Book reviews (August 2022)
Turtles & censorship, sisters & murder, tall buildings & strange friendships.
Playing catch-up here: reviews written/posted/published in August.
Answers In The Pages - David Levithan
This timely middle-grade (for ages 9-12) novel from mostly-YA author & editor David Levithan, feels like the perfect David Levithan project. It is about why books for young readers featuring gay characters are important - something he has devoted much of the past 20 years to, in both his literary roles - & also about why love & friendship are important. It is sweet & hopeful but also aware of the world as it is.
There are three interlinking stories here. There's Donovan, who tells us about the challenge to the book, The Adventurers, they're reading for school - a challenge led by his own mother. There are chapters from The Adventurers itself, in which Rick & Oliver fight evil (& might be more than just friends). Finally, there's Gideon & Roberto, who've been paired up on a book project & are quietly, beautifully, age-appropriately falling for each other.
I say age-appropriately very deliberately here, because one of the things raised in this book is that issue: Donovan's mother would be fine with the book if it were a high school classroom, rather than objecting to any gay content ever. (Other parents have a less nuanced attitude.) In our absurdly-polarised world there is often a sense that what is suitable for children is not considered by some people, as though to be liberal & inclusive means that "anything goes". (This is not helped by people who do not have a clear understanding of child protection policies, even if they are well-meaning; I have many thoughts on the different responsibilities teachers of & writers for young people have, which I will not bore you with here.) The distinction between "gay content" & "adult content" does need to be made, & there are thoughtful conversations worth having about how certain issues might be handled for different age groups. The Gideon & Roberto storyline is about two kids who fall in love & what it means at that age, which involves hand-holding & hugging & a small bit of kissing, which is about having a special friend (as they say in the girls' school stories) & naming that for what it is rather than hiding in a code. It is gorgeous. This is how to do it.
Tracy Flick Can't Win - Tom Perrotta
Tracy Flick, last seen as an ambitious teenager in Election, is back: now a 40something Assistant Principal at a public high school, having had to give up on law school after her mom got sick & needed care. She has a daughter, who she does not quite connect to the way she & her own mom did; she is divorced & mostly lonely, whether she admits it to herself or not. And now that the current principal is retiring, she wants the gig - but the school board may have other plans.
The tension between "good educators!" & "sports are important!" within the American educational system is something Perrotta has explored a lot in his work; he writes about schools so well, so sharply. This sequel echoes & refracts Election - we have several sides of the story, & one big school event it's all leading to - without feeling like a repetition. The world has changed, & these characters have responded to it in different ways - the high schoolers take it for granted, while the adults of different ages look back at their pasts with new eyes. Was that affair exploitative? How complicit were they in certain events? (But there is no easy moralising here either; Perrotta is too smart a writer for that. We are reading about humans here, not being lectured.)
I loved this a LOT, as I suspected I would but did not want to let myself hope for. Tom Perrotta is one of my favourite contemporary writers & Election is the book of his I love the most, so seeing a grown-up Tracy Flick was a treat - & also very moving. I am really happy this book exists.
The Year of Miracles - Ella Risbridger
I do not care about cooking. There is not a hope in hell that I will use any of the recipes in this book. This is the way I read Nora Ephron's Heartburn, complete with a vague sense of "oh right yes that's Carl Bernstein" (or Caroline O'Donoghue as the case is here) but not treating it like a straight-up memoir or a source of historical fact. I see that there are recipes. And I appreciate the attention paid to food, & the love of it & the taste of it in a world where food is so often the enemy of women & their needing-to-be-thinner bodies. Yes. All that. (I appreciate too that I am reading this 'wrong' in some ways; that care has gone into the testing of & selecting these recipes.)
But I am here for the writing & the emotional truths. I am here for the insights into what it is to be a person in this world. In the case of The Year of Miracles, I am here for the following: what it is to seek out & create joyful moments even when things are terrible (specifically, here, when living through grief & mental illness & a global pandemic). To not pretend that things are not terrible, or that there is a deep meaning to pain & everything-happens-for-reason, or to offer up some glossy shiny bite-size version of any of this. This is not a snack. It is a meal, full & rich & textured & nuanced. I love Risbridger's essays because they are both emotional & smart, & this book has many of them. Would firmly recommend.
What Ever Happened To Baby Jane? - Henry Farrell
Yes, it was a book first! I discovered this on a rewatch of the gloriously-deranged film adaptation (the first of two; there is a 1990s TV film with the Redgrave sisters) & went looking for the original novel.
It is very close to the film; while there is a tiny bit more backstory, the key events are the same. Beautiful Blanche is in a wheelchair, reliving her glory days as a leading lady when the movies make it onto television. Her sister Jane, a former child star whose shine faded & who ended up dependent on her sister for work, takes care of her, though in a manner that is full of resentment. The accident that "crippled" Blanche (the term used throughout but which is uneasy for the modern ear) seems to have been Jane's fault, & we might muse on sisterly rivalry for a bit before being distracted by the murder that occurs & then needs to be covered up.
Farrell (a pen name) also wrote for the screen & there is a lot in the novel that translated easily for the film. The capacity for the novel to provide space for internal thoughts - for both sisters as well as the eejity musician who gets caught up in it - is taken advantage of, but much of what is achieved here is also available in the film for the attentive/sympathetic viewer. (Because Bette Davis! And Joan Crawford!) It is still an enjoyable read, though; a dark psychological thriller about fame & love & the ways women torment one another. (Even though they are older women, I found myself thinking about Rachel Simmons's work on pre-teen girls & bullying.) That final twist still resonates.
The It Girl - Ruth Ware
Ruth Ware is such a satisfying writer for the twisty psychological thrillers with an eye on privilege & inequality, so it makes a lot of sense that this latest focuses on a group of friends who met in the fancypants world of Oxford University, some feeling more at home than others. The "it girl" of the title is April - one of those charismatic & wealthy girls that belongs everywhere, & that people are drawn to, even though she also has a bit of a mean streak.
Hannah left university after April's murder, though she's now married to one of the boys she knew from back then. She testified against the man she was sure committed the crime; he harassed her as well. But now, ten years on, questions are being raised about whether or not he was really guilty - because if he wasn't, it means that whoever killed April is far closer to home (cue the ominous music).
The handling of the past & present plots is skilfully done, with enough going on for us to suspect many of the gang as we read on. I loved the college setting, the believable handling of friendship-groups-dispersing, the uncertainty over whodunnit (& howdunnit). A v engaging read.
Run Time - Catherine Ryan Howard
What I find immensely pleasing about a Catherine Ryan Howard book is that as soon as you spot a familiar trope, something will be subverted. Her latest novel, featuring an actress with a slightly dysfunctional past who's jumped at the opportunity to take the lead in a horror film, has a lot of horror-film stuff & yet it is all plausible, not least because Adele, the actress in question, quickly cops on that there's probably something tiresome & artsy going on here, with the director trying to deliberately freak her out & then play around with the footage afterwards. She's smart & savvy but she's also caught up in a messy situation that it'll be tricky to escape from - her decisions always made sense. I really enjoyed this - it is both fun & darkly twisty at the same time.
The House Across The Lake - Riley Sager
This book is a little bonkers & either you'll run with it or you'll throw it down in frustration. (There is a supernatural element. I kind of adored it, but it will not be to everyone's taste.)
The premise: actress Casey Fletcher is taking time out in the family lake house after her husband's death, mostly filling her time with bourbon. Across the lake, a glamorous young couple stay - & are watched by Casey. There's a little bit of friendship, & then a scream & a missing woman - has Casey's new friend been murdered by her husband? Or is the truth something so much more insane than that? (The latter, but it's such a pacy page-turner that you can enjoy it without overthinking.)
Her Last Words - E.V. Kelly
I gobbled up this Dublin-set psychological thriller about the therapist-y-but-troubled wife of a charismatic film studies professor & the unsettling relationship he appears to have been engaging in with a postgraduate student. (Look, just hook this kind of thing straight to my veins.)
Cassandra, the aptly-named therapist, witnesses her husband Jeff embrace a beautiful young woman on the beach one morning, as she waits in the car with their young son, & then the woman seems to collapse. When Jeff returns, he acts as though all is normal, & Cassie questions her own sanity - until she sees on the news that the woman's body has been found. Meanwhile, we leap back in time to hear from Nina, the woman in question, & discover the beginning of her relationship with Jeff & the magnetic, compulsive attraction she has towards him. Was she 'merely' a stalker - or was there something else going on?
There's a lot here that reminds me of (SPOILER ALERT) Karen Perry's Girl Unknown, both in terms of setting & themes, but it's also very much its own book. I am admittedly an epic sucker for anything in that psychological-thriller-meets-campus-novel mode (what is currently known as "dark academia") but this is a really skilful & satisfying example.
Little Nothings - Julie Mayhew
On the Greek island of Corfu, there are dangerous vipers. There's also beautiful scenery & holiday-time vibes for a group of English couples, there to be pals & fabulous & celebrate the good times - but please keep those snakes in mind.
Narrator Liv is pleased to be included in this group holiday - as a former reclusive type, she is not quite used to having female friends, to being one of the gang. But her inclusion here, on this group holiday organised by the charismatic Ange, is not without a cost. Liv has struggled to fit in amidst her more privileged suburban friends, & her husband's job loss has made everything harder. Meanwhile, Ange has stepped in to try to alleviate some of the difficulties - or is she simply trying to control everything?
(The latter, of course, because this is a psychological thriller, but it is one delightfully grounded in the real. There's an attentiveness to class here that is thoughtful & nuanced, & which feeds into - but is not the sole source of - Liv's resentment of Ange.)
As Liv itches within the confines of this manipulative friendship, she makes friends with the kind of woman she wishes she could be - the kind of woman who might help her with her burgeoning plot for revenge.
This is an astute & gripping read.
The Nurse - Claire Allan
A young nurse is missing in Derry, & her mother is worried. Meanwhile, a creepy dude on the interwebs, caught up in the manosphere & the intoxicating world of incel culture, where the so-called "truth" about what it means to be a man today is recognised, knows something about what's happened to this girl - but will he speak up before it's too late?
Without giving too much away, I found myself genuinely surprised at some of the twists in Claire Allan's latest psychological thriller, a work that is topical without being tiresomely so; a novel that invites us to understand (but not excuse) a particular strand of misogynist behaviour. I love the universe in which Allan's thrillers take place (oh hi is that Ingrid Devlin? Be still my heart!) but this - like most of them - will work even if you are a first-time reader.
I want to describe this as a 'read in one sitting' but actually you will need to take a few breathers. If you have the day free you may well devour it within 24 hrs, though.
Very Cold People - Sarah Manguso
Here are some things to note:
1. I love Sarah Manguso a lot.
2. This is her first novel (following several ridiculously brilliant collections).
3. I did not love it as much as I had hoped I would.
4. I still think you should read it.
In this novel, we witness the coming-of-age of narrator Ruth in a small cold New England town, where we learn - slowly, awkwardly, as the ice melts & reveals the secrets hidden within - of the abuse that exists there.
I appreciate the premise here. There is some really good writing.
But it did not thrill me the way so much of Manguso's work has previously. I am HAUNTED by 300 Arguments & The Guardians & The Two Kinds Of Decay. At the same time I recognise this is a really high standard to set. I would suggest, even, unreasonable.
"I thought it was really good but I'm not, like, haunted by it" is still a compliment. It recognises skill & work.
When I say "this does not make me a Sarah Manguso evangelist" what you need to understand is that I already AM one.
I write this in snippets because of her. Not intentionally seeking-out-approval; just that my brain remembers/relearns it is okay to think this way.
Could you just read her already if you haven't? And then we can talk.
Hearts & Bones - Niamh Mulvey
The "love songs for late youth" that make up this debut collection from noted editor Niamh Mulvey quietly take us into different lives & relationships where there are yearnings & gaps, distances & frustrations, delicately damaged humans making their way through the world. It's haunting without being sentimental, & a time capsule of early-21st-century life in the British Isles.
One thing that struck me was the distinctiveness of each story, & how even though there were some thematic resonances across the work, it never felt repetitive. I am aware Mulvey has been publishing short fiction for a while, & this feels like a good advertisement for why not racing towards a first collection is often the wisest move; stories are miniature worlds & take time. (At the same time: also wildly excited for her forthcoming novel.)
Anyway. Would recommend, most definitely.
A Long Way Down - Nick Hornby
This 2005 novel by Nick Hornby is darkly comic & sharp, an account of 4 unlikely friends who meet on New Year's Eve on the roof of a building known for its suicides. That is, in fact, why they're all there. Martin is a disgraced TV presenter; Maureen, a carer for her son, knows it's a sin but sees no other way out; Jess is all impulse & teenage rage; JJ's music career has imploded.
They do not get along immediately - this is not a wholesome heartwarming take - but they do sullenly stumble into the next step & the step after that, deferring their intentions temporarily. They hunt for Jess's ex at a party; they get caught up in a brief scam about having seen an angel who looked like Matt Damon on that roof; they take Maureen on a holiday. But they also squabble & resent & have many of the same feelings that led them to that rooftop in the first place. They are cranky & dysfunctional & hurting a whole lot, & there are no easy answers, but occasionally there is humour. This balance is a really tricky one & I think Hornby pulls it off in the way that (queen!) Marian Keyes does when she writes about being in the Bad Place, but your mileage may vary. It hit the right note for me - that mix of snarky & despairing & hopeful.
Time loops, coercive control, murder and magic: The best new young-adult fiction (originally published in the Irish Times, August 2022)
“Ever since Mum, I’ve known the truth – everyone I know is walking around with a secret expiry date.” It’s been a year since Spence lost his mum in an accident, and the anniversary gets off to a bad start when his classmate Clara Hart hits his car in the school car park. Given her hostility and generally edgy attitude, he’s surprised to see her make an appearance at his best friend Anthony’s party that evening – and even more surprised to see her venture upstairs with him. The night ends in chaos, as Anthony’s parties often do, but this time it’s serious – Clara runs out into the road into the path of a speeding car, and dies.
The next morning, Spence wakes up to the same set of events – Clara hitting his car, Clara alive. Initially he chalks his memories up to a bad dream: “I don’t believe in mystical precognition or looping time. I believe in wrongly wired brains and emotional breakdowns, and both those options are looking plausible.” As the day continues to repeat, though, he starts looking for a solution – will saving Clara be enough to snap him out of this time loop?
Louise Finch’s debut novel, The Eternal Return of Clara Hart (Little Island, £8.99), deftly manages to revisit the same day over and over without it feeling repetitive, as Spence attempts to change the course of events and slowly realises that Anthony is not quite the “good friend” he’s believed him to be. This is a book about toxic masculinity, about sexual assault, about casual sexism, and about being complicit even when not the worst offender. All of that makes it sound like a terribly earnest read, but this novel is a reminder of how fiction can be an ideal space for exploring philosophical questions about guilt, morality, and what it means to live a “good” life. It has space for nuance and empathy in a way that a slogan or tweet does not.
Spence’s inability to ‘see’ the truth of events around him, and his capacity to justify the behaviour he and his friends engage in, is handled with care. When he realises that “it’s not right” how Anthony treats girls, he is not a white knight riding in to save the day nor is he a complete monster whose past behaviour makes him irredeemable. He is – like any of us – a complex and flawed human who does not always do the right thing. Finch’s capacity to evoke compassion for her protagonist even as he realises he is not the centre of the universe or the hero of the story is impressive, and in less skilled hands this story could have felt uncomfortably didactic. I’m glad for the author and for readers that it’s avoided that trap; I am glad this superb book exists.
Mental health advocate and campaigner Natasha Devon has written non-fiction for teens previously, but Toxic (UCLan Publishing, £8.99) marks her first time addressing these issues in novel form. As with Clara Hart, this book benefits from the space fiction provides to explore complex topics without providing pat answers. Llewella’s toxic friendship with new girl Aretha is a painfully accurate depiction of coercive control – something we tend to associate with romantic relationships but is a pattern of behaviour that can make itself felt in many other situations.
The psychological damage that girls can do to each other is taken seriously here, and the ways in which mental health difficulties can disrupt the capacity to assess a relationship as unhealthy is handled particularly well. Llewella reflects: “it was becoming harder to separate my gut instinct from the irrational, paranoid stuff which was part and parcel of mental illness. Was it anxiety’s voice telling me Aretha was trying to muscle in on an opportunity I’d earned, or was it me? I honestly didn’t know.” This compelling story belongs on many bookshelves.
Intense friendships are woven into a supernatural thriller in Ryan La Sala’s The Honeys (Scholastic, £8.99), set in a prestigious summer camp in the Catskill Mountains, where wealthy and powerful parents send their children each year and where something sinister lurks beneath the picture-perfect scenery. At the heart of this camp are the Honeys, dubbed as such because of the apiary of beehives they tend to, who wield a “coy power as thick and ample as the honey they were named for”. Mars is convinced they had something to do with his sister’s death, and he returns to the camp determined to find out the truth.
Initially, the bee comparisons work well at depicting a certain kind of charisma, with the girls explicitly referred to as predators, “like a stinging insect cloaked in the satin bell of a flower”. But as the story progresses, it becomes clear that it is a little bit more complicated than that. “It’s a common misconception that the queen bee rules the hive,” one character reminds us. “Her power is in name only. In reality, if she’s not doing her job, the workers will kill her and simply create another.” This creepy page-turner about a human hive is not for the faint of heart.
Angharad Walker’s Once Upon A Fever (Chicken House, £7.99) brings us to an alternative London, where medicine and magic mix. In this world, ever since the Turn, illnesses have been caused by strong emotions and “methics” attempt to find cures for these terrible afflictions. Sisters Ani and Payton live in King Jude’s Hospital with their father, who seeks a cure for their mother’s water fever. While Ani befriends an imprisoned boy with a strange power, Payton comes under the influence of a charismatic methic who has designed a machine that “can see the diseased feelings that lurk in our blood. Bad feelings. Feelings that my team and I will one day eliminate from our society so we can have a safer, brighter future.”
If occasionally clunky in its exposition, it’s also an engaging read that holds a slanted mirror up to our own world, inviting us to think about emotions, health and ethics while taking us on an adventure. That slant is important: this is also a book to escape into.
Crime writer Chris Whitaker turns his focus to teens for the first time in The Forevers (Hot Key Books, £7.99), a pacy and twisty tale set in the countdown to the end of the world. Like everyone else on Earth, 17-year-old Mae has known for years that the comet was on its way. In this final summer, she tries to figure out what happened to her former best friend, Abi, whose death has been dismissed as one of a number of suicides (the teachers speak of this “like it was contagious, some kind of pollutant that smoked through impressionable minds, replacing hope with despair”). Mae, who found the body, believes it was murder.
Alongside this, and musings about “how humanity has survived this long”, she falls in love, and uncovers a number of secrets her classmates have been hiding. The large cast of characters is sometimes confusing, but the appealing premise and impending doom keeps you turning the pages until the very end.