This girl is on fire

Recently I've had a bit of a dip in my literary mojo, so to speak. I've managed to pick up two books, one after the other, both of which I had to abandon around halfway through (hence the silence on the blog). One of them was One More Chance by Lucy Ayrton, of which I won a proof copy but I simply couldn't make myself finish it, so much did I suffer; the second one was The Spark in the Machine by Daniel Keown which, in all fairness, was a very good intro to the type of books that I now work with. My only reason for stopping this one is that I don't need to know each acupuncture channel and how they work.

Fortunately, my mojo's back with R.O. Kwon's The Incendiaries, which I was already highly anticipating a while back and I was so very right to do so. The New Yorker sang the novel's praises, claiming it was a "rare depiction of belief that doesn’t kill the thing it aspires to by trying too hard" and emphasizing its silences as the novel's most powerful tool - and I couldn't have agreed with this point more.

The Incendiaries is a story about three people, told from mostly one viewpoint, all based at an elite university: Will, our narrator, Phoebe and John Leal. It is hard to pick who's story is the dominating one. The book tells the story of Will's increasing love for Phoebe and Phoebe's increasing draw towards a religious cult, lead by John Leal. It is a powerful mix of love, loss, grief, identity, religion and more than anything, the loss of faith.

What did I like about it?

The first highlight has to be R.O. Kwon's gorgeous prose, which makes this short novel feel like something to be cherished and consumed in small bites, making it last as long as possible. (Conversely, this makes it very hard not to read it in one sitting.) Her metaphors are highly unique while refraining from feeling forced or over the top. She points to John Leal walking across the campus, "His torso riding his hips like a serpent on its coil," and describes the rain, "the lines slanting like marionette strings". Her attention to detail in describing a scene of gathered members of the religious group: "Through a haze of smoke, stars smeared like souls fleeing this fallen earth. The night chill pricked Phoebe's bare arms, as if with pinfeathers, and she felt the rush of flight, lifting up."

The story itself is dark, threatening, painful like something inevitable, and the power of each character's motivation is what really moves it along. Phoebe hopes to replace her guilt and grief for her mother with religion; Will hopes to replace his grief for religion with love. The desperate search isn't described in detail and yet somehow is crystal clear, human in its approach but with a lot left to the reader to think through.

By using abrupt jolts between recent past and the present, Kwon is great at emphasizing the distance and difference between the two - and despite the back-and-forth, the story gradually builds towards its conclusion. We also know from the beginning what we're building towards, and it becomes clear very early on that Will is telling the story from a future point of view. In my opinion, Kwon is showing us the ending so early on so that we can focus on what really matters - how and why the people involved in this tragic ending got there - thereby carving the book beautifully out of a potential 'mystery' or 'thriller' label and firmly planting its feet in literary fiction.

What was I not massively fond of?

I have no negative criticism to share about the book itself.

Regarding the cover though - while I am no designer, as an avid reader and consumer of books, I must declare that I am unhappy with this cover. It is beautiful and I think would work very well for a piece of the above mentioned labels, or women's fiction. But I think that, for this novel, it runs the risk of putting off readers, thinking they're looking at a piece of light fiction, as opposed to the gorgeous, vital piece of literature that they're making the mistake of bypassing.

I just don't feel the relationship between the design and the contents, and I fear it might not do the book justice.

Overall...

Kwon is fantastically talented. This is a stunning debut novel that juggles prose so artfully that I'm actually surprised it didn't make it onto the Booker list (but then again, none of the books I picked from the longlist made it onto the shortlist this year, so more fool them).

It is a complex story, running on so many different layers that my short review really doesn't do it justice. It touches on cultural heritage and family ties; on transforming personalities and the immense power of regret. There are subtle patterns and quietly growing tension - it is simply mastery, and I would urge you to read this book with all my might.

10/10

What's not to love about people?

House keeping: sorry, I've been absent! Sorry I've been absent!

But in the background I was reading through some great books - the most recent of which is Sally Rooney's Normal People.

The first thing people ask if you say you're reading this is 'Oh, have you read Conversations With Friends?' The answer is no, I haven't. In fact, Goodreads reviewers put me off it, overwhelmingly expressing their dislike for the novel. Luckily I only half-listen to comments on social media, and when Normal People was nominated for the Man Booker Prize this year, I was won over.

Things to (apparently) know about Sally: she is the queen of writing down millennials; she is only 27. She is Irish. This latter book of hers has been deemed a future classic.

Normal People, in theory, should be easy to explain. It's an on and off love affair between two people, Connell and Marianne, who meet in school and their lives keep meeting and rebounding off of each other, without really being able to separate fully. But to quote the very book, "So why, despite its factual accuracy, does this feel like a dishonest way of narrating what happened?"...

What did I like about it?

I love to hate the fact that Sally is only 27, because her writing is exquisite and feels so direct as if she sat down and wrote this in one sitting. It flows like liquid: not once did I stop to look up and think 'that doesn't really make sense', nor did I wonder whether any of it was believable. Her style is distinct (not just because she doesn't use the conventional dash to indicate conversation); it's powerful, to the point, almost completely devoid of dawdling or side-lining. She says what she wants to say, and yet it reads like perfect fiction.

She's an expert in using small motions to demonstrate emotional states: "He looks at her, probably knowing what she's doing, and then looks at his own hands, as if reminding himself of his physical stature in the room."

Another thing that nears perfection is her characterisation. Especially Connell and Marianne, but even the supporting characters feel intimately real. The lead characters are complex, intriguing, and most of all subtle: their baggage is revealed slowly, delicately, always lurking in the background but never quite overtly blurted out. And this foreboding, these shadows that only manifest in full form towards the end of the book, make the novel more hurtful to read as one advances. As it improves, it gnaws at our souls, never satisfying us.

The story also runs the risk of turning melodramatic or clichéd, but for the most part Sally keeps a firm foot on the ground. The ups and downs of the girl-boy power play could easily turn boring - the book does span quite a few years - but the variety of these situations, the delicate indications of who is currently winning somehow makes for a fascinating story. Gripping, in fact. There is building tension at all times, and it feels like she's intentionally keeping our hearts just a little broken at any given moment.

What was I not massively fond of?

Very rarely, but there were moments where the inner worlds of the characters got a little too soppy for my liking, such as "He feels ambivalent about this, as if it's disloyal of him, because maybe he's enjoying how she looks or some physical aspect of her closeness. He's not sure what friends are allowed to enjoy about each other," but to be clear, these were rare instances.

Another thing I wondered about is the occasional tendency to show a situation from both viewpoints, one after the other - would it be better if we only got one person's opinion on a given occurrence? Maybe it would have been a bit more of a challenge, but curious as I am, I don't really mind finding out what both Connell and Marianne thought of something.

Overall...

It's hard to sum up this book. It was hard to read in that it was an internally painful experience. It's not a light-hearted story. It's expertly constructed, outstandingly written and seems to have been created with incredibly cool detachment. It's as if Sally is following around her characters with a notepad, observing from a close distance and noting everything down ("pretend I'm not here!"-style).

It's truly astonishing modern literature, and has every right to win this prize.

9/10

A lovely day

When things start to look a bit gloomy - reading the news too often, autumn coming, running out of Cheerios - it is always good to have a good book to pick up (which can pick you up in return). Who would have thought that a book as data-driven and dry-sounding as Factfulness by Hans Rosling could be one of those?

To be honest, I never thought it would be dry, and I don't think you think that either. Reading the blurb is enough.

Hans Rosling was the king of TED, in a way. Most of us common people will have heard of him through that channel. But in reality, he was a professor of international health, a renowned educator and one of the founders of Gapminder, a project that helps unveil "the beauty of statistics for a fact-based world view". (It's definitely worth playing around with this.) Also a sword swallower. And many, many other things. A fascinating life and many years of research back up this book, published just after Hans passed away - it's his final attempt to convince us that the world isn't as dark of a place as it may seem.

Using data, charts and his immense experience, in this book, Hans outlines the reasons why we think the world is in worse shape than it really is. It starts with a quiz that you can fill out: it includes questions on extreme poverty, schooling, vaccination and other vital, global issues. Following the quiz, the book proceeds to analyse why you answered the questions the way you did - and what you can do to change the way you think. And why you should do so.

What did I like about it?

When someone says 'data-driven', I usually wince. Not because I don't know that data is vital to understanding, but because I worry whether I will get it. Not so with this book. Hans has a deep love of statistics and numbers-based analysis, and it is precisely this that allows him to demonstrate how things are really looking. In a four-page spread, for example, he uses clearly readable charts to demonstrate things that are, in fact, looking much better than what we thought (including the number of guitars per capita, demonstrating human progress - he's better at explaining why than I would be if I tried).

What Hans does in this book is identify ten of our instincts that influence the way we think and see things. Instincts such as negativity, fear, destiny (assuming things are predetermined) or line (assuming that charts will continue in a straight direction as opposed to changing all the time). It's nothing we weren't vaguely aware of, but something that needed pointing out. What's more, he finishes each chapter with a short summary and some easy to follow action points on how to employ factfulness in our day-to-day lives.

Besides the good structure, Hans' writing is entertaining and accessible at all times. Human, interesting anecdotes help demonstrate his points, and he doesn't shy away from admitting his own mistakes in these stories. Some are downright terrifying. This is what keeps the book close to the reader - none of the content is distanced from us, it is truly showing the world we live in today.

What was I not massively fond of?

Perhaps the one thing I thought from time to time is that by keeping the language so accessible, the book sometimes tips over to the fluffy side, running the danger of not being taken seriously. Of course, that will be the shortfall of the reader - because this book is overwhelmingly fact-based - but there's a risk. We just need to be careful not to assume that everything is already on track to improve by itself. Hans calls himself a "possibilist" as opposed to an optimist, as his beliefs are rooted in real-life data - and that's his main message, as opposed to 'everything is bliss'.

Some of the instincts also felt a little like repetition - some of them perhaps could have been grouped into one instinct, instead of pulling them into two separate chapters. One such example for me was destiny and generalisation - but I suppose that, although some elements may be similar, they still both have some elements that merit deeper analysis. So ultimately, I'm happy to leave the ten instincts as they are without disputing them further.

Overall...

Bill Gates pledged to gift a copy of Factfulness to every US college graduate this year; Obama put the book on his summer reading list. Do you need more convincing to give this book a go?

Will it change your life? Probably not. It wasn't the gigantic eye opener many hyped it up to be. But it is a fascinating and educational read, and in the right mindset perhaps we'll all be a bit more motivated to help change the world - because, as Hans points out, it may be bad and better at the same time, but there's still time to improve.

Guy Gunaratne on London

I wasn't familiar with many books on this year's Man Booker Prize longlist. I spotted The Water Cure; I spotted the new Sally Rooney. I didn't spot In Our Mad and Furious City by Guy Gunaratne. You may be forgiven if you didn't either: this is another debut, continuing the string of stunning first books that I've come across this year. 2018: the year of the debut. I mean, really.

Interestingly, many people are prejudiced against the book, and I have to admit I was too. In his booktube video on the longlist, Eric (whose videos I would highly recommend by the way) made the assumption - like me - that it's probably a story that's been told too many times before. But he gave it the benefit of doubt, and so did I when I went to see Guy at the Edinburgh International Book Festival this year. And I was so very happy that I did.

Despite the blurb - which mentions the main characters 'growing up' on a London estate - this book spans a very short time frame (two days). It is written from five perspectives: two adults and three young boys, all from different backgrounds, all from different minority groups. The premise is simply this: a young, white man is killed by a young Muslim boy. An extremist. The backlash, the different perspectives and consequences is really what the book tells us about.

What did I like about it?

I enjoy books that take something I know very little about and give me a closer glimpse - and Guy does exactly that with the side of London I'm completely unfamiliar with. The psychological effects of immigration. The clash of cultural heritage and settling in a new community. Being stuck in a certain life and desperately trying to break out of it. This is happening right now, just an hour's tube ride away from me, and I think it takes a certain bravery and sensitivity to take on something so relevant and present. This book does it very tactfully.

The structure of the book is beautiful. There are three large sections, divided into sub-sections with titles such as Ends, Defilement or Square. These are then divided into the different characters' chapters - but each of these will include the title of the sub-section in some subtle or symbolical way. It's gorgeous.

Another point is the pacing and the building tension. Although the two older voices mainly talk about their past - as opposed to the boys, who speak of the present - these draw a perfect parallel. And the story continuously builds towards an inevitably violent end. It's not a surprise, but it is arresting. Short, burst-like chapters characterise the penultimate sections, keeping you turning the pages, unable to pause.


What was I not massively fond of?

Writing a book with five different perspectives, credibly, is not an easy task. (For a good example, read Leone Ross' Come Let Us Sing Anyway - her mastery of language is amazing.) I think Guy does it truly well, for the most part; the two adults certainly sound very different from the younger ones. It's just the boys - more precisely, two of the boys - who I think could have used slightly more differentiation in language. Their defining hobbies (sport/music) helped navigate between them more than their voices.

Around halfway through the book, Yusuf - the third young voice - I feel tips over a bit too much to the artistic side. Although it is true that he is probably the most mature one of the three, the 'ennet's and 'bruv's seemed to stop quite abruptly, to be replaced by "The purity of the spires and sweeping arches, the intricacies of the art gave me mad galaxies to drift away within". It's beautifully written, just felt a bit out of place for a young character.

One cringeworthy scene I would have perhaps avoided: a rap battle taking place at the back of a bus. It made me smile.

A final point on the final chapter (without spoilers): I felt this would have worked better if it mirrored the first chapter, which is written from a collective perspective.

Overall...

I think Guy Gunaratne's book is absolutely worthy of the Man Booker nomination. It rings true, it is extremely well written and - although I hate using this term - it's very timely. It puts pressure on the reader's shoulders. Guides us through a world many of us don't really know.

At his event, Guy said that most of the feedback he got on the book from people who saw themselves in it was 'finally'. Finally, as in there's finally a book about them. And I agree.

To anyone considering reading this, I would say avoid the blurb, because it is misleading. This is not a book about religious extremism. It is an intense, brilliant piece of literary fiction about who we are behind the surface, and our determination.

8/10