Raising Sparks, catching fire

It seems that, during my time at university, I was surrounded by literary geniuses who not only could teach extremely well (that I knew) but could write. Really write. Leone Ross. James Smythe. Ariel Kahn.

I was extremely excited to be reading Raising Sparks, for several reasons. First of all, even though I wasn't raised in a religious household, my family has a Jewish heritage - and if I carry anything from this with me (apart from my giant nose) is a sense of community. Therefore the topic already felt familiar.

But strange and exciting, too, which was my second reason. It's a country, a culture, a nation that I know very little about. Ariel studied in Israel in rabbinical seminary for three years, which clearly gave him a good insight. But it's clear he has done in-depth research before writing the book, because it feels full of knowledge and experience. It's incredibly visual too, which makes it feel like a real-life fairy tale. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The heroine of Raising Sparks is 16-year-old Malka, who uncovers mystical powers in herself at the beginning of the story - powers that confuse and terrify her. This is why she flees her home and on her travels, she tries to discover her fate and what her powers really mean.

What did I like about it?

First of all, the soul of the author just burns through these pages. I have never felt an author care for their characters as much as Ariel does. Not just his characters, in fact, but for the story, the details and the endings especially. His love of writing shines bright as day - it's hard to explain, but it's true. He was fully invested in the story. And that gives a special power to the book.

I really liked his use of language too - he uses many comparisons and while some might say there are too many, they're extremely visual and they work with the story. A face like a sunset. Beads of sweat on eyelashes, like tear drops. Then there are his descriptions: not only visual, but involving all our senses. Example: I've never had hamentashen, yet when I read the passage about Malka preparing these biscuits I could smell them and taste them. Incredibly powerful.

And another thing - for me, this book was pure escapism. Truth is, during the time I was reading Raising Sparks, I was under quite a lot of work-related stress and had a ball in my stomach most of the time. Yet when I sat down on the tube and opened up my copy, I was whisked away in an instant. It's a beautiful, gripping story and almost fairy tale-like. It's magical realism at its best.

What was I not massively fond of?

Strangely enough, there's just one word I would cross out - one single word that jumped out at me as out of place and I didn't forget it. Page 87, Moshe, our second most important character:

"He dried his face on his T-shirt and looked at his watch. Shit! He was late for his shift at Lazlo's."

Bring on all the swearing normally, but this book is such a touching, innocent story that I felt that the 'shit' here wasn't necessary. I do believe it's the only swearword throughout, maybe that's why it felt odd.

There are a few loose ends too which I would have loved to have seen tied up. One is Malka's cooking career. I want to see her go back to Tel Aviv and amaze Rukh with her Bittersweet Home ice cream. Another is Vladek. Just Vladek in general. Love that guy.

But perhaps that's why sequels were invented. And if not, that's fine too. These loose ends don't leave me wanting - I'm just being greedy.

Overall...

Challenge yourself to learn something new and pick up this book. Open your heart to a beautiful story all about mysticism, coincidences, magic and reality. Open your eyes to some gorgeous imagery. To this wonderful author who I'm hoping will be writing many more such enjoyable works in the coming years.

I recommend this to anyone who has visited Israel; to anyone who wants to. To readers who enjoy a bit of fantasy, but don't mind the linger of a romantic story line. To those open to accepting magic and religion. To anyone with a big heart.

9/10

Three debut novels to read right now

2018 so far has been ripe with amazing debut novels. From Eleanor Oliphant to My Absolute Darling, I came cross first books that made me purple with envy (that's one step further than green) - but also stunned me. It's so comforting to know that the amount of creative and talented authors is only growing.

Here, I have picked out three debuts that I will be reading before the year is out - one from 2017 admittedly, but I am yet to jump on the bandwagon that is Sally Rooney.

Sally Rooney, the author of Conversations with Friends, has just yesterday been announced as a long-lister for the 2018 Man Booker Prize (albeit for her new novel, Normal People). But that's not really how I came across her work: it was more the incredible hype that it is still getting, despite having published over a year ago.

Goodreads readers had a split opinion on it - with some claiming that her writing is hard to read, and others complaining that punctuation marks would make it much more understandable - but overall the praise is overwhelming.

The reason I'm interested in reading it, besides its fame, is precisely this different style though. I enjoy a bit of a challenge and I haven't read anything that used language massively innovatively (saying that, I should read some more Saramago some time). The story also sounds very human - a love triangle, the clash of younger and older generations, very personal thoughts. 

If good, I'll probably move on to her new book - the one on the Booker list - so I'll be more in.

Here's another Booker long-lister for you! But in all fairness, I have set my eyes on Sophie Mackintosh's The Water Cure a while back already, thanks to an interview in The Bookseller.

I think I've mentioned that I don't love anything as much as I love a juicy dystopia, and with three girls stuck on an island, isolated from the main land, you've got my attention. Based on what I know about the book, I'm expecting a lot of darkness and in-depth characters. She does mention that she had been told it’s "difficult to read, in the sense that it can be a bit brutal, but I hope for those who do persevere it pays off for them, that it gives them something". Based on her being long-listed, I'm guessing it does - and a lot of it. I cannot wait.

This final choice I had ignored for quite some time - I think my main reason being (without being conscious about it until just now) is that the cover reminded me too much of The Female Persuasion by Meg Wollitzer). Then, finally, being the perfect cog in this media-reliant society - and perfectly okay with that - I read this beautiful New Yorker review and decided I needed to get my hands on it. (FYI, simply being mentioned in the New Yorker will get you in my good books. No pun intended.)

Now that I broadly know what it's about, I want it even more. The Incendiaries by R. O. Kwon tells the story from three different perspectives, and touches on topics such as faith, grief, religion and understanding what it can mean to lose religion. Laura Miller quotes the following in her opening lines:

"People with no experience of God tend to think that leaving the faith would be a liberation, a flight from guilt, rules.”

This immediately got me thinking - and if one line can do that, just imagine what the rest of the book can do. 

#SciFiSessions with Becky Chambers

Last night a friend and I attended an evening with the lovely Becky Chambers, author of the Wayfarers series (that's Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, A Closed and Common Orbit and Record of a Spaceborn Few) at Waterstones Gower Street, as part of their semi-regular #SciFiSessions. Having only read the first book in the series, I was curious to meet the author of what I thought was an unusual piece of sci-fi.

The weird thing about Long Way... for me was the fact it was narrated from several points of view. As you start reading you think you're about to sink into the story of an obviously main character-material girl, but abruptly you're shifted away from her and observe other characters just as closely. It's not something I've come across before and it shouldn't work. It kind of does though. And as I found out last night, that's probably because of just how much Becky loves her characters.

The audience was let in on the inner workings of her writing process, such as her locally hosted Wiki that helps her keep track of the universe she's created, including all characters and species. As it turns out, many of Becky's characters have in fact been inspired by the quirky ways of mother nature - having an astrobiologist mother certainly helped her here. Once her characters have been created, her partner - who happens to be a linguist - then helped her create the languages in her universe. You could say she's got good company.

But another thing that is different about Long Way... and the rest of the series too is how the sadness in them is balanced with a sort of warm humanity. She didn't set out to write the dark, looming dystopia that sci-fi so often tends towards nowadays (although who can blame it). She is against the "if it's a grown-up story, it has to be dark" notion. Her stories often deal with heavy topics, but she manages to do so without losing the charm and good-humoured nature of her writing.

My impression was that this is an author who doesn't care too much about the expectations of the sci-fi community - and the community loves her for it. She started her Wayfarers project on Kickstarter and built a solid fan base. She doesn't follow the same storyline in each book; they're just connected in one way or another. She doesn't dictate the order you should read her books in. Basically, she's pretty cool.

It was great to see an author in person who I'm counting on to keep building her name globally and I'm sure we'll be seeing more exciting things from her in the future - definitely one to keep an eye on.

Look at that queue!

PS. If you've never been to Waterstones Gower Street - like me - then do make a point of visiting. It's the most amazing shop with plenty of hidden reading corners, Hogwarts-like staircases and so, so, so, so, so many books. Plus the exterior is beautiful too.

It all hinged on p.397

I was already on page 396 and I was still going to give this book a bad review. Say, 5/10. Or worse. To be truthful, I nearly abandoned it at one point. Then on page 397, I suddenly broke down in loud sobs. It came out of nowhere. I was sitting on my sunny balcony and all of a sudden I was crying, loud and uncontrollably. I kept crying until I finished it, and then I cried some more. And I suddenly understood just how powerful this book is.

I had only ever read one book before that truly made me wince in pain - a book by Hungarian writer Móricz Zsigmond (that's Zsigmond Móricz for English-speakers, but it doesn't feel right) called Árvácska. Although the book hasn't been translated into English, there was a film version made in 1967 that bore the title of Nobody's Daughter. I read it very young. It's brutal. I didn't understand a lot of it (fortunately), but what I did was enough to make me cry and question my parents' decision of giving it to me.

My Absolute Darling by Gabriel Tallent feels like the adult version of that book.

The plot revolves around Turtle Alveston (or Julia at better times), who lives with her dad, Martin, in an isolated house in Mendocino, near the ocean and the woods. She is tough, she is a survivor and she learnt everything from her dad. They have a special relationship. She loathes women. She doesn't make friends. She isn't very good at school, but she's very good with guns and catching eels with her bare hands. Then she meets a boy from the outside, and everything starts to change. Let that be enough.

What did I like about it?

'Like' is a strong word here, because this book is very hard to read, plot-wise (and sometimes language-wise - more on that later). But it's a very strong story, one that draws you in inadvertently. Not only that, but while you're focusing on the plot, a thought is always lurking in the background - and that thought is probably Martin himself. Our monsters match up with Turtle's, and Tallent makes us feel almost exactly what she feels. This is actually a question explored in the book too - whether we're able to experience other people's feelings, their pain, just like we do ours. Is empathy real? Often in the novel, it seems not.

Even though a Guardian review points out that the second half of the book is more action-packed, there was only one section in the book where I felt Tallent gave us a brief breather - without spoiling anything, anyone who reads the book will know which part I mean. Other than that, I don't remember a single moment when I wasn't gripping my book tight and silently praying something positive would happen on the next page.

The characters also feel very real, which is what makes this book so terrifying. Turtle is the best young heroine I've encountered since His Dark Materials, and Lyra is a hard one to out-do. Her internal struggles are described so well that we shiver in terror. Know this: it's not a horror book. It's not even really a thriller. Waterstones says it's adventure fiction, others say it's coming-of-age. I feel that, other than literary fiction, I couldn't slot it into a box.

What was I not massively fond of?

In an interview at the end of my edition, Tallent makes a good point about why he spends so much time describing the surroundings and why they received special attention. His reasoning is fair. But I still often felt his descriptions went a little overboard - not necessarily in length, but certainly in language, which often felt like he was slamming on the breaks in the middle of a gripping moment.

"Behind each kelp heap, the wind cuts a V, leaving a gore where bark chips and bits of dried eelgrass accummulate, gyring and collapsing, toying together into balls."

Maybe it's just my English that isn't good enough, but I struggled with these kinds of sentences. Although it has to be said that it's admirable and lyrical - his vocabulary is impressive.

Another thought that often occurred to me is that sometimes, just sometimes, Turtle's thought were a little too obvious. We often follow her internal monologues, and on occasion she has thoughts that I just don't believe she would have at 14. The book really made me think about what I was like at the time - how mature I would have felt, what I would have understood of the adult world. And really only on a few occasions, but it did feel like she sounded a little too aware.

Finally, there is one action that Tallent keeps using and returning to: people wrapping and re-wrapping their hands around things (mostly steering wheels). It works at first, but I felt that some of that nature vocabulary could have gone instead towards finding more imagery to demonstrate people being nervous.

Overall...

The power of the book took me completely by surprise and my breakdown revealed how much it had really affected me. It is powerful stuff, and I ended up agreeing with Stephen King who praised this book to the heavens. Not with Celeste Ng though, who said 'It will shock, then shake, then inspire you'.

Oh no.

Make that it will shock and shake and shock and shake and shock and shake you a little more, then leave you in bits.

It's hard to believe this is a debut novel, but there you go. Everyone, everywhere, should read this.

8/10

Wait, Neil Gaiman, wait, wait...

2013? Are you serious?

Here I was thinking I was finally jumping on the Neil Gaiman bandwagon. I went back to Budapest and visited the Budapest Book Fair where, right next to Zadie Smith's Swing Time was this gorgeous-looking book by the much-reputed Neil Gaiman. 'Ha', I thought, 'it's time' and all that and I bought it, proud of myself, thinking I was picking up his latest and greatest.

Never mind though, because boy, this book is good.

Take an unnamed narrator who takes a visit to his old (now demolished) family home, then visits the neighbouring Hempstock farm where, as a seven-year-old, he made a friend for life. We fade into a recounting of the events of the time - and because I am trying not to spoil anything, let us say that magical, scary and scarring events ensue, mixing realism with fantasy in the most masterful way I've ever seen. Let's see.

What did I like about it?

What did I not? I couldn't tell you why, but from page three, I knew I would devour this book as fast as humanly possible.

One of the things I loved is this mix of realism and magical realism. We follow our narrator as he enters a world so far unknown to him, with his new friend, Lettie Hempstock - and images such as opals, a lake that is an ocean, purring cats and fresh milk are swimming in our heads already. I think Gaiman is an expert at waking up our inner child, and that's why the setting appealed to me so much. I used to be just like our narrator, engrossed in books and in love with exploring nature, dreaming of nothing more than a farm with a massive garden and my secret spots and my secret adventures. (Bit of a loner, really.) That's exactly what we get.

Similarly, the feelings that Gaiman wakes up in us are incredibly powerful. Within a few pages, I was surprised to see how upset I was. And there's no magic involved: this is because of very human experiences our narrator goes through, and the types that all of us know and remember deep down. There's an especially powerful scene towards the end between our narrator - sitting in a fairy circle - and his father which genuinely made me weep. That's how memories of feelings surface.

And finally, there are just small touches that are open to interpretation - regarding the Hempstocks, regarding our narrator's cat, regarding the opal miner, regarding Ursula Monkton (of course she's evil! No good character has ever been named Ursula. C'mon.) Even regarding the entire story itself. It is, quite simply, a pleasure.

(Plus all the beautiful imagery and language and cats.)

What was I not massively fond of?

Well... my version of the book cover had one of those awards stickers on it, and I think that deducted from the beauty of the cover.

...

Overall...

I have failed you, I know. But try as I might I really can't pick up on anything that I didn't like in this book.

Younger ones could read it (in daylight - it's scary!) and see a beautiful, sad fairy tale. Adults can read it and see layer upon layer upon layer. And beauty. In either case, you will devour it, I promise.

“Adults should not weep, I knew. They did not have mothers who would comfort them.”

Does this not make you want to cry already?...

10/10 (there I said it)

For a boost, turn to Ellen Bailey

Because children's books deserve attention too (and also because I lucked out and won a copy on Twitter from Buster Books) (and also because it's a good book) I thought I'd write up a brief review of I am a Wonder Woman by Ellen Bailey.

Published to coincide with International Women’s Day on 8th March this year, I am a Wonder Woman is one empowering activity book. Following the insane boom of Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls that shook children's publishing across the globe, we are seeing more and more books aimed at the younger generation that heralds the successes of notable women throughout history - and from ancient Egyptian royalty through activists, artists and scientists, there are notes on an extremely wide variety of women, their lives and their achievements. If that wasn't enough fun for you, each person is paired with a follow-up activity that helps think further about these people's lives, areas of work and what they believe(d) in.

What did I like about it?

As I mention above, there is a good selection of women discussed in the book from all parts of the world and all parts of history. The language is accessible too - in fact, so accessible that I'm not sure what age the book is intended for. (Yes, I definitely filled out most of the activities already. So what?) It's not crowded with years of birth and death - instead it focuses on the message that these people were/are trying to get out into the world, and how they are doing it.

The activities are also wide-ranging and, I must say, inspirational. Most of them are writing exercises, including a lot of self-reflection and fantasy situations, which I remember absolutely adoring as a kid. Remember how we never used to care as kids who would be reading what we write, or whether anyone would be reading it at all? Good times.

But there are quirkier challenges too. For example, for Ada Lovelace, readers are encouraged to write a step-by-step guide on how to build a cheese sandwich, thereby getting us to think about how programming works. It's clever.

What was I not massively fond of?

There is a slight inconsistency in the amount of information shared on the women, and although I understand that this is mostly to avoid having a monotone design pattern, I still think some of them deserved more spotlight than what they got. I think there were perhaps cleverer ways of changing the pages around than cutting down on text.

Another thing that I noticed - and I apologise for picking at the details, because I do love the illustrations - is that all the women are drawn in white. I know it's an illustrative choice, and perhaps I'm even interpreting it wrong and it's meant to convey a positive message about how skin colour doesn't matter. But I think that, perhaps thinking with a child's mind, this might be a little bit confusing.

There, hard part out of the way.

Overall...

Would I get this for my daughter? Yes, definitely. Would I get it for my baby boy? Even more so.

This is not a feminist book. This is a history book. And it's awesome. The combo of knowledge and motivational exercises really hits home, and I do hope that many smart parents will be picking it up.


7/10

My first encounter with Ian McEwan

I've read quite a few reviews of The Children Act by Ian McEwan before jumping into writing my own. I feel mine here may be a little more amateurish or impartial as I haven't read him before, even though I have intended to do so for a long time now - not to mention the fact I actually read this book in Hungarian (classic case of not taking enough books on holiday with me, then stealing what is available from my dad).

The Children Act tells the story of High Court judge Fiona Maye, living in a lavish apartment in London (was I the only one not aware that High Court judges get given lavish apartments? Time for a change in career maybe) dealing with a two-fold crisis in her life. One is personal, one is work-related, but both weigh in equally on the development of the story. While at home her marriage suffers a blow due to her husband, Jack, deciding to embark on what he calls one final affair, at work Fiona is dealing with a particularly sensitive case of a young Jehovah's Witness - 17 years of age - who is refusing blood transfusion to help treat his leukaemia. As both situations develop, Fiona has to say good bye to an old world order she has relied on for years.

What did I like about it?

First of all, the research. According to this Guardian review, McEwan does tend to have a fascination with "the great institutionalised authorities", in the past dealing with protagonists from the medical profession or a research scientist, but he has a way of getting the reader tangled up in it too. I found it amazing to be learning about the ins and outs of such a mystical, secretive profession, and didn't for a second feel like it was forced or made up. Clearly, the author has carried out extensive research, and it gives a steady leg for the novel to stand on.

Then, the humanity. This is literary fiction at its best. Fiona is an extremely human character, travelling on the spectrum of strong and stable to when emotions get in the mix. Choosing a judge as a main character, I believe, is completely justified here as although they make life-defining decisions on a daily basis (three or four times a day easily, it seems), at home they are just as fallible as any of us.

Another highlight is the language. As I mentioned, I read this in Hunagrian, but McEwan's readable, clear and strong sentences complete the success of the book. It's clear he has a particular writing style and tone of voice, which probably comes across in any language the book is translated into - and I cannot wait to read one of his works in English too to confirm this.

One final point I have to make here is how much I was amazed by the author's ability to make connections between occurrences and consequences. Fiona's work is clearly having an effect on her personal life, and as the novel proceeds, it becomes harder for her to separate the two. The effects become clearer and the nuance with which they seep into Fiona's mind and soul is subtle, yet incredibly powerful. I absolutely loved this.


What was I not massively fond of?

This is a tough one, but if I had to point just one thing out, it is perhaps Adam, the young Jehovah's Witness. I felt that some of his moves, some of his words were just a little over the top. Fiona's character is subtle and is more shown than told; McEwan tries to show us Adam too, but I felt it came across a bit forced. I know he is only 18, and 18-year-olds are still young and over-excited; but I felt he had so much more potential than was given, and the letters he sends Fiona later on in the novel betray the maturity that is being emphasised about his character.

The Telegraph also argued that religion isn't given a fair chance in the book - although I felt that, due to observing the story from Fiona's viewpoint, perhaps this was intentional. Have a read of this two-star review, see what you think.

Overall...

I don't know how The Children Act compares to McEwan's other works - my grandparents are constantly talking about Nutshell - but I'd say that, as a first read from him, he has me hooked.

There is no doubt that Ian McEwan is a great of contemporary literary fiction (and realism, according to the Guardian), and I am glad I finally came around to reading him. I would recommend this book whole-heartedly: it is incredibly sad, powerful and nuanced, and an example of what a good novel can achieve (make you cry, for example).

9/10

Michael Rutger stole my weekend

It took some time to figure out who I should name as author for this book. After some Googling, I can happily share that Rutger is indeed the newest writing name of Michael Marshall (or Smith), 'as part of a long-term goal to eventually become every author with the first name "Michael"' as he himself declares. I'm behind you, Michael.

I was recently sent a copy of The Anomaly, which is the author's newest book, due out in August in the UK. I wasn't familiar with Michael's work before and the proof copy came to me out of coincidence - but I was rather glad we found each other. After finishing it in two sittings (six hours on Saturday, six hours on Sunday) I had a look at some of his other works, and seeing as I really enjoyed his writing style, I think I will be looking at further books from all his alteregos.

The plot concerns Nolan Moore, star and host of the Anomaly Files, a YouTube channel with videos about unanswered questions, conspiracies, phenomena and the likes of. His newest idea takes him and the crew to the Grand Canyon, seeking a hitherto undiscovered cave that is only mentioned in archival material. Though, of course, when they finally discover the cave, they get a bit more than they bargained for.

What did I like about it?

Oh man, where do I begin? First of all, Michael's writing just flows off the page. This is a real page-turner, written almost like a tv series. Each chapter leaves you desperately wanting to read just one more chapter, just a little bit more (see my example of spending the entire weekend on the balcony, only getting up to make tea).

Although his characters are definitely not real world-realistic, they're fiction-realistic: that is to say, they fulfil their roles in the story perfectly. The chubby, funny guy; the smart, sarcastic girl; the innocent, always happy girl; the handsome young guy who we obviously envisage with just right muscles. And of course, Nolan: smart, confident but humble, our guide and best viewpoint for the story. He's a bit reminiscent of Robert Langdon, but the sticker on the cover already told you that...

The plot is gripping, too. From the beginning you have a hunch about where we're heading - up to a point at least - but the suspense is great. You read on, dreading. I'm not claustrophobic, but I still had to keep looking up at the sun to soak up a bit of light before plunging back (a good 60% of the book plays out in near-total darkness - obvs).

What was I not massively fond of?

A biggie is that it takes about half the book before sh*t gets real. There's only so long you can spend waiting for the big 'un to happen, but fortunately Michael finally brings it on us just when we're about to lose hope it's actually coming. So, he saves it, but I feel like it could have happened slightly earlier.

I also find that after all that suspense, I was waiting for something absolutely horrific to happen. Something terrifying from the other side. Blood and tears. Sorry, but if I'm going to be scared, I want to be really scared. And it is scary and weird, don't get me wrong! (It's so hard to write about this without spoilers.) But there were bits that just fell a bit flat for me, and bits that were just a bit funny. Also bits that will probably look super cool in the film adaptation, but I just had trouble imagining it as scary.

And finally, here too: the ending. The ending feels rushed. Compared to the massive build-up, the ending feels a bit quick, a bit out of pace with the rest of the book. It is solved quite simply. I would have liked some more smart twists here, seeing as the anomaly that the team finds is actually quite fascinating and complicated. I think the ending would have benefited from something similar.

Overall...

If you like your sci-fi intertwined with a bit of horror and a bit of knowledge, you will definitely love this. (Did I just describe the Da Vinci Code?) But also if you like a captivating read and don't mind a bit of gore.

The book strongly reminded me of several things: Cabin in the Woods, The Descent, Indiana Jones, and National Treasure are a few examples. (Forgive the film references, but I actually haven't read much in this field. Except for the Da Vinci Code.)

Keep an eye out especially for a scene involving our witty journalist, some water and some consequences. That one got me good.

7/10

Sylvie Winter's terrible idea

I mean, really. Planned surprises are never a good idea.

Disclaimer - I write this review as a total newbie to the genre. I don't really read women's fiction, and am only just starting on commercial fiction in general. But when you go on holiday, you aim to get something that's easy to read and is a page-turner, something that keeps you busy for hours on end. And that's kind of exactly what Sophie Kinsella's new novel, Surprise Me, is.

At the time of writing, it's down to second place on the UK charts (while Eleanor Oliphant is now back up to third place again - can you believe this gal?), but Surprise Me burst into the public consciousness in first place just a short while ago. So here was little me going on holiday and I thought, let's give it a go.

It's quite a cute premise: Sylvie and her husband, Dan, make a dreamy couple, finishing each other's sandwiches (sentences) and the whole shebang. Then they attend a standard insurance health check and are told they're so damn healthy they'll probably get to be married for at least another 68 years. And then they panic (understandably). Sylvie's idea is to shake things up by constantly surprising each other with gifts, acts and the rest - but then, surprises can go two ways, and when they go wrong, they go really wrong. So there's your setup.

What did I like about it?

It's a very catchy story, first of all, and the language hits close to home. Her thought process, her acts, her ways - Sylvie is a very believable character (right up to the end, but more on that later). In fact, pretty much all characters are believable - or perhaps they just fit well into this type of story. The best friend, the best friend's witty son, the mean guy at work, the kind, smart neighbour. It's all there.

The story structure is solid, and the build-up keeps you turning pages. The inciting incident happens pretty much straight away, and you're hooked into the story with it. There are no boring bits, there's always something going on. Kinsella makes us feel what Sylvie feels throughout, and especially when jealousy kicks in (that's no spoiler). Then a little crazy. Then loads of crazy. We feel you Sylvie.

What was I not massively fond of?

Let's start at the end. The ending. It all ends with a completely expected twist - the only way you don't see it coming is if you haven't read the book - and a cheesy, romantic act on behalf of Sylvie, who at this point loses all credibility. All of a sudden, she takes charge. She can do everything. She's changed. Now that's just ugh. But on the other hand, why would you read a book like this if you didn't expect such an ending?

Another thing is, without giving away spoilers, I almost wish there wasn't a twist at the end, and everything we'd assumed throughout the book was true. Then we'd feel righteous. We'd feel justified. It could be one of those cases where a crazy woman was, for once, rightfully crazy. But not today, ladies.

There are also some speed bumps in the text that we could have done without, which clearly just move the plot forward but only help show the edges in an otherwise credible character. Some blurts. Some actions. Some coincidences. I think that, if Kinsella wanted to, she could easily get rid of these and go about it a bit smarter.

Overall...

This is, for me, an ideal beach read. It's not a complicated story. It's not something that requires 100% attention at all times. It gets saucy, too.

Women's fiction is not my cup of tea, but this is probably a great example of the genre, and kudos to Kinsella for writing so many great ones. I can see why she's successful. More books from Kinsella = more holidays for me.

8/10

Not to be confused with Hereditary...

... Hereditation, James Smythe's first published novel, was a bit of an anomaly for me.

[Full disclosure: not counting Ernest Hemingway, I would probably say James is my favourite author. I have a soft spot for pretty much all his novels so far.]

But somehow, I wasn't even aware that Hereditation existed until I've finished reading all of his books, finishing up with his most recent one, I Still Dream - which, by the way, is an amazing read.

Then, having discovered an ancient podcast episode in which James is interviewed, Hereditation was revealed to me as a book that he isn't particularly keen on, being his first novel, and in fact he still claims it is simply not good. What would you do if your favourite author said something like that? Would you read it, risking actually not liking a piece of his work - or not read it, and keep up the illusion? In the end, I decided to read it and decide for myself.

Hereditation tells the story of the Sloane family, focusing on a pair of twins, Maynard and Erwin Sloane. After their father's death, they discover a box filled with letters and documentation about their ancestors, and Maynard begins to piece together the story of the family - at the same time identifying a pattern of tragedy and brutality. Throughout this time the brothers' lives are changing, spiraling into different directions - and seemingly following a familiar pattern...

What did I like about it?

While his more recent books could all be categorised as sci-fi, James' first novel could be a lot of things. There's a bit of horror, tragedy, love and disaster. It might even classify as literary fiction  - slightly reminiscent of One Hundred Years of Solitude, it is possible to lose track of the Sloane family members as their episodes interchange with the present day family struggles.

The book is also deliciously dark. There are amazing images conjured up throughout, including a living room filled to the brim with magazines, constructing a second wall; a dark upper floor with a Schrodinger mother in bed who may or may not be alive. It weaves together stories and reality; it's repulsive and fantastical at the same time. You can almost smell the dust settling on the old Sloane house as you read through, and throughout you are gripped by some kind of foreboding,  a sort of inevitability.

What was I not massively fond of?

It's clear that at this point in time, James' writing style and voice haven't quite developed (duh, it's his first novel). There are lots of clauses in brackets which aren't strictly necessary; lots of side details that don't add to the story.

I also felt that although the idea of the structure worked - the contemporary story interchanging with individual ancestor stories - sometimes it was a bit muddled, as the inserted stories, on occasion, also concerned contemporary characters. So, although we do want to know their backstories out of curiosity, I thought it may have worked better if these are kept within the main story, and the injected sections are kept for the ancestors.

Finally, it does take a while for an inciting incident to occur. The first of these doesn't really move the plot along (a new addition to the Sloane house) - at first, at least. She is key to the story but the first real change or occurrence comes later. Although if we think of it as literary fiction, I don't think it's necessary to blow up a house in the second chapter. The plot is subtle and slow at first, and I truly don't mind it.

Overall...

If you're looking to read something from James, this is not where I would start: I recommend The Machine or The Testimony, both of which are standalone novels and they are - as Waterstones likes to say - unputdownable.

But James: please stop trashing this book. It's a good read. It's full of great ideas and strong imagery. It's tragic and brutal. It's good creepy. And it definitely has a spot on my shelf.

6/10

Salmon out of water

I have very recently finished reading Kings of the Yukon by Adam Weymouth - an account of a beautiful journey, starting in Canada and - 2,000 miles later - finishing in Alaska. The inspiration came from the simple fact I don't really get to go on exciting trips, due to money and, if I'm very honest, company (those I would really choose as travel partners unfortunately have even less time or money than me, and otherwise I'm a total loner). So when I picked up Kings of the Yukon, it suddenly opened my eyes to a whole genre I have so far avoided, albeit unintentionally.

What did I like about it?
I found the visual powers of his writing very strong. Adam is very good at painting a picture not just of the scenery but of the smells, sounds, atmosphere and even his own mindset. This makes the book extremely engaging. From his fear of encountering bears through his awe of nature and to the lives of people he meets, he doesn't let the reader forget that what he is writing about are true events and places.

His entire adventure is fantastical. You get a real sense of just how much he was able to connect with nature on his trip, being surrounded by miles and miles of uninhibited land, and was easily able to make me jealous. It's captivating, and hard to imagine. It reads almost like fiction, being so far away from anything I've ever seen. And the top tip: when I finished, I immediately jumped on Google Earth to scout some pictures of Alaska and the Yukon - not finding much, but what I saw felt like a tale of fiction coming to life. It's amazing that these places and people and traditions actually exist, and Adam brings us right into the middle of it. Recommend watching the BBC's Alaska mini-series afterwards.

Another point is that this book is extremely timely. A lot of the issues discussed here are closely related to global warming and our exploiting natural resources to the last drop - it reminded me of the ideas and predictions in Homo Deus. It's saddening to think that unless we all collaborate - and is that even possible? - our earth, our way of life will continue to change radically.

And finally - in case you were wondering where the salmon comes in - the trip and research is centred around the salmon population of the Yukon, and Earth itself. Not only do we learn fascinating details about the life cycle of the salmon, you will also never look at your supermarket salmon fillet the same way. (Keep an eye out for a juicy secret on M&S salmon especially.)

What was I not massively fond of?
Not much, but I did feel that in some places the structure of the book took an odd turn. That is to say, sometimes Adam would hand over the voice of the narrator to some unintroduced individuals, and although they continue just as well, it still feels a bit odd as a reader. It also jumps back and forth in time a little, which can get confusing.

I also found that sometimes his writing became a bit too poetic for my liking - a little too romantic, a little clichéd, perhaps. It has to be said though that this type of language definitely does not work when spoken out loud - see Adam's TEDx video to get a gist of what I mean (and see if you agree). But then again, that's why he's a travel writer and not a travel public speaker.

Overall...
Despite some personal preferences, I very much enjoyed Adam's book and would highly recommend this beautiful piece of travel writing to anyone dreaming of a wild adventure, or just curious to learn something new. Adam is extremely experienced and has clearly done a massive amount of research in writing the book, and his knowledge comes across crystal clear. Well done to Particular Books for getting this into our hands.

8/10

Five books that are jumping my reading queue

Visiting a book shop for me is like going food shopping with an empty stomach. Except it's applicable at all times.

I cannot be the only one who always seems to have too many books to read before I can pick freely what I want to read next. It's delightful, but it's still a chore. Skipping ahead is unforgivable, so I only do it with every other book. Now, though, with the summer peak, it's getting harder to prioritise.

Below are five books that are about to make the leap from my to-read shelf to my backpack.

I don't know much about Patrick Gale (shame on me, this is his 16th novel), or about Take Nothing With You - but this I know: that is one fabulously beautiful title. Second, I know it is going to be sad, and my kind of sad. Emotional, lonely, heartbreaking and I also bet it's really well written. 

A nostalgic aura is invoked in all the blurbs: something like À la recherche du temps perdu (of which I only read one book so far - perhaps when I'm older). And the story is set off by a musical singularity, sounding like it shouldn't be anything major, yet it sets the story in motion. That is true skill, the type I long for.

Raising Sparks by Ariel Kahn is the next book on my list. Apart from the fact he was one of my most admired lecturers at university, I am extremely excited to discover some hidden depths of Jewish mysticism - for example, did you know that in the Kabballah, God is a woman? Ariel has recently dropped such small baits and more in this piece on Female First. 

I have absolutely no doubt that Ariel's first novel is going to be a real treat, both in terms of story and language. I cannot wait to get my hands on this.

This one's an odd ball, so obviously I am really looking forward to it. Going through a rough time, I recently bought my first ever self-help book (You Do You by Sarah Knight), which did absolutely nothing for me. Disappointed, but determined, I am still looking for my next venture into the world of self-help. But in the meantime, I will be reading Marianne Power's Help me! because she went a whole year reading self-help books and seeing whether they would help.

Well, did they? I must find out.

Do I want to read essays and anecdotes by Kimmy Schmidt? Yes. Yes I do. I am expecting fun, laughs, cuteness - I know she's not technically Kimmy, but... I mean... she is. According to Hodder & Stoughton, Tina Fey actually developed the tv series around her personality. So who's laughing now?

In any case, I have no doubt Ellie Kemper's My Squirrel Days is going to be one cheery read, and the perfect antidote for when autumn starts to set in. Plus, I'm guessing she'll be coming around to the UK to sign some stuff sooo... see you there.

Dystopia is unbeatable, and Rachel Heng's Suicide Club sounds especially enticing. The whole concept seems to me widely original: people are able to live forever - but not everyone wants to. Ultimately, what would you prefer?

There's also a juicily harsh world of organ-trading instead of stocks and if it's well-written too (which I'm assuming it is, with all the attention it's already getting), this one deserves special merit in contemporary dystopian novels. If you're London-based, you're also going to want to attend Blackwell's Dark Societies next week. I'm gutted I can't.