Murder in the Senate

Would you say that Circe by Madeline Miller is historical fiction? It's debatable, because the setting for the book - Greek mythology - isn't exactly history, per say (although accompanied by real events). So perhaps it's more accurate to call it fictional history.

The Year of the Snake by M.J. Trow and Maryanne Coleman, on the other hand, is pure historical fiction. The married couple has written several books, and Mei (M.J.) has written over 100 books in total. It's worth having a look at his website - the sheer number of projects he's taken on is quite fascinating.

This book probably isn't something I would have picked up, I suppose mostly because a, I wasn't aware I enjoyed historical fiction and b, I wasn't aware I enjoyed a murder mystery. And perhaps, as it were, I wouldn't enjoy those things separately - but combined into one, they made a hugely entertaining read.

The Year of the Snake tells the story of Calidus, a recently freed slave. After his master suddenly passes away, Calidus isn't convinced that his death was entirely natural, and begins a city-wide investigation in Rome. The micro level is accompanied by a day-to-day glimpse into the reign of Nero, his follies and obsessions, as well as the sights, sounds and smells of ancient Rome itself.

What did I like about it?

Upon reading the short summary, you may - like me - think this sounds a bit too much like basically every murder mystery ever written, except for the addition of a historical setting. Like me, you'd be wrong though. What the blurb doesn't make clear is that this book doesn't take itself too seriously. It is written in a quite light-hearted, often satirical tone, and adds a pinch of salt to the story through it. Perhaps 'cheeky' is the best word here.

Thanks to this, and also to the research that's clearly gone into this book, I think the writing is excellent. It's very easy reading - perfect for a lazy Sunday or the pool side. You'd be surprised how exciting ancient Rome can be. Details on Roman baths, the Senate, death rituals and the circus all indulge the reader and lead us into the setting of the novel very well. It's quite immersive, which is really what you'd want from any piece of historical fiction.

I also thought that the details about Nero and his reign added another level of interest. He is one of the most interesting characters in Roman history, and the authors give excellent details about his banquets, his habits and his whimsical ways - something of general interest, I believe, surrounded by an air of mystery due to his madness. So it's a clever addition, and in fact ties in with the story eventually too.

What was I not massively fond of?

Is it just me who is bothered about the constant swearing in historical dramatisations? From this book through to the Spartacus TV series, I keep seeing an excessive amount of swearing from Romans. Is this really how they spoke? I have no idea. And fair enough, things like "Jupiter Highest and Best" settle well enough as cursing - but when it comes to "shitting his pants", I'm just not sure it adds so much to the depth. (Then again, if you scroll back through this blog, you'll see me complaining about swearing in basically any book, so maybe I am a prude and it is just me.) But I have to admit, it does add to the comic elements of the novel.

I felt that the characters in the book were somewhat shallow, in the sense that apart from Calidus (our main man) we don't really get a deeper insight into their minds. But then again, for a light-hearted murder mystery, we don't really need to know about daddy issues and childhood trauma.

I'm also not going to pretend that the ending wasn't somewhat predictable - you do get slapped in the face with a few red herrings, but ultimately I'm sure you'll be pretty accurate in your guesses. Towards the end, there are also a few things dropped in that I think weren't absolutely necessary as they don't add to the conclusion (such as the Bacchanalia cult), although they were quite interesting to read about.

Overall...

As I mention above, this is a fun read for a lazy day or the poolside. Hugely entertaining details on an exciting historical period, coupled with a relentless (tenacious?) lead and lots of comic relief characters. Although sometimes the authors can't resist giving us a brief history lesson, for the most part this book is highly visual, entertaining and keeps you turning pages despite yourself.

A word on the ending (more accurately the last sentence): I don't know if it's intentionally satirical or I'm just reading too much into it, but extra points for the subtle humour.

It also opened my eyes to historical fiction in general. Watch out genre, here I come.

6/10

Sophie Mackintosh's haunting debut

The Water Cure by Sophie Mackintosh first caught my attention when I read an interview with her about the book. First of all, as you know by now, I can't resist a juicy dystopia - and what started out as sci-fi and evolved into a carefully crafted, masterful and unique story was sure to be of my liking. 

In the interview, Sophie said "there was something buried in between all the focus on survivalism and disaster, moments of strangeness that I wanted to pry open". So I was expecting subtlety, lurking emotions and goals, a sort of mystery hidden in the pages. I was not disappointed, to say the least - and clearly, the judging panel of the Man Booker Prize wasn't either.

The Water Cure tells the story of a family: King and Mother, and three sisters: Grace, Lia and Sky. They live isolated from a world overrun with toxins and poisonous air; a world filled with dangers, especially to women. The parents exercise daily treatments on the girls to help them prepare for the inevitable coming of 'the men': love therapy, ice bucket therapy, sleeping therapy. Then one day, King disappears and three men wash up on the shore shortly after: the dynamics begin to shift, and with it everything the girls have ever known.

What did I like about it?

This is the year of striking debut novels, I swear. But this book stands out. First of all: the idea itself. Again, in a publishing world slowly being overpowered by feminist dystopias, Sophie has created a story, a world that is incomparable to anything I've ever read. Nothing is certain; nothing is real, nor fake. The way the story is told - through the viewpoints of the sisters - keeps the reader at arm's length, never confirming nor denying. We can't trust anyone's narrative: not the parents, not the sisters, not the men who arrive to their world. Along with the girls, we feel constantly threatened.

The language. The sheer power of simplicity. A completely random example (but I could have picked any page):

"I have gone days, weeks, without touch and when that happens I can feel my skin thinning, I have to lay my body against grass and velvet and the corner of the sofa and rub my hands and elbows and thighs against anything until they are raw."

Without over-complicating things, there is so much in each sentence that they're bursting at the seams. I read this book slowly, savoring every paragraph, often re-reading them as I went along. A single sentence would create a knot in my stomach. This is prose at its best.

Then, a third point (although I could keep going): the mystery of it all. The atmosphere is so tense that I never let my guard down; and as I slowly began to understand the world I was entering, I was always hungry to know more. The why, mostly. This is a book that kept me asking questions. Why did King decide to leave? What happened to the damaged women once they left the house? What lies beyond the barrier?... And it keeps me asking questions, days after having finished it.

What was I not massively fond of?

Very rarely, there would be a word that felt out of place - one specific example for me: "Yes, they do, but then what's new, I long to hiss back." I felt that King and Mother wouldn't use an expression like that, and because they're all the girls ever knew, Lia wouldn't use something like this either. Sometimes the swearing also felt out of place, but when I think about it, it didn't - this they could have picked up from the parents, and for every hidden emotion and repressed fit of anger, the girls would need words to let it out.

Something that kept me wondering was what the ultimate aim of the parents might have been. They aimed to create a utopia (a "failed utopia" perhaps, as Mother muses once), but what is the utopia in this case? This is a book where many minds and aims mingle, creating an intricate web of human emotions that we are all - reader and characters - trying to navigate. It is confusing, but in the best sense of the word. Truly human. (I ended up praising instead of criticising, didn't I.)

Perhaps another thing I wondered about is why, in the middle section, we only see things from Lia's point of view, while in the beginning and end we often hear Grace and also the three girls, collectively. I feel that Grace would have been just as striking to understand in the main section of the book - but then I also imagine that Sophie is giving us a kind of freedom. We flow along with Lia, almost as a test; and then receive Grace's judgement in the end, telling us how we fared in her opinion.

Overall...

A stunning debut of a novel. The words that spring to mind are chilling, quiet, subtle, haunting. Unnerving. 

I could write many pages about The Water Cure, thinking over its message, where its power lies, delving into the emotions and thoughts. I foresee PhDs on this book, critical essays and talks. It will be analysed from a perspective of female power and parental attachment; about male-female relationships and siblings. About the use of language and its evocative power. 

Probably also about Sophie Mackintosh, who burst onto the scene with a masterful novel and went on to write similarly stunning things. 

9/10

Why I want to talk about this book... but can't

[Full disclosure from captain obvious: in the white bit there, it says 'To white people'.]

Okay folks, I know this is going to be tough. I'm not smart enough, well-read enough, or even qualified to give you a solid review of the book's contents - you should probably know this up front. So I think I'll keep this quite brief, and talk about why I think you should read Why I'm No Longer Talking to White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge.

To give you a brief overview of what it is: it is a discussion about racism, racial bias and the history of prejudice in the United Kingdom. In brief essays, Reni discusses vital, timely topics and sheds light on parts of history that even many born-and-bred Britons won't know about. She then lifts the flap on structural racism - in our workplaces, our personal lives, aspects of our brains we don't or won't admit to - as well as the pitfalls of today's feminist movement. 

What did I like about it?

From page one, it is clear that Reni has done the research. And to write a book like this, not only do you need research, but also guts - because it's an extremely sensitive and difficult subject. As she so often points out in the book, we prefer to pretend we're colour-blind and to not discuss racism if at all possible. But what she is trying to say in this book is that it isn't.

She is smart and confident and is conveying a message that I've never come across before so clearly. I can only speak from the very little personal experience I have, but to me, her arguments and her facts were true eye-openers. Before I read her book, I've never considered race the way I do now, taking into account histories, different perspectives and experiences. She doesn't want us to feel guilty though - guilt is pointless. What she wants is for us to get angry and do something about it.

It is simply fascinating, and it left me feeling like I learnt something truly valuable. Not only that, but it left me asking questions. As a white reader, I had to think long and hard about my own history and how Reni is proposing I proceed from here. My reactions were often the same as those white people's she describes in the book - often guilt or reproach. But she'd immediately proceed with telling me to ignore my guilt - so then I'd feel guilty of feeling guilty. It is not a simple thought process. But the fact I'm asking myself (and the world) questions is a clear sign that I am trying to process the message - and if other readers do as I do, perhaps this book can have a genuine effect on the way we approach racism in the UK.

What was I not massively fond of?

On a few occasions, I felt that the structuring of her essays could have used just a little extra work, mainly due to occasionally rejecting linear timelines and instead jumping back and forth between events or publications. There is a possibility that it advanced the message better this way - but as a reader I felt chronological order would have maybe been better.

Sometimes I also went back to re-read passages to understand whose point of view we were observing more closely. I lost the thread on occasion, despite her very clean writing. This might be my fault though for not reading enough commentary and non-fiction (I'm working on it!).

Overall...

I was reluctant to write a review of this book because, as I say above, I am still processing. It is so much new information for me (which shouldn't be new), and especially as someone who wasn't born in the UK. It gave me a glimpse into British colonial history and slavery, introduced me to intersectionality and has helped me notice huge gaps that I didn't see before.

WINLTTWPAR did for me through non-fiction what Octavia Butler's Kindred did through fiction (and if you haven't read that, I would absolutely recommend that you do). For those living in a dream world, isolated from the problems of prejudice, this book is a wake-up call and a glimpse into what we cannot see. It's shocking, terrifying, amazing and simply brilliant.

PS. Extra points for one of the best explanations of racism I've ever heard, which at one point Reni defines as prejudice plus power.

9/10

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