Tag: books

Greta and Valdin by Rebecca K Reilly

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Greta and Valdin is a literary novel about two queer siblings in New Zealand who attempt to navigate their complicated family and chaotic love lives. Greta and Valdin live together, with Valdin pining over his ex-boyfriend Xabi who left for Argentina once they broke up and Greta trying to deal with being an underemployed grad student with failed dating exploits and a girl who just seems to use her for help with work. Their Russian father and Maori mother—and their whole extended family—are eccentric in their own ways, but maybe Greta and Valdin can finally work out how to exist for themselves and still involve their family.

I’d heard this book hyped about, but wasn’t sure what to expect. From the opening pages, it was hilarious, and that really set the tone for me: I’m not used to literary fiction being this funny (there was one line in the book I had to stop and repeat to my partner because it was so good). At the same time, it is a book with complex interwoven messages about identity and queerness and family, particularly in the flexibility of what things mean to different people and how everyone forges their own sense of self and what their labels mean to them. The characters are endearing and messy, the kind where you are half-gripped to see what terrible decisions they make and half wanting to swoop in and save them from themselves.

The narrative is mostly around interpersonal relationships and character development, as you’d expect from literary fiction, and I liked the ending and the fact that it offered hope in a range of ways. The split perspective of the narration worked well to give you a sense of the similarities and differences between the siblings, and leave you fully entangled in their lives. I love the sort of literary fiction that feels fun, where there’s plenty of serious stuff in there and some interesting things to navigate and explore, but also you get ridiculous banter along the way. The sense of place was also a big selling point, as there’s a lot of culturally specific elements that feel very embedded into the book, and though I’m sure I didn’t get a lot of them first time around as I’ve never been to New Zealand, I appreciated it and the way the novel uses place for a family that might seem dislocated.

I didn’t know I needed literary fiction about messy queer siblings, but Greta and Valdin proved that I did. There’s a lot packed into a book that is both hilarious and quite touching, and it felt worth the hype to me.

Piglet by Lottie Hazell

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Piglet is a novel about a woman whose wedding is approaching, as a perfect ideal of a life seems to be falling apart. Piglet—her family’s nickname for her—is due to marry Kit, whose upper middle class Oxford parents are a far cry from her own, and soon they will have a perfect life of dinner parties and domestic bliss. But when Kit reveals a secret thirteen days before their wedding, Piglet must decide what she wants to do and what she really desires.

This book opens with Waitrose, and that really is a good marker of what is to come. Piglet takes aim at ideas of domestic bliss and a middle class idea of what people should do, blending satirical ridiculousness (Piglet and Kit’s families are complete stereotypes) with extended descriptions of food. It is also very much about disordered eating and ways people unhealthily use food to cope, but in a literary way where this is not really addressed head on, as much of the book is. From the blurb, it might be difficult to tell how much this is literary fiction, about unlikeable characters and stereotypes and extended description that forces you to focus on the food, and not on the secret Kit has revealed, which is likely to make the book not for everyone.

The way Kit’s secret is handled is also probably divisive, and I couldn’t decide whilst reading it if the way the book does it (not wanting to entirely give spoilers) works best, especially as I did hope the book would get darker with the secret, breaking even further away from the conventions it is ridiculing. It does well to create a sense of horror around a lot of expected traditions, which might hit differently for people who have gone through them, and counters it with the subplot of Piglet’s best friend Margot and her wife having a baby and Margot being a very different voice to everyone else around Piglet.

Taking aim at the idea of a domestic goddess who also shouldn’t eat too much, Piglet is a bold novel that might not always satisfy, but was a compelling read. It’s harsh and exaggerated, and it really does, unfortunately, make you hungry.

My favourite non-2023 books of 2023

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I forgot to finish and post this in 2023, but seeing as the books didn’t come out then either, I think it’s fine. These are my favourite books I read in 2023 that didn’t come out in 2023, with a caveat that Greta & Valdin actually comes out in the UK in 2024, but was already published in New Zealand so I’m counting it as already out. The list is short and weirdly varied (two novels, two poetry books, and one horror manga), but I think it does give a good insight into what kind of books I like.

Uzumaki by Junji Ito – I’d been watching the Netflix adaptation of some of Junji Ito’s stories and finally read my first book, which very much lived up to expectations (and the whole obsessed with spirals premise wasn’t helped by the fact I keep feeling dizzy, made for an immersive experience).

full-metal indigiqueer by Joshua Whitehead – Having read Whitehead’s novel Jonny Appleseed, this poetry collection was very exciting to find in my local queer bookshop.

Greta & Valdin by Rebecca K. Reilly – A bit of a 2024 spoiler seeing as it is coming out in the UK this year, but I really loved this novel about chaotic queer siblings in New Zealand.

Signs Preceding the End of the World by Yuri Herrara – I’ve had a couple of a three-month book subscription where they picked specific books based on your taste, and my taste must be weird as a lot of them were just okay, but this novel really hit the nail on the head in terms of being a literary action thriller about immigration, feeling like the sort of film I would enjoy.

Your Emergency Contact Has Experienced an Emergency by Chen Chen – I love Chen Chen’s poetry and this title really can’t help but draw you in (I love witty poetry, but I especially love witty, long titles).

My favourite books of 2023

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2023 had some ups and downs in reading, but the best part was probably that a number of my highly anticipated books turned out to be great, which has the side effect that this list isn’t particularly surprising. If I was doing some kind of “unwrapped” thing, I would have to note that the number of 2023 books I’ve bought t-shirts of is 2 (and both of those books are on this list). Note to publishers: I love inexplicable merch for queer literary fiction.

I’ve split into prose and poetry, though one of the prose is non-fiction and the rest are fiction. Links in titles to full reviews where I’ve written them.

Prose

Machine Readable Me by Zara Rahman – Reinvigorated my tech book reading by being compelling and interesting, and making me think a lot more about digital borders.

Brainwyrms by Alison Rumfitt – The first (on this list) of my much anticipated books did not disappoint. I loved the body horror and the influence of the internet on the plot and the way it felt so much like edgy books teenage me liked.

How to Get Over the End of the World by Hal Schrieve – Having also read Schrieve’s Out of Salem for the first time this year, I was glad this one was great too, fully of messy queer teens and adults not living up to their role model status.

The Unfortunates by J.K. Chukwu – This novel really delves into the mental health of a Black queer college student whilst also be darkly comic and cutting.

Penance by Eliza Clark – What can I really say? Another highly anticipated book that knocked it out of the park, by being a meditation on teenagers, weird internet fandoms, Sims mods, true crime, and whose stories we are really telling. I just love literary fiction about being weird on the internet.

Corey Fah Does Social Mobility by Isabel Waidner – And the third on my highly anticipated list, Waidner’s latest experimental novel is my favourite to date, blending class commentary, Joe Orton, queer relationships, and Bambi in their distinctive, surreal style.

Never Was by H. Gareth Gavin – Another book with a distinctive style, Never Was is a queer hallucination about storytelling with narratives within narratives and a mysterious unreal party.

Such Sharp Teeth by Rachel Harrison – Sometimes my favourite books are because they are fun, and Such Sharp Teeth is one of those: a funny werewolf novel that does the ‘supernatural creatures in real world setting’ well and plays with the body horror elements of being a werwolf.

Chain-Gang All-Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah – Tense and brutal, Chain-Gang All-Stars is a future of blood sports featuring incarcerated people and a book full of heart and a lot of perspectives.

Bellies by Nicola Dinan – Such a tender book about how a relationship between two people changes when one of them transitions, and how they both search to find themselves after university.

Open Throat by Henry Hoke – The queer mountain lion novel you never knew you needed (but you do).

How to Sell a Haunted House by Grady Hendrix – I wasn’t expecting Grady Hendrix to come out with my favourite of his novels to date, but How to Sell a Haunted House takes a high-concept sounding title and turns it into an emotional horror novel about grief (and weird puppets).

Wild Geese by Soula Emmanuel – Another novel about a changing relationship, as a trans woman’s ex-girlfriend appears on her doorstep and they have to face the past and the present. I loved how it was beautiful and wistful, but also full of references to things like Blåhaj).

Poetry

Ex-Cetera by HLR – I loved this punchy poetry collection that is hard-hitting, but also has references to things like Strongbow Dark Fruits.

Hard Drive by Paul Stephenson – My four word review from Goodreads says it all: “Deeply emotional; wonderful stylistically.”

Tomorrow Someone Will Arrest You by Meena Kandasamy – Powerful and varied (and the title poem is so memorable).

Synthetic Jungle by Michael Chang – Witty, catchy, funny, referential: all the things I like poetry to be.

The Mantis by Kotaro Isaka

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The Mantis is a thriller about an assassin who just wants to retire, but knows his family would be under threat if he did. Kabuto works an office job, tries to keep on the good side of his wife, and worries about his son going to college. He also goes to the doctor’s office, but it isn’t any old doctor’s office: he is being given jobs for assassinations. Despite his skill in this world, Kabuto wants to retire, to pay his way out and stick to family life, but the doctor doesn’t want to see him go.

Having enjoyed Bullet Train and the combination of fast-paced thriller and dark assassin comedy, I was hoping for similar from The Mantis, and it didn’t disappoint. The narrative has a great balance of Kabuto in action as an assassin and Kabuto dealing with things like wanting to have a friend and trying to make his wife happy whilst his son sees him as a pushover. There’s some fun twists and turns (though nothing hugely surprising) and cameos/references to the events of Bullet Train, and generally this book is the same kind of good time you get from dark action films like the John Wick films (also with the assassin retirement theme). The pages flew by and as someone who usually prefers watching thrillers to reading them, Kotaro Isaka’s books really give me that experience.

The Future by Naomi Alderman

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The Future is a dystopian novel about tech billionaires, cults, survivalists, and what you’d do to protect the future. Told from multiple perspectives, it follows the daughter of a cult leader, a survivalist vlogger who was in a refugee camp, an ousted tech company boss, the non-binary problem child of one of the tech CEOs, and a programmer turned billionaire’s wife, alongside three tech CEOs, as the end of the world looms. The billionaires who destroy the world plan to be safe from any apocalypse, but the future isn’t so clear cut.

It’s quite hard to talk about this book without giving away some of the plot twists and turns, but it is a fun dystopian novel that really takes as its premise ‘what does the future mean to tech billionaires and to other people’. The three CEOs and their companies are pretty blatant parodies of real tech companies, which is enjoyable though occasionally a bit too on the nose (there’s only so many ways to obfuscate some of the more outlandish things real tech billionaires have done), and the narrative moves between past and present a lot, building up a picture of a near-future that isn’t too different from what we have today. The plot is slightly confusing at first, as it is hard to tell where it is going and chapters jump between past and present a lot, but then moves towards a conclusion that is maybe surprising for a dystopia, if quite neat.

The characters add a lot to the book, and particularly Zhen (the internet survivalist) and Martha (the cult leader’s daughter) get a lot of exploration, as well as a teasing romance. The sections of the book are separated by forum posts, many of which are by Martha, which explore some of the cult’s pseudo-religious ideas and how they relate to survival and the future, and these are a nice addition, plus there’s a subplot that relies on them. Some of the other characters appear less frequently, but were compelling enough that I almost wished there was more of them (e.g. the gay ousted tech boss, the non-binary child of the tech CEO trying to make a difference in the world, the former-programmer-turned-tech-wife, all of whom could really be the protagonist of a book about tech billionaires themselves.

As with many dystopias, The Future can be a bit too on the nose and simplistic at times, but it also engages with the current moment in an interesting way, considering what the future actually means to different people and what might need to happen to change the world. I enjoyed it more than Alderman’s previous The Power (my rogue favourite of her novels is The Lessons), maybe because I like content that is critical of Big Tech and this book does it in a light-hearted way that is gripping to read.

Death Valley by Melissa Broder

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Death Valley is a novel about grief and the self, set in the California desert. A woman is staying in a Best Western, escaping her father in the ICU and her chronically ill husband, but without purpose. When a receptionist suggests a nearby hiking trail, the narrator finds a strange giant cactus, unusually there and with a gash that allows you to climb inside, and transfixed by the cactus, the woman is drawn back to the place again and again.

I didn’t know what to expect from this book and any summary doesn’t really give away the hazy, unreal nature of it, really capturing the sense of this character out in the desert, experiencing things that don’t seem real. The narrative keeps being interrupted both by memories and by calls from the narrator’s family members, and this all gives a real sense of the character as she reflects on her own selfish ideas of other people’s illnesses and deaths. Later in the book is a more extended sequence in the desert and this was my favourite part—I wasn’t expecting it and it was both surreal and grounded in a sense of danger. Other than this, not a huge amount happens in the novel, but it is the little details that stand out, like the contents of the Grab N Go breakfast packs.

This book won’t be for everyone, as it is fairly anticlimactic, but I liked the combination of a narrator who doesn’t know what she should be thinking and feeling with a surreal cactus and some strange details. 

Machine Readable Me: The Hidden Ways Tech Shapes Our Identities by Zara Rahman

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Machine Readable Me is an exploration of the data collected about individuals and what this means for the lives of people globally. Part of 404 Ink’s Inklings series, it is a pocket-sized look into the world of digital data, identification, and biometrics that then goes on to question if we should accept being categorised in such rigid, unchangeable ways.

I’ve enjoyed other books in this series, but this one was particularly exciting for me because I tend to read quite a few ‘tech books’ looking at similar topics. By the end of Machine Readable Me I felt revitalised in my interest in our technological past, present, and future, because it was a fresh look into the tech world and had a global focus (many of the books are very US-centric). As it’s a short book, it can only cover so many examples, but there’s a lot of situations I’d not seen covered before in other books rather than using the same old talking points.

The power of categorisation feels central in the book, and Rahman builds on other tech writers’ work to question some of the societal reasons behind power and tech, rather than focusing just on the technology itself. I’ve heard people talking about the need to let data be messier and less machine focused, letting humans and their needs take centre stage, and it was good to see that argued here.

I think Machine Readable Me is a good introduction to the area of personal data and technology, borders and ID cards, that focuses on people not tech companies, politics and society rather than just capitalism. At the same time, for people who are already engaged in the area, I think the energy and examples bring fresh insight and something a bit different, all in an accessible size.

The Reformatory by Tananarive Due

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The Reformatory is a tense historical horror novel about a boy sent to a reform school in 1950s Florida. Robert Stephens Jr is twelve and living with his older sister Gloria when a momentary fight with a rich White boy results in a judge sending him to The Gracetown School For Boys, a segregated reform school that is haunted by the many boys who have died there. Robert can see these ghosts, and he must use that power to survive, even when the ghosts have their own motivations and the school governor wants to stop these spirits who could reveal his horrifying actions.

This is very much a horror novel when a lot of the horror is the horrifying reality of reform schools and the system that sends children there, making it charged with a sense of fear that isn’t just due to ghosts. The supernatural element is then woven into that in a very effective way, a reminder that there are lingering traces of terrible things happening, and that ghosts might most haunt those who deserve it. There’s a lot of historical and political stuff particularly in the earlier two thirds of the novel, which cuts a lot between focusing on Robert and on his sister Gloria trying to fight for justice for him. The narrative holds back on Robert’s story for a while, giving small amounts whilst showing Gloria’s attempts to free him, and then as it draws towards its conclusion, you see a lot more of the horrors of the reform school close up.

Long and intense at times, The Reformatory keeps you on the edge of your seat whilst combining events based on real historical ones (there’s an afterword going into this) with a supernatural edge.

Sisters in Arms by Shida Bazyar

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Sisters in Arms is a novel about three friends, racism, and expectations. Kasih, our narrator, is reunited with childhood best friends Hani and Saya as someone they knew before is getting married. Having grown up in Germany dealing with racism, being poor, and being women, the three have different views on struggles and injustice, but now Saya is obsessed with the trial of right-wing terrorists and the actions of one night might change everything.

This is a very distinctive novel, told through an unreliable first person narrator, Kasih, who uses this position to play around with assumptions and expectations, as well as imagining scenes that didn’t happen in the past and moving between the ‘present’ action and what happens when they were younger. The effect is Kasih telling you stories, moving between stories, rather than a straightforward narrative, and complicates ideas of a single narrative, a single version of the truth. Add to this the fact that Kasih imagines what other people do or think, and you get a book that forces you to consider the fact it is impossible to really know other people’s perspectives.

Due to the style of narration and meandering structure of the book, it is less about the plot and what happens as what might’ve happened, what you think happened, and what happened before. Kasih and Saya are particularly distinctive characters, and through a constructed, subjective viewpoint you see how they are both flawed and full of their own assumptions, as well as having deal with so many of other people’s assumptions, micro-aggressions, and lack of understanding. It might not feel like a satisfying story to some people, as the ending leaves a decent amount of ambiguity, but it isn’t a book that is just about some events happening.

Sisters in Arms is a book with a pointed playfulness in its relation to the reader, drawing them in and making its own assumptions about them. People drawn in by the blurb and title’s promise of friendship might find it a different book to what they might expect, as it is a book about someone telling a story, and about why people tell stories to protect themselves, though the friendship is central to it.