The Testaments by Margaret Atwood | Book Review | The sequel nobody asked for

Here's a sequel nobody asked for - here's a sequel everybody asked for. Apparently.

I can't remember why I picked up The Handmaid's Tale in the first place - I think it was a title that kept cropping up over time, and once I decided to find out what it was actually about (and discovered it was a dystopia) I had to have it. You know how I am with dystopias. 

Precisely because The Handmaid's Tale (first published in 1985) was so good, so readable, so claustrophobic, so horrific, I felt conflicted about a sequel. It's been a while since 'the first' book (I refuse to call it that except ironically). My boyfriend was born and raised, for example. There was also a god awful TV series loosely based on the book. Could the Canadian queen revisit this tale after so many years and create a similarly gripping piece of work?

What did I like about it?

My answer is no. There were things I liked: for example, obviously, Margaret Atwood is still a literary queen, and her writing doesn't falter for a second. It's gripping, page-turning, exciting stuff that reads like the best YA thriller. There is also her usual sarcasm - "All that was necessary was a law degree and a uterus: a lethal combination." - but I would have loved more of this.

It was also a gripping story, packed with action. Despite myself, I couldn't help read it as fast as I could, always onto the next point of action, always onto the consequences. It was nice to read something that made me turn off the TV and spend the evening reading instead. That is power.

But now onto the second section, which, for what is probably the first time, will be longer...

What as I not massively fond of?

What people are calling a sequel feels to me more like a distant cousin. In no way does this book relate to The Handmaid's Tale in my mind. It might be set in the same universe but, as if holding up a curved mirror, all the power of THMT gets lost in this piece - none of the dark, terrifying, just-about-realistic-enough horror remains, none of that feeling of absolute and utter helplessness, where every step you take might cost you your life. This is a lax, loose, easy universe, where blasphemy can be casually overlooked and be done with by a blush. Just like the TV series, the rules are bent and loosened, and through these gaps all the power of the original story seeps through and disappears.

It is, of course, nice to see inside the head of Aunt Lydia, a figurehead of THMT in maintaining, promoting and educating on Gilead order. One of three story lines, hers is probably the most powerful one - if only in the beginning while we find out her backstory - but unfortunately falters, like the others, towards the end to become a simple action-packed thriller with no real depth in my view. It's all about the action, without any of the subtlety.

Of the other two story lines and narrators, one starts out promisingly: it's the story of someone who grew up within the regime and actually guards fond memories of her childhood, despite the hardships and rigid rules. When this story ties in with the third narrator's though, it once again loses its power: and the third story line, an unashamedly young adult story of a genuinely annoying teenager, had nothing to give me. It was that of a depthless, cliché character.

I could talk about how everyone seems to be able to become an aunt in Gilead nowadays; I could talk about how suddenly the Eyes are much less observant than in THMT; I could complain about how the book seems to have taken some elements from the TV show, which to me is an absolute no no. But instead I'll mention the biggest opportunity that I think was missed here: I never really accept how Aunt Lydia becomes Aunt Lydia. This would have been the perfect opportunity to be nuanced in demonstrating how a rigid system comes into being with the support of those who may have once opposed it ferociously; how the oppressed become the oppressors without realising. But here, there's only square one and square two as far as I could see.

Not to mention a strong hint at a happy ending, which is, quite frankly, a bit disappointing.

Overall...

It was this Guardian review that really put a finger on the problem for me: it points out that in THMT, one of the most powerful forces was that of not knowing things:

"There is no doubt that Atwood is on top form here. But still it feels as if something crucial is missing.

Or perhaps not missing enough, for didn’t the strength of the first book lie precisely in its daring ambiguities, its unapologetic refusal to elucidate? Surely one of the reasons Gilead managed to be so spookily convincing was that Atwood cunningly chose to leave so many of its edges blurry. Interiors, furniture, food, clothes, linen were described with all of the deft shadow and gleam of a Dutch painting – and the same, incidentally, is true in this book – but beyond that, we only had the vaguest hints of how the larger world worked. The most trenchant and exciting fiction almost always amounts to an act of conjuring – and in Atwood’s gracefully necromantic hands, Gilead’s regime didn’t seem to require much explanation or justification." 

Offred was kept in the dark and could only really show us, the readers, what she could see - the uncertainty that resulted from this was overwhelming. It was brilliant.

With The Testaments though, we see and hear all, much like the aunts; and although for them, it's a virtue, as a reader it doesn't provide nearly as much enjoyment as following a handmaid.

I'm so sorry that the combined efforts of an appalling TV adaptation and ridiculous hype have ruined any enjoyment I could have gotten out of The Testaments. Not to mention the fact that no part of me, not one percent, agrees that this should have won the Booker prize.

I'm sorry Margaret. I'll keep to your earlier stuff instead.

3/10

Thou shalt not covet

It's been quite a few days since I finished reading The Power by Naomi Alderman. Over a week or so, actually. So why did I wait so long to review it?

Apart from being lazy, I actually wanted some time to digest it. I've been very much looking forward to reading this book, but I thought I was in for some juicy dystopian literature with a slight tendency towards young adult (YA) fiction. I certainly wasn't expecting anything heavy. Well, there you go.

The Power imagines a world not too different from ours in its set-up, but girls and women all over the planet are beginning to wake up to a new power they possess: electric currents under their skin, coming through their fingers, manifesting in (literally) shocking capacities. What happens when women suddenly represent the stronger sex? What happens when they take over?

What did I like about it?

I love the fact that the premise behind The Power is so simple, yet so brilliant. So what? Girls can now win fights. But as the plot develops along the usual axis - religion, military, education - it is quickly becoming clear that it's no utopian quick-fix for the patriarchy.

It is also brilliantly dark, building tension throughout. We follow several different characters and their stories, and as we get to know them so the plot unfolds on several lines, to connect towards the end and make for an even darker ending that left me a bit open-mouthed. I think a large part of this is well-crafted present tense: "Mother Eve speaks slowly and carefully. Mother Eve measures her words. Nothing that Mother Eve says is without consequence."

It reads like a prophecy, like absolute certainty, and I do think this contributes to the weight of this book. Yes, timely, yes, #MeToo, all that stuff - but had it been written decades ago, it would feel just as relevant. It is an idea for a new world order, resting on one 'small' change in our society. It's brutal, too, and makes for quite heavy reading at times. Which is probably why the Guardian deemed it 'an instant classic of speculative fiction'. As Becky Chambers once famously said, there's an assumption that "if it's a grown-up story, it has to be dark".

What was I not massively fond of?

I think it's a shame that the author created a framework around the story. The book opens with an exchange of letters between someone called Neil from the Men Writers Association and someone called Naomi... whom we assume is the author, no? So it gets a tad confusing when this turns out to be a fictional exchange, set in the world that is being described in the book (which I totally did not pick up on until the very end).

Also the illustrations: artefacts proving the 'history' of this new world order. I don't think they were needed at all - if anything, these are the reason that some people think of The Power as straight-up YA fiction. It's a shame, because it's an adult picture in a YA frame.

Writers, trust yourselves. This is a great novel. It doesn't need crutches.

Finally, while some characters, I felt, got all the development they could need and more, some of them felt very shallow. In particular, for me, Roxy was one; I could not picture her as anything else than fictional, with her cockney accent and her devil-may-care attitude. That doesn't mean I didn't like her - but while the others sped ahead, I felt she was a bit stranded.

Overall...

Because it's well-written and because it decidedly explores some very dark concepts, of course I was a sucker for this book. Yes, it has some simplistic elements, but in the world of dystopian or speculative fiction, it definitely stands out for me for being firmly rooted in reality and creating a chilling image.

I wanted to say 'deliciously chilling', but you know what? It's scarier than that. It's not delicious. It's bitter as f*ck.


7/10

First rule of Suicide Club: we don't really want to talk about it

Rachel Heng's Suicide Club caught my attention for several reasons. First of all: that's one sexy cover - even sexier when you hold it in your hands and realise that the heart and text is embossed. Second, and I think everyone who has read the book will agree with me: the concept is awesome. It sounded like a juicy dystopia, just the kind I like - a changed hierarchy of values, and aspirations not exactly foreign to us, but just out of reach. The moment I found out about it, I put it on my reading list (along with four other awesome books).

The novel tells the story of Lea and Anja - the two representatives of the different values of this dystopian future, where the main aim of the mysterious Ministry is to make immortality available. Lea has everything: a handsome boyfriend, 100 years behind her and counting, a great job, excellent benefits. She's at the top of the list of people eligible for immortality. Anja, on the other hand, is quiet, poor and lives with a shell of a mother who is basically now on life support, with only her heart being conscious of the life still running through her. The mysterious Suicide Club is a terrorist organisation, with its members killing themselves on camera to send a message: not everyone wants to live forever.

That's in a nutshell, but I'm struggling a bit to sum up what the book is really about.

What did I like about it?

To go back to my original point: I very much enjoyed the concept. Heng's idea is really quite original in a modern literary field littered with dystopias of all kinds. It doesn't seem far fetched either: if you've read Homo Deus, you'll know that Harari, among others, believes that the aspiration of the modern man is to lengthen their life span, ultimately aiming for immortality in all likeliness.

There are also some scenes in the book that are extremely visual and very well presented - images that linger on, even as you move through the story. One scene, where Lea and Anja take a dip in a top-floor swimming pool, is extremely strong: not just the view, but the sights, sounds, the breathing, the drips. These golden nuggets are the best parts of the book.

What was I not massively fond of?

From the very beginning, it felt that Heng gave a lot more attention to describing every minute detail of the world she's created than to actually moving the story along. I feel she got tangled up in the logic of the story: while creating the dystopia, she didn't give sufficient attention to people's motivations. I know, because I've tried writing a sci-fi novel. When coming up with a new world, you're desperately trying to make the reader understand how it works - but in the process you lose sight of what's important. I think that may have been the case here.

The structure of the book is also a bit confusing. Sometimes, without warning, we jump back in time to Lea's childhood, and I felt that the scenes there remain without explanation or consequence. In addition, the story itself takes so many turns that you have trouble figuring out where we're really heading, and what we're trying to achieve. All the characters seem to change from page to page; a particular one that I wasn't keen on was George. His motivation, background, or even current occupation just didn't make sense to me. But Lea, too, felt like an odd leading lady. Truthfully, as a child, she is painted as severely troubled. In the future (present) though, she seems normal; then odd; then outright brutal. I want to say, crazy. Sometimes. But then she'd abruptly shift back into logical. I didn't quite follow.

In addition, despite the idea of immortality certainly worthy of exploring, I felt that it was exactly this idea that barely got any stage time. Yes, Lea's father represents the struggle, but even his motivations often remain unclear. I feel a lot more could have been done in this direction; in fact, this could have been the central idea of the novel. And maybe it was. But I don't think it was strong enough.

Overall...

I think that, despite a very good concept, the book falls flat because of its many arms - none of them are quite followed through. I was unable to sympathise with any of the characters, therefore leaving me a bit cold and disinterested.

Maybe if it had been split into more than one book, Heng could have explored all her ideas separately, and it would have been the excellent dystopia it should be. Instead, this book feels, to me, unfortunately uneven, messy and unsure of itself.

5/10

Celebrating #YAWeek with two trilogies

Because Goodreads is celebrating Young Adult Week (that's #YAWeek for you Twitter-heads), I thought I'd share a quick post on my two favourite young adult trilogies - the best things do come in threes.

One of them will, of course, need no introduction, and perhaps now that The Book of Dust is out, Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials series may no longer count as a trilogy (although, according to Wikipedia, this next trilogy will be a companion to the original trilogy). 

Why should you read all three?

If you haven't yet read His Dark Materials - and I'm talking to both youngs, young adults and adults here - you are probably worried you'll be tricked into some average, churned out fantasy world, the likes of which overcrowd the 'fantasy' shelves in book stores. Right? Yeah, those series can be intimidating, especially with new books constantly being added to the series. You just can't be asked for that kind of responsibility.

This trilogy is not like that. This is quite simply a masterpiece, carefully disguised at first as any other easy-reading fantasy novel, then slowly shifting into something unexpected. It discusses themes that even an adult often grapples with - the importance (and reality) of a soul, consciousness, love, death and most of all, sacrifice. The characters are incredibly human and therefore hold our hearts in their hands. Often they stamp on it, for good reason. This is masterful writing - I can only imagine how hard it must be to craft novels that speak to all ages. But turn to Philip Pullman if you're looking for a master of the art.

If you've met me, or even know about me, you probably saw this coming. James Smythe's (writing as J.P. Smythe at the time) Australia trilogy is full-force young adult science fiction, crafted with the expertise I've come to expect from this author. After giving us the first two books of his Anomaly quartet (we're still due two glorious episodes), James took a trip to young adult world and left a trail for aficionados - here's your invitation. 

Why should you read all three?

No pressure. Read one. Good luck with not reading the other two.

I think it was these books that really developed my love for James' writing, because to create something so addictive requires serious talent. You can't tell, when you're writing, whether your book is going to be unputdownable; you just hope. And these books really are. Again, with some of the topics tackled in here, I wondered how old my child would have to be before I gave it to them - there's blood. And bones. And horror. But above all a gripping storyline and a powerful heroine, left to fend for herself on a spaceship cast out into space - but why? Can they ever return to Earth? And if they do, will there be anything left for them?

There are so many surprises along the way, so many interesting characters and ideas. I was especially fond of a character named Rex; her transformation, her story, her exercise regime (which got me running again). 

Unlike His Dark Materials, I do feel you need to be into sci-fi to read this, and not mind language that often aims to help younger readers access the story - but this by no means diminishes its value. In fact, this is why it's a gem of the genre: it's the genre, done well.

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.

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

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

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.