Tag: books

Tipping the Night Smith: a Sarah Waters list

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There’s something great in ranking an author’s work by how much you personally like it: you can cause controversy by revealing to others your list and always feel like when you’re a child and know which toys you like more than others but don’t quite want to tell them. Here I present my personal ordered list of Sarah Waters books, in descending order because I’m not a clickbait article trying to get you to read to the end. For those new to Sarah Waters: she writes historical, famously-Victorian-but-only-half-are-Victorian novels mostly full of lesbians and dramatic plot lines.

  1. Tipping the Velvet – The Victorian stage show one with the famous TV adaptation and probably the quintessential Sarah Waters book. It’s also the one with lots of melodramatic love affairs, sex, and minor betrayal, rather than imprisonment or death or war, so it’s a fun place to start.
  2. The Night Watch – The melancholy 1940s one. The narrative runs backwards to show what the now post-war characters did during the war and how their lives are or have been interlinked. Makes you wish you could change what you know happens to them because you’ve already been told it. Probably not to everyone’s taste but I loved it.
  3. Fingersmith – The tense Victorian thriller with a twist one. Also the one most people seem to have read, from my personal experience. Gripping and awful at times, with elements from most images of the Victorian era you might have.
  4. The Paying Guests – The genre-change 1920s one. Starts off like a sad repressed lesbian story where they gaze at each other around the husband of one of them. Turns into a very different novel about a murder investigation.
  5. Affinity – The prison spiritualist depressing one. The Victorian prison scenes are claustrophobic and impressive, but it’s also about as far from the so-called romp of Tipping the Velvet as you can get.

Note: I’ve not read The Little Stranger so it can be the other 1940s one nobody has read.

Radio Sunrise

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Radio Sunrise by Anietie Isong

Radio Sunrise is a satirical novel about radio broadcasting and underhand corruption in Nigeria which gives a humourous insight into the problems of being a journalist for a state-funded station. Ifiok works for Radio Sunrise and things start going wrong when his radio drama has its funding cut and his girlfriend leaves him after he cheats on her, but when he is sent back to his home town to make a documentary on a government-funded project he discovers there’s plenty more to go wrong yet.

Isong’s novel focuses on hypocrisy and corruption on both a large and a small scale, but it is the smaller scale moments that really capture the satire particularly well, with journalists only writing news stories if they are paid enough in their brown envelopes. The narrator Ifiok is a naive idealist much of the time which makes him an ideal satiric character, shocked by other’s adulterous relationships and unable to stand up to the system even when he wants to expose its flaws. Isong depicts a complex mix of problems across Nigeria, but all with a light satiric touch that makes for a fun and engaging novel.

‘All they that love not tobacco and boys’: a Christopher Marlowe reading list

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February is LGBTQ history month here in the UK and for the first of hopefully a few posts to mark the occasion, I’m going to offer up some reading suggestions for Christopher Marlowe, everyone’s favourite suspiciously murdered, probable gay atheist spy playwright.

The title comes from the infamous ‘Baines note’, a document written by Richard Baines accusing Marlowe of saying ‘That all they that loue not Tobacco & Boies were fooles’ and also, amongst other things, ‘That St John the Evangelist was bedfellow to Christ and leaned alwaies in his bosome, that he vsed him as the sinners of Sodoma.’ Whether or not Marlowe did go around shouting such proclamations in late sixteenth century London (see Burgess’ novel A Dead Man in Deptford for the fictional image of him doing exactly that), his works show a fair deal of men loving men.

Marlowe is probably most famous (writing wise, as he’s probably most famous in general for being Shakespeare’s rival who was killed with a stab to the eye) for Doctor Faustus, his play on the Faust myth full of dramatic speeches on predestination, playing pranks on the Pope, and a devil a little too infatuated with Faustus, so I’m going to skip over that and start with the obvious for this list.

  • Edward II – Marlowe’s play on the English monarch overthrown by his barons for not being a very good king and preferring to just give a load of titles to his favourites, particularly Piers Gaveston. Marlowe spends plenty of time emphasising how much Edward loves Gaveston, despite this being not so great for his realm, and comparing them to classical male lovers.  Also famous for Derek Jarman’s incredibly artsy film adaptation which, among other things, adds in the word ‘fuck’.
  • Hero and Leander – A narrative poem about the hardships of two heterosexual lovers doesn’t sound like Marlowe, but he does add in a narrator who gives a very lingering description of Leander’s naked back and claims that ‘in his looks were all that men desire.’ Plus he’s compared to Ganymede, Jupiter’s male love/obsession/cupbearer, and if there was ever a Marlowe drinking game, it would be for how often he references Ganymede.
  • Dido Queen of Carthage – On that note, to see Ganymede and Jupiter in action (not quite like that), the opening scene of Marlowe’s play about Dido features them doing some godly fooling around before the plot begins. For basically no reason. Others of the four plays I’ve not mentioned here also mention Ganymede, unnecessarily.
  • Christopher Marlowe: Poet and Spy by Park Honan – I’ve finished up with the best Marlowe biography out there, because he’s nothing if not fascinating to read about. Honan’s book is readable and doesn’t require you to have an infinite memory for the names of early modern spies (as Charles Nicholl’s The Reckoning does, though it is also worth reading if you like Marlowe).

The Lonely City by Olivia Laing

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Loneliness and art in NYC: The Lonely City by Olivia Laing

The Lonely City is a fluid book, part memoir on loneliness in New York, part history of art and certain artists in the later 20th century, and part exposition on how being alone and being different has affected different kinds of art. The witty subtitle, ‘adventures in the art of being alone,’ summarises the reading experience: it is an adventure, not always a happy one, through art and loneliness and the sometimes harsh environment of the city.

The title initially drew me to the book, which I didn’t realise was about art and the lives of artists in New York as well as about loneliness in a big city. As someone who knows extremely little about art, I found it easily engaging and a fascinating look at artists of varying levels of general fame. Chapters focus around elements of her own time in New York and a specific artist and their work and history, but later chapters bring together aspects of previous ones to form the larger picture. From Warhol to various artists working in photography, music, and other media, the way in which Laing draws lines between art, loneliness and New York, particularly in relation to the AIDS crisis and LGBT communities, is deeply interesting and moving. Gender and sexuality play an important part throughout the book, which I did not expect from the blurb but was pleasantly surprised to find.

The kinds of loneliness on display in art and in life, being physically isolated and emotionally alone and socially outcast to name a few, are discussed to show that the concept of ‘the lonely city’ is not a simple one. Ultimately, Laing focuses on positivity that can come from looking at loneliness as well as on great pieces of art in different forms. The way in which The Lonely City blends ideas of loneliness, self, and art, not rigidly in one genre or focus, makes it a versatile and engaging read for anyone interested in social issues, art, LGBT history, or how cities can shape the people and work within them.

The Blood Miracles by Lisa McInerney

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The Blood Miracles by Lisa McInerney

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The Blood Miracles is a fast paced novel, a gangster film with heart, and a story of one guy’s messy involvement with a new route for getting drugs into Cork. Ryan Cusack is half-Irish and half-Italian, but caught between far more things and people than that: his own issues chase him, his girlfriend’s not happy, and his allies are not always so allied.

The plot follows a fairly expected chase around deals, betrayal, and the mix between business and pleasure, but with Ryan holding the narrative together as he attempts to deal with everything at once. He is a gripping character, one who is barely holding together family problems and mental health issues, and who is trying to be clever but also facing mounting danger as allegiances and threats come to a head. His musical ability and inability to make something of it show how it is not always talent that can be a miraculous escape, but instead luck and circumstance. The supporting characters are the kind to be expected from a book about deals and drugs, from the paranoid user boss to the rival with a connection to the hero, but McInerney paints them well, forming a vivid picture of the Cork world that Ryan lives in.

Though The Blood Miracles may sound from its description like another kind of Trainspotting or a Guy Ritchie film, in reality it is a modern take on the genre, with references to cloud storage and Orange is the New Black serving as reminders that McInerney is perhaps the future of the gangster story, bringing cleverness and charm to her work.

(Catch it out on 20th April 2017 – I read a proof thanks to John Murray and Netgalley)

Hot off the press: reading new books

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Recently I’ve been reading a lot of proof copies and newly published books via Netgalley, as may be apparent from the reviews I’ve been posting. The experience of reading brand new books has been a novel one (pardon the pun there) for someone who has done a degree in all the historical periods of English Literature and a masters in specifically works of the 16th and 17th centuries. So far, it has been an experience that has taught me a few things.

For starters, that there’s a huge range of books coming out right now. The variation in subject matter, setting, and style means that it hasn’t even felt like an influx of similar books (I hate reading too many similar books at once), even though I’ve only been requesting copies of books I like the sound of. It wasn’t like I didn’t know this, but it has been refreshing to see the diversity and choice of books and to try out reading them.

Judging books by their cover (and blurb) is fairly necessary in order to pick what you want to review. I’ve learnt that intriguing covers do often mean intriguing books, but that some books have terrible blurbs. In one instance in particular, blurbs that misrepresent the content of the book, with it ending up far darker than expected and really needing a warning for some of its contents. I also discovered that sometimes a vague title and vague blurb may make a lot more sense once you take stock of the picture on the front (a horse picture turned out to be a long novel focused on raising race horses, rather than a more symbolic horse as I’d expected).

Reading books with smaller levels of feedback available can be freeing (who cares what those four other Goodreads reviews say), but also perhaps intimidating, as there’s less of a chance to consider what you already know about the book. Years – decades, centuries – of readers haven’t been there before you, saying things similar or dissimilar to you. Your words will probably have more of an impact if anyone looks for information on the book, but also it’s harder to look up things you didn’t quite get.

Brand new and unreleased books are exciting chances to read something with a slightly clearer canvas in your mind, though of course still influenced by author, publisher, cover, blurb, and a myriad of other things. If nothing else, it’s exciting to see what is coming next.

The Witchfinder’s Sister by Beth Underdown

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Persecution and injustice (in the 17th century): The Witchfinder’s Sister by Beth Underdown

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The Witchfinder’s Sister is a captivating historical novel about the real life witch hunter Matthew Hopkins, as told by his imagined sister Alice. The narrative occurs during the English Civil War, with a backdrop of mistrust and religious difference, though this is only the context to the more personal story of Alice Hopkins and how she is drawn into her brother’s world against her will. Mystery and intrigue are wound throughout the book as Alice tries to discover exactly what her brother is doing and secrets about their family’s past.

The style is easy to read and feels fitting to the time, without being bogged down in historical detail or attempts at accurate speech that fall flat. The novel is framed as Alice’s written account of events, printed afterwards, and in this way it acts as a fictional version of giving a woman a voice in the context of events that preyed upon vulnerable women, those who were mentally ill or lonely or confused. Alice herself has lost babies and, just before her narrative begins, her husband, and is a character trying to do good, but without the freedom or position to be morally unblemished. Though the novel does not actively condemn power hierarchies and the abuse of power, it is clear throughout the book that money, gender, and social position are playing an important part.

Using witch hunting fiction as a parallel to contemporary unjust persecution is well known since The Crucible and this novel does not need to be compared to any modern events to be a gripping read. However, it is easy in this time of seemingly rising prejudice to see even greater interest in books which show those caught between trying to help and also being trapped by those with the power of persecution. The Witchfinder’s Sister is therefore both a rich historical mystery and a tale of power injustice and preying on the weak.

Hamlet: Globe to Globe

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Today being the day that I technically graduate (in absentia) from my Shakespeare MA, I’m celebrating with a review of a Shakespeare-related upcoming book that I got to read thanks to Canongate and Netgalley.

Hamlet: Globe to Globe by Dominic Dromgoole

Hamlet: Globe to Globe is a book about a huge project and one that those interested in Shakespearean theatre in the UK and beyond probably have heard about: Shakespeare’s Globe theatre took Hamlet on a tour to, as far as possible, every country in the world. In this book, Dominic Dromgoole describes their endeavours alongside thoughts on Hamlet and performing the play around the globe. Part memoir and part book about Hamlet and performance, Hamlet: Globe to Globe gives a sense of the excitement of the project whilst telling anecdotes about the reality of the undertaking.

Each chapter is focused around a theme and jumps between anecdotes about the tour and certain countries and Dromgoole’s discussions about Hamlet, which are fairly light and open, focused on character and performance. His vision of Hamlet as elusive and protean, as a play that should be less revered than actively used, fits with the book and project, suggesting that the play was right to be performed around the world in English. Whilst Dromgoole gives a rather romanticised image of Hamlet as a play at the beginning of the book, throughout the book he emphasises how it worked differently at different points in the tour, suggesting that he believes his romantic image of Hamlet as universal play full of human themes.

The specific anecdotes are the best part of the book, from playing in refugee camps and in hostile environments to the company doing speeches at the Globe in front of Obama. Political context is given for some of the performances and, though not perfect, shows an appreciation for the histories and contexts in which they ended up bringing their production. Descriptions of rotational casting practices and rehearsal methods adds theatrical interest, as does information about how they worked around some of the more difficult venue issues.

Hamlet: Globe to Globe is a subjective, endearing description of a touring production, one which accepts with self-deprecation that originally they naively believed they could change the world, but instead discovered that the world was a turbulent and difficult place, much like the world of the play.

Another Brooklyn

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Another Brooklyn by Jacqueline Woodson

Another Brooklyn is a photographic kind of novel, one that creates vivid images and snapshots to show how fleeting time can be and how images might not tell the whole story. It is about the friendship between four girls in 1970s Brooklyn, told from the perspective of one of them, August, and what they saw of each other’s difficulties and differences.

The novel’s non chronological structure and writing style invoke a sense of memory, so the act of remembering feels built into the form and narrative. As with most non-chronological novels, details are hinted out and fleshed out later, but in this short novel, this feels less like holding back information and more akin to the act of telling an old memory, adding in detail that wasn’t meant to come yet. The sketches given of each of the girls’ lives leave plenty of questions, but also show how four girls can come together to be friends and yet that friendship cannot overcome the troubles of the world and the city in which they live.

The title and the narrator dream of ‘another Brooklyn,’ a place beyond the life that has been given, but the novel is also tied to location, to the journeys characters have made to live in Brooklyn, and how Brooklyn seemed like theirs but also not. Another Brooklyn is a welcome change from the often long and male-dominated books set in New York that have proliferated, portraying female friendship and how friendship can be tied to place and time.

Juliet Takes A Breath by Gabby Rivera

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Juliet Takes A Breath by Gabby Rivera

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Juliet Takes A Breath is the kind of book that simultaneously kicks you into action and warms your heart. It is the story of a summer in which Juliet, a Puerto Rican girl from the Bronx, discovers a lot about her own identity and others’, a coming of age tale that aggressively runs away from the straight white boy type story epitomised by Holden Caulfield and many after him. It is also a story about friendship, love, and the universe, about understanding the politics of your own self and of other people, and realising that the world may not be exactly as you see it.

From its summary, Juliet Takes A Breath promises the kind of novel where the main character’s questions are not always answered, a book where growing up isn’t learning the answers, but learning new questions. This is an accurate impression, as Gabby Rivera leaves Juliet full of possibility, ready to take steps to change or become more herself. As she learns more about the wider LGBT world, intersectional feminism, and racial politics, so can the reader, but the reader can also want to look further, just as Juliet does, as she discovers what relates most to her. A lot of different people contribute their suggestions to what Juliet should do, but she ultimately learns that she has ultimate control over that.

The side characters also help to make the novel a heartwarming and funny read, from Juliet’s sweet younger brother Lil’ Melvin to her cousin Ava who is always there to answer her questions about newfound ideas and terminology. This is the kind of book to share with people who you think might need it, whether to feel support and solidarity or to see more in the world.