BOOKS @ VOLUME #251 (15.10.21)
Read our latest newsletter and find out what we've been reading and recommending—and what you'll be reading next!
BOOKS @ VOLUME #251 (15.10.21)
Read our latest newsletter and find out what we've been reading and recommending—and what you'll be reading next!
| >> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
Truthmaker ('The Severed Land' #2) by Tony Chapelle {Reviewed by STELLA} We are back in the world of the severed lands. Fliss, happy yet restless, enjoys the wonderful wildness and calmness of the north behind the wall. Keeping an eye on the activities outside — the families are still vying for power — but secure with her friend Minnie by her side and Lorna — the Nightingale — holding the wall with her powerful insight, life is just fine. Yet rumours of unification are circulating. A charismatic young man is gathering the people to him, promising a new way forward — peace with the south, and, under the banner of ‘one people, one land’, his followers are growing and rising. When Fliss sees the Truthmaker she is entranced like those around her, but it doesn’t take long for questions to prick her and her fervour is quickly vanquished when she realises that unity means the wall falling and Lorna under threat. To break the spell of the Truthmaker, Fliss must find proof. Lorna entrusts Minnie and Fliss with this task. They are both well equipped to make their way to Galp, to seek out the resistance and find out the truth behind the Maker. Who is helping him and why does he want to alter the peaceful lives of the northerners? The ruling families are stronger than ever, particularly the Morisettes who are determined to conquer all. Minnie's and Fliss’s journey will be more dangerous than ever. To get to Galp they will need help, but who can they trust when anyone could turn them in or sell them as slaves? With the resistance keeping a low profile, is your guide friend or foe? For Minnie and Fliss, help will come from those they least trust and the unexpected will give them hope, but can they complete their task before it’s too late? The Truthmaker is gaining ground and his followers are ready to bring the wall down. The sequel to Maurice Gee’s The Severed Land plunges you right back into the world of adventure and danger, with the feisty Minnie and the thoughtful Fliss. Sequel writer Tony Chapelle has captured the voices of the protagonists and extended the world a little more for us, deepening the relationships between the characters and giving us the promise of more to come with an ending that is satisfying but open-ended. So, luckily for the readers, we may be able to meet Fliss again in this intriguing world where the battle of the people over the repressors and the saving of the land from exploitation is a hopeful story of countering power, greed and corruption. |
| >> Read all Thomas's reviews. | ||
![]() | Three by Ann Quin {Reviewed by THOMAS}
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Our Book of the Week this week, is Nadifa Mohamed's The Fortune Men, shows that innocence is no protection in the face of prejudice. Based on the true story of a British Somali dock-worker in 1950's Cardiff who was wrongfully hanged for the murder of a local shopkeeper, Mohamed's novel is full of resonant detail and explores issues full of relevance today.
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The Hard Crowd by Rachel Kushner {Reviewed by STELLA} Rachel Kushner’s essays in The Hard Crowd read both like edgy youthful memories giving us a window into a life lived on the edge of danger, as well as intelligent analyses of political structures and cultural output. From the daring of her motorcycle racing days and obsessions with classic cars (it’s not surprising the opening scene in The Flamethrowers kicks such adrenaline on the page), in the opening essay 'Girl on a Motorcycle' to her conversations about literary intrigues Marguerite Duras, Clarice Lispector and Denis Johnson to mention a few, to her knowledge of Italian 1970s politics and prison reform which play a major role respectively, in The Flamethrowers and The Mars Room, to her connections and interest in the New York art scene, the collected essays are varied in style. Some are self-effacing and gritty, in line with the popular 'personal essay' trend, yet Kushner’s memories remain dark, honest and absorbing without the cloyingness of the self-reflective and sometimes self-satisfied elements of this form. In her essays about writers, she is endlessly fascinating, almost finding her way through the writing — through description, analysis and the anecdotal to an understanding or a reflective essence of the writer and their work — giving us, the reader, an insight that makes us wish to seek out not more about the said author, but their output — to delve for ourselves into their words. There’s also a great essay with accompanying images (film stills, photographs and other ephemera), 'Made to Burn', which considers the influences and research for her novel The Flamethrowers. It’s filled with quirky snippets of information, as many of the essays are, which cast small surprises like flitting shadows and light bulb moments — observations that rub up against each other creating a texture that marries guns and art, writers and alcohol, and the adrenaline of competitive danger with fierce loyalty. And in pure juxtaposition to this hard-arse style are essays that will stop you in your tracks: a heartbreaking visit to a Palestinian refugee camp that is so established that it is functionally a dysfunctional town, and a conversation with an American prison abolitionist that raises some hard questions about incarceration. In The Hard Crowd, Kushner describes herself as the soft one, but these punchy essays make me think there are different kinds of softness, and Kushner's is one that has a core of steel, unafraid to look with intent. |
| >> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
![]() | Autoportrait by Édouard Levé {Reviewed by THOMAS} “I am inexhaustible on the subject of myself,” states Édouard Levé in this book which is nothing less than an attempt to exhaust everything that he can think of to say about himself, no matter how banal or embarrassing, with relentless objectivity. In one long string of seemingly random declarative statements without style or development or form (other than the form of the list, if a list can be said to be a form), the details accumulate with very fine grain, but the effect is disconcerting: the author comes no closer to exhausting his observations, and the idea that there is such a thing as a 'person' beyond the details seems more and more implausible. The list is not so much an accumulation as an obliteration: facts obscure that which they purport to represent. “I dream of an objective prose, but there is no such thing.” Levé’s style is deliberately and perfectly and admirably flat throughout (all perfect things should be admired (whatever that means)), like that of a police report. “I try to write prose that will be changed neither by translation nor by the passage of time.” The constructions often feel aphoristic but eschew the pretension of aphorisms to refer to anything other than the particulars of which they are constructed. There is no lens formed by these sentences to ‘see through’, no insight, no intimation of personality other than the jumbled bundling of details and tendencies assembled under the author’s name, no ‘self’ that expresses itself through these details or is approachable through these details, because we are none of us persons other than what we for convenience or comfort (or, rather, out of frustration and fear) bundle conceptually, mostly haphazardly, and treat as an entity or ‘person’. The more fact is compounded (or, rather, facts are compounded), the stronger the intimation that any attempt to exhaust the description of a person will never be approach we usually think of as a person. “If I look in mirrors for long enough, a moment comes when my face stops meaning anything.” As well as demonstrating the impossibility of the task which it attempts, description also cancels itself by implying for each positive statement a complementary negative statement. Each statement of the self-description of Édouard Levé functions to include those of us among his readers who are similar and to exclude those who are dissimilar. We find each statement either in accord or in disagreement with a statement we could similarly (or dissimilarly) make about ourselves. The reader is charted in the text as much as the author. The reader is continually comparing themselves to the author, finding accord or otherwise, exercising the kind of judgement concealed beneath all social interaction but typically hidden by content and mutuality. In Autoportrait, the author’s self-obsession is matched by our fascination with him, with the kinds of details that may or may not come to light in social interchange. Because the author is not aware of us and is not reciprocally interested in us, or feigning reciprocal interest in us, as would be the case in ‘real life’ social interaction, we feel no shame in our fascination, our fascination is dispassionate, clinical. He is likewise unaffected by our interest or otherwise in him. But as well as bundling together an open set of details that we may conveniently think of as facts (“Everything I write is true, but so what?”) about Édouard Levé (or ‘Édouard Levé’), the text also conjures an inverse Édouard Levé (or ‘Édouard Levé’) who is the opposite to him in every way, the person who nullifies him (in the way that all statements call into being their simple or compound opposites, their nullifiers). Levé’s obsession with identity, facsimile and the corrosive effects of representation reappear throughout the book, and towards the end he mentions the suicide of a friend from adolescence, which would form the basis for Levé’s final book, Suicide (after which Levé himself committed suicide). Édouard Levé was born on the same day as me, but on the other side of the planet. In Autoportrait he writes, “As a child I was convinced that I had a double on this earth, he and I were born on the same day, he had the same body, the same feelings I did, but not the same parents or the same background, for he lived on the other side of the planet, I knew that there was very little chance that I would meet him, but still I believed that this miracle would occur.” We never met. Perhaps I am not that person. |
Our Book of the Week, The Lobster's Tale, plays remarkable water-themed photographs by Bruce Foster against a text by Chris Price ostensibly 'about' the natural and cultural history of lobsters — but actually encompassing musings on ambition, perfectionism, authorship, control, heroism, individualism, and other hazards of human endeavour (hazards that we may at times mistake for virtues). Another voice, below the waterline, threads along the foot of each page and shows a different, more lyrical way of thinking. The book is beautifully produced, and provides ample space for the reader/viewer to make their own thoughts.
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| >> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
Egg Marks the Spot ('Skunk and Badger' #2) by Amy Timberlake and Jon Klassen {Reviewed by STELLA} Welcome Badger and Skunk back in another brilliant adventure filled with just as much charm and even more daring than the introductory volume. In Egg Marks the Spot, Badger has moved his rock work (‘focus, focus, focus') to the attic where he can not be interrupted (although Skunk does find a way to distract him, often a ploy involving food) and hens are absent. As he studies with concentration over his desk, the question 'Rock or mineral?' reverberating in the rafters, he takes in his rock collection, beautifully laid out in their cabinet — a shelf for each, lit by its very own lamp (and as Skunk observes in alphabetical order), steadfastly avoiding the empty spot at ‘A’. Rather than his prized possession, the Spider Eye Agate, there is just an absence. The absence triggers memories of his cousin, Fisher (the weasel)'s thievery and his bullying ways. But Skunk has his own problems. Sunday happiness for Skunk is the delivery of the New Yak Times, especially the book section. As he’s cooking up a storm for a lunch (did you know he is something of a foodie…), a letter arrives from Mr G. Hedgehog, who has got wind of Skunk’s new residence at North Twist and intends to resume their previous arrangement in regards to the Books Section of the New Yak Times — an arrangement that Skunk has never agreed to and plunges him into despair about the impending Sunday, bereft of the fabulous reviews in his beloved newspaper. Somehow Mr G. Hedgehog thinks he has first dibs on this section. To remedy his woes Skunk comes up with the great idea to head to the woods on a rock hunting expedition. So starts a hilarious scene where the friends’ personalities come to the fore. Badger is carefully weighing up the multipurpose values of each item to be packed and the actual weight to be carried, while Skunk has acquired a very large pack (for a Skunk) and is intent on fitting in all the needed cooking items (and a few extras for good measure), including a cast-iron pan and bellows (for the fire) as well as several hard-to-pack utensils and yes, apparently, 5kg of flour is essential. And depart they do, even as Skunk trudge, trudge, trudges, head down, bearing the weight of his very full pack to No.5 camping spot at Endless Lake. All that food does make for delicious picnics, and Skunk and Badger are happily rock-hunting in their very own ways. When Skunk goes off to meet a friend, Badger is curious and follows. And yes, Skunk is up to something! And it does involve a very small orange-feathered hen (one we have met before), but also lurking in the woods is Badger’s unappealing cousin, Fisher. Let’s just say, expect to be as surprised as Badger. What follows is a dangerous and important mission for a small hen, a brave Skunk and an even more loyal Badger, involving gleaming treasure, a large creature (who may be related to hens), worker rats, and a weasel in name and nature! Wonderful! |
| >> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
![]() | The Water Statues by Fleur Jaeggy (translated by Gini Alhadeff) {Reviewed by THOMAS} They were suffering from reality fatigue, he thought, in fact we are all suffering from reality fatigue, it is tiring resisting the inclinations of an emergency, especially for an extended time, he thought, even though we know fairly well how to do it. Nobody likes resisting an emergency, but what nobody likes, really, is the emergency itself to which the resistance is a sensible response. Perhaps, he thought, it is even an indication of the effectiveness of the response that there are some who feel eventually that they are more tired of the response than of the emergency itself—after all, the more effective something is the less necessary it may appear—and there are some who even seemed to think that not resisting the emergency in every way we know how to resist it will somehow make the emergency less real or less of emergency or more tolerable or something, he couldn’t quite work out what they wanted—but it was probably actually just reality fatigue, reality fatigue mixed with nostalgia for a time when there was no emergency, a retrospective fantasy, a longing for not-now. Fatigue, though, may at times resemble weakness. Nostalgia is always a lie, he thought, nostalgia is always set against the facts, but it would be weak-minded to believe that just because the facts might be frightening, as they are in an emergency, therefore the facts somehow aren’t facts but rather something being used by someone just to frighten us (who knows why); it would be fatal to move from reality fatigue to reality denial, to think it would be better to ‘live with’ an emergency than respond to it in all the ways we know how to respond, or even to deny that the emergency is an emergency at all (which would be in effect the same thing). Is there something in us, he wondered, that would even somehow find relief in giving in to an emergency, in not responding, in absolving ourselves from the burden of response? The death drive, says Freud, will always find someone else to blame. “It feels as if all that is yet to happen is already in the past,” writes Fleur Jaeggy in her novella The Water Statues, first published in 1980 and at last beautifully translated by Gini Alhadeff into English, a work in which grief and loss are inescapable properties of time, both resisted and enshrined by memory, in which the past is an unstable and unresponsive fantasy that is shedding its certainty grain by grain. Dedicated to Jaeggy’s then recently dead friend Ingeborg Bachmann, this is a book, he thought, in which the inevitability of loss through death or parting suffuses every meeting, both enriching it and reinforcing its evanescence. Relationships are snags to the tendencies of time, he thought, snags inevitably torn away, and longing and memory—especially the retrospective longing of nostalgia—make it unclear whether our lives are populated with statues or with living beings. If I said, he thought, that Beeklam, the protagonist, if that is the right word, is “born into a house filled with boulders”, loses his mother, suffers from the distance of his father, goes to live in a decaying mansion in Amsterdam, fills the flooded basement with a collection of statues which both represent and replace the living, disposes of his collection, and sets out into the world, I would be misrepresenting the book by literalising its tendencies into a plot. It’s not like that. All instants are inanimate, he thought, and memory is, after all, a flooded basement filled with statues (just like a book). This was getting closer. In Jaeggy’s world, the animate and the inanimate have no clear demarcation, they are interchangeable, they cannot be distinguished from each other. Beeklam is both child and adult, an old man even, somehow all at once. Beeklam and his servant at the same time both are Beeklam’s father Reginald and his servant, and their complement or inverse. Friendship is described as “mutual slavery”: the condition of master and servant makes them both an single entity and beings separated by an unbridgeable gap. The contents of this world lack sufficient differentiation to enable points of true contact, and the longing for friendship connects people but the passage of moments, the ceaseless suck of the past, means that true connection is not possible. In a text that is presented in a variety of different forms and registers (as is Bachmann’s Malina), Beeklam speaks of himself sometimes in the first person and sometimes in the third, as does the most elusive of his narrators. “BEEKLAM: A little boy used to live here, he said he wanted to live as someone who’d drowned.” Who speaks and who is spoken of only sometimes coalesce, he thought, nothing is fixed; everything is undercut, the novella is elusive, but full of the most delightful, troublesome and surprising sentences, sentences that each becomes more remarkable when more deeply considered or reread. “By his calm devoid of sweetness he had bypassed every disorder,” writes Jaeggy, as if to illustrate this point, or, “On his face had been spread as though with a spatula, an expression of peace, a sermon painted over a pale complexion.” Jaeggy’s style is at once both austere and excessive, both direct and elusive, both parsimonious and fantastically indulgent. Can I end my review, he wondered, in some way that connects it to how it began before it became a review, to when it was perhaps just a cry, or a rant, or an irritation? What is the quality of time that assails us when we tire of the resistance necessary for life, when the perpetual emergency exhausts us? What are the alternatives? "Aside from rotting, there’s little flowers can do, and in this they are not unlike human beings,” writes Jaeggy. |
Our Books of the Week this week are the hugely enjoyable Skunk and Badger and its just-released sequel Egg Marks the Spot, by Amy Timberlake and Jon Klassen. Odd companions Skunk and Badger became firm favourites for many, young and old, in the first book, when the two very different characters learn to share a home, and to appreciate what is special about each other. And now they're back in the second book, off on a rock-finding expedition that is just bound to be very different from what they were expecting!
NEW RELEASES
Awake by Harald Voetmann (translated by Johanne Sorgenfri Ottosen) $36
In a shuttered bedroom in ancient Italy, the sleepless Pliny the Elder lies in bed obsessively dictating new chapters of his Natural History to his slave Diocles. Fat, wheezing, imperious, and prone to nosebleeds, Pliny does not believe in spending his evenings in repose: No—to be awake is to be alive. There's no time to waste if he is to classify every element of the natural world in a single work. By day Pliny the Elder carries out his many civic duties and gives the occasional disastrous public reading. But despite his astonishing ambition to catalog everything from precious metals to the moon, as well as a collection of exotic plants sourced from the farthest reaches of the world, Pliny the Elder still takes immense pleasure in the common rose. After he rushes to an erupting Mount Vesuvius and perishes in the ash, his nephew, Pliny the Younger, becomes custodian of his life's work. But where Pliny the Elder saw starlight, Pliny the Younger only sees fireflies.
"Awake is original, piercing, and richly exhilarating. Voetmann’s text is a sharp reminder of how powerfully and succinctly well-chosen words can create a world, render experiences, and express thoughts—in short, transport us, to places and in ways we could not have imagined." —Claire Messud
Conversātiō: In the company of bees by Anne Noble $60
"To fear the sting of a bee and know the sweetness of honey." Renowned New Zealand photographer Anne Noble has become increasingly fascinated with bees: their social complexity, their otherness, their long importance to humans, and the clarity with which they raise the alarm over environmental stress and degradation. This beautifully presented and idiosyncratic book displays Noble's bee photographs, at once sensitive and stunning, and helps us to think in new ways about the bees with which we share our world.
>>Look inside.
>>Noble talks about the book.
Skinny Dip: Poetry edited by Susan Price and Kate De Goldi $30
Thirty-six poems for young readers from Sam Duckor-Jones, essa may ranapiri, Bill Manhire, Anahera Gildea, Amy McDaid, Kōtuku Nuttall, Ben Brown, Ashleigh Young, Rata Gordon, Dinah Hawken, Oscar Upperton, James Brown, Victor Rodger, Tim Upperton, Lynley Edmeades, Freya Daly Sadgrove, Nina Mingya Powles, Renee Liang and Nick Ascroft. Illustrations by Amy van Luijk.
"Bold and timely. A magnificent range of form from some of our best contemporary voices." —Hera Lindsay Bird
| >> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
What Can a Body Do? How we meet the built world by Sara Hendren {Reviewed by STELLA} A book about how we physically meet the world, but so much more. A book about designing for disability and adjustments that we can make, simple as well as complicated, to interact with our built environment. And how the world could change to meet us in new ways. This is an articulate and illuminating exploration filled with intriguing examples of models of designed engagement, with historical precedents and thought-provoking conversations and ideas. Sara Hendren, designer and researcher, takes us across America, to India and The Netherlands in her study of people and innovation. From her classroom of engineering students grappling with a design problem for an art curator to a volunteering programme for community service administered and enacted by disabled teenagers in Boston, to a workshop in Manhattan that makes innovative low-cost cardboard chairs designed for one—specific to that individual’s need, to the experiences of two men — one who uses home-made solutions for his limblessness and the other with a highly technical ‘smart’ arm — in meeting their daily world with ease, and into her own story of having a son with Down’s Syndrome. Hendren travels to India to introduce us to the simple success of a prosthetics industry that uses bicycle parts (replaceable and mendable) to resolve the needs of its inhabitants and the environment they live in. In The Netherlands, she visits a village for dementia residents — a village that has all the hallmarks of freedom with the security required to reassure and to enhance the experiences of the adults who live there. These examples and others build into her discussion of design and its role in contemporary society to give meaning and agency to those that don’t fit in the ‘normative’ structure which statistics and the bell curve have exacerbated in our modern world. Hendren’s thoughtful deliberations about the fallacy of the ‘average’, about what ‘independence’ is, and why the structure of economic capital with its focus on work-as-worth and the constructs of ‘time’ as a measure are drawbacks to all of us, not just the disabled. She underscores her research with disability activism of the past, and she does not shy away from the complexities of the present with its many-faceted arguments and different approaches, including opposing design theories. The case studies are various, and within these we encounter multiple approaches and responses to the body and its abilities and, more importantly, the vagaries, often unnecessarily so, of the built world. Enlivening and insightful, What Can A Body Do? is a study in awareness and a challenge to our ethical commitment, as well as our practical ability, to make a better world for every body. |
| >> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
![]() | No. 91/92: Notes on a Parisian commute by Lauren Elkin {Reviewed by THOMAS} Well, he thought, I am not travelling on a bus in Paris, and, who knows, I may never travel on a bus in Paris, but, in the company of Lauren Elkin, even though I have not met Lauren Elkin, and, who knows, I will probably never meet Laren Elkin, I have no particular wish or need to meet Lauren Elkin, at least not in the conventional sense, and, almost certainly, Lauren Elkin will never meet me in any sense whatsoever, and she will be missing nothing thereby, nonetheless, in a sense, in her company I have been riding in my thoughts, or, rather, her thoughts, it is hard to tell which, as she has been travelling on the No.91 and No.92 buses in Paris over a few months in 2014/2015, when she was commuting to and from some teaching position she then held, evidently teaching literature, possibly writing, who knows, and wrote the notes which have become this book on her cellphone, as an attempt to use her phone to connect herself to the moments and in the locations in which she was holding it, rather than as a way of absenting herself from those locations and those moments, which is usually the way with cellphones, so she observes, they are a technology of absence, after all. Unlike in the bus, where who will sit and who will stand is constantly negotiated on the basis of a generally unspoken hierarchy of need, and the passengers are crammed together in each other’s odours and in each other’s breaths in a way that, in the light of the current pandemic, now seems horrific, there is plenty of fresh air in Elkin’s thoughts, there is room both for her fellow passengers, for all the details Elkin notices about them or speculates about them, for all her observations, so to call them, about what she notices and about what she notices about herself in the act of noticing, and for writers such as Georges Perec and Virginia Woolf, who, in their ways, are along for the ride, using Elkin and her cellphone to speak to us through Paris, though whether this makes Paris a medium or a subject is hard to say, using Elkin’s bus pass, too, and, I suppose, he thought, all these thoughts are waiting there, both outside and already aboard Elkin’s mind, constantly negotiating which will be next to take a seat in Elkin’s text on the basis of a generally unspoken hierarchy of need, if it is need. Elkin attempts in the practice of these notes a written appreciation of the ordinary, even the infraordinary, aspects of her journeys as a discipline of noticing, guided by Perec (read my review of Species of Spaces and Other Pieces here), a turning outward that clears her thoughts or clears her of her thoughts, he cannot decide if there is a difference, he thinks not, leaving the shape of the observer clearly outlined in their surroundings by their careful lack of intrusion upon them (in the way that Perec is always writing about something that he does not mention), but this exercise in finding worth in the ordinary, the sensate, the unsenational, against, he speculates, the general inclinations of our cellphones, is, in the two semesters in which Elkin made these notes, sometimes intruded upon by occurrences antagonistic to such appreciation, occurrences both within Elkin’s body: an ectopic pregnancy and the resulting operations; and in the collective body of the city: terror attacks that change the texture of communal life. “In an instant, the everyday can become an Event,” writes Elkin. Are Events inherently antagonistic to the worth of ordinary life, he wonders, or could rethinking the ordinary help us to resist the impact of such Events? Most Events are instants, he thinks, but some, such as pandemics or climate change, go on and on, exhausting our conceptual resistance as they strive to become the new ordinary, to normalise themselves. Conceptual resistance is useless, he almost shouts, conceptual resistance is worse than useless, we must adapt to survive, reality deniers display the worst sorts of mental weakness, pay attention, your nostalgia is an existential threat. He checks his mouth for froth, but there is none. But, he wonders, can we use an attention to and appreciation of the infraordinary to reconstruct the ordinary and thereby survive the extraordinary? Actually, the infraordinary is all we’ve got, he thinks, so we had better get to work and make of it what we can. |