Olive – Emma Gannon

I’m a long-time fan of Emma Gannon’s podcast, Ctrl Alt Delete, so it only felt natural to pick up her debut novel, Olive. This novel tells the story of the eponymous protagonist who doesn’t quite fit society’s expectations of woman. Why? She doesn’t want children.

However, Olive isn’t about Olive’s discovery of or coming to terms with this fact. It’s about how this ‘failure’ to fit a stereotype impacts her life and how even those that do conform don’t necessarily get an easy ride. Even when happy with her decision to be child-free (NB: very different to child-less), Olive recognises that it makes other aspects of her life difficult and, throughout the narrative, we follow her as she overcomes these obstacles.

She isn’t always likeable, yet I was always on her side. Acutely aware of the injustice of society’s pressures, I felt a sense of pride that Olive didn’t succumb to stereotypes and was still able to find happiness.

I didn’t identify with Olive on all levels, but Gannon built her character in a way that everyone could relate to at least some aspect of her life – great group of friends, sadness at leaving a chapter of life behind, highly aware of how her life compares to others, to name just a few. This meant that, whether or not you believe the same things as Olive, you can see where she’s coming from.

Some descriptions did feel overwritten, and the odd metaphor was used where implication would have sufficed, but it certainly did not distract from the premise of the book – that we should be more understanding and respectful of people who make different life decisions to ours.

I’d recommend Olive not just for its great characterisation – I could fit people I know into each of the character’s shoes – but also because it broaches such an important topic. Gannon doesn’t glamourise the decision to be child-free as so often happens in fiction, but instead shows how cumbersome this (valid) life choice can be. Inviting readers into this world, showing the impact off-the-cuff remarks and presumptions is a vital step in normalising this normal choice.

Unnatural Causes – Dr Richard Shepherd

I’ve been a little more interest in the life of doctors and nurses since reading This is Going to Hurt a couple of years ago, but I hadn’t really given a whole lot of thought about the people that take care of bodies after death. I’d seen a few people on Instagram recommend Unnatural Causes,  I thought I’d give it a go.

Shepherd’s matter-fact storytelling is what struck me the most at first. Of course, his job as a pathologist was to examine the evidence as he saw it and recount the facts, but there’s no denying the emotional impacts of this. While he does go into his personal life and the effects of his work on that, Shepherd doesn’t let emotion cloud his story. Instead, he gives us a thoughtful and considered account of his career, from when he was just starting out, to his retirement.

Like most pathologists, Dr Shepherd has examined the bodies of people who died unexpectedly and of those who were killed, and has stood in court to give evidence where necessary. While we haven’t heard of many of these cases, it is fascinating to learn how pathologists approach these examinations. Shepherd spares little detail as he takes us on a step-by-step of his process, showing that, while scientific knowledge and training is essential, human nature and compassion are also important factors.

Unlike most pathologists, however, Dr Shepherd has worked on some of the highest-profile modern cases, including 9/11 and the Princess Diana inquiry.  While death is his life, Shepherd recognises the responsibility on his shoulders for these higher-profile cases, and we see the impact this has.

What makes Unnatural Causes such a great read is that Dr Shepherd goes beyond the facts of his experience to allow an insight into his speculation and, while he would never let emotion take over in a court of law, how he felt in every case. While he took the job seriously and remained professional,  his recognition of how extraordinary each situation was a reminder that he is just an ordinary person doing great things. 

Far from the comedy of This is Going to Hurt, Unnatural Causes is undeniably a book worth reading. Whether you’re interested in the world of pathology, or looking for something a little different to read, I’d recommend this book. While the facts were interesting in and of themselves, Shepherd tells them with such humbling honesty that you feel compelled to read on.

Sweet Sorrow – David Nicholls

I haven’t read David Nicholls in a while, so I was looking forward to a reminder of just how great a novelist he really is with Sweet Sorrow. The book’s tag line, “One-life changing summer” gives the impression that this book will be filled with nostalgia, but nothing prepared me for just how nostalgic this narrative would be – in the best way, of course. The pace is slow in a way that makes you savour every word, as if you are sharing the memories.

In true David Nicholls fashion, this nostalgia is undercut with comedy, which prevents it from ever getting too much or feeling too lofty. Instead, it really does just feel like you’re reminiscing with a friend. Telling the story of teenagers in the summer after GCSEs and before whatever their future might hold, Nicholls captures the liminality of this period perfectly. You’re still friends with your school friends, but the differences in your personality are becoming more apparent. As such, it’s not just romantic love that features in this story, but also friendship and a longing for what was.

Charlie is  the protagonist of this story and is so easy to identify and empathise with. He doesn’t always do as he should, but his family situation certainly give him excuses and we accept them. Perhaps it’s because of this that we like him so much and fall almost as deeply into his love story as he does.

While the inclusion of Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, no less, could feel like a cliché, it doesn’t here. If anything, it works as the perfect scaffolding for Nicholls’ very own  story of teenage love. Okay, nobody dies (spoiler alert), but it facilitates the development of relationships, and demonstrates the sheer power of literature.

While this is a story about a summer long ago, Nicholls does not neglect the narrative’s present. He cleverly transitions between past and present, offering an insight into the characters’ teenage naivety, which adds a layer of irony and comedy to the narrative.

Like all Nicholls’ novels, Sweet Sorrow offers such a clear image of each character, not through painstakingly detailed descriptions, but through such rich character arcs. These characters actions and emotions speak volumes.

I’m yet to read a David Nicholls novel that I wouldn’t recommend, so go out and get reading. It’s by no means the happiest of narratives, which is to be expected, but it certainly raises a smile, if for no other reason that everyone can see a little of themselves somewhere in the story.

Hot Milk – Deborah Levy

As much as I hate to admit it, I had fallen off the reading bandwagon for a bit. I always had a book in my bag, of course, but always managed to zone out on the bus home before it made its way out of my bag.  I decided a trip to the library was in order, and Hot Milk was the first book I picked up. I’d heard the title, but I knew nothing about it.

First of all, this is one of the best books I’ve read in a long time. I’m usually a fan of characters and how characters bring them to life, but it was refreshing to read such a good book that wasn’t all about the people in it.

While Hot Milk starts in the ‘real world’ when Sofia drops and breaks her laptop, it’s not long before you realise there’s something peculiar at play. From that moment on, I felt as if I was reading a dream in which everything was open to interpretation. While the events are all quite concrete and tangible, whether or not they’re really happening and what they signify isn’t quite so straightforward.

At face value, this is a narrative about a trouble mother-daughter relationship, but as I read on, it became apparent that this was much more a story about self understanding and the fact that all events are fleeting. The novel was short– I read it in a few hours —  but packed with symbolic images that gave it an intense richness.

That being said, the dreamy surrealism of this novel maintained a strangely slow pace- in the most positive sense of the word possible. Intense events still took place, but it’s as if they happened in slow-motion. This meant that, while there were disturbing images, such as the beheading of the snake, and Sofia placing her mother in front of the oncoming lorry, I felt oddly relaxed reading Hot Milk. 

Hot Milk is clever, above anything else. You’re never entirely sure of what’s happening, and you certainly don’t know what’s coming next. The book’s closing words don’t even offer real resolution, yet somehow it’s still satisfying. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t confused by Hot Milk, but mostly I’m in awe of what Levy has achieved.

Small Great Things- Jodi Picoult

I’m forever hearing people talk about how Picoult is such a talented writer, but I’d never read any of her work myself. Of course, I was highly aware of the hype surrounding My Sister’s Keeper, but I had never got round to reading one of Picoult’s titles myself. I’d been meaning to read Small Great Things for ages, having heard Dolly and Pandora discuss the novel on The High Low, praising Picoult for her work, and I finally got around to it this week.

I was astounded by how much this book made me feel. With race at the heart of this narrative, Picoult forces the reader to consider how racial prejudice is interwoven into and perpetuated by everyday life – as much as we wish it wasn’t. Picoult invites the reader to consider the ways in which we discriminate, even subconsciously, through the character of Kennedy. She’s someone who wants to help, but has to come to terms with her own ignorance before she is able to do so. Representing Kennedy alongside such explicit a representation of prejudice demonstrates the sheer scale at which white privilege operates. The contrast shows that you don’t necessarily have to believe in such prejudice to play a role in its perpetuation.

When I first began reading the book, I didn’t believe that it could be set in the 21st Century – characters’ attitudes were so antiquated. Subtle time indicators (Frozen being the most memorable) revealed that these ludicrous, old-fashioned beliefs still existed, despite having, supposedly, come so far. These indicators, along with the fact that Picoult had painstakingly researched everything to which she made reference- from medical terms to legal terms and everything in between- it was clear that she was aware of the gravity of what she was attempting as an author.

I felt furious pity for Rose and everyone she represents at all points of the narrative, embarrassed that this story has been, and still is, so many people’s reality. Her insistence on testifying, on having her voice heard, even if it means doing herself an injustice demonstrates the helplessness of those that don’t fit into the narrative of what is ‘right’ in a conservative, white, Western culture. Kennedy’s discouragement of her doing so is just a drop in the ocean when it comes to representing the contradiction in which those in a position to make a change live.

Throughout the narrative, it’s never clear how the trial will end. Even when it does conclude, it’s not satisfying, for the principle reason that, even though this battle is over for Rose, the longer-term war is still ongoing. Picoult doesn’t pretend to have found a solution to these thousands of years of prejudice, which did leave me feeling a little uneasy, but the reality of the matter is that, heartbreakingly, there is not yet a solution.

I understand that I read the book, and am writing this, from an position of immense privilege, but I believe that texts such as Small Great Things play a vital role in opening up discussion about discrimination- be that racial, sexual or otherwise. While one could criticise Picoult for broaching such an issue from her position of privilege, I don’t believe that she was doing it to make any kind of point or to present herself as ‘woke’, rather I believe that Small Great Things was written to add another voice and more noise in the discussion that the society in which we live is really not as forward thinking as we all like to believe.

I would recommend Small Great Things to anyone. Not only does it encourage conversation about issues that are too often overlooked and brushed aside – in both literature and daily life –it is so brilliantly written. While a more conclusive ending would have been more satisfying, I believe it would have undermined everything that Picoult had attempted to do to that point: demonstrate the hypocrisy and injustice that is prejudice.

 

The Woman in the Window- A.J. Finn

As I’ve mentioned before, I love a good thriller and I hadn’t read one in a while. The Woman in the Window has been out for a while now, and I’d seen lots of people rave about how good it is, so I decided to give it a go.

I have to say that first impressions weren’t great. I thought the narrative seemed a little basic and unimaginative and I was completely ambivalent towards the narrator- also the protagonist. I don’t mean ambivalent in a ‘it kept me on my toes’ kind of way; I mean ambivalent in that I didn’t care either way what happened to Anna.

That being said, the narrative did call a couple of important topics into question: how society perceives, and treats those suffering from mental health conditions, and the role the internet plays in modern life- both for better and worse.

However, it wasn’t until the final part of the book that I became hooked and actually cared about how the narrative would unfold. I definitely didn’t see the twist coming and, while it wasn’t necessarily the most believable ending to the story, it certainly upped the pace and injected some action into the otherwise slow story.

There’s no denying that this book is an easy read and, in fairness, I never considered abandoning it. However, it definitely isn’t groundbreaking and I found the narrative a little confusing at times, which made it hard to get behind. While The Woman in the Window wasn’t necessarily the worst book I’ve read, I’ve definitely read better thrillers and would recommend books such as Perfect Remains and The Good Samaritan- John Marrs 100 times before this title.

I will end this review on a positive note, however, by saying that I think the title is clever. While it could apply to Anna, trapped inside by her agoraphobia, it could also apply to the crime she believes takes place- I guess it’s up to you to decide in which scenario the window is most significant.

 

Don’t Trust Me- Joss Stirling

I’d been getting frustrated at how little time I had to read recently. I was always walking, and never seemed to have any time to sit down and actually read a book. I decided to give audio books a try- something I vowed I’d never do, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Don’t Trust Me  was the first book I downloaded. It was the description that caught my eye: ‘A stunning psychological debut with a shocking twist’. If there’s one thing I love more than a psychological thriller, it’s one with a good twist.

I was hooked from the second I started listening. I genuinely had no idea where the narrative was going, and I loved that. As a massive overthinker, I always imagine eventualities of books and often end up ruining it for myself- but that wasn’t possible. I think it’s because the situation was so far from something I’d imagine happening- no outcome seemed natural. The title is another spanner in the works, as I was constantly asking myself who it was I shouldn’t trust.  There were moments at which I was convinced I had it figured out, only to be proved wrong soon after.

As well as keeping me on my toes with the plot, I think Stirling does a fantastic job at character creation. He fools you  into thinking you  know everything you need to about each, only to throw surprises at you later on.  Unsurprisingly, Jessica is the most interesting character. I found myself flitting between sympathising with her and finding her incredibly frustrating. This made for a unique reading experience- I wasn’t sure what I wanted to happen.

I think it’s fair to say that the actual events of the narrative are a little unrealistic, but they were a useful lens through which Stirling was able to explore an important topic: how society treats people with mental health problems- without letting this become the focal point of the book.

I wonder if

The Good Samaritan- John Marrs

It’s fair to say that this book’s description does not do it justice. I imagined that it would be dark, and with that I imagined tension. However, I hadn’t quite imagined how dark or tense The Good Samaritan would be, and I was pleasantly surprised- if anything can be pleasant about such a dark subject…

For the first few pages it is difficult to imagine the action that might follow later in the plot, and it seems that Laura might actually be a good samaritan. But it doesn’t take long to realise that this isn’t true, and her worryingly sadistic tendencies become more and more apparent the more you read on. Even when you begin to learn possible explanations for Laura’s difficult-to-understand pleasures, it is hard to feel sorry for her because she is so relentless. It is not just that she doesn’t see what she is doing is wrong, she truly believes it is acceptable and justified. This is frustrating, but it is also great to read a book in which you are supposed to detest the protagonist, and that I did.

When I say that Laura is relentless, I mean it wholeheartedly. Nothing and no one will get in the way of her quest to help, or rather encourage, people to die. I certainly thought that she would meet her maker at numerous points in the narrative, but it seems that when someone has so little to lose, they have no fear. For the entirety of the narrative I was sure I had figured out what was going to happen, reformulating the possibilities and getting it wrong every time. In fact, even at the end of the book, it isn’t entirely certain that she face the consequences of what she has done.

The further I read, the more The Good Samaritan held my attention, as I truly feared what might happen next. It becomes clear that Laura isn’t simply obsessed with the idea of people dying, but of being in control and having the upper hand. It seems that she has no mercy, and is even prepared to utilise her children as a tool to assert her power. This intense desperation still didn’t make me pity her, I just hated her more. The book is filled with injustice, which makes for a frustrating narrative and also pushed me to keep reading out of desperation to see justice served.

I liked that Marrs made the dual narratives intertwine as it helped to highlight the differences in how a sane person interprets the situation, and how Laura understands what is happening. However, it did this in a clever way that didn’t always simply tell two identical scenes from different perspectives, but rather added reflections and comments into each narrative to acknowledge the event.

The Good Samaritan made me question how genuine everyone working at helplines, such as the fictional End of the Line might be. Though you’d like to think that someone as dangerous as Laura would not slip through the net, it definitely made me consider that people might not work for such charities for the right reason: something I had never thought about before.

I would definitely recommend this book to anyone that enjoys drama and tension. While there aren’t any mysteries to be discovered, I became so invested in the need for justice that I could barely put the book down. The Good Samaritan is one of the best books I have read in a while, and I will be sure to check out some of Marrs other works!

The Text- Claire Douglas

It’s been a while. I think it’s fair to say that I had underestimated the intensity of final year, only made worse by the fact that I had a year abroad, which entailed very little studying. I got a bit swept up, and was not prioritising reading for pleasure. Now that I have had reading week, and a chance to catch up with myself a little, I am determined for this to change.  Let’s see…

I downloaded The Text from the Kindle store a while ago, thinking I could fit in time to read a 40 page short story. Apparently not. However, I am glad that last night I finally forced myself to. Don’t get me wrong, I love my degree, but there’s only so much french feminist writing, or medieval french romances that I can bring myself to read.

The first page was gripping, which is pretty vital for a short story and, though the plot wasn’t the most complex or the most convincing, it did keep my attention. I like how the narrative begins in media res– Douglas wastes no time in introducing her characters, allowing her readers to get to know them as the story progresses. I could identify with Emily straight away: desperate to vent to a friend, too involved with what I want to say to check what I’m actually saying….The Text really does show you that a typo can be fatal, and proof reading (even a text) can save lives…

(Half) Joking aside, Douglas does touch on some serious issues considering the mere 40 pages that the narrative is spread across, including abusive relationships and affairs, and how these can impact those involved and others around them. It was also impressive that the author managed to squeeze a plot twist into the story in such a short space, and I didn’t even see it coming.

Though Emily does resolve some of the problems in her life by the end, the narrative does still leave a lot to be desired. I would say the short story feels more like a chapter from a book (albeit a busy one), and there would definitely be room for a sequel. The cliffhanger isn’t the worst thing in the world, though the conclusion does feel like it creates a double meaning for the book’s title.

I would say that The Text is worth a read, if not for the fact that I don’t tend to read many short stories, and it is interesting to see how narrative technique and character building varies to that in a novel. It is evident that Douglas is an incredibly competent author, and I would definitely read one of her novels to see how she writing style changes. Perhaps not the most breathtaking book I have ever read, it certainly did not feel like a waste of time.

 

After Me Comes The Flood- Sarah Perry

This was another library find and, I am ashamed to admit, I was drawn to this book by the beautiful colour of its cover. The review-snippet on the front cover from Sarah Waters then persuaded me that I should read the novel, without even having read the blurb.

I must say I couldn’t agree more with Waters on the ‘dream-like’ qualities of this narratives. The whole time I felt as if I was walking my way through some dimly lit, misty world- in the same sort of way I imagine Pip walking into Miss Havisham’s room in Great Expectations.

Though I spent much of the time re-reading the page before, as I was not entirely sure of what was happening, I think Perry did a fantastic job of transitioning from the real and concrete to the surreal and dream-like. The characters that John encounters are all intriguing and endearing, but chilling and ghostly at the same time. The simple and uncomplicated style of Perry’s writing does not sit comfortably with the sense of foreboding that intensifies throughout the narrative, but this is what heightens the fear of danger throughout.

The entire time I was reading I couldn’t decide if I was reading through enjoyment, or through desire to know what happens, but I continued turning the pages nevertheless. I felt in awe. Questions of reality, power, time and space are very much present, but are brought about in a subtle way- which makes them even more harrowing.

I can’t say exactly what it is that I liked about this book, because I have to say I felt a little apprehensive and confused for the entirety of the novel. However, in spite of this mixture of feelings, I would definitely recommend After Me Comes The Flood , mainly because it is unlike anything I have read before.