where the protagonist works; the way she describes the people involved in the trials, and the way she refuses to accept a simple version of morality.

I think my favourite aspect, however, was the question of home, which is only brought up explicitly near the end of the book, but in a way that makes the reader realise so much of the story has been about that question. I have always been drawn to books that explore the concept of home, and Intimacies does so in one of the simplest and most poignant ways I've encountered. I definitely want to read more from this author.

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Next up was Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen, another favourite author of mine.



I love that Jane Austen's books are always in her recognisable style, while all delivering something a little bit different. In the case of Northanger Abbey, the protagonist is not the typical Austen heroine, and I did at times wish her to be the witty and intelligent young woman I know Austen capable of writing, but there is wit aplenty in her love interest, and her naivety only adds to the misunderstandings I so love in Austen's writing. It is also unusual that Northanger Abbey includes an element of the gothic, and I love Austen's good-natured mockery of that genre as well as her wonderful evocation of it. I also love the way Austen defends the frivolous reading of novels!

Jane Austen is an author I can always rely on to write entertaining, satisfying, and rereadable books, which never fail to make me laugh. Northanger Abbey is no exception.

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I followed this with Burnt Sugar by Avni Doshi, which was shortlisted for the 2020 Booker Prize and longlisted for the 2021 Women's Prize for Fiction.



Burnt Sugar is the perfect title for this twisted story of a toxic mother-daughter relationship. I loved the attention to detail with which Avni Doshi writes; the way she brings places and people to life. It also made a pleasant change to read a story set in contemporary India. I particularly loved the way Burnt Sugar explores the malleability of memory, and plays with the reader's perspective of the protagonist and her reliability. By the end of the book, I felt almost overpowered by the protagonist's emotions.

However, not everything about this book worked for me. There was a lot that I couldn't relate to, and I found the book's format disjointed and without purpose. Hence three stars rather than four.

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I finally got round to reading Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid next, which was longlisted for the 2020 Booker Prize and had been on my to-read list for too long.



This is a really easy and engaging read, which explores some interesting and important issues. I particularly liked the way Such a Fun Age starts with an explicitly racist incident and devolves into microagressions. I love the way Kiley Reid leans into the uncomfortableness of transactional relationships, especially when they're split along racial lines, and the way she delves into white privilege and allyship. I love the way she explores the notion of "adulting", and I think the way Reid highlights the financial burdens of being an adult in America brings something new to the discussion.

Such a Fun Age feels like a novel formed from years of observation, and there are some wonderful moments of characterisation. I particularly loved Briar. On the other hand, I sometimes felt like Emira's personality got a little lost in the strong personalities of those around her, and in her role as the novel's protagonist.

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After this came At Night All Blood is Black by David Diop, which won the 2021 International Booker Prize.



At Night All Blood is Black is a striking novel, both in terms of style and content, but it's not for me. I thought it had some really interesting points to make about the temporary madness of soldiers. I loved the way David Diop played on the words "humanity" and "humane", and I also loved the way he talked about the supposed savagery of the so-called "Chocolat" soldiers. But this isn't a book I really enjoyed reading. I found the prose clunky, and I wasn't sure what point was being made by the repetitious, stylised oral effect.

At Night All Blood is Black just didn't come together for me in the end, although it wouldn't surprise me if it would benefit from a reread.

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My next pick was Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead by Emily R. Austin, which I'd wanted to read ever since I heard that title.



Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead is a charming and very funny book about a young woman with severe anxiety. I really enjoyed inhabiting the perspective of the book's narrator, who I found supremely lovable and surprisingly relatable. The characters are all believable and vividly brought to life, and the situations they find themselves in are entertaining without pushing the bounds of plausibility. Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead has a lot of great points to make, and I particularly liked the way it talks about mental health. My only complaint is that the way the book moves around in time felt a bit random, and made the main plotline a little difficult to follow (although I enjoyed every flashback and aside).

Come for the great title, stay for the even better story.

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The last book I read in August was White Teeth by Zadie Smith, whom I'd been meaning to read more from ever since I read (and loved) On Beauty back in 2017.



Maybe it's the prolonged anticipation, or maybe my tastes have changed more than I've realised, but I found White Teeth a little disappointing. I loved the eclectic cast of characters, and I loved the humour with which Smith tells this story. There are some brilliant lines, and I found myself laughing out loud more than once. I liked the story, and the different (and sometimes difficult) themes it deals with. But the scope of the story is huge, and I did find White Teeth a little too long and a little too messy.

White Teeth is unlikely to become one of my favourite books, but I did enjoy reading it, and I hope I get round to my next Zadie Smith before another 4 years has passed!

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My first read of July was Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde, an author I had been wanting to read for some time.



Zami: A New Spelling of my Name is a refreshingly honest and thought-provoking piece of autobiographical writing. Audre Lorde writes concisely yet beautifully about (near enough) everything. I have to admit that there were moments which I felt dragged a little, especially in the length of time spent on Lorde's childhood, which are the reason for that missing fifth star.

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After this came The Heart of a Dog by Mikhail Bulgakov.



The Heart of a Dog has some very funny moments, and you can't help but admire the outrageous premise, in which a rich, successful professor transplants the the testicles and pituitary gland of a recently deceased man into a stray dog and accidentally creates a worryingly human animal. I also loved the way Mikhail Bulgakov told the story; the way he varied the narrative format and perspective, and the wry humour evident in his third-person narration.

However, I wasn't completely hooked on this one from the start. As a result, it took me a few days to get through a very slim book. I also think that some of the references to the Russian Revolution were lost on me, which means that my three-star rating is more a reflection of my experience of reading The Heart of a Dog than it is of the book itself.

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Next up was the much-hyped Animal by Lisa Taddeo.



I appreciated what this book was trying to do, and I liked what it had to say about the attitude of men towards women. I liked its honesty, which is something I often appreciate in fiction, and I liked its focus on an unlikable woman. But these, like Animal's details of luxury lifestyles, felt like little features, where I wanted something bigger. It didn't help that the flat tone of the writing wasn't always appropriate for the tone of the story. I did like the back-and-to structure of Animal, drawing out details of the story and toying with the reader by withholding information, but I was suspicious of the book trying to explain Jean's entire personality as if it had one single cause.

I'm definitely glad that I read this one; it's a really interesting story, and I liked a lot of what it was trying to do. But, ultimately, I think I wanted more from it.

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The Other Black Girl by Zakiya Dalila Harris was one of those books I immediately added to my to-read list.



The Other Black Girl is a whipsmart debut, which is part office satire, part thriller with a twist. Zakiya Dalila Harris does an excellent job of putting us inside the mind of Nella, an editorial assistant at Wagner Books who is finally no longer the only Black person in the office. This is a brilliantly insidious story, which slowly turns up the tension notch by notch, as Nella realises she has more to contend with than racist microagressions and workplace politics. I love the way Harris writes about contemporary life, and she has so much to say that is worth hearing. I also love the twist when it comes, which is I think is rather brilliant.

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My next read was African Europeans: An Untold History by Olivette Otélé.



This book was everything I was hoping it would be.

As with all non-fiction that tackles a large topic, African Europeans: An Untold History leaves the reader wanting to know more, but a lot of thought has clearly gone into the structure of this book, and it does an excellent job of covering as much ground as possible in as much detail as possible. I also loved the way Olivette Otélé toggles between the past and the present, demonstrating that African Europeans is not only an important book for its understanding of the past, but also for its illumination of the present.

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After this came Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.



I'm afraid this one didn't quite work for me. As much as I enjoyed the creation of the underground man, I found Notes from Underground a slog to get through. Perhaps this is one to return to one day.

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Everyone seemed to be talking about Falling by T.J. Newman, so I thought I'd see what all the fuss was about.



Everyone seems to be talking about this book at the moment, and I can see why. Falling is one of those books you don't want to put down. I loved the claustrophobic setting of a plane flight, and the way the chapters flick between characters really helps to build tension. T.J. Newman is a master at telling a story with maximum drama, and I found myself genuinely invested in how this story turned out. Falling isn't without its clichés, but if you're looking for a summer blockbuster, look no further.

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July was the month I finally got around to reading Rodham by Curtis Sittenfeld.



I love the idea of a book that asks 'what if' Hillary Rodham had never married Bill Clinton. Marriage remains a complicated issue for women, and Curtis Sittenfeld does an excellent job of exploring its nuances. My favourite aspect of Rodham was definitely the way it tackled interesting and important topics, such as female ambition, white feminism, and the #metoo movement. On the downside, I thought that Rodham was perhaps a little too long; it covers an enormous stretch of time, and includes numerous flashbacks. I also think that this book might be more interesting (although perhaps also more uncomfortable) for people better acquainted with the actual history of Hillary and Bill Clinton. I felt, at times, like I was missing some of the book's references, even some of what the book was trying to say, because I'm not familiar with this history.

Rodham won't end up being one of my favourite books, but I am very glad that I finally read it.

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Brit(ish): On Race, Identity and Belonging by Afua Hirsch is another book that I put off reading for too long.



Brit(ish) was much better than I was expecting it to be. Afua Hirsch is an excellent writer (unsurprising when you learn that she is a journalist), and the way she has written Brit(ish) really worked for me. I thought that the book flowed nicely from topic to topic, and Hirsch's choices of section headings made a lot of sense. I also liked how personal the writing is. Although Brit(ish) includes a lot of facts, they always felt relevant to the story Hirsch was telling. I was pleasantly surprised by how much I learnt from Brit(ish) - never just pure facts, but always a way of looking at, or thinking about, things.

Don't be put off by how many non-fiction books have been written in recent years about race. Brit(ish) has something new to add to the conversation, especially if you're a British reader, and is definitely worth a read.

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More non-fiction followed with Jews Don’t Count by David Baddiel.



This is a fantastic book.

Of course I have always stood against antisemitism, but before reading Jews Don't Count I never fully understood the extent of the problem. Reading this book, for me, was comparable to realising the need to be antiracist, as opposed to simply not being racist. David Baddiel does talk about overt, active forms of antisemitism, but the focus of his book is more subtle, passive forms. Jews Don't Count is particularly interested in the fact that many people who fight for diversity and inclusion don't see antisemitism as racism. Baddiel does, and by the end of this book I did too.

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I was late to the party with Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney, which I read next.



Conversations with Friends reminded me a lot of Normal People, so I went back to read my review before writing this and was surprised to see that I'd given Normal People five stars. I don't think I enjoyed Conversations with Friends as much.

I found Conversations with Friends to be a compulsive read, which I also remember to be true of Normal People. I think this is partly a result of how close both books come to soapiness, and partly a result of how well Sally Rooney inhabits the minds of her characters. The characters she creates are certainly compelling, if not always likable, just as the situations they find themselves in tend to be worth reading about even when they lean a little heavily into clichés. My review of Normal People testifies as to how much I loved reading it, but now, only just over a year later, I can only remember bits and pieces. I think that my experience of Conversations with Friends will be similar - a book which absorbed me in the moment, but which ultimately is a little forgettable.

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No Second Chance by Harlan Coben felt like the perfect choice for a lazy day of reading in the garden.



Harlan Coben is an author I can usually rely on to deliver an entertaining and page-turning thriller, and No Second Chance was no exception. This book has been sat on my to-read shelf for a long time, but as soon as I read the opening sentence I was hooked. The action-packed plot kept me guessing until the end, and Coben's realistic characterisation kept the story grounded even at its most dramatic. I loved the intimate, first-person narration of No Second Chance, and Coben's signature sense of humour shines throughout.

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I decided to stay on the thriller-train with The House on the Lake by Nuala Ellwood.



I was immediately intrigued by the premise of The House on the Lake, and Nuala Ellwood does a great job of making the setting integral to the story, which I always love. This is my second book from Ellwood, my first being Day of the Accident, and both are compulsive reads that I didn't want to put down. The plot of The House on the Lake is an interesting one, and, like in Day of the Accident, I appreciated Ellwood's eye for detail. I also loved the way Ellwood played with the trope of the unreliable narrator, keeping the reader on the edge of their seat until the end. However, as with Day of the Accident, I just wasn't convinced by Ellwood's style of writing - hence three stars rather than four.

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On the Road by Jack Kerouac was one of those books I had at the back of my mind to read at some point, when I spied this rather lovely edition in my local library.



On the Road feels very much of its time, and I often felt as if Sal Paradise were an old man, relating the stories of his youth to the reader. This meant that I felt slightly detached as a reader, not overly invested in what happened to the fantastic cast of characters who people these adventures. But I enjoyed the stories nonetheless, especially since Jack Kerouac writes so vividly and with such vivacity that the writing really comes alive. Kerouac's prose is fascinating, and, much like Sal, I felt torn between wanting to tear through the book and wanting to savour every moment.

I found On the Road a little repetitive, and, like a lot of out-dated fiction, there were moments when I didn't care for what was happening or being said. But I'm definitely glad to have crossed this one off my to-read list.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Up next was Faithless in Death by J.D. Robb, the latest in the In Death series.



J.D. Robb's In Death series is the only book series I could imagine sticking with for 52 books (and counting)! I love the way Robb writes, and her books never fail to make me laugh. The series is anchored around a memorable set of characters, who I can't help but love, but each story presents a new case to solve. Faithless in Death captures just the right balance between old and new, and I appreciated the fact that it moves some of the characters' storylines forward.

I particularly liked the way Faithless in Death engages with contemporary issues, even while displaying Robb's remarkable skill at worldbuilding. Lt. Eve Dallas' latest outing was a page-turning read, which confirmed my love for the series she stars in.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

After reading Transcendent Kingdom last month, I decided to try Yaa Gyasi's first novel, Homegoing.



I was struck by the writing style from the first sentence; every bit as beautiful as that cover. It made Homegoing such a joy to read. Each chapter focuses on a different character, moving the story forward from generation to generation. The story of each character feels whole and complete, but also a part of something much bigger. I really loved the way Gyasi shows how black slave labour didn't immediately end with the abolition of the slave trade. She uses the epic structure of Homegoing to highlight the presence of racism and colonialism through time, growing less evident with every generation, but still very much alive in contemporary society. Gyasi is a skilled storyteller, and her command of this ambitious debut is masterful.

This will definitely be one of my books of the year.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

June was the month I finally got around to reading Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo.



This is an unusual book, in that each chapter focuses on a different character. Sometimes the link between the characters is so close that the chapters virtually follow on from one another; other times the link doesn't become apparent until much later. The way the final chapters bring the different storylines together was a little predictable, but satisfying too. I like that most of the characters get their moment in the spotlight, although the scope of this novel is so broad that some of the characters aren't as fully fleshed-out as the others. I like the broadness of Girl, Woman, Other, though, and I think it suits the vast array of experiences of its characters. I love the way Evaristo writes, and so much of what she says about contemporary life rings true. I definitely want to read more of her work.

I followed it with Chauvo-Feminism: On Sex, Power and #MeToo by Sam Mills, published by The Indigo Press.



Reading this book reminded me of when #MeToo went viral, following the Weinstein allegations, and everyone suddenly seemed to be talking about it. It made me miss the wonderful conversations my friend and I used to have. I really enjoyed participating in that conversation again, through reading this book, and I hope Chauvo-Feminism sparks discussion. Like all good essays, there were moments when I found myself nodding along, and there were points I disagreed with. I like that this book knows what it is - a problem I often have with personal works of non-fiction on topical issues. Chauvo-Feminism: On Sex, Power and #MeToo is an eloquent, well-structured long essay, which uses the (wonderful) concept of a 'chauvo-feminist' (a man who veils his chauvinism behind a façade of feminism) to discuss sex and sexism in the age of #MeToo.

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark had been on my to-read list for a long time.



The concept of Miss Jean Brodie and her Brodie set of specially selected girls is a delightful one, but it soon becomes clear that our first impressions of this unusual teacher-student relationship are deceptive. The unconventional Jean Brodie is a fascinating creation, especially when seen through the eyes of her students, and I loved trying to figure her out. The structure of the book works really well, moving through time so that we know how it all turns out when we're only partway through the story. I really like how Muriel Spark plays with the idea of the influences of our youth affecting how we turn out. This is a fascinating and clever little book, and I would definitely like to revisit it one day.

Double Lives: A History of Working Motherhood by Helen McCarthy, which I read next, made the shortlist for this year's Wolfson History Prize.



Double Lives: A History of Working Motherhood tackles a fascinating subject, and, as Helen McCarthy acknowledges, leaves much to be said and researched on the subject. As with much non-fiction, this book offers a sweeping look at the topic, and hopefully starts a much-needed conversation. However, McCarthy does all she can to avoid generalisations; shining a light on individual cases, and trying to keep an open mind. I like the way McCarthy looks beyond the surface, and openly tackles the contradictions this topic entails. I found Double Lives to be an interesting but relatively slow book, which goes over a lot of familiar ground (albeit with clarity and thoroughness), but also leaves the reader with a lot to think about. I'm glad that I picked it up.

My next read was The Dead Secret by Wilkie Collins - an author I've read before and loved.



The mystery at the heart of The Dead Secret is relatively straightforward, and I imagine that most readers will guess at its outline (at least) before it is revealed. However, The Dead Secret held my attention throughout, not only because I wanted to have my suspicions confirmed, but also because I delighted in its twisty plot and quirky characters. The Dead Secret is a delightful romp, featuring an estranged family member, a crumbling house, a deathbed oath, a mysterious woman, and, of course, the eponymous secret. It confirmed my love for Wilkie Collins.

Iris Murdoch is one of my favourite authors, and A Fairly Honourable Defeat is the seventh and most recent book of hers I have read.



I love that I have read enough of Iris Murdoch's books for the writing to feel familiar, and I appreciate that, despite this, the plot was compellingly original. I love the way Iris Murdoch creates such delightfully memorable characters, and I felt that her interest in contemporary life, which I have never noticed in her other books, really added to the characterisation of A Fairly Honourable Defeat. I particularly loved the way she writes about Simon and Axel's relationship. I love not only the way Iris Murdoch writes, but the worlds she creates with her writing. A Fairly Honourable Defeat is a book you can lose yourself in, and emerge all the better for the experience.

I returned to non-fiction next with I Am Malala: The Story of the Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban, by Malala Yousafzai, which is another book that had been on my to-read list for too long.



This is a book I have wanted to read for a while, and I am glad to have finally done so. Malala's story is remarkable, and I am so glad that she was the given the chance to tell it. However, the way in which this book tells the story was a little disappointing. The writing style needs refinement, and, as is often the case with personal non-fiction, the structure could have been better thought out. Perhaps it was decided that the words should be Malala's own, which I can understand, but I personally think it is a shame that Malala's story was not told in the best possible way. These flaws, especially in the style of writing, are also surprising given the involvement of Christina Lamb, a journalist mentioned on the book's cover alongside Malala. I still think this is a story worth reading, but in the hands of a better writer this could have been a five-star read.

My next read was The Beresford by Will Carver, whose Hinton Hollow Death Trip was my book of the year in 2020.



As soon as I saw that Will Carver had written a new book, I wanted to read it. I first discovered Carver's writing in Good Samaritans, one of the most memorable thrillers I have ever read, and I loved watching this unorthodox series develop into the utterly brilliant Hinton Hollow Death Trip. But I think The Beresford is my favourite offering from Carver so far. I adore the setting of The Beresford, an apartment building just outside the city, with its endless cycle of tenants and its never-changing landlady. This is the perfect setting for a story that manages to be both utterly realistic and refreshingly unconventional. The Beresford is every bit as original, witty, and thought-provoking as the final outing of DS Pace, but also as memorable and easy to read as his first outing. Highly recommended!

After this, I decided to reread a book I had been thinking a lot about recently: Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero.



I just adore the premise of a dark sequel to Scooby Doo or the Famous Five, playing on the idea that these children were disturbed by what they saw in their last adventure. And Meddling Kids lives up to its premise, peppering the story with interesting details and witty asides. I also like the way Edgar Cantero plays with his writing style, making for a refreshingly original read in more ways than one.

My next read, fittingly for Pride Month, was Memorial by Bryan Washington, whose collection of short stories, Lot, I read in January.



I think the premise for Memorial is brilliant: when Mike finds out his estranged father is dying in Japan, he leaves the apartment in America he shares with his boyfriend to be with him...just as his mother arrives for a visit. The ensuing domestic arrangement is a joy to read, but Washington really plumbs the depths of this story. Mike's absence forces both men to reconsider not only their relationship with each other, but also with their families. I love the way Washington swaps the book's perspective from Benson to Mike and back to Benson, so that we can see both sides of the story as it progresses. I love Bryan Washington's conversational style of writing, and I look forward to whatever he writes next.

After this, came The Penguin Book of the Contemporary British Short Story, edited by Philip Hensher.



Whenever I read collections of short stories, I'm left wondering why I don't read more of them. That was exactly how I felt after finishing this one. I enjoyed most of the stories, and was particularly pleased by how memorable they were (which I always take as the sign of a good story). They are all beautifully written, and I loved losing myself in such an intricately created but short-lived world. You can read my full review (and find out which stories were my favourite) here.

My last read of June was Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. I only tried Jane Austen for the first time last year, but I was surprised by how much I loved what I read, and I've wanted to read more from her ever since.



I was transfixed from the first page of Mansfield Park, and entertained until the end by Austen's portrayal of impeccable manners, mercenary marriages, and romantically mixed messages. The cast of characters are a delight, and I particularly love Lady Bertram. However, I have to admit that I didn't enjoy this one quite as much as my previous reads from Austen. I didn't warm to the heroine of Mansfield Park as much as I did Austen's other heroines, and I was a little disappointed to find that the plot ultimately favoured morals over romance. But, although I would have preferred a different ending, I did still enjoy Mansfield Park a great deal, and am still eager to read more from this delightfully entertaining author.

On my latest trip to the library, I eagerly picked up Mansfield Park by Jane Austen and Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde. But I wanted one more book, so, trusting in the Penguin orange, I decided on The Penguin Book of the Contemporary British Short Story, edited by Philip Hensher. Although I wasn't sure about the title, I find that whenever I read collections of short stories, I'm left wondering why I don't read more of them. And that was exactly how I felt after finishing this one.



The short stories in this anthology were all written between 1997 and 2018 (when the book was published), and are presented under the general headings of Love, Story, Men, Women, War and Politics, and Catastrophic Worlds. I think that these restrictions, and Philip Hensher's accompanying justifications of them, add nothing to the anthology, and my recommendation would be to skip the introduction, ignore the headings, and enjoy the stories. Although I did quite enjoy returning to Hensher's brief comments on a story after reading it.

My favourite stories were Physics and Chemistry by Jackie Kay, which tells the moving story of two teachers in a same-sex relationship; The Universal Story by Ali Smith, which explores the nature of storytelling itself; Entry Taken from a Medical Encyclopaedia by China Miéville, a metaliterary story which doesn't take itself too seriously; Poison by Lucy Caldwell, a clever little story about a student-teacher relationship; and The Pier Falls by Mark Haddon, which has an extraordinary impact for such a short piece.

I enjoyed most of the stories, and was particularly pleased by how memorable they were (which I always take as the sign of a good story). They are all beautifully written, and I loved losing myself in such an intricately created but short-lived world. The only story I didn't enjoy, and I mention it both because my review will do nothing to dent the reputation of its author and because I genuinely found it inappropriate (and think others may find it triggering), is The Unknown Known by Martin Amis, which takes as its subject terrorism.

I'd love to hear what you thought of this anthology. And let me know if you've read any good collections of short stories recently.

We're almost halfway through 2021, so I thought it was a good time to look back over what I've read so far this year. Here are some of my favourites:



Focusing on a quartet of graduates as they embrace the seemingly limitless possibilities of New York City futures, A Little Life descends into a dark and involving tale of toxic relationships and the vicious scars of childhood.

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara is one of those books that people seem constantly to be talking about, but you should believe the hype.



Reimagining pivotal moments in the history of science with an emphasis on the moral and ethical dilemmas that dominated the twentieth century, Labatut’s searingly intelligent novel of ideas boasts a cast including Albert Einstein, Werner Heisenberg and Erwin Schroedinger.

When We Cease to Understand the World by Benjamín Labatut may not have won the International Booker Prize, but it won my heart.



Navigating the complicated waters of family-making and motherhood in the twenty-first century, this exciting and very funny debut follows the lives of three trans and cis women living in New York.

I love all the books I've read from the Women's Prize for Fiction shortlist, but Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters is my favourite.



A campus novel told from the perspective of a Black student, Taylor’s powerful tale embraces themes of grief, desire and alienation in rich, eloquent prose.

It may be because it speaks to where I am in my life right now, but Real Life by Brandon Taylor is one of my favourite books of all time, not just of this year.



Effortlessly combining both ravishing style and intellectual substance, A Ghost in the Throat traces the passage of a real-life classic of Irish poetry across the centuries, affirming the connections that great art instils in those willing to listen.

With so many literary prizes to choose from, the Republic of Consciousness Prize (for small presses) sometimes gets overlooked, but don't overlook A Ghost in the Throat by Doireann Ní Ghríofa from its shortlist.



Balanced between the utmost darkness and hope, Cho’s piercing account of psychosis and motherhood is a powerful meditation on what it means to understand oneself.

My favourite literary prize is the Jhalak Prize (which champions books by British/British resident BAME writers), and my favourite read from this year's nominees is Inferno: A Memoir of Motherhood and Madness by Catherine Cho.



Impeccably crafted in flawless prose, the delightfully witty courtship of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy is brimming with Austen's characteristic playfulness and comic irony.

Rereading Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, this year, reinforced my love for this classic. It is the ultimate comfort read.

Have you read any of these books? Which books would make your list of 2021 favourites (so far)?

I started May with The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, an author I had been wanting to read for a while.



I really enjoyed this one. The characters are interesting, the descriptions of the house are fantastic, and I love the creeping menace which builds up throughout this book. I've read ghost stories before, which I couldn't get into because I just found them too unrealistic. I had no such problem with The Haunting of Hill House. Shirley Jackson builds up a fascinating relationship between the main character and the house, so that we're never quite sure who's haunting whom. This is a clever little story, wholly absorbing, and with delightfully comic touches.

I was craving some non-fiction, so I chose The Face of Britain: The Nation Through its Portraits by Simon Schama next.



The Face of Britain is a collection of short histories, illustrated by portraits from the National Portrait Gallery, and separated into five thematic sections. It reads almost like a guided tour around the gallery. I enjoyed learning more about some immediately recognisable portraits, as well as about some household names in British art. I think that The Face of Britain would have benefitted from more illustrations, especially as paintings are often described which the reader cannot see, and a more coherent structure. Although it is not surprising that a book with such a sweeping title lacks a strong structure and occasionally resorts to generalisations, it is still disappointing in a book of this size. Ultimately I got what I wanted out of this book, but I think that there was definitely more to get out of the source material.

My next read was Consent by Annabel Lyon, longlisted for this year's Women's Prize for Fiction.



Consent was very different from what I expected from a book longlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction. I was expecting something more original or literary, but I don't mind at all that it wasn't. Consent is one of the most readable books I've read this year, and I tore through this book, which had me hooked from page one. I enjoyed reading about the affluent lifestyles of its characters, as well as their addictive habits. I also thought Consent raised some interesting questions, as you might expect from that title, and perhaps if it had explored them more fully this might have been closer to the book I was expecting.

If you liked this one, I'd recommend Ruthless Women by Melanie Blake (you can read my review on this blog post).

I continued to work my way through this year's Women's Prize for Fiction nominees with Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi, which made the shortlist.



Yaa Gyasi's approach to postgraduate study feels fresh, as Gifty (our protagonist) turns to science for answers after addiction destroys her brother's life. I loved the details of Gifty's experiments, and the heart-breaking idea that her brother's addiction is the spark of inspiration behind her work. Transcendent Kingdom is a gorgeous title, and I loved the way Yaa Gyasi talked about science and religion, as well as Gifty's ferocious curiosity. I liked the way the story flowed between past and present, and I think that format worked really well. But, despite the engaging storyline, I found the oddly detached writing style stopped me completely losing myself in this one.

Next up was Inferno: A Memoir of Motherhood and Madness by Catherine Cho, from the Jhalak Prize shortlist.



I tore through this story of a woman's time on a psychiatric ward, having being involuntary committed following a harrowing bout of postpartum psychosis. As she adapts to day-to-day life on the ward, Catherine Cho finds herself dwelling on who she is, and how she got here. The story's tension didn't ease as Cho dwelt on past traumas, not searching for any simple cause and effect, but nonetheless finding resonances in her past and her present. I love the way Cho lets us see how the understandable feelings of anxiety and paranoia, as a new mother feeling the scrutiny of her family, builds to something unrecognisable to most of us. I also love that Cho's racial identity is interwoven into her narrative, giving nuance to more commonly experienced situations. Catherine Cho is clearly a natural storyteller, and I am in awe of her bravery in choosing to tell this story.

I Belong Here: A Journey Along the Backbone of Britain by Anita Sethi, which I read next, was one of my most anticipated books of the year.



I Belong Here is so much more than an account of Anita Sethi's physical journey across the Pennines; this is also a journey of healing of reclamation, and the reader is privileged to be alongside Sethi every step of the way. I loved the author's digressions, as she makes eloquent and impassioned arguments about the future of our world; the way we treat each other, and our planet. There are so many great ideas in this book, although I would have preferred them to be expressed in a more structured format. I am so glad that Anita Sethi made something so beautiful and inspiring out of the racially-motivated hate crime she suffered, and I would definitely encourage you to give I Belong Here a read.

You can read my full review here.

Wanting to read some more poetry, I eventually decided on Selected Poetry by John Keats.



Keats has been on my to-read list ever since I studied some of his poems during my MA. It was his use of language which first struck me (in particular the image, from Ode to Melancholy, of "him whose strenuous tongue / Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine"), and I couldn't help but read several of the poems in this edition aloud. This edition isn't particularly up-to-date, and the notes are purely informative, but it serves its purpose well as far as the poems themselves go. There is a nice variety, and I delighted in discovering and savouring them.

Next up was In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, which is one of those books I'd always meant to read at some point.



I don't usually read true crime, as I'm much more comfortable reading about fictional crimes, but I liked Truman Capote's style of writing. In Cold Blood reads like narrative non-fiction; an engaging story, but impeccably researched and told by an impartial voice. It is a slower read than most thrillers, but the story has so much more to give for anyone willing to give it the time.

You can read my full review here.

Do you ever find yourself trying to decide whether to read a book, and suddenly you see references to it everywhere? That happened with me and Leave the World Behind by Rumaan Alam.



I love the concept of this book: a family are on holiday in a luxurious home they have rented for the week, when suddenly the home's owners turn up at the door. Something has happened, and they want to come home. What I love about Leave the World Behind is that Rumaan Alam has taken this intriguing (and relatable) concept, and really done something interesting with it by making the holidaying family white, and the owners of the home Black. If you're looking for a slow-burner, a novel simmering with tension, look no further.

And that's it for May. Here's hoping that June brings some good books along with the sunshine!

In Cold Blood was one of those titles I had at the back of my mind to read at some point. I didn't actually know what to expect when I first started reading. That's why I thought it might be useful to write up a quick review, in case anyone else is in the same position!



Unusually for a book considered to be a 'classic', In Cold Blood belongs to the true crime genre, as it reconstructs the murder in 1959 of a Kansas farmer, his wife and both their children. Truman Capote's comprehensive study of the killings and subsequent investigation explores the circumstances surrounding this terrible crime and the effect it had on those involved. At the centre of his study are the amoral young killers Perry Smith and Dick Hickcock, who, vividly drawn by Capote, are shown to be reprehensible yet entirely and frighteningly human.

I don't usually read true crime, as I'm much more comfortable reading about fictional crimes, but I liked Capote's style of writing. I liked the way he wrote in the past tense, sometimes adding details of people and events discovered later, and the way he quoted directly from those involved. In Cold Blood reads like narrative non-fiction; an engaging story, but impeccably researched and told by an impartial voice. There are no gratuitous or graphic descriptions of violence, and one of the things I liked about the book was the dignity accorded to the four victims. We get a sense of them as real people.

We also get a sense of the killers as real people, and most of the story focuses on them, but Capote's impartiality never falters. He doesn't judge them, but neither does he try to justify their actions. In Cold Blood simply tells the story of what happened. And it is an interesting story. I particularly liked Capote's descriptions of the people involved, and his attention to detail. I loved the way he portrays the village of Holcomb, and writes about the reactions of the victims' neighbours.

In Cold Blood is a slower read than most thrillers, but the story has so much more to give for anyone willing to give it the time.