Really Good, Actually | Monica Heisey | Book review

Bearing in mind that this book could well be about me, the claim that it is depressingly relatable may not be universally true. Nevertheless, with a female protagonist of 29-30 who fills over 300 pages with mostly self doubt, for me, Really Good, Actually by Monica Heisey was unputdownable. 

I've read too many books with female protagonists whose support group is more than believably supportive, living in London yet somehow managing to be at said protagonist's house in a crisis within 20 minutes. Honey, if you live in Woolwich and she in Wandsworth, that ain't happening. Not even if you're loaded, which these clichéd, adoring friends somehow normally are. The forceful cheeriness of fictional WhatsApp groups who love each other oh so much are so done in my opinion.

Fortunately, that's not the case here - in fact, I felt it was a bonus that this book is set in Toronto, giving enough colour to make it feel more warm and true but removed from the metropolis that I'm familiar with. The support group is present, but no friend gets more, or less, characteristics pinned on them than is needed, and in fact they manage to act like normal people most of the time. (Okay, fine, one character's message does read 'Be there in 20' as if people have nothing to do all day but respond to friend emergencies, but as we learn in the book Toronto is small, and I can overlook it this one time anyway.)

The story can be summed up simply: Maggie, 29, is a very normal main character. She is an adjunct professor, teaching and working on her PhD. ('Jon had joked about me stepping forward on an airplane: 'Are there any doctors on board?' 'Yes! What part of Coriolanus is he struggling with?') Crucially though, she is going through a divorce. And losing custody of her cat. When you open the cover of this book, you grab your suitcases and march on into her head, where you'll be making a home until the end, including hilarious lists of Google searches and hypothetical scenarios which end each chapter, adding that touch of lightness. 

Maggie's internal monologues are self-deprecating, biased against herself: negativity piles about her body, her actions, her entire being as a person (bad daughter, bad friend, bad everything). And although yes, she has flaws - as we all do - it is weirdly uplifting to read such a negative view of another's self and be able to think, 'don't be so hard on yourself'. Perhaps this is what is so loveable about this book: by cultivating compassion for someone who is just like us, we as readers can stop and imagine being this compassionate towards our own selves as well. Just imagine!

Importantly, Maggie is not kooky, or depressed in a cute way, and her friends only tolerate her meltdowns up to a point. She is sometimes rude, sometimes insensitive, and this is what makes her believeable and a pleasure to spend time with.

Although the novel follows the simple story arc where things go from good to bad to really bad to hopefully better, it is full of bittersweet surprises and human decisions, interactions and occurrences. It is a story of a divorce that somehow manages to avoid melodrama, even when things don't go as originally planned - the amicable, reasonable breakup we'd all want but none of us can make happen in the end. In fact, refreshingly, the ex-husband barely features in person, and is more hinted at through memories and second degree interactions. 

The only slight crime, if we need to poke holes, is the overuse of the word 'bashfulness', but if that's all, believe you me we're in good hands.

Ultimately, this is easy reading that still manages to make you feel like your heart is broken (I kept reaching over and grabbing my husband's hand for reassurance). I loved Maggie and I will miss her honest rambles, and her 3am burger deliveries, and her therapeutic online shopping, and her too many hashbrowns for breakfast. In fact, I'm slightly annoyed I can't get a McDonald's breakfast delivery right now.

Conversations with Friends | Sally Rooney | Book Review

 

I was just re-reading my review of Normal People, the second book by Sally Rooney, and I was surprised to see that apparently I was put off reading her first, Conversations with Friends, by Goodreads reviews - strange, looking at it now.

True, I had bought this a few weeks back and every time I thought about what to read next, I kept putting it off. What could this book really offer? - I wondered. Is it just hype? "Two couples' relationships become messily entangled in this mordantly funny debut that established Rooney as the formidable new voice of a generation," reads the Waterstones description. Am I to blame that I thought this is going to be a cliché?

Then, of course, I should have known better. Similarly to Normal People, it isn't the premise that's going to make this book - it's that, and everything else, as it turns out.

What did I like about it?

Just like in her second book, Rooney demonstrates a sharp eye for details that are so obvious that most writers today just don't bother describing them, perhaps. Or perhaps it's that cool detachment that, to me, is so characteristic of her writing - a kind of alien, removed point of view that presents everyday feelings and conversations as something novel and fascinating. Simple words and expressions gain superpowers - it's your life, all our lives, on LSD.

I enjoyed the power of longing throughout, like when Frances, the young narrator, desperately longs to be understood and cared for - "I wanted to tell him about the hospital then, because he was in such a nice mood with me, and he might say consoling things, but I knew it would make the conversation serious. I didn't like cornering him into having serious conversations," - instead of feeling the usual darkness of wanting to disappear, feeling like she could disappear without a trace. "I decided to drink as much milkshake as I could without taking a breath. When my mouth started hurting I didn't stop. I didn't stop when my head started hurting, either. I didn't stop until Bobbi said: Frances, are you planning to drown there? Then I looked up like everything was normal and said: what?".

How many times have we said 'what?' just to elongate that second of attention we received just then?

I love the feelings that the story stirs up through a plot that most of us have come across thousands of times, and yet here it feels fresh and new, like we ourselves are feeling those feelings for the first time. Hands touching by accident; eyes locking in public spaces where they shouldn't; a first, stolen kiss in a storage room, all presented with style and modesty that stops it from ever feeling like a cliché. The writing is truly masterful. And when it all goes wrong, as we all know it will, we feel the hurt that Frances feels deeply, like it's our heart that is being broken. It is so unique and so powerful for this effect on readers to be achieved through words.

There's also a lot of subtle explorations of the self versus what we want others to think - a crucial theme in the book. "I don't want you to think that I like her"; "I laughed to myself although there was no one there to see me.". It's a constant struggle that's depicted through simple conversations - who can play it cooler - and small acts of rebellion. I think it's the subtlety of these small acts that make this book so brilliant, to me anyway.

What was I not massively fond of?

The only thing that I could highlight, if I had to, is the story line of Frances' endometriosis. Not the story line itself, in fact, which works very well; just the elements that sometimes step into the over-dramatic, for me. Just to reiterate this is by no means to discredit these absolutely truthful and valid experiences of this difficult condition. It is just that there seems to be a tendency in new books, concerning young women, for the protagonists to have an excuse to faint or be seriously ill, so that the love interests and friends have to dial it down and be nice to them again.

Recent examples include Queenie and Promising Young Women, both of which widely overstepped the melodrama line in the sand in my opinion.

But that's only if you really want me to say something in this section.

Overall

Do you need any more convincing?

This is a shockingly brilliant debut novel, followed by a similarly brilliant second book. It digs deep into our hearts and souls and examines us with a magnifying glass. It points to shadowy corners and memories long forgotten - 'look, it's still there!' - yeah, thanks Sally, I was trying to bury that?

I'm really looking forward to more works from her. Her writing honestly makes me feel like a living, breathing, feeling human again, and lifts me above the grey everydays.

9/10

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