BOOKS @ VOLUME #155 (30.11.19)
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![]() | Whose Story is This? Old conflicts, new chapters by Rebecca Solnit In her latest collection of essays, Rebecca Solnit continues her discussions and observations on the political and social structures that shape power relationships. Looking at the major issues — race, gender, climate — and the major movements — #MeToo, Black Lives Matter, Standing Rock, Climate Strike — Solnit digs into the language of power and the depths of these activisms. Who gets to be heard? Who is telling the story? And where did these stories come from? The collection is sub-titled Old Conflicts, New Chapters. In her introduction, 'Cathedrals and Alarm Clocks', her tone is upbeat — she sees the recent rise in collective action as a questioning of the structures which have kept the elite, predominately men, in power and their needs protected and justified. “You can see change itself happening, if you watch and keep track of what was versus what is...the arising of new ways of naming how women have been oppressed and erased, heard the insistence that the oppression and erasure will no longer be acceptable or invisible.” And this change comes through the power of language — words that define, record and speak out: “This project of building new cathedrals for new constituencies….the real work is not to convert those who hate us but to change the world so that haters don’t hold disproportionate power”. In the essays that follow some of the facts and figures on sexual assault, racial crimes and the legislative changes that attempt to control the autonomous body and the choices people — women — can make about their own bodies are dispiriting. Yet it is the resistance to these actions through direct protest, legal avenues and political channels that have culminated into a perfect storm — a storm that Solnit is clear to point out resides in the now and in the actions of the past. Resistance to hatred, abuse and control is not new and has not been ineffectual, even when it has been silent. While the essays focus on American politics and culture, Solnit’s observations are relevant wherever you happen to reside: the same power structures exist and persist in all places. As our societies become more diverse, so too comes the opportunity to have a more just and equal ones. In several of her essays, Solnit touches on the growing diversity of the voting population and what this means for American politics. With younger politicians, Alexandria Ocasio Cortez for example (who was inspired to stand for Congress by Standing Rock), a new generation, Greta Thunberg and the School Climate Strike movement and indigenous voices holding sway in political arenas, it does feel like a time of change even in the face of the counter megaphonic voices of Trump and Boris. Solnit’s essays are always interesting, thought-provoking and rich. Her ability to bring yesterday’s dissent into today’s realm and tie these historic important actions to what happens now and next, her clarity of thought and exploration of language and how words play an important role in acting out injustices and taking action to overcome silenced lives makes Solnit a voice to be read by everyone, especially those in positions of privilege. |
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![]() | The Collected Stories by Diane Williams {Reviewed by THOMAS} If it is necessary to move out to the very edge of ourselves, to the part of ourselves that is least ourselves, to be near another person, another person who has also moved out to the very edge of themselves, to the part of themselves that is least themselves, in order to be near us, what value can there be in any communication that takes place, if any communication can take place, between parties who are therefore almost strangers even to themselves? Diane Williams’s short, energetic, hugely disorienting short stories pass as sal volatile through the fug of relationships, defamiliarising the ordinary elements of everyday lives to expose the sad, ludicrous, hopeless topographies of what passes for existence. This is not a nihilistic enterprise, however, for Williams has immense sympathies and her stories themselves demonstrate the possibility of connection through the very act of delineating its impossibility. With the finest of needles, the most ordinary of details, Williams picks out the unacknowledged, unacknowledgeable but familiar hopeless longing that underlies our unreasoned and unreasonable striving for human relations, a longing that makes us more isolated the harder we strive for connection. So much is left unsaid in these stories that they act as foci for the immense unseen weight of their contexts, precisely activating pressure-points on the reader’s sensibilities. |
![]() | The Absolute Book by Elizabeth Knox {Reviewed by STELLA} There are many adjectives one could use to describe The Absolute Book. Compelling, compulsive, confusing, considered, crafty and crafted, sublime, beautiful, tragic, awesome (in all the senses of that word), clever, theatrical, hysterical and hilarious, complex, lucid, layered and rich. And these are just some of the words worth attaching to this very, very good novel. It is an immense book — 650 pages of fascination and revelation. Taryn Cornick’s sister Beatrice has been killed — murder or accident? There is no question in Taryn’s mind. Seven years on, she thinks she has moved on but a chance meeting with a hunter, the Muleskinner, who is beguiled by her and her sadness, leads to a chain of unimaginable events that will open gateways to other worlds, states of mind, story-telling and soul-searching. Cornick’s book about libraries and fires has garnered some notice, and she is due on the tour circuit when a police officer, Jacob Berger, starts getting interested in a cold case — the death of Tim Webber, the driver of the car that ran her sister down. Berger suspects foul play and starts to dig. His connection with Taryn will reveal a lot more than he bargained for. Jump back to Taryn and Bea’s childhood visits to their grandparents’ estate, Princess Gate, and a strange encounter with a young scholar, Battle, who is obsessed with finding a book known as the Firestarter. The girls playing in the library witness from behind the curtains Battle’s attempt to start a fire to reveal the mysterious object, and so begins the first glimpse of our encounters with demons, enchantments and story-telling. The Absolute Book moves seamlessly from reality to fantasy. Unlike many books that move between worlds, there is no obvious change in writing style or tone — you are just there — through the gate in the other world with nothing to jar your reading, pushed along by the action. There is much going on at all times on many levels! Knox makes the world within, beside or outside, parallel (whichever it is) believable by taking us with her characters. We are curious and fearless despite demons, the sometimes cold appraisal of the Sidhe, the changes in the landscape, the power and mystery of Shift. In previous Knox books, we have encountered mythical and magical creatures and The Absolute Book is no exception. Blending Norse mythology (the ravens play a mighty role), faerie folklore, popular culture and ancient ritual, history and religion (yes, there are angels), this book has a plethora of layers, which should sink it into a pit of confusion, but it doesn’t — it soars. The brilliance is in the craft — in the language and pace — and in the absolute beauty of the description of the lands and all that live on them (whether on Earth or in the Sidh). It’s a book with a fascinating story — you will want to read on and be taken by Taryn, Jacob and Shift to the places they (and we) must go. It’s story-telling at its best and Elizabeth Knox at her best... so far. |
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![]() ![]() | Motherhood by Sheila Heti {Reviewed by THOMAS} Is flipping coins to determine answers to questions posed by the flipper of the coins a good way to guide your life? no Is flipping coins to determine answers to questions posed by the flipper of the coins a good way to write a book? no But isn’t this book, Motherhood, which has been written by flipping coins to determine the answers to questions posed by the flipper of the coins, in this case Sheila Heti, the author of the book, a good book? yes Is Motherhood a good book, then, because it was written by Sheila Heti rather than because it was written by flipping coins? yes When Sheila—the Sheila who is a character in the book, which the reader is permitted to assume is the same person (whatever that means) as Sheila Heti the author of the book— says, “I don’t think I have a heart—a heart I can consult. Instead, I have these coins,” is that a good way for either the character in the book or the author of the book to proceed? no Is flipping coins to determine the answers to questions posed by the flipper of the coins a good way to write a review of a book that has been written by flipping coins to determine the answers to questions posed by the author? no If I wrote a review in such a way, would I be able to do it without cheating, in other words, without only pretending that I had flipped coins when I had not actually flipped coins at all, or flipping the coins but then overriding the outcomes of those coins if they did not suit me? no Would it be better if I didn’t waste time looking for coins to flip, then? yes And Sheila Heti, can I be sure that she didn’t cheat when writing a book by flipping coins to determine the answers to questions she posed? no Does this matter? no In fact, might this not be a good way to compose a novel or somesuch, or find a way out of writer’s block, whatever that is, or determine a way out of any predicament, at least any fictional predicament, given that predicaments usually arise from the presence of binaries—either A or not-A, for example—and so seem to clamour for a resolution that can be expressed in a binary way? yes Just as writing conversation can be a good way to find a way out of writer’s block, whatever that is, even writer’s block visited upon the writing of a book review? yes Even if one side of the conversation says only either yes or no? yes Are the results I might achieve this way satisfactory? no Would the results be satisfactory with a different approach? no Is any of this useful in so-called real life? no But doesn’t Sheila Heti apply this approach to the real-life question—if we accept that the Sheila of the book corresponds to the real-life Sheila, the book’s author—of whether or not she wants to or should have a child, or become a mother, which may or may not imply having a child, depending on how subtly the concept of motherhood is understood or defined? yes So this approach is not useful? no You mean it is useful? yes Can you explain that? no Can Sheila Heti explain that? yes Does she do so in this passage, when she consults her coins? “Is any of the above true? no Is there any use in any of this, if none of it is true? no Even if you said yes, it wouldn’t matter. You don’t mean anything to me. You don’t know the future, and you don’t know anything about my life, or what I should be doing. You are complete randomness, without meaning. [However] you have shown me some good things, but that is just me picking up the good in all the nothing you have shown me.” yes As Sheila approaches forty she suffers from ambivalence about whether or not to have a child before it is ‘too late’. She can’t seem to disentangle what might be the expectations of her by others because she is a woman from what might be her biological inclinations as a woman, not that this concept necessarily has any validity, and from her own expectations and inclinations. Is it even possible to disentangle these things? no Would it be true to say that the more you think about things in these terms the less sense these terms make? yes Is there any point in thinking about things in these terms? no Unless, perhaps, it is useful to get to the point at which these terms make no sense? yes Does Sheila obsess over the question of whether or not to have a child as a way of relieving herself of the question of whether or not to have a child? yes A way of avoiding having a child, even? yes Saying yes to having a child would remove the uncertainty of whether or not to have a child and the uncertainty could not be regained, at least not in that form, but saying no merely provides the opportunity for the uncertainty to resurge at the next possible moment for it to be considered. Prevarication is, therefore, such a tiring prophylactic. Is the book to some extent somehow about the deep problems of decision-making, in whatever sphere of life, about whether we can disentangle the force of what we might call ‘will’ from the force of what we might, for want of a better word, call ‘fate’ (‘determinism’ is probably a better word)? yes When Sheila says, “Sometimes I am convinced that a child will add depth to all things—just bring a background of depth and meaning to whatever it is I do. I also think I might have brain cancer. There’s something I can feel in my brain, like a finger pressing down,” is her problem really about depth and meaning rather than about having a child? yes Sheila says, “This will be a book to prevent future tears.” Is this book, Motherhood, perhaps more about depression—Sheila’s, her mother’s, perhaps the reader’s—than it is about motherhood per se? no Sheila says, “I am a blight on my own life.” She says, “Nothing harms the earth more than another person—and nothing harms a person more than being born.” She says, thinking of her decision to be a writer and all the time she has consequently spent arranging commas, “When I was younger, writing felt like more than enough, but now I feel like a drug addict, like I’m missing out on life.” Is there a sense in which writing and ‘living’ are incompatible modes of existence? yes When Sheila states that resisting urges has previously led her to more interesting places, is it useful for her to think about resisting the urge to have a child—wherever that urge originates—as a way of bringing depth and meaning to her life? yes Does she in fact find more depth and meaning by resisting the urge to have a child? yes Does this depth and meaning, or at least the finding of more depth and meaning if not the depth and meaning themselves, have some sort of tangible expression? yes This book? yes Early in the book, Heti identifies her struggles with the mythic struggles of Jacob wrestling with and withstanding the unknown being “until the breaking of the day,” and she concludes the book an altered quote from the Torah: “Then I named this wrestling-place Motherhood, for here is where I saw God face-to-face, and yet my life was spared.” Is that a satisfactory way to end the book? yes Is that a satisfactory way to end my review? no Should I go on? no |
![]() | Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi {Reviewed by STELLA} Having a conversation over coffee may be an everyday occurrence, but what if that conversation is a pivotal moment in time or in the relationship between two people? How often have we found ourselves in trivial chatter when what we really what to discuss is something a little bit difficult or something embarrassing or a situation that might make us vulnerable? Before the Coffee Gets Cold is not a self-help book for communication! It’s a charming novel from Japanese playwright Toshikazu Kawaguchi. Funiculi Funicula is a basement cafe in Tokyo — unassuming, small and altogether unremarkable except for a bit of urban folklore. It’s rumoured that in this cafe, one has the ability to travel back in time. But… there are rules! You must sit in a particular seat. You cannot change the future. You can only meet people who have also visited the cafe. And there is a time limit — you need to come back before the coffee gets cold. Dividing the book into four distinct stories, ‘The Lovers’, ‘Husband and Wife’, ‘The Sisters’ and ‘Mother and Child’, Kawaguchi touches on abandonment, illness, death and love. These emotional moments are played out with humour and lightness — a charm — that keeps the stories from being bogged down in tragedy. Yet the lives of these cafe visitors are not frivolous, and their conversations are sometimes feisty, confronting or upsetting. The meeting that Fumiko replays with her boyfriend Goro is revealing; that Kohtake has with her husband Fusagi, surprising; that Hirai insists on with her sister Kumi, dramatic; and Kei with her child, intense. In a 100-year-old cafe a specially brewed coffee served in a particular cup from a white kettle, if you sit in a specific seat at this table only, may take you where you need to be, through time, to reveal a deeper understanding of yourself or a loved one. It’s not surprising that this book was a best-seller in Japan, and it originated as a stage play. Add to this the lives, quirks and relationships of the cafe owners, the manager — the enigmatic Kazu — and the regulars who pass through, you have an enchanting, approachable novel with a quirky sensibility. |
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![]() | Deeplight by Frances Hardinge {Reviewed by STELLA} Dive into the world of scavenger pirates, deep-sea mythologies, powerful gods and a people who trade for profit and intrigue in found godware. The latest book from the brilliant children's writer Frances Hardinge starts, in the best story-telling tradition, with a tale of wide-eyed wonder and unbelievable strangeness — poetic and mesmerising. Welcome to the world and fierce ocean mysteries of the Myriad. Hardinge poises us perfectly in the prologue to make the perfect dive headfirst, with curiosity and no regrets. The opening chapters, like a tumbling wave, tip over into the everyday world of Lady Crave Island, a rowdy and crowded port town where traders pass through, dealing in godware and seeking treasures, where those who are ‘marked’ carry their heads high — their daring of deep diving a source of pride, and where street urchins may eke out an existence. Here we encounter our hero Hark and his best friend (protector and profiteer) Jelt, playing tricks and turning a coin. It’s swagger and play-acting for two 14-year-olds needing an income and skating trouble. Not that Jelt shies away from trouble or making deals, and he’s not too concerned if Hark is dragged in as well — anything for a bit of godware, money or advantage. When Jelt agrees to a risky job for Captain Rigg — she rules the fiercest of the pirate gangs in Lady Crave — not everything goes to plan. And guess who is taking the rap! Hark is caught and ends up on the wrong side of the law and facing The Appraisal — he’s about to be auctioned. Only his silver tongue might save him from a surefire early death in the bowels of a hulking ship or submarine. He’ll never survive as a galley minion rowing endlessly in pursuit of godware. And a story he does spin, landing him a three-year indenture to the mysterious Dr Vyne, scientist — not as an assistant, but as her spy. He’s sent to the Sanctuary — a home for aged priests — to tease out their stories and their knowledge of the watery depths of the Myriad. The priests hold secrets that could unlock the power of the gods. As the stories of the old world unfold — tales of monstrous beasts in the Undersea, of the Cataclysm, of the mysteries of the Undersea godware — secrets creep to the surface. Driven by fascination, fear and the desire to harness the power of the Undersea gods, the League and the Governors are dabbling in ‘science’ and magic, yet they are not the only ones that are on a reckless journey. Jelt tracks Hark to his new home on the far-flung island of Nest to convince him that their fortunes can be made with a quick dip in a stolen Bathysphere. But the sea is unpredictable and unforgiving, and Jelt finds himself a treasure which is both pleasure and hindrance. What starts as a wild adventure, and what Jelt sees as the best of his deals so far, may just sink him further in the mysteries of the Undersea than he bargained for — and Hark along with him. Crossing Rigg wasn’t the greatest idea, but crossing her stubborn and ferocious daughter, Selphin, will take them all on a dangerous journey to the Undersea, a journey that will test their friendship, bravery and ethics. Will they make the right decision? Will they have any choice? Hardinge is an excellent story-teller. Her worlds are vivid and beautiful, her characters complex and engaging, and the plot is fascinatingly satisfying. Author of the Costa prize-winning The Lie Tree and the equally absorbing A Skinful of Shadows, Like Pullman and Ness she leaves you with plenty to think about and the desire to dive right back in. |
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![]() | We Are Made of Diamond Stuff by Isabel Waidner {Reviewed by THOMAS} “Where’s reality, I want to change it.” Up against it in the Isle of Wight, a fender shoved between Britain and Europe, an island with more than its share, if there can be such a thing as a share of such things, of fortifications and prisons, if a distinction can be made between fortifications and prisons, and, according to the Trip Advisor reviews that, appropriately, comprise the final chapter of this remarkable book, home, if home is not the wrong word, of surely Britain’s saddest zoo, the narrator and Shae, their companion or alter-ego, if a distinction can be made between a companion and an alter-ego, work, or at least spend time in what might be loosely termed employment, at a zero-star hotel, or boarding house, as the narrator awaits the results of their application for resident status in a Britain seemingly bent on becoming more stridently a fortress, otherwise known as a prison (a bad sentence for no good reason). Britishness cannot be separated from imperialism, according to the current British Prime Minister [I advise you not to click that link], who, in the context of this book, and in any other context you might like, we can refer to as B...S... Johnson so as to distinguish him from his in-some-ways opposite Johnson, the working-class experimental author B.S. Johnson, whose novel House Mother Normal (of which, >read my review here<) lends its eponymous antiheroine to be the proprietor of the said no-star hotel or boarding house (I should be using nested brackets instead of nested commas) in Waidner’s novel (of their previous novel, Gaudy Bauble, >read my review here< (but why mention that here)), the difference between Empire 1.0 and what Waidner calls Empire 2.0, or Brexit, is that the thinking, if you can call it that, of the new empire, unable to reach beyond its shores, is turned in upon itself, it is an empire of exclusion not one of inclusion, it is an empire, how long can I keep calling it an empire with a straight face, frustrated in its incapacity to do anything other than tread down difference, both by the organs of state, not that organs usually tread, unless a foot is some sort of organ of treading, and by the acts of the mob, the least accountable organ of the state (considerations of treading and so forth notwithstanding), it is an empire of suffocation. The iniquities of class, race, gender, queerness, employment, poverty, migrancy (if that is a word) are weaponised by Brexit, and the narrator and Shae are well positioned to be at the non-handle end of most of those weapons: “They use words as weapons, they use weapons as weapons, and sometimes both come together like in the Boeing CH-47 Chinook.” But, says the narrator, “I have talents, I’ll use them.” Diamond Stuff is a point of infinite mutability, a shrugging off of forms, both literary and social, a word-gurdy, an uncontainable core exuding a shiny slipperiness, or a slippery shine, that repels both boredom and Boris (if a distinction can be made between them). Where all forms are performative, which is etymologically sensible, everything is both a metaphor and at the same time only itself, the banal assumes the trappings of the mythological, this is Britain after all, and probably vice-versa, if we can conceive of such a thing, descriptions, metaphors, clothes, even, and shoes, peel off and become something equivalent of persons, participating independently in the narrative-as-non-narrative and play assumes the place vacated by sensible activity. The Isle of Wight is also the locale of Britain’s one-time rocket programme, connected with both the military and the nuclear industries: “British nature is so interconnected with military and empire, I say. No beach without Sellafield. No garden without Dungeness. … My sense of beauty is brutal, I’m already British like that,” says the narrator. But is there hope? Can there be freedom within increasingly constraining structures? “The scaffolding is a permanent fixture, this is England, the scaffolding will outstand us all,” observes the narrator, but “at best, your resistance defines you.” This novel, short-listed for the Goldsmiths Prize, is a pin-sharp, very enjoyable piece of literary resistance. |