tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59166406807943652412024-02-20T01:53:23.232+11:00Bait For BookwormsA collection of musings, rants and considered opinions on all things literary...The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.comBlogger469125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-7877788995544601022021-12-30T12:39:00.001+11:002021-12-30T12:39:10.085+11:002021 In Review: And the Winner Is...Mea Culpa. I've spent the past few months so smugly assured of my book of the year that I didn't even bother to check its publication date. Until yesterday. And hoist me on my own petard if it wasn't published in 2020. Never fear, though. My characteristic buffoonery has given me the perfect opportunity to elevate another latecomer to book of 2021, but I still want to celebrate both these strange little masterpieces in my Book of the Year Post because, hell, they both totally blew me away. And so I give you my two favourite novels of 2021, even if one of them wasn't actually from this year: <b>The Employees</b> by <b>Olga Ravn</b> and <b>Mona</b> by <b>Pola Oloixarac</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
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To be honest I don't even really know where to begin with <b>Olga Ravn</b>'s <i>International Booker</i>-nominated novella, <b>The Employees</b> (trans. <b>Marin Aitken</b>). Originally conceived as a companion piece to <a href="https://artviewer.org/lea-guldditte-hestelund-at-overgaden/" target="_blank">an art exhibition</a>, it charts the travels of the Six Thousand Ship as it drifts away from planet New Discovery with a host of strange artefacts. Each chapter is told by a different crew member (human, robot and something in between, identified only by number); and examines one of these artefacts as part of a report to some higher authority. Filled with corporate jargon, dreamscapes, triggered memories, sensory descriptions and existential philosophy it gels and chaffs in equal measure, making for an entirely unique reading experience, an expirement in transhumanism. Nothing I can say here will do it justice, though perhaps my original review was my best attempt: I'm not sure what the heck this was but it was my favourite whatever the heck it was that I've read this year. Think <b>Ursula K Le Guin</b> meets <b>Upton Sinclair</b>, refracted through a surreal, fragmented prism. Just extraordinary.
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Rare is the satirical novel that can skillfully balance humour and social commentary, and do it without ever showing its inner machinations. Even rarer is the one that can sustain it until the closing page. I can probably count them on three fingers, and only because the outer two act as parenthesese. <b>Mona</b> by <b>Pola Oloixarac</b> (trans. <b>Adam Morris</b>)is by far the funniest book I've read in years, a perfect lambasting of all that is ridiculous about the literary life, particularly when it comes to festivals and prizes. In <b>Oloixarac</b>'s sites, no sacred literary cow is safe. If you want a glimpse into the arrogance, insecurity, petty jealousy and sexual lasciviousness (well, mostly desperation) that go with being a writer, and want to laugh your arse off while you do it, look no further. Having lived through way too many of these carnivals of the absurd, I can vouch for just how right <b>Oloixarac</b> gets it. Everything about <b>Mona</b> is a pure fucking joy to read (pun intended), right up to its batshit crazy magical realist horror ending. There is no limit to what <b>Oloixarac</b> will do, no risk she isn't willing to take. That it all pays off is testament to her brilliance and the perfectly contained genius of this little novel. What a book to round out the unpredctable hellride that was 2021. <br/ ><br/ >
And that's it. Hope you have a great new year, wherever the fuck you're hiding from the plague, and that 2022, if nothing else, is filled with awesome reading. Hopefully, I'll be back here more often. But then again I say that every year. Oh, well. Might see you soon. Thanks for visiting.
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-38359995510566851692021-12-29T17:04:00.002+11:002021-12-29T17:05:14.163+11:002021 In Review: It's The Final CountdownOne hundred and ninety books and it's come to the pointy end. Here are nine of the ten books I loved most in 2021.<br/ ><br/ >
10. <b>Great Circle</b> by <b>Maggie Shipstead</b>.<br/ >
Granted I haven't quite finished it, but I've read enough of this exuberant subversion of the high-flying, swashbucking tales of yore to have it sitting comfortably in my top ten. Reminiscent of old favourites like <b>The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay</b> or <b>Let The Great World Spin</b>, it is a boldly joyous book, filled with grand setpieces, big characters and a plot that hurtles along with the aeronautic dynamism of the flying dreams that lie at its heart. It's also a salient reminder that good literary fiction can still be narrative-driven.<br/ ><br/ >
9. <b>Klara and the Sun</b> by <b>Kazuo Ishiguro</b>.<br/ >
This book could have been a disaster. In fact, when I first heard <b>Ishiguro</b> was trying his hand at an artificial intelligence novel, my first thought was "Hasn't <b>McEwan</b> already punished us enough?" Thankfully, he rose to the occasion, giving us what I think is both his best book since (and a companion piece to) <b>Never Let Me Go</b>. Much like in that book, <b>Klara and the Sun</b> asks what it means to be human. This time, however, <b>Ishiguro</b> goes one step further and asks not only whether life has intrinsic value, but whether there really is such a thing as individuality. Does a person truly exist as an irreplaceable, irreducible individual or is that merely a sentimental construct that we take upon ourselves and then ascribe to those we love? In doing so Ishiguro touches on many of the cornerstones of our existential awareness: family, friendhsip, religion (particularly God, as represented by Klara's belief in the Sun), love and, of course, death.
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8. <b>The Promise</b> by <b>Damon Galgut</b><br/ >
Back when I first read <b>Catch 22</b>, I marvelled at <b>Heller</b>'s ability to frame the central conundrum in so many different ways. I had much the same feeling reading <b>Galgut</b>'s <i>Booker Prize</i> winning novel of racial and social injustice. It didn't hurt that every shit fate that befell a member of the Swarts family has befallen the relative of someone I know. Yep, this book cut close to home. Quite coincidentally, I read it at the same time as I was watching <b>The White Lotus</b>, and couldn't help but feel they were companion pieces; excoriarting commentaries on (mostly white) privilege. <b>Galgut</b> has long sat on the periphery of South African literary royalty, never quite achieving the stature of <b>Coetzee</b>, <b>Brink</b> or <b>Gordimer</b>. <b>The Good Doctor</b> should have changed that, but at least this one now has. <br/ ><br/ >
7. <b>Aphasia</b> by <b>Mauro Javier Cárdenas</b><br/ >
Labyrinthine sentences wind us through an equally intricate story of fatherhood, identity and existence in an incresingly techno-fied world. This is daring literature at its finest: fun, playful, confounding and, at times, infuriating. It's the kind of book sure to send fans of <b>Bernhard</b> and <b>Pessoa</b> into fits of orgasmic bliss. Peppered with hilarious literary in-jokes, it struck me as a fitting successor to <b>Vila-Matas</b>'s glorious <b>Montano's Malady</b>. I could read those two in continuous loop and be happy forever.
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6. <b>The Books of Jacob</b> by <b>Olga Tokarczuk</b><br/ >
Umptten years in the offing, <b>Jennifer Croft</b>'s English translation of <b>Tokarczuk</b>'s <b>The Books of Jacob</b> was probably the publishing event of 2021. Cited by the Nobel Committee in her citation, it is a massive book in every possible sense of the word. Charting the rise and fall of <b>Jacob Frank</b>,the second most famous false messiah in Jewish history, it is a polyvocal spectacular that draws on history, theology, philosophy and multiple storytelling traditions to explore the essence of language and its interpretation. It is, without question, a modern masterpiece.
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5. <b>Chasing Homer</b> by <b>Laszlo Krasznahorkai</b><br/ >
It seems redundant to talk about anything by <b>Krasznahorkai</b> as "weird", but as a multimedia experiment, this novella was pretty fucking weird. Set against percussive soundscapes accessed through QR codes, it is a claustrophobic, paranoid foray into something resembling the world of cloak and dagger chase stories. I heard him read something tonally similar in New York a long while back and wonder if that was germ from which this grew. Whatever, it's a pretty good entry point for those wanting to dip their toe in to the great man's work. If only because it is almost accessible. Almost.
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4. <b>More Than I Love My Life</b> by <b>David Grossman</b><br/ >
At this point, <b>David Grossman</b> can pretty much do nothing wrong. And even when he does (I didn't love <b>A Horse Walks Into a Bar</b>) he still wins awards for it. For me, <b>More Than I Love My Life</b> is a late career highlight. A complex, finely-tuned tale of motherhood, intergenerational trauma, storytelling and, well, love, it hinges on a human conundrum that is equal to, but possibly more relatable than, <b>Sophie's Choice</b>. And it was bloody refreshing to read a modern, deeply Jewish novel where the trauma is not Holocaust-related.
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3. <b>The Prophets</b> by <b>Robert Jones Jr</b><br/ >
One of the first books I read this year, <b>The Prophets</b> set the bar for 2021. The story of Isiah and Samuel, two slaves who fall in love on a plantation, it is beautiful, carnal, raw and bristling with righteous indignation in the face of insurmountable cruelty. In my review back in January I called it equal to the works of <b>Toni Morrison</b> and <b>James Baldwin</b> and now, almost twelve months later, I stand by that. As I said, "<b>Jones</b> has the fiery clarity of, well, a prophet. What he has to say is, often, incendiary, consuming injustice in the flames of his ire." This is a book that just might have redefined a genre.
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2. <b>Assembly</b> by <b>Natasha Brown</b><br/ >
So far as I'm concerned, zeitgeist books, almost by definition, suck. Everyone jumps on board, holding their literary "insider status" as some kind of wanky membership card. Like, seriously. What a farce. And so I came to this with extreme caution and... whoooooooaaaaaaah. <b>Assembly</b> is an exhilarating bomb placed beneath the classist, racist, misogynist, colonial foundations of British society and set off to spectacular effect. It's a revelation. A supernova. Sure, I've just become what I hate but, in this case, it was worth it.
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The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-22310415050334349612021-12-26T15:07:00.006+11:002021-12-29T19:36:03.408+11:002021 In Review: Notes From The AntipodesThis year I had the surreal and rather fun opportunity to sit on the judging panel for the fiction prize of the <i>Victorian Premier's Literary Awards</i>. More than anything, it gave me a great chance to read a truckload of Aussie novels - seventy-two of them to be precise. Believe me when I say, it was damn near impossible to narrow it down to a shortlist of six. I'm pretty thrilled with the ones we ended up picking and wholeheartedly recommend them all. In case you missed it, the shortlist is:<br/ ><br/ >
<b>After Story</b> by <b>Larissa Behrendt</b> <br/ >
<b>Bodies of Light</b> by <b>Jennifer Down</b><br/ >
<b>Echolalia</b> by <b>Briohny Doyle</b><br/ >
<b>The Dogs</b> by <b>John Hughes</b><br/ >
<b>Smokehouse</b> by <b>Melissa Manning</b><br/ >
<b>Permafrost</b> by <b>SJ Norman</b><br/ ><br/ >
You can check out all the books and see our judges' comments <a href="https://www.wheelercentre.com/projects/victorian-premier-s-literary-awards-2022" target="_blank">here</a>. <br/ ><br/ >
For obvious reasons, I'm not including any Australian books in my Top 10 countdown this year, though I can say that at least three of them would definitely have made it. Whether or not they were shortlistees (or the winner) is for you to guess. Either way, here are a few other Australian novels that I absolutely loved but that unfortunately didn't make the final VPLA cut.<br/ ><br/ >
First up, literary fiction. <b>Miles Allinson</b> returned with <b>In Moonland</b>, an exquisite novel about the search for meaning, belonging and self, and the inergenerational ripple effects of joining a cult. It also boasted the best first sentence of any book I read this year. <b>Mette Jakobsen</b> gave us <b>The Wingmaker</b>, a subtle and gorgeous story of a woman who goes to a delapidated hotel to repair a broken statue, not to mention her life. I'll humbly join <b>Helen Garner</b> in raving about <b>Diana Reid</b>'s brilliantly assured debut, <b>Love & Virtue</b>, a complex and nuanced take on consent and agency in the rarified world of Sydney university colleges. <b>Lucy Neave</b>'s <b>Believe In Me</b> was one of the best novels about motherhood I've ever read. Emotionally and morally complex, it asked the fundamental question of whether we can truly know the people we love before we came into their lives. And last but definitely not least, <b>Claire Thomas</b> hit it out of the park with <b>The Performance</b>, a state of the nation novel deftly woven around a production of <b>Beckett</b>'s <b>Happy Days</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
Australian short stories had a real banner year in 2021, with some very quirky, borderline experimental collections standing out for me. Top of the pile was <b>Chloe Wilson</b>'s <b>Hold Your Fire</b> and <b>Patrick Lenton</b>'s <b>Sexy Tales of Paleontology</b>, but I also loved the more conventional <b>Born Into This</b> by <b>Adam Thompson</b> and <b>Dark As Last Night</b> by the consistently brilliant <b>Tony Birch</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
Venturing out of my wanky comfort zone, I thoroughly enjoyed some great crime/thriller novels. The ever-dependable <b>JP Pomare</b> had me swearing off Air BNB-type arragements for life with his thoroughly creepy <b>The Last Guests</b>. <b>RWR McDonald</b> returned with his feisty kid detective and her hilarious gay uncles in <b>Nancy Business</b>, another top notch murder mystery in what is shaping up to be quite the irresistable series. This one even featured a ferret named after yours truly (to me, the main characterm if only for a page). <b>Lyn Yeowart</b>'s debut novel, <b>The Silent Listener</b>, was a cunning subversion of some common genre tropes, and had me absolutely hooked throughout. International glory has rightly found <b>Peter Papathanasiou</b> for outback mystery with a social conscience, <b>The Stoning</b>. And <b>Matt Nable</b> absolutely nailed the historical shit-town noir thriller (sorry, Darwin) with the bloody excellent <b>Still</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
To my great surprise, 2021 was the year I was forced to change my snobbish aversion to self-published novels. Usually I run like the plague but it turned out three of my favourite Australian novels weren't picked up by publishers. Blazing its own trail of experimental weirdo mindfuckery was <b>Michael Winkler</b>'s spectacular work of "exploded non-fiction", <b>Grimmish</b>. As I said a while back, I totally get why it didn't find a publisher but absolutley cannot believe a publisher wasn't willing to take a punt on what turned out to the most daring book of 2021. <b>Winkler</b>, of course, had the last laugh, with glowing reviews everywhere and word of mouth driving it to near-mainstream status. Another self-published gem was <b>The Hands of Pianists</b> by <b>Stephen Downes</b>, a thoroughly odd <b>Sebald</b>-meets-<b>Poe</b> tale of musicians and the pianos that murdered them. Finally, <b>Daylight</b> by <b>Ben Tarwin</b> was an elusive, elliptical story of elderly brothers falling out over death of one’s son. Pocked by memories of World War 2, it floated between prose and poetry in what can only be described as a narrative dreamscape.<br/ ><br/ >
There was one other Australian literary highlight, but this one wasn't a book. <b>Beyond The Zero</b> is a relatively new podcast that appeared pretty much out of nowhere back in July and has since built an almost cultlike following of obsessed book fiends, myself included. I don't know how he does it, but Ben gets the most interesting array of authors , critics and writing types on to the show to chat about their work, their favourite books and all manner of literary things. What's more, he's built an incredible, inclusive literary community that is very active on <i>Twitter</i> (even if they got the winner of the World Cup of Books totally wrong). It's probably my number one place for book recommendations and I strongly recommend you check it out on your favourite streaming service or podcast app.
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-51114049052623199412021-12-25T13:53:00.000+11:002021-12-25T13:53:01.559+11:002021 IN REVIEW: SECONDARY STARS AND OTHER SATELLITESNot quite the blogging year I'd hoped for. Not the anything year any of us had hoped for. Still, here we all are, limping to the end, gazing into the distance with hope only to see the oncoming train of Omicron. If there was any consolation this year, it was that it was an absolute ripper for literature. So many great books were published and, locked in as we were, we had the opportunity to read them... that is, when we weren't overcome with existential dread. I managed 190 or so. And a veritable fuckton of dread. I'm unlikely to be able to do the whole extended list thing this year because I've just moved home, am awaiting the imminent arrival of a baby and, to be honest, I'm just too munted. Still, I'll do my best. As always I start with the peripheral stuff.<br/ > <br/ >
<b><U>BEST BOOKS NOT FROM 2021</U></b><br/ >
<b>The Labyrinth</b> by <b>Amanda Lohrey</b>. There's not much I can say about this literary prize vacuum that hasn't already been said. Only that it deserved every accolade it has received. A modern Australian classic. <br/ >
<b>Brodeck</b> by <b>Philippe Claudel</b> On the face of it a strange murder mystery fable, <b>Brodeck</b> is probably the greatest novel about French complicity in the Holocaust that I've ever read. Thanks to <b>Ben</b> from <b>Burgers, Beers and Books with Ben</b> for getting me to give it another go and then come onto the show to fawn over it for an hour. <br/ >
<b>An Instance of the Fingerpost</b> by <b>Iain Pears</b>. I remember this as having been a brilliantly structured 17th century whodunnit, but I'd totally forgotten its incredible political dimensions. Yep, it's still my favourite book of its kind (sorry <b>Umberto</b>). <br/ >
<b>The Remains of the Day</b> by <b>Kazuo Ishiguro.</b> Many years ago, when I first read it, I declared <b>The Remains of the Day</b> as close to the perfect English novel as has ever been written. I reckon I've read a couple of thousand books since then and my opinion hasn't changed.<br/ >
<b>Bear</b> by <b>Marian Engel</b>. I would never have guessed that one of the greatest books about loneliness, existence, nature and companionship would centre around an ageing librarian who fucks a bear in a country cabin. But here we are. An absolutely clawesome classic.<br/ >
<b>The Most Precious of Cargoes</b> by <b>Jean-Claude Grumberg</b>. A woodcutter's wife catches a baby thrown from a cattle train bound for hell. The child grows up, loved by her new family, while her father struggles to survive. A stunning fable, a moral reckoning, a balm for the soul.<br/ >
<b>Dangerous Men</b> by <b>Michael Katakis</b>. <b>Steinbeck</b> in miniature, these very short stories of dustbowl America absolutely destroyed me.
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<b><u>THE SHELF OF SHAME</u></b><br/ >
One hundred and ninety books and I didn't manage to get to these. How lame.<br/ >
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<b><u>BEST BOOK COVERS</u></b><br/ >
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<b><u>THE SOUNDTRACK TO MY DOWNTIME</u></b><br/ >
Look, I'm gonna level with you. This was a pretty shit year for my favourite genres - punk, metal, hardcore (the real kind, not the lame 2010s variety) and indie rock. There were very few standout albums. Most of my favourites were anniversary edition rereleases of old albums (I'm looking at you greatest album of all-time, <b>Propagandhi</b>'s <b>Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes</b>) and live albums. Of the new releases, for the first time ever I couldn't even scrounge a Top 20. Which made these sixteen records all the more amazing for me.<br/ >
16. <b>Crawler</b> - <b>IDLES</b>. Loved <b>Joy As An Act of Rebellion</b>. Didn't like <b>Ultra Mono</b> at all. Wasn't holding out much hope for <b>Crawler</b>. Turned out one of the most pleasant surprises of the year; a dark, brooding, slow-burn of repressed fury.<br/ >
15. <b>Alone In a Dome</b> - <b>The Copyrights</b>. Ramonescore pop-punk done right. Edgy, fun and criminally overlooked. In a year when their spiritual brethren put out a decent but samey record, only to be plagued by some pretty shitty controversy, <b>The Copyrights</b> really shone bright for me as the best in the game.<br/ >
14. <b>ULTRAPOP</b> - <b>The Armed</b>. What is this fucking chaos? Glorious. That's what it is.<br/ >
13. <b>Kids Off the Estate</b> - <b>The Reytons</b>. I was, at best, a casual fan of <b>Arctic Monkeys</b>. I did, however, like a bunch of those other Britpop bands at the time. Fast forward fifteen years and some smart cookie thought it would be a great idea to chuck them all in a blender and see what came out. They were right. It was genius. Derivative as all hell, but genius. What a fun record.<br/ >
12. <b>No Gods No Masters</b> - <b>Garbage</b>. Who would have thought that <b>Garbage</b> could still be relevant in 2021? Not me. And then they come out with their best album since <b>Version 2.0</b>. What a weird world we live in. <br/ >
11. <b>How Flowers Grow</b> - <b>Scowl</b> Ten songs. Fifteen minutes. Kick-arse, raging hardcore with touches of melody. Sublime.<br/ >
10. <b>I’m Sorry Sir, This Riff’s Been Taken</b> - <b>The Hard-Ons</b> The Aussie rock equivalent of a royal marriage sees these punk legends team up with rock god <b>Tim Rogers</b> to someohow pull out the best record either of them has done in twnety years. It almost had no right to be this bloody good.<br/ >
9. <b>Bronx VI</b> - <b>The Bronx</b>. I'm not sure when <b>The Bronx</b> became a full-on party band, but in a year of constant disappointment and anomie it was an absolute delight to have this ray of sonic sunshine.<br/ >
8. <b>OK Human</b> - <b>Weezer</b>. It's pretty settled now that post-<b>Pinkerton</b> <b>Weezer</b> routinely bring the cringe. Still, I live in hope with each release that there will be something salvagable amongst the dross. Mostly, it's a song here and there. With <b>OK Human</b> they actually pulled off a really good record with only a couple of duds. Sure, it's not the first two records, but it might well be the best thing since.<br/ >
7. <b>Moral Hygeine</b> - <b>Ministry</b>. University-era me is passed out in the corner of a dirty goth nightclub, dreaming of a post-apocalyptic future in which <b>Ministry</b> are actually good again. Wakey wakey. Get off the nangs. The future is here and it's almost as excellent as <b>Psalm 69</b> or <b>The Mind Is a Terrible Thing To Taste</b>.<br/ >
6. <b>Milestones</b> - <b>Knife Hands</b>. Easily the most exciting Australian punk album of recent times. A perfect blend of melody, aggression, awesome riffage and righteous anger. <br/ >
5. <b>21st Century Love Songs</b> - <b>Wildhearts</b>. As a long-suffering <b>Wildhearts</b> die-hard, I approach every new release with extreme caution. I've always been confused by their weirdly inaccessible industrial leanings, and hoped for a return to the melodic brilliance of <b>Earth vs The Wildhearts</b>, self-titled or <b>Chutzpah</b>. Here, we get a strange cocktail of all their incarnations and, who'd have thunk it, it works a treat. Ah, Ginger you unpredictable punk, never change.<br/ >
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4. <b>Daggers</b> - <b>Jim Ward</b> What can I say? This guy can do no wrong. Last year's <b>Sparta</b> record was awesome and here he comes, hot on its tail, with another solo record that's every bit as good as the bands he's played in. Thoughtful, propulsive, urgent and heartfelt, <b>Daggers</b> is another must listen from one of the most consistent artists in the business today.<br/ ><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2FDmuix7VDk" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe><br/ >
3. <b>Aggression Continuum</b> - <b>Fear Factory</b>. I've never been a fan of that whole big metal-tinged-with-hardcore-and-industrial scene. Actually, I've never really bothered to give <b>Fear Factory</b> a chance. But in a year mostly devoid of standouts, I thought I'd check it out and... whoooooaaaaaah. Blown. Away. This album is a bloody monster. Everything about it is HUGE. Never has a musical implosion sounded so great.<br/ ><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FAvTQgxt6Us" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe><br/ >
2. <b>Dreamers</b> - <b>Chaser</b>. A perfect slice of mid-90s EpiFat punk goodness delivered with style, passion and a bucket or ten of fun. Almost an antidote to the shitness of the world right now, this was the album I most needed in 2021. Also, no song made me happier (or more nostalgic) this year than <b>See You At the Show</b>.<br/ ><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ilKGftOwgbk" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe><br/ >
1. <b>Now Where Were We</b> - <b>The Exbats</b><br/ >There's something I've always loved about daugher/father duo <b>The Exbats</b>. Every album has been a gem of retro-tinged rock, with killer hooks, goofily enjoyable themes and a palpable joy in the playing. But this album. THIS ALBUM. Holy shit, if you want to hear the most perfect garagey hymn to the late 60s classics then you have to get this album in your ears. From the moment it starts to the final fade, this is pure, unadulterated elation on wax. I cannot stop listening to it and, after one listen, I suspect neither will you.<br/ >
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The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-17965006348829240522021-11-08T16:16:00.004+11:002021-11-08T16:16:45.000+11:00Novella November 2021: The First WeekIt's been a tough eighteen months to be a Melburnian. The world's longest lockdown has sucked the energy from us all and I, for one, have been creatively bereft. Still, what had to be done had to be done and now we find ourselves at the other end, with life returning to something resembling normal. A newfound vigour is coursing through the air. There's bloody traffic on the roads. I have to talk to people again. Oh well. I suppose it couldn't have happened at a better time for me because it's my favourite month of the year - <b>Novella November</b>. Yep, for thirty days I throw caution, responsibility, real work and life to the wind so I can read a book a day and live tweet it. For those who have <i>Twitter</i>, please follow me <b>@BramPresser</b>. For those who don't I'm emerging from my Blog Coma to do weekly updates for the rest of the month, posting the bite-sized reviews in batches. Hopefully that will also kick me into gear to keep going through December and beyond with usual programming. Anyway, happy <b>Novella Novella</b>. Hope you find as much joy in the perfect literary form as I do! <br/ ><br/ >
<b>Water Music - Christine Balint</b><br/ >
As always, I begin with a <i>Viva La Novella Prize</i> winner. Drawing from an obscure historical footnote, and riffing on identity, belonging and art, <b>Balint</b> has given us a book about music that, in its lyricism, is itself musical. Bravo.<br/ >
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<b>The Solitary Twin - Harry Mathews</b><br/ >
Killer swan song from America’s first Oulipian. A tangle of stories that unfurl in sinews to reveal the truth behind identical twins whose appearance has upended a small town. Sex, deceit, murder and a twist that really stings.<br/ >
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<b>Among the Hedges - Sara Mesa</b><br/ >
Teenager Soon wags school in a local park, where she befriends a homeless old man with a penchant for birding. Sinister undertones course beneath the delightful innocence, making for a beguiling, compelling little read.<br/ >
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<b>The Most Precious of Cargoes - Jean-Claude Grumberg</b><br/ >
A peasant catches a baby thrown from a cattle train bound for hell. The child grows up, loved by her new family, while her father struggles to survive. A traditional but not cliched fable, it will tear at your soul.<br/ >
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<b>Astral Season, Beastly Season - Tahi Saihate</b><br/ >
Kooky Japanese gem about some school kids so hell bent on proving their B-grade idol isn't a murderer that they kill a bunch of people to throw police off the scent. A surefire cult classic in the making with unexpected depth.<br/ >
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<b>Chasing Homer - László Krasznahorkai</b><br/ >
Words, images and percussive soundscapes (via QR code) collide in this paranoid, obsessive quest of self-nullification and perpetual exile as a means of escaping unknown, would-be murderers. Intense and utterly mesmerising.<br/ >
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<b>Assembly - Natasha Brown</b><br/ >
At last, a zeitgeist book that doesn't suck. <b>Assembly</b> is an exhilarating bomb placed beneath the classist, racist, misogynist, colonial foundations of British society and set off to spectacular effect. Just read it.<br/ >
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAqMvFHOcpqjx2oswA5-OR5USPurkPtU1H2N_Rh7LN1gOmPkSCZXdlrR9c4Umtu9uGNo0RFYD6QbkIlUsIfFvN3xcVCkOd29qyuxLM6YpFtCAf_ewkzytIzk1BApnIvJcsoSdZ-xgwnDD/s2048/07Brown.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAqMvFHOcpqjx2oswA5-OR5USPurkPtU1H2N_Rh7LN1gOmPkSCZXdlrR9c4Umtu9uGNo0RFYD6QbkIlUsIfFvN3xcVCkOd29qyuxLM6YpFtCAf_ewkzytIzk1BApnIvJcsoSdZ-xgwnDD/s400/07Brown.jpeg"/></a></div>The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-14288111574299824092021-01-21T14:31:00.003+11:002021-01-21T14:38:46.682+11:00Microviews Vol. 61: A Bookcase of Curiosities<b>Homeland Elegies</b> by <b>Ayad Akhtar</b><br/ >
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Back in 2013, <b>Ayad Akhtar</b> found himself at the centre of quite the political shitstorm. Conservative pundits were up in arms about his <i>Pulitzer Prize</i> winning play, <b>Disgraced</b>, in which one its characters, a Muslim, admitted to having felt a "blush of pride" when the planes hit the towers. That one line was tinder for the close-minded right wingers who gleefully missed the entire point and came at him with proverbial pitchforks. The question of what it means to be Muslim in post-911 America also lies at the heart of <b>Homeland Elegies</b>, though <b>Akhtar</b> revisits it in an altogether different way. The novel, inasmuch as it is one, is a perfectly-executed book of autofiction. <b>Akhtar</b> draws on moments of his own life (with which some readers will be familiar) and seamlessly inserts invented characters and events that flesh out the complicated relationship he has with the country in which he was born but that has since made him "other". So seamless are these insertions, that it took for me to look up a key person in the story to realise he only existed on the page. <b>Akhtar</b> is unrelenting in his self-examination, demonstrating remarkable courage and insight while grappling with feelings of belonging, anger, grief and hope. In so doing, he lays bear the structural and institutional racism that has always existed but that has ramped up to breaking point under Trump's disastrous presidency. That he does so concurrently with an underlying thread of filial investigation - he is as much coming to terms with his father's failings as he is his country's and his own - serves to add a layer of humanity and warmth that (I hope) breaks down the wall of otherness to some readers. Structured episodically in linked narrative essays - elegies, really - that come together to make an astonishing whole, <b>Homeland Elegies</b> is truly a book for our time, one that everyone should read.
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<b>Tell Me Lies</b> by <b>JP Pomare</b><br/ >
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It's easy to dismiss me as some kind of wanky literary snob. God knows I give enough ammunition. So it might come as some surprise that I love myself a good thriller and, when it comes to finding the best ones, <b>JP Pomare</b> has fast become my go-to. That guy knows how to plot. <b>Tell Me Lies</b> started off as a audio short. It was never intended to appear in book form. Alas, the commercial gods demand what the commercial gods demand and so, following the stellar success of the excellent <b>In The Clearing</b>, and to satiate the salivating masses anxiously awaiting <b>The Last Guests</b>, we have something that is, to paraphrase <b>Britney</b>, not a novella but not yet a novel. It starts off unassuming enough - psychologist Margot Scott sees a bunch of clients, including a new kid referred to her by an old colleague. The kid is witty and charming and very, very handsome. He's also inappropriately flirty. It all seems a bit harmless until <i>BAM</i> a molotov cocktail is thrown through her window. Could it be one of her clients? Could it be <i>him</i>? And what is the dark secret Margot is desperate to hide? Kicked into high gear, <b>Tell Me Lies</b> is a ripper thriller, full of unexpected twists, thorny moral quandries and deft psychological mindfuckery. And that last page... Whoah...
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<b>Three-Fifths</b> by <b>John Vercher</b><br/ >
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Speaking of genre fiction, here's one that really hit me in the feels. Hand sold to me by a bookseller friend who is rarely effusive about books and usually leans towards the more traditionally literary end of the fictional spectrum, I bought it without so much as reading the blurb. <b>Three Fifths</b> is a crime novel of sorts. It is also a moving family drama, a story of friendship gone awry and, most importantly, a disturbing snapshot of contemporary America. Bobby works a dead-end job at a local diner. His best friend turns up one day, fresh out of jail. They have not seen one another in three years and, it's fair to say, Aaron is a changed man. Once a scrawny, comic-book loving geek, he in now a buff, tattooed neo-Nazi. A minor altercation with a couple of black kids quickly escalates, and ends with Aaron smashing one of them in the face with a brick, ultimately killing him. It is violent and shocking and, for Bobby, utterly terrifying. Because, other than being made complicit in a terrible crime, Bobby has a much bigger problem. Though he presents as white, his father is black. While the fallout from the crime remains central to the story, it is the examination of racial identity that really lies at the heart of this book. The whole thing careens out of control, towards an horrific, inevitable end. It's ugly and heart-rending. But holy crap it's good. Talk about putting yourself on the map with your debut!
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<b>Hole's Live Through This</b> by <b>Anwyn Crawford</b><br/ >
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For all the notoriety that surrounds her, it's easy to forget quite how incredible <b>Courtney Love</b> really is. Sure, she's been eclipsed in the collective cultural memory by her husband, and is often spitefully (and wrongly) blamed for his death, but one listen to 1994's <b>Live Through This</b> and you will be left in no doubt that she is a superstar in her own right, capable of writing a tune that could kick the arse of pretty much anything <b>Kurt</b> ever did. Hell, even he thought so! <b>Anwyn Crawford</b>'s brilliant cultural history of <b>Hole</b>'s masterpiece is a must, not only for fans of the band, but anyone even vaguely interested in a musical movement that came to define a decade. Through personal reflection, interview, critical analysis and sharp observation of the cultural milieu, <b>Crawford</b> takes you deep inside the multiplicity of forces that came together in a perfect storm to create what remains one of my favourite albums of all time. Plus, it got me listening to <b>Live Through This</b> on repeat, with a new appreciation, maybe even an understanding, of one of the most complex, controversial and downright impressive figures in the history of contemporary music. Couldn't possibly ask for more than that!
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<b>A Country for Dying</b> by <b>Abdellah Taïa</b><br/ >
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A spot of bookshop serendipity landed this gem in my hands after a very obscure customer order came to naught, leaving it languishing on a shelf in bayside Melbourne. Well, thanks random shitty customer who doesn't respect small indie bookstores! Your dickery is my windfall. Okay, maybe not the most easy or pleasant winfall I've ever had, but I'm still pretty glad I got it. In <b>A Country For Dying</b>, <b>Abdellah Taïa</b> explores the seedy underside of Parisian life through two Arab prostitutes, Zahira and Zannouba, as they make sense of, and find dignity and agency in their lives. Zahira is in the twilight of her career and submits to ever-greater degradations. Little does she know that her former lover Allal has followed her from Morocco with murderous intent. Zannouba, formerly a gay Iranian revolutionary, battles with her identity as she prepares for gender confirmation surgery. Their stories unfurl in an almost Scheherezade-like fashion, with multiple time slips, fables, reminiscences and diversions. It can all be a bit disorientating at times, but you best let it envelope you. <b>Taïa</b> is constructing a tapestry of contemporary immigrant life, one in which the dream of refuge becomes a waking nightmare. Which isn't to say the story is lost to horror. The hope and decency with which he imbues Zahira and Zannouba - not to mention pockets of humour - lifts the novel above the bleak misery of its premise, and transforms it into something deeply moving.
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-73253094921829892522021-01-12T15:58:00.004+11:002021-01-12T18:46:02.446+11:00Visible Men: The Prophets by Robert Jones Jr<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6RYb_hHd2MwWSrnfKUuNZ4txEuF8LcAbzU1Me4vXSGb6JOE1KnJNWoeEpeSrn4VOD4QEyoklfClUi_GGwnX0nx3-kjprnZZosAYWnOlNAw5wh_FBecrTTZQxmqS0yBoOPEdCpVWIgulYm/s1510/Prophets.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6RYb_hHd2MwWSrnfKUuNZ4txEuF8LcAbzU1Me4vXSGb6JOE1KnJNWoeEpeSrn4VOD4QEyoklfClUi_GGwnX0nx3-kjprnZZosAYWnOlNAw5wh_FBecrTTZQxmqS0yBoOPEdCpVWIgulYm/s400/Prophets.jpg"/></a></div><br/ >
Like many avid readers, I spent much of 2020 in a slump, barely able to concentrate on anything even remotely demanding. Every now and then I hit upon a book that stoked the reading flame but those moments were few and far between. To that end, <b>The Prophets</b> by <b>Robert Jones Jr</b> was always going to be a litmus test of sorts - had I regained the presence of mind to commit to a 450-page, deeply literary book of big ideas with a large cast of characters, multiple time shifts and a complex storyline? That question, it turns out, is not easy to answer.<br/ ><br/ > To get one thing out of the way first, I'll say this: while it may be a debut, <b>The Prophets</b> is, I'm quite convinced, a masterpiece. I'm not just throwing the term around. It's <b>Toni Morrison</b>/<b>James Baldwin</b> level masterpiece, with echoes of more contemporary greats like <b>Colson Whitehead</b>, and an added overlay of brilliantly-realised gay romance. Having said that, I couldn't quite give myself over to it - a fault that no doubt lies squarely with me and not the book. <br/ ><br/ ><b>The Prophets</b> is historical fiction at its very best; a striking and fresh take on the slave narrative, the like of which I've not read before. At its heart lies the love story between Samuel and Isiah, two young slaves who work the cotton fields of the Elizabeth Plantation (or Empty, as it's known to the slaves). They find solace from the gruelling work and soul-crushing unfairness of their lives in one another's arms. Theirs is a raw, passionate kind of love, played out each night in the so-called Fucking Place. It sustains them, and brings us, as readers, a sense of respite from the relentless injustice heaped upon them. <b>Robert Jones Jr</b> is unflinching in his description of sex and yet, much like <b>Garth Greenwell</b>, it never seems gratuitous. Rather, it functions as a kind of lifeblood to the narrative itself; there is propulsive energy driving a sense of hope. The ultimate expression of otherwise unattainable freedom.<br/ ><br/ >Samuel and Isiah's relationship is something of an open secret. Numerous people have seen them, and come to understand why they have yet to sire future generations of slaves, as is expected by the plantation's owner, Paul Halifax. Paul fancies himself a magnanimous owner; he aspires to treat his slaves better than his father did. But he is beholden to the prevailing mores and, really, any gestures toward decency are acts of self-delusion. Just like those before him, he rapes the women, resorts to extreme corporal punishment (albeit through proxies to keep his hands clean) and trades slaves he deems unproductive with little care for their established familial or communal bonds. He is thoroughly detestable but is not the catalyst for disater. That honour goes to Paul's son, Timothy, who learns of Samuel and Isiah's secret and sees in it a chance to satiate his own desires away from his parents' gaze. From the first time he invites Isiah to his room to sit for a portrait, a new sense of foreboding insinuates its way into an already very tense narrative. It will not end well. And it doesn't.<br/ ><br/ >
There are many things that set <b>The Prophets</b> apart from the pack. <b>Robert Jones Jr</b> writes achingly good prose. Every sentence radiates beauty, even when he is describing the most horrific events. He is also daring with form. <b>The Prophets</b> communes with spirits and ancestors as much as it exists in the historical present. There are voices, much like a greek chorus, that pipe up from time to time with etheral premonitions and commentary. <b>Jones</b> takes us to Africa in the time before centuries-old kingdoms are decimated by missionaries and slavers, where history informs our understanding of the deep bonds between those living on the plantation, not to mention a different perspective on sexuality and gender. Perhaps what stood out most to me was the generosity with which <b>Jones</b> writes and inhabits his characters. There are many, many people we get to know, and all seem important and necessary. <b>Jones</b> portrays them with depth, curiosity, humanity and a fullness I would usually expect to only be found in the central characters of a book, let alone one this big. He writes men well. He writes women well. Irrespective of any markers of identity, he writes as if he respects them as people with a story to tell. There are no easy moral signposts, either. Seemingly good people do bad things, and vice versa. Even viewed within its context, you will be challenged by much of what you read. Which isn't to say the book does not positively bristle with moral indignation and righteous anger. <b>Jones</b> has the fiery clarity of, well, a prophet. What he has to say is, often, incendiary, consuming injustice in the flames of his ire.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Prophets</b> may take as its waypoints aspects with which many readers will be familiar, but it builds on them in surprising and engaging ways. It is epic and ambitious, finely-wrought and devastating. It just might be one of the great American novels of the 21st century. If only I'd been in the headspace to properly appreciate it. The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-29456381233203552762021-01-06T08:56:00.002+11:002021-01-12T12:09:37.859+11:00The Brighter Horizon: KLARA AND THE SUN by KAZUO ISHIGUROLet's face it. The <i>Nobel Prize</i> is, more often than not, a curse. When <b>JM Coetzee</b> - probably my favourite living author - won in 2003, it took him a couple of novels to recover. Not that <b>Slow Man</b> or <b>Diary of a Bad Year</b> were terrible books, but they certainly were unremarkable by <b>Coetzee</b>'s standards. I'd also argue that <b>Summertime</b> and <b>The Childhood of Jesus</b>, whilst steps in the right direction, were no great shakes eaither. It wasn't until <b>The Schooldays of Jesus</b> that he was back on form. And that was 2016. His <i>Nobel</i> was celebrating its bar mitzvah. <b>Coetzee</b> is not alone. Many other authors are either squashed into slience, or fart out works decidedly unworthy of their newfound status. <b>Herta Müller</b>, <b>Elfriede Jelinek</b>, <b>Patrick Modiano</b>, <b>Peter Handke</b> (here's hoping)... Oh, and stop kidding yourself. You only pretended to like Dylan's last two albums (*fight me*). Which brings me to <b>Kazuo Ishiguro</b>, the 2017 <i>Nobel</i> laureate. A bit over three years after he won, and six after his last (and weakest) novel, we get <b>Klara and the Sun</b>.
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For those trying to avoid spoiler's in the lead-up to <b>Klara</b>'s March release, I'll give you the potted summary first: it's good. Very good. Fans of <b>Never Let Me Go</b> will find themselves in familiar territory, though this is a more complex and meditative work of speculative fiction. Though I think I still preferred <b>Never Let Me Go</b> (I say think because I'm still kind of processing <b>Klara</b>), I can confidently say that <b>Ishiguro</b> has bucked the <i>Nobel</i> curse. Sure, it's no <b>Remains of the Day</b> or <b>An Artist of the Floating World</b> but it's a thoroughly enjoyable, consistently intriguing read that had me contemplating some very big, uncomfortable questions. <br/ ><br/ >
From hereon in, beware. There will be minor spoilers. That said, I'll try to keep it a little vague, if only because I couldn't hope to capture all the novel has to offer. Also, I don't want to ruin the experience of watching its many, many ethical dimensions play out on the page. Still, don't say I didn't warn you.<br/ ><br/ >
Klara is an Artificial Friend (AF), advanced robot technology created to serve as a companion to lonely (or spoiled) children. AFs are both trend and necessity. When the novel opens, we meet Klara in the front window of a store, where she stands on display with fellow AF Rosa, observing the world, taking in the sun, and hoping to be picked out by a passing child. After some weeks, the two are taken from the window to make way for the newer B3 models that have just arrived. Klara and Rosa have been superceded, and are relegated to the back room bargain bin. Eventually Rosa is sold and Klara is alone. Enter Josie, a shy and sickly child who instantly falls for Klara. Her mother wants a B3, but Josie won't be swayed. <br/ ><br/ >
As soon as Josie brings Klara home, we get the sense that things are amiss. The reader, like Klara, is dropped into an unsettling world of shifting perceptual planes, a cruel and dangerous social strata system, and a family tenuously held together by what feels, more than anything else, like existential dread. Of course it's hard to know whether to trust Klara's narration - she is, after all, a robot learning to be part of a family.<br/ ><br/ > Still, there are enough objective markers to know something is not right. The house is kept by an overly officious robot, Melania Housekeeper (yeah, I laughed). Josie's best friend, Rick, who has not been "lifted" (it takes a while to work out what that means) is ridiculed and bullied at an "interaction meeting" with other children. Mother regularly schleps Josie to the city to sit for a portrait with the very creepy Mr Capaldi. Each time he focuses on a single body part, and she is never allowed to see how it is progressing. There's also a downright bizarre outing to Morgan's Falls, where Mother has Klara perform a number of what, at first, we take as demeaning tasks but that come to have a much more sinister, tragic meaning. Klara, too, develops some pretty intense obsessions: with the sun, with a nearby barn and, most importantly, with a machine that spews Pollution through its three funnels. <br/ ><br/ >Underpinning all of these things, and the story as a whole, is Josie's failing health. She is not just sick. She is dying, as did her sister before her. When Klara's purpose is finally revealed by Mother, it is as profound as it is horrific. Sure, there wasn't quite the cataclysmic gut-punch of <b>Never Let Me Go</b>, but that hardly seemed the point. <b>Ishiguro</b> renders the twist intentionally unremarkable; the signs are there for the reader to see and what is revealed feels like the final piece of a smartly constructed puzzle. It doesn't force us to reconsider all we've read but, rather, to engage with <b>Ishiguro</b>'s central theme: the human essence.<br/ ><br/ >
Much like <b>Never Let Me Go</b>, <b>Klara and the Sun</b> asks what it means to be human. This time, however, <b>Ishiguro</b> goes one step further and asks not only whether life has intrinsic value, but whether there really is such a thing as individuality. Does a person truly exist as an irreplaceable, irreducible individual or is that merely a sentimental construct that we take upon ourselves and then ascribe to those we love? In doing so <b>Ishiguro</b> touches on many of the cornerstones of our existential awareness: family, friendhsip, religion (particularly God, as represented by Klara's belief in the Sun), love and, of course, death. Klara, in a perpetual state of received revelation, is a useful avatar, all the more so because of her inherent unreliability. She is honest and forthright, but necessarily naive. It's kind of great and fun, but to a certain extent, is also the novel's greatest weakness - I found myself thoroughly confused a number of times and, to be honest, there are a few things I still don't get, even after having chewed it over for a couple of days.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Klara and the Sun</b> also lacks the tightness of <b>Never Let Me Go</b>. For a novel so jam-packed with fantastic, genuinely original ideas it felt a little wooly at its edges. There are minor subplots that struck me as underdeveloped and unexplored (the AF resistance movement springs to mind here). There also lulls; they are few and far between but their presence was very much noticed. Maybe it is the novel's reliance on set pieces that caused the connective tissue to visibly strain. Not that it greatly mattered. Sure, I felt as if I was limping through some parts, but it always came good. Indeed, the closing section is one of the most moving things I've read in a long time.<br/ ><br/ >Stripped of use, immobile and with failing circuitry that cast her memories into doubt, Klara is found in an AF junkyard by the manager who first sold her to Josie. They discuss the purpose and worth of her existence and decide that it was good. She fared better than Rosa. But to what end? She exists, an individual, in perpetuity. Forgotten and discarded in a world that might be wholly populated by successive generations of Artificial Friends. Perhaps these ideas of life, of individuality and worth, are all lies we tell ourselves when we reach the end. Because, really, what other choice do we have?The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-68516601789003201612020-12-31T07:42:00.001+11:002021-01-01T10:52:41.519+11:002020 In Review: And The Winner Is....Before you come at me with your pitchforks and torches, let me preface what I'm doing here with a couple of caveats. Firstly, it's 2020 and, frankly, given what we've all been through, I figure anything goes. There are no rules anymore. Except maybe stay the F at home or, if you have to go out, keep two metres apart and wear a friggin' mask. Seriously, it works. Other than that, it's a free for all. Secondly, as you will see, time played some weird tricks on me with what books I chose as the winners. Yeah, yeah. There are two. But one of the books I read as an Advanced Reading Copy in 2019 and mentioned it in passing here on the blog this time last year. The other, while published already in the UK, won't be out in Australia until March 2021. So don't @ me. I love these books and I stopped caring about time somewhere around April. Enough waffling.<br/ ><br/ >
Without further ado, I am pleased to say that my <i>Bait for Bookworms Book of the Year</i> is, for the first time ever, a tie. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>THE SLAUGHTERMAN'S DAUGHTER</b> by <b>YANIV ICZKOVITS</b> and <b>DOG ISLAND</b> by <b>PHILIPPE CLAUDEL</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
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I was first sucked in by the jacket design. Not the one you see here, but the one gracing the ARC. Having seen it floating about social media, I became oddly obsessed, despite knowing nothing about the book itself. In a strange serendipitous twist, <b>Katharina</b> from <i>Maclehose</i> was visiting Melbourne late last year and brought a copy with her. She had no idea I'd been coveting it for months, and handed it over, assuring me I'd love it. Talk about an understatement! <b>The Slaughterman’s Daughter</b> was the delightful throwback to the golden era of Yiddish storytelling that I didn't know I needed. An exuberant, joyous romp set in the Pale of Settlement during the time of the last Tsar, it tips its crisped streimel to the likes of <b>Sholem Aleichem</b>, <b>IL Peretz</b> and <b>Mendele Mocher Sforim</b>, yet maintains its own identity as a thoroughly modern and relevant work of literature. The story is bonkers, yet beautiful, a thrilling adventure and thoughtful treatment of issues that transcend time. Fanny Kesimann, the eponymous daughter of the local kosher slaughterman, is Hell-bent on freeing her sister from her status as an <i>agunah</i> (chained wife). Roping in the local eccentric, Fanny sets off on a madcap quest to hunt down her sister’s wayward husband only to fall foul of the Tsar’s secret police when she kills a gang of brigands who try to rob her. It’s hilarious and frenetic and everything I could have wished for to escape these difficult pandemic-drenched times. Oh, and for the pedants out there, I read it again in March and loved it even more.
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Long-time readers of this blog, if there are any, might recall my fawning adulation for <b>Philippe Claudel</b>'s <b>Brodeck's Report</b>. When it comes to novels about the collective complicity and guilt of civilians in World War Two, there is none better. Ten years to the day since I named it my favourite book of 2010, <b>Claudel</b> finds his way back to the top of my list with the absolutely astonishing <b>Dog Island</b>. Told in the form of a fable, the novel opens with three bodies washing ashore on the beach of the titular island, somehwere in the Mediterranean. Rather than investigate, the locals move quickly to toss the bodies into the island's smouldering volcano and go on with their lives. However, much like in <b>Poe</b>'s <b>Telltale Heart</b>, dastardly secrets have a way of seeping out. It is the local teacher, an outsider, who begins to shake the tree. Those harbouring guilt are quick to snap back, accusing him of the most terrible crimes. When a stranger appears in town, apparently to prosecute the teacher's case, things take a turn for the decidely strange. I'm being intentionally oblique here. To give too much away would spoil the cataclysmic impact of what <b>Claudel</b> achieves through this story. <b>Dog Island</b> is literature as moral compass, a savage indictment on the state of our response to contemporary humanitarian crises. Like <b>Brodeck</b>, it explores complicity and the lengths we might to go to assuage our guilt for opportunistic depradations. In a world where people to continue to flee persecution and violence, where they risk their lives and those of their families to reach safe harbour, where they fall victim to callous smugglers or indifferent governments, <b>Dog Island</b> is an absolutely essential read.
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And so ends another year. No matter hor you fared in 2020, I wish you all a better 2021, with health, happiness and great reading. I know I say it every year, but I plan to be back here more frequently. Fingers crossed another global catastrophe doesn't put paid to that plan!The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-16629476012042399102020-12-29T10:25:00.005+11:002020-12-29T11:18:28.605+11:002020 In Review: The Final CountdownOne hundred and forty one books. Many of them great.<br/ ><br/ >Here are the ones I loved the most. (Well, all except my favourite.)<br/ ><br/ >
10. <b>Nikolai the Perfect</b> by <b>Jim McIntyre</b><br/>
Some books are just worth the wait. <b>Jim McIntyre</b> has been working on <b>Nikolai the Perfect</b> for almost thirty years. It has, to say the least, trodden a difficult path to publication, despite having been a runner-up in the Unpublished Manuscript category of the <i>Victorian Premier's Literary Awards</i> a few years back. How there wasn't a bidding war over this stunning novel will always be beyond me. A story of dislocation, disposession and long-held family secrets, <b>Nikolai the Perfect</b> is the kind of literature that just doesn't get written anymore. It is classical in the truest sense; lush with lyrical beauty, a finely-crafted pleasure to read. Despite being hailed by both <b>Jane Harper</b> and <b>Toni Jordan</b> in <b>The Age</b> Summer Reading special, the pandemic has meant that <b>Nikolai</b> has flown a bit under the radar. <b>McIntyre</b> has yet to get the recognition he so richly deserves. Still, I suspect time will be kind to <b>Nikolai</b>. This is the kind of slow burn book that will simply refuse to be ignored.
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9. <b>Weather</b> by <b>Jenny Offill</b><br/>
Like many fans of <b>Offill</b>'s masterpiece in miniature, <b>Dept of Speculation</b>, I've been champing at the bit to get my eyes back on her sentences. And while <b>Weather</b> didn't have anywhere near the cataclysmic power of its predecessor, it was sharp and smart in a different (but still satisfying) way. Ultimately, it struck me as a novel of observational fragments that, when its various threads are pulled together, worked as a State of the Planet address (with a particular focus on the moral decay of America under <b>Trump</b>). In the days following the <b>Biden</b>/<b>Harris</b> victory, I found myself thinking of <b>Offill</b>, hoping that she had found not only comfort and relief, but also a skerrick of hope for what might lie ahead.<br/ ><br/ >
8. <b>Stone Sky Gold Mountain</b> by <b>Mirandi Riwoe</b><br/>
Following on from her extraordinary novella, <b>The Fish Girl</b>, <b>Mirandi Riwoe</b> returns with a brillaint slice of historical fiction that has already won a stack of prizes and, for my money, must be the hot favourite to win next year's <i>Miles Franklin Award</i>. <b>Stone Sky Gold Mountain</b> is everything I'd hoped for and more! I'd never given much thought to the Chinese experience during Australia's Gold Rush; back at school it was a footnote, an afterthought. Here, <b>Riwoe</b> places it front and centre to staggering effect. Siblings Ying and Lai Yue find themselves on the goldfields of Queensland, but soon their paths diverge in vastly different but equally challenging ways. Dreams of fortune are unceremoniously dashed on the altar of racism and injustice. There is decency to be found, but mostly in characters who also exist on the fringes and whose futures are similarly bleak. <b>Riwoe</b> bring great moral force to a gripping, immensely readable tale. No wonder it's struck gold with readers. #SorryNotSorry
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7. <b>The Watermill</b> by <b>Arnold Zable</b><br/>
A beautiful, engaging amalgam of reportage, storytelling and meditative thought about the power of art in the aftermath of atrocity. <b>Zable</b> takes us across the globe, to four sites of collective national trauma, and, through a cast of remarkable people he met in his travels, helps us understand a depth of common humanity that we might easily overlook when so wholly engrossed in the particulars of our own loss. It’s heartbreaking and immensely powerful but ultimately life-affirming - precisely what we've all come to love about <b>Zable</b>’s extraordinary body of work.<br/ ><br/ >
6. <b>Peace Talks</b> by <b>Tim Finch</b><br/>
I picked up this novel on a whim - I liked the cover; it had a gentle, enticing aura. Little could I have expected such a profoundly moving story of grief and hope, delivered through the unlikely vehicle of a peace negotiator trying to come to terms with the brutal murder of his wife. <b>Finch</b>'s juxtaposition of Edvard's high stakes work and his melancholy considerations of what might become of his life has a consistent bittersweetness that speaks important truths without ramming them down the reader's throat. A thoughtful, thought-provoking gem.<br/ ><br/ >
5. <b>Pew</b> by <b>Catherine Lacey</b><br/>
What a delightfully strange and unsettling book this is! <b>Lacey</b> takes a well-worn premise (stranger appears in small town, trouble ensues), and fashions of it a compelling exploration of identity, belonging, guilt and community. With echoes of <b>Shirley Jackson</b>, <b>Jordan Peele</b> and any number of classic, dark fables (think: <b>The Brothers</b><b> Grimm</b>), <b>Pew</b> is a timely little novel that is astonishing in its beauty and depth.<br/ ><br/ >
4. <b>Late Sonata</b> by <b>Bryan Walpert</b><br/>
<b>Seizure Online</b>'s <i>Viva La Novella Prize</i> has unearthed some absolutely astounding little books over the years. I have relished novellas from the likes of <b>Jane Rawson</b>, <b>Marlee Jane Ward</b>, <b>Avi Duckor-Jones</b>, <b>Mirandi Riwoe</b> and heaps more, so much so that I make it a habit of buying every winner without even bothering to check if it's going to be my kind of thing. Well, with no disrespect to the previous winners, this year might just have served up my all-time favourite. <b>Bryan Walpert</b> is, so far as I can tell, highly regarded as a poet. Reading <b>Late Sonata</b> it is not hard to see why. The gorgeous flow of his prose is veritably musical; perfectly fitting <b>Late Sonata</b>'s subject matter. Stephen, an ageing novelist, attempts to finish his wife's manuscript on <b>Beethoven</b>'s Sonata 30 op Cit 109. She, an acclaimed academic, is disappearing into the mists of dementia. While sorting through her notes, he stumbles across various clues about an affair she had that forces him to reconsider not only their marriage, but also his paternity of their late son, and his lifelong friendship with his best friend. Setting Stephen's tortured quest against his own novel-in-progress about an experimental treatment to reverse ageing, <b>Late Sonata</b> is a little book with very big things to say about music, memory, love and the dark complexity of life. It is the only book I read twice in 2020. <br/ ><br/ >
3. <b>Fracture</b> by <b>Andrés Neuman</b><br/>
You know how we all have that one book we've been meaning to read forever? When <b>Andrés Neuman</b>'s <b>Traveller of the Century</b> was published to great acclaim back in 2012, I picked it up in harcover with every intention of ripping through it <i>post haste</i>. Fast forward eight years and, well, here we are with it still languishing on my shelf. Not <b>Fracture</b>. It never even made it to my shelf. After reading a glowing review in <b>The Guardian</b>, I rushed out to buy it and took it to a nearby cafe. I was instantly hooked. Within the first few pages, I was frantically scribbling passages into my notebook. Then it escalated to photographing entire pages and posting them to <i>Twitter</i>. I never do that kind of thing! <b>Fracture</b> is an exquisite book; the experience of reading it not unlike giving yourself over to graceful meditative transcedence. It is, at least on its surface, the story of Mr. Watanabe, a survivor of both atomic bombs in Japan, who makes a pilgramage of sorts to Fukushima following the 2011 disaster at the nuclear power plant. Of course, that kind of reductive description does the book a great disservice - it is, at heart, a kaleidoscopic portrait of contemporary life, one lived precariously in a perpetual state of an uncertaintly not of one's own making. Structurally ingenious - it is mostly related through the reflections of former lovers - <b>Fracture</b> manages to capture and make bearable the existential horror of our times. I read it at the start of Melbourne's second lockdown, when life seemed particularly bleak and scary. <b>Neuman</b>'s depth of humanity, his ability to plumb the depths of existence and find goodness within, gave me much solace. Needless to say, <b>Traveller of the Century</b> is now at the top of my Summer reading list.
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2. <b>Interior Chinatown</b> by <b>Charles Yu</b><br/>
Hilariously indignant, gorgeous, heartbreaking... Brilliant. A perfectly-pitched dose of acerbic satire aimed at the casual, institutionalised racism in the entertainment industry. Of course, the barbs could easily be transposed to any industry and it’s not a far stretch to see the racism directed towards other minorities reflected in the main character’s experience. Willis Wu hopes to break into Hollywood but, no matter how far he seems to reach, he is only ever a variation of “Asian Man”. The glass ceiling is infuriating but the book itself is an absolute scream. Once again <b>Yu</b> proves himself to be among America’s best comedy writers and, quite possibly, a contemporary successor to <b>Jonathan Swift</b>. The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-35955416104062306612020-12-28T20:33:00.002+11:002020-12-29T07:18:36.693+11:002020 In Review: The Best of the RestHave I mentioned that 2020 was a bloody excellent year for books? I mean, holy crap, it was the worst year for just about everything else but when it came to the books that sustained us through this clusterfuck pandemic lockdown life we really scored big. More than ever I've suffered a crushing dose of existential literary angst trying to narrow my favourites down to ten (spoiler alert: I've cheated). Having finally settled on which books I want to include, I thought I had to do an extra post about the ones I wish I could have included. In an alternate universe, all these books would have been in my Top Ten for 2020. They are that great. Then again, in an alternate universe I'd be at crowded punk shows in a New York basement without fearing for my life (I'm talking Covid, not, ya know, the usual crowded punk shows in a New York basement fear). So, here you go. These were the best of the rest of the 141 books I read in 2020:
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<b>Song of the Crocodile</b> by <b>Nardi Simpson</b>
<br/ >Unrelentingly brutal, rife with injustice and rage, and yet brimming with compassion, hope and beauty, <b>Nardi Simpson</b>'s magnificent debut absolutely floored me. Stitched together with rich threads of Aboriginal mythology (realised beautifully with magical-realist flourish), this multi-generational saga is hefty in both size and substance, full of memorable characters and powerful set-pieces. And, strange as it feels to say it, I don't think I've ever felt so warmly invited into aspects of Aboriginal culture, made not only witness but welcome participant. I loved every page of <b>Song of the Crocodile</b> but, moreover, felt grateful to <b>Simpson</b> for all that I came to learn and appreciate through the wonder of her storytelling.
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<b>Ghost Species</b> by <b>James Bradley</b><br/ >
Some writers are just a class above. With <b>Ghost Species</b>, <b>Bradley</b> proves himself once again to be one of them. Here his deep dive into ecological catastrophe continues but mostly in subtle undercurrent. Centre stage is a perfectly-honed speculative meditation on human evolution: what if we could reboot humanity by cloning a neanderthal from DNA? It is an immensely satisfying thrill ride of a novel both intellectually and in terms of pure entertainment. In a crowded literary landscape, <b>Ghost Species</b> is an astonishing masterwork of speculative fiction - plausible, utterly compelling and, as it progresses, eerily prophetic.
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<b>The Lost Shtetl</b> by <b>Max Gross</b><br/ >
Sometimes a book comes along with a premise so hilarious, so audacious and so up your alley that you kick yourself for not thinking of it first. Well, kick I did, but I'm glad <b>Gross</b> was the one to conjure this small Polish village lost to time, suddenly discovered and introduced to the modern world, because <i>oy</i> did I love reading this book. Of course, there were the expected stranger-in-a-strange-land gags (I could kind of imagine <b>Peter Sellers</b> and <b>Mel Brooks</b> tag-teaming on bits of it), but <b>Gross</b> took the idea to some very interesting, unpredictable places. With generous schmears of shmutz and shmaltz, <b>Gross</b> struck a fine balance of the hilarious, sacriligious and thought-provoking!
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<b>The Queen of Tuesday</b> by <b>Darin Strauss</b><br/ >
Speaking of an audacious premise, <b>Strauss</b>'s latest novel was about as uproariously chutzpadik as they come: an act of autofiction melded with an imagined affair between the author's grandfather, Isadore Strauss, and America's darling, <b>Lucille Ball</b>. In a year that we mostly felt shit about our lives, <b>The Queen of Tuesday</b> had me smiling more often than any other book I read. <b>Strauss</b> conjured TV's golden era with such love and gusto, and peppered his narrative with so many joyously sly sleights of hand, that I bought into his crazy conceit with absolute conviction. I also had the great privilege (and thorough enjoyment) of interviewing <b>Darin</b> for <i>Detroit Jewish Book Fair</i>.
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<b>At Night's End</b> by <b>Nir Baram</b><br/ >
I've been a fan of <b>Baram</b>'s writing since <b>Good People</b>, his first novel to be translated into English. Those familiar with his books might be accustomed to a certain bluster or swagger and so, like me, will be taken aback - in a suprisingly pleasant way - by the introspective air of <b>At Night's End</b>. This is a pained and deeply personal book, one in which <b>Baram</b> lays bare his soul in the wake of his best friend's suicide. In it, an author wakes up in an unfamiliar city, dishevelled, confused, desperate. Trying to work out what's happened, he suspects the answer might lie in the fate of his best childhood friend. He soon slips down the rabbit hole of fractured memory as he reflects on his younger days, and the bond the two shared. There's a lot to unpack in this novel but, ultimately, <b>At Night's End</b> will have you questioning the foundational myths of your carefully curated identity.
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<b>The Silence</b> by <b>Don Delillo</b>
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The weight of technology seems to be sitting heavily on many of our great writers because, recently, a fair few books have been pondering the question of what would happen if all technology that we've come to rely on just suddenly stopped. <b>Delillo</b>'s slim take has a man on a plane, hoping to get back in time for a sports match, when the cataclysm goes down. The plane crash lands and he survives. It is a story in two parts, the first vintage <b>Delillo</b> at his prophetic best, the second a disaster of confused monologues. I just went with the theme and pretended the printing press failed at the end of Part One.
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<b>When We Cease To Understand the World</b> by <b>Benjamín Labatut</b><br/ >
Probably the strangest book I read this year, <b>When We Cease To Understand the World</b> is neither novel nor a collection of stories nor essays nor... Shit, I don't know what it was. Whatever. In it <b>Labatut</b> imagines many of the greatest physicists caught up in the spell of their discoveries. The writing is explosive, the collision of creativity and intellectual rigour devastantingly brilliant. I still can't work out what to make of it, nor could I distinguish between fact and fiction (my scientific literacy is... um... a little lacking) but I can say without reservation that this is a work of strange and singular genius.<br/ ><br/ >
Thanks for reading. Hope to see you tomorrow when I begin my final countdown.The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-24342181280285454182020-12-26T11:37:00.003+11:002020-12-26T11:37:58.372+11:002020 In Review: Strewth It's Been a Ripper Year For Aussie LitI don’t usually do this sort of thing, but it’d be remiss of me not to make a special post about Australian books this year because HOLY SHIT it’s been an amazing one for Aussie literature. I read more from here than any previous year and even then I didn’t get to all the ones I had on my pile. <br/ ><br/ >
Particularly exciting was how many of my favourite books were debuts. It really stung to think how all these ace new writers didn’t get the chance to properly celebrate their efforts with proper launches, festival appearances etc. If it’s any consolation, I hope you know that you were read and loved and gave us a hell of a lot of happiness and respite through a time of collective trauma. To that end, I started the <i>Apocalypse Zoom Book Club</i> with <b>JP Pomare</b> and we revelled in discussing a bunch of Aussie debuts. Big shout out to all who joined - it was such an ace group and I really looked forward to our virtual hangs every month. As for the books, I especially want to sing the praises of: <br/ ><br/>
- <b>Madeleine Watts</b> for her brilliant, confronting and technically ingenious novel, <b>The Inland Sea</b>. I was left in awe of the power of her central metaphor and the multiplicity of ways she brought it to bear on some of our most pressing issues. <br/ >
- <b>Imbi Neeme</b> for her thoroughly enjoyable and warm novel, <b>The Spill</b>, that deftly examined the complexities of family and the fallibility of memory.<br/ >
- <b>Laura Jean Mackay</b> for her mind-bending, magical-realist, plague novel, <b>The Animals in That Country</b>. Has there ever been more audaciously wacky pairing than Jean and her trusty dingo, Sue? And those whales... those whales.<br/ ><br/ >
As for more established writers, I was very lucky to blurb a few books and I stand by my love for them. So big shout outs to: <br/ >
- <b>Robbie Arnott</b> for his truly wondrous <b>The Rain Heron</b>. The image of a bird made from water set against a strange war continues to haunt me.<br/ >
- <b>Patrick Allington</b>, whose awesome dystopia, <b>Rise & Shine</b> was so brilliantly realised; dark, quirky and thoroughly intriguing. Plus its plague (or ecological catastrophe) made me feel a little better about ours.<br/ >
- <b>Elizabeth Tan</b> who returned with a second collection of surreal stories that struck me more as premonitions than imaginative fireworks. <b>Smart Ovens For Lonely People</b> had me constantly marvelling at what <b>Tan</b> is able to achieve with the short form.<br/ ><br/ >
There were also a bunch of books I actually went out and bought (shock horror), and that gave me much joy to read. I loved <b>Kate Mildenhall</b>’s highly original, feminist spin on the contemporary dystopia, <b>The Mother Fault</b>. Riffing on the likes of <b>Margaret Attwood</b> and <b>Doris Lessing</b>, <b>Mildenhall</b> crafted something entirely her own, a cracking adventure with a lot of food for thought. <b>Kristen Krauth</b> brought me back to my music days with <b>Almost A Mirror</b>, an elegy for (and tribute to) Melbourne’s late-80s rock scene. Every sentence seemed infused with the stench of two day old beer and sticky, grime-filled carpet. Was like heaven to me.
Most people don’t expect it of me, but I love a great thriller, particularly if it plays tricks with my brain. To that end, in the space of two books, <b>JP Pomare</b> has become a reliable go-to for me. I always know that I’m going to get a satisfying dose of smart thrills and <b>In The Clearing</b> certainly didn’t disappoint. In fact, I think I liked it even more than <b>Call Me Evie</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
I’ll be talking about some other Aussie books as I head towards my <i>Top Ten Books of 2020</i> so be sure to check back in the coming days. Until then, let’s hear it for Aussie Lit. Can’t think of a time it’s been in a better state!
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-28685652981418787562020-12-24T12:39:00.003+11:002020-12-26T11:45:44.888+11:002020 In Review: Secondary Stars and Other SatellitesWell, 2020 was certainly... something. All my lofty ambitions to finally get the trusty blog up and running again fell to shit like all my plans. All OUR plans. Hell, I couldn't even bring myself to read between March and sometime around July. As it is, I've only managed 141 books for the year which isn't terrible but isn't exactly great either.<br/> <br/ > On the upside, it's been an unusually great year for new fiction and, once I got back into the swing of it, I read some extraordinary books. I'm glad to say that's particulalrly been the case with Australian fiction. I feel we're in some kind of golden era and, holy moly, this year might well have been its apex. <br/> <br/ >So here we are at the end. We might be exhausted, limping... nay, dragging our way to the finish line. But we made it. And so, once again, I bring you a series of posts where I wax lyrical (read: pontificate) about the things I've loved. Starting, as always, with the odd socks.
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<b><u>BEST BOOKS PUBLISHED BEFORE 2020</u></b><BR/>
<b>The Red Parts</b> by <b>Maggie Nelson</b><BR/>
<b>Maggie Nelson</b> had just published a cycle of poems about her murdered aunt, Jane, when she got word that the case had been reopened and an arrest made. It was long believed that, despite significant differences in MO, Jane was killed by John Collins, aka the Michigan Murderer. A chance DNA match, almost 40 years after the fact, proved otherwise. <b>The Red Parts</b> is a breathtaking deconstruction of the trial that followed calling into question the legal process and its players, as well as family lore, memory and criminal responsibility. It is personable, personal and engaging while also being intellectually rigorous and satisfying. Not only the first book I read this year, but also one of the best.
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<b>Naamah</b> by <b>Sarah Blake</b><br/ >
Noah's Ark gets a queer, feminist, magical realist retelling in <b>Sarah Blake</b>'s extraordinary debut novel. <b>Naamah</b> is such a brilliant engagement with the traditional text; it challenges narrative convention - questioning silences, amplifying forgotten or ignored voices - in an incredibly intelligent way without ever sacrificing readability. At times it is quite confronting, and the time shifts and magical flourishes might not be to everyone's taste, but if you are willing to give yourself over to what <b>Blake</b> has set out to do you will find it infinitely rewarding. I also had the chance to chat with <b>Sarah</b> about her book, thanks to the good folks at <b>Detroit Jewish Book Fair</b>.<br/ >
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<b>The Possession</b> by <b>Annie Ernaux</b><BR/>
An intense, passionate and often creepy novella set in the aftermath of a failed relationship. Obsession fuels the dissection of life after love, when the narrator learns that her ex has taken a new lover.
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<b>Borges and the Eternal Orang-Utans</b> by <b>Luis Fernando Verissimo</b><br/ >
A small, wonderfully loopy romp through the world of Poe and Borges by way of a locked room murder mystery. Oftentimes hilarious, but brushed with swathes of philosophical and literary insight, this was one of the most enjoyable little books I've read in a long time. Oh, and I was kicking myself that I didn't pick the murderer!<BR/><BR/>
<b>The Topless Tower</b> by <b>Sylvina Ocampo</b><br/ >
<b>Ocampo</b>'s writing is often overshadowed by her marriage to <b>Adolfo Bioy Casares</b> and friendship with <b>Borges</b>, but she was bloody great in her own right. This wonderfully surreal novella matches almost anything written by the aforementioned "superstars" - a boy is tricked by the devil into entering a painting of a strange tower. Once inside, he too begins to paint, only to find his creations spring to life.
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<b><u>THE SHELF OF SHAME</u></b>
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In a year that saw so many great books being published, I simply couldn't read them all. So here it is once again, my <i>Shelf of Shame</i>. The books I really wish I'd had the chance to read but didn't have the time. Needless to say, all is not lost. A fair few have made the jump to my summer reading pile. But, until then I hang my head and prostrate myself before these wonderful writers, hoping that they can forgive me. <br/ >
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<b><u>BEST COVERS OF 2020</u></b><BR/>
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<b><u>THE SOUNDTRACK TO MY DOWNTIME</u></b>
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With 2020 being such a dumpster-fire shitshow of a year, it was one hell of a relief that it also happened to be a really great one for music. I had less time than I'd have liked to listen given how much I was stuck at home (I do have a toddler, after all), but here are the albums that really did it for me. Including my number one which, it is fair to say, is my favourite album in many, many years. <br/ ><br/ >
20. <b>RED CITY RADIO</b>/<b>BOSTON MANOR</b>/<b>PROTEST THE HERO</b>/<b>TOUCHÉ AMORE</b><BR/>
I'll kick this off by cheating. Four excellent albums from four dependable bands.<br/>
19. <b>BAD NERVES</b> - <b>BAD NERVES</b><BR/>
If you like your fuzz punk with a touch of the <b>Ramones</b> and a dash of<b> FIDLAR</b>, these British upstarts are your new favourite band.<br/ >
18. <b>SPARTA</b> - <b>TRUST THE RIVER</b><BR/>
<b>Jim Ward</b> may never shake off his <b>At The Drive In</b> past but, for me, it's his time fronting indie rockers Sparta for which he should really be championed. What a great album, even if it kind of flew under the radar.<br/ >
17. <b>PHOEBE BRIDGERS</b> - <b>PUNISHER</b><BR/>
2020 was the year <b>Bridgers</b> really came into her own. Equal parts sweet and haunting, with an urgent, dark undercurrent.<br/ >
16. <b>BROADWAY CALLS</b> - <b>SAD IN THE CITY</b><BR/>
I've never been much of a fan, but these guys delivered a surprisingly buoyant slab of punkish rock that found its way onto my speakers far more than I'd have expected.<br/ >
15. <b>FIONA APPLE</b> - <b>FETCH THE BOLTCUTTERS</b><BR/>
Complex. Difficult. Intense. Obtuse. Brilliant. Amazing. Holy shit.<br/ >
14. <b>WAR ON WOMEN</b> - <b>WONDERFUL HELL</b><BR/>
There's righteous musical anger and then there's <b>War On Women</b>. An absolutely incedniary album of fight songs that tackle some very difficult subjects with perfectly juxtaposed grace and rage.<br/ >
13. <b>I AM THE AVALANCHE</b> - <b>DIVE</b><BR/>
<b>Vinnie Caruana</b> can do no wrong in my books and while no <b>IATA</b> album has lived up to the debut, <b>Dive</b> is a very welcome addition to an almost flawless catalog of honest, humane, working-class punk rock. <br/ >
12. <b>CUSTARD</b> - <b>RESPECT ALL LIFEFORMS</b><BR/>
I've become accustomed to hearing <b>Dave McCormack</b>'s voice as <b>Bluey</b>, so it was refreshing to hear it again where I first came to love it. A typically enjoyable, quirky indie pop album by these Aussie legends.<br/ >
11. <b>SCREECHING WEASEL</b> - <b>SOME FREAKS OF ATAVISM</b><BR/ >
The jury is still out on <b>Ben Weasel</b> but there's no denying that when he's on fire he is on fire. And right now he's on fucking fire. <b>Some Freaks...</b> is quite possibly my favourite album of his <b>BoogedaBoogedaBoogeda</b>. Yeah, it's that good.<br/ >
10. <b>BAD OPERATION</b> - <b>BAD OPERATION</b><BR/>
Horns and Hammonds abound in this glorious throwback to the golden age of two-tone ska.<br/>
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9. <b>ILLUMINATI HOTTIES</b> - <b>Free I.H.</b><BR/>
I somehow missed the boat on <b>Illuminati Hotties</b> when they put out <b>Kiss Yr Frenemies</b>, but this new album totally sucked me in with its irresistably jagged electicism. <br/ >
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8. <b>THE HOMELESS GOSPEL CHOIR</b> - <b>THIS LAND IS YOUR LANDFILL</b> <BR/>
<b>Derek Zanetti</b>, the angsty troubadour of the broken American Dream, is back with full band and a quiver of songs that somehow weaponise despondence and melancholy to deadly effect. Don't get me wrong, these songs simmer with hope and even a little joy, but damn they'll do a number on your heart along the way.<br/ >
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7. <b>TABARNAK - SHIRIM TABARNAK</b><BR/>
Every time I smugly think I've nailed conversational Hebrew, an album like this comes along and laughs in my face. And while I might not have the slightest clue what they're singing about half the time, <b>Tabarnak</b>'s joyous party punk was my go to album for smiles in a year that seemed hell bent on denying me any.<br/ >
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6. <b>AMERICAN FAIL - AMERICAN FAIL</b><BR/>
They say imitation is the highest form of flattery. If that's true then <b>NOFX</b> ought to feel pretty darn flattered at the moment. <b>American Fail</b>, a 22 song medley in 20 minutes (it's really one song subdivided into chapters), nods so blatantly, so frequently, so furiously to <b>NOFX</b>'s masterpiece <b>The Decline</b>, I'm surprised it doesn't have whiplash. That said, it's incredible in its own right, almost providing a thematic and historical update to its predecessor. <br/ >
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5. <b>BOB MOULD - BLUE HEARTS</b><BR/>
Umpteen years on and the former <b>Husker Dü</b> frontman and all-round punk legend is still raging. Granted he has lots to rage about right now, but <b>Blue Hearts</b> finds <b>Mould</b> completely reinvigorated and writing some of th catchiest hooks of what is an already stellar career. Forget <b>Dylan</b> and <b>Springsteen</b>, this was the old codger with the most to say in 2020.<br/ >
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4. <b>THE LAWRENCE ARMS</b> - <b>SKELETON COAST</b><BR/>
I'm pretty sure these guys are actually incapable of doing wrong but I wasn't expecting an album this bloody great. <b>Skeleton Coast</b> is <b>TLA</b> doing what they do best - honest, catchy, heartfelt punk that captures life in all its roller coaster vicissitudes.<br/>
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3. <b>THE LEMON TWIGS</b> - <b>SONGS FOR THE GENERAL PUBLIC</b><BR/>
You know what? There just isn't enough bombast in contemporary rock. So all hail <b>The Lemon Twigs</b> with their flamboyantly, excessively retro greatness. Think <b>Bowie</b> meets <b>Supertramp</b> meets <b>Queen</b> meets early <b>Kiss</b> or <b>Alice Cooper</b>. It's absurd but holy crap it's great.<br/ >
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2. <b>JEFF ROSENSTOCK</b> - <b>NO DREAM</b><BR/>
Oh, <b>Jeff Rosenstock</b>. There's nobody quite as prolifically, consistently awesome as you. <b>NO DREAM</b> is fast and funny and warm and silly and thoughtful and just about everything I want in an album. Keep doing you, my friend. Keep doing you.<br/ >
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1. <b>SPANISH LOVE SONGS</b> - <b>BRAVE FACES EVERYONE</b><BR/>
This year I almost didn't write a list. Not because there weren't a bunch of good albums that came out, not because I didn't get a lot of listening pleasure from a whole ton of great bands, but because back in January an album was released that instantly captured the moment then went on to define the entire year. No matter what new release came along to briefly grab my attention, I always came back to <b>Spanish Love Songs</b>' unassailable masterpiece, <b>Brave Faces Everyone</b>. Capturing the despondence, melancholy and defeatism of an entire generation with poetry worthy of the greats, and finding the perfect music to not only carry but enhance the message, <b>Brave Faces Everyone</b> is one of the greatest, most honest and heartfelt acts of artistic expression in any form this year. It's also the best album I've heard in about a decade. Very few albums can lay claim to being era-defining. To me, this is.<br/ >
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EOJ8Tdoi1LU" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-33027259248935847242020-09-29T12:00:00.002+10:002020-09-30T14:20:49.308+10:00Another 18 Books Under 180 PagesWell, that escalated quickly. Thanks for the amazing repsonse to my first novella post. Almost two thousand views. Jeebus! It actually got me excited about blogging again, not to mention madly ferreting through my collection, trying to find other novellas that I remember loving. I've also been reading a bunch of short books that have long languished as slim spines on a shelf, peeking out from between those that dwarf them. I'm averaging two to three a day... An absolute joy during these shitty times!
<br/ ><br/ >Anyway, as promised, here's the next set of 18 books under 180 pages that you should get your pandemic-fogged brains around. I dare say I think this one is even better.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>THE NOTEBOOK</b> by <b>ÁGOTA KRISTÓF</b> <br/ >
The opening salvo in what is probably my favourite trilogy of all time (<b>Jens Bjorneboe</b>'s <b>History of Bestiality</b> comes a close second), <b>The Notebook</b> is a spare, harrowing tale of debasement and despair. Set in a small Hungarian village towards the end of World War 2, it is the story of twin boys who are willing to do literally anything, not only to survive, but to get ahead. That their brand of evil stems, above all, from the moral vacuum created by war makes <b>The Notebook</b> all the more horrific.<br/ >
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<b>CLASS TRIP</b> by <b>EMMANUEL CARRÈRE</b><br/ >
<b>Carrère</b> is best known for his brilliant works of narrative non-fiction but, for my money, <b>Class Trip</b> is his finest moment. A father takes his son for a two-week school getaway in the mountains. Soon after the kid is dropped off, one of his classmates goes missing. This is psychological terror at its absolute best.<br/ >
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<b>THE MURDER FARM</b> by <b>ANDREA MARIA SCHENKEL</b><br/ >
I'm a sucker for a great crime thriller and <b>The Murder Farm</b> is one I go back to time and time again. A family and their maidservant are found murdered on their farm in rural Germany. Through a chain of voices, snippets, documents and unsettling religious rants, <b>Schenkel</b> leaves it to the reader to piece together the genuinely shocking truth.<br/ >
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<b>THE CREMATOR</b> by <b>LADISLAV FUKS</b><br/ >
It is quite unfortunate that <b>Fuks</b> is all but forgotten these days. As a chronicler of the absurdity of life, mostly through the prism of WW2, he is without compare and, frankly, we'd all do well to read him right now. <b>The Cremator</b> is both charming and terrifying, a salutory warning about the ease with which a well-meaning functionary can slide into brutality. The titular Mr Kopfrkingl is always certain that he is doing good - freeing souls from the shackles of this world - even when his cremations extend to the living.<br/ >
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<b>THE TOPLESS TOWER</b> by <b>SILVINA OCAMPO</b><br/ >
<b>Ocampo</b>'s writing is often overshadowed by her marriage to <b>Adolfo Bioy Casares</b> and friendship with <b>Borges</b>, but she was bloody great in her own right. This wonderfully surreal novella matches almost anything written by the aforementioned "superstars" - a boy is tricked by the devil into entering a painting of a strange tower. Once inside, he too begins to paint, only to find his creations spring to life. <br/ >
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<b>JULIA PARADISE</b> by <b>ROD JONES</b><br/ >
I have <b>Tobias McCorkell</b> to thank for introducing me to this forgotten Australaian gem. Discomforting and hallucinatory, to say the least, <b>Julia Paradise</b> is a story of obsession and perversion set amongst the Australian expats in 1920s Shanghai.<br/ >
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<b>KNELLER'S HAPPY CAMPERS</b> by <b>ETGAR KERET</b><br/ >
Imagine a summer camp - American style - where all the campers are recent suicides. It's an afterlife with a difference. And it's where Mordy finds himself immediately after death. When he learns his ex-girlfriend is also there, he sets off to find her and rekindle the romance. Yeah, it's weird and sad and should probably come with a trigger warning, but it's also oddly sweet and comforting.<br/ >
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<b>TALKING TO OURSELVES</b> by <b>ANDRÉS NEUMAN</b><br/ >
I'm a recent convert to the astonishing beauty of <b>Neuman</b>'s writing and, I have to say, I'm very glad to have discovered him during this pandemic. He really is a master of curious empathy and this short novel serves as a perfect distillation of his literary depth: a dying man takes his young son on a roadtrip in an attempt to create one special memory before he dies. While they're away, the mother, left at home, attempts to come to terms with her grief-induced infedility. Through the interspersed perspectives of the boy, the father and the mother, <b>Talking To Ourselves</b> is a richly melancholic meditation on the importance of the small things we most take for granted in life. <br/ >
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<b>MACHINE</b> by <b>PETER ADOLPHSEN</b><br/ >
It's almost impossible to describe the experience of reading <b>Adolphsen</b>. I was hard-pressed to choose between <b>Machine</b> and <b>The Brummstein</b> but I think it is the former's manic unpredictability that sealed it for me. A mad, mind-bending collision of fragmentary moments that, taken together, make the reader question the line between fate and chance. It's the butterfly effect on speed. And acid. And mushrooms. <br/ >
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<b>EXQUISITE CADAVERS</b> by <b>MEENA KANDASAMY</b><br/ >
Presented as a highly innovative dual narrative, <b>Exquisite Cadavers</b> is mostly about Karim, a Tunisian immigrant, and Maya, his English wife. Struggling to make ends meet, and in the face of constant casual racism, theirs is a love circumscribed by the realities of Brexit-era London. Meanwhile, in the margins, <b>Kandasamy</b> tells her own story of writing the book, giving us a glimpse into the way her own life and observations - particularly of the abysmal treatment of women, political dissidents and minorities in Modi's India - inform Karim and Maya's story. A work of rare genius.<br/ >
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<b>ONE OF THE BOYS</b> by <b>DANIEL MAGARIEL</b><br/ >
Scenes of an ordinary domestic life slowly unravel to paint the portrait of a man who manipulates and viciously abuses his children. We see it from the perspective of the younger boy, at first wholly in awe of the father who rescued him from a mother he is told was dangerous and neglectful. It's all great fun, and life in a new town seems like a lark, but then the cracks begin to show. <br/ >
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<b>SENSELESSNESS</b> by <b>HORACIO CASTELLANOS MOYA</b><br/ >
Until I got to thinking about the novellas I love, I'd forgotten quite how incredible this one is. A writer is hired by his friend to proofread the testimony of survivors of decades old massacres in an unnamed South American country. The friend works for the church. Problem is, the more the writer reads, the more he is convinced of the church's complicity in the old regime's crimes. A document of relentless brutality that reads like an indictment of our collective silence.<br/ >
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<b>ADDRESS UNKNOWN</b> by <b>KATHERINE KRESSMAN TAYLOR</b><br/ >
Okay, so this barely scrapes in as a novella. At best it's a long short story, but it was published as a stand alone volume so I'm claiming it here. <b>Address Unknown</b> is an absloutely ingenoius epistolary tale in which the reader's initial disgust and frustration at the injustice of life under Nazi rule (and the deceitful duplicity and opportunism of "friends" in crisis) is turned into a weird sense of triumph at the revenge-as-redemption twist. I don't want to give too much away but do yourself a favour and spend half an hour reading this.<br/ >
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<b>KHIRBET KHIZEH</b> by <b>S. YIZHAR</b><br/ >
For me, this is the crown jewel of Israeli literature. It was also the first book to truly question the foundational narrative of the state itself. A young soldier takes part in the clearing of a Palestinian village during the War of Independence. It is, in reality, a massacre, one that the powers that be take great pains to cover up. In its wake, the soldier undergoes a personal moral reckoning that ultimately destroys him. That <b>Khirbet Khizeh</b> was written by an Israeli politician is almost unthinkable thse days.<br/ >
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<b>WHITE HUNGER</b> by <b>AKI OLLIKAINEN</b><br/ >
Set during a brutal Nordic winter, where crops have failed and people are succumbing to starvation, disease and hypothermia, it tells a tale not dissimilar to something <b>Cormac McCarthy</b> might conjure. A young family sets off on foot towards Russia in the hope of finding food. That's about it. They trudge across the frozen wasteland, witnessing the horrible casualties in nature's war against humankind. Just one warning: don't get too attached to anyone in this book.<br/ >
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<b>IN THE ORCHARDS, THE SWALLOW</b>S by <b>PETER HOBBS</b><br/ >
Set free after fifteen years in the dank prison of a repressive regime, the narrator yearns for his lost love - a politician's daughter with whom he spent one moment of intimacy in his father's orchards. It is what sustained him through his suffering and what fuels his recovery. <b>Hobbs</b> is, I believe, a poet and this reads almost like a prose poem. Every sentence radiates with beauty and longing, even in the face of great pain and loss.<br/ >
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<b>THE MEURSAULT INVESTIGATION</b> by <b>KAMEL DAOUD</b><br/ >
In what has to be one of the most audacious experiments I've encountered in recent times, <b>Kamel Daoud</b> has sought to reclaim the unnamed Arab murdered by Mersault in <b>Albert Camus</b>'s classic <b>L'Etranger</b> and, in giving him a name and life story, not only engage directly with the original novel but also explore issues of identity, colonialism and the ownership of narrative.<br/ >
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<b>ALL MY FRIENDS ARE SUPERHEROES</b> by <b>ANDREW KAUFMAN</b><br/ >
I honestly can't even begin to count the ways I love this book. It is the sweetest, quirkiest, most charming and funny little book I think I've ever read. A lovelorn guy who lives in a world of superheroes sits next to his wife (The Perfectionist whose ex, The Hypno, has convinced her he is invisible and inaudible) on a plane, trying to convince her that he exists. Full of whimsy and sweetness, without ever slipping into cliché, this is the kind of book that will make you feel good about life. And fuck knows we all need that right now.
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The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-76291910623903375132020-09-24T20:49:00.006+10:002020-09-25T10:46:43.089+10:0018 Books Under 180 PagesI had big plans for 2020. Get this blog going again. Make a decent start on my next book. Read some great big bricks that I've been putting off for years. Chew through any others that are released along the way. Now, I sit at my desk staring at my TBR shelf, physically repulsed by the spines of <b>Charlie Kaufman</b>'s <b>Antkind</b>, <b>Krasznahorkai</b>'s <b>Baron Wenckeim's Homecoming</b>, <b>David Mitchell</b>'s <b>Utopia Avenue</b> and <b>Alex Pheby</b>'s <b>Mordew</b>. Holy shit I want to read them. Especially the <b>Pheby</b>. But the brain fog brought on by the pandemic and all the crappiness associated with it has laid waste to my (admittedly optimistic) plans. And so, like many others, I have been reading short books. Lots of them. Not that I'm complaining.
<br/ > <br/ >
There's been a lot of chatter on the socials about which novellas people should be reading. Lithub put out <a href="https://lithub.com/the-50-best-contemporary-novels-under-200-pages/" target="_blank">a great list</a>. And I loved Caustic Cover Critic's <a href="http://causticcovercritic.blogspot.com/2020/08/50-short-excellent-books-you-can-read.html" target="_blank">50 Short Excellent Books You Can Read in One Hit in Isolation</a>. So, jumping on the bandwagon, here's a bunch of novellas I love. I've tried to mostly stick to books that have flown under the radar. Also, I'll probably make a series of these. My novella shelf is jam packed and double stacked!<br/ > <br/ >
<b>EAT HIM IF YOU LIKE</b> by <b>JEAN TEULE</b><br/ >
Based on a true story, <b>Eat Him If You Like</b> is a deliciously savage rumination on political unrest, mob rule and collective guilt. The deputy mayor of a small French village goes to market to buy a pig for his poor neighbour. But when one villager mistakenly "hears" him make a pro-Prussian comment, the villagers are enraged. Swept up in a frenzy, they kill and eat the hapless poli. Needless to say, it's not hard to find contemporary parallels.<br/ >
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<b>THE GRAVEYARD</b> by <b>MAREK HŁASKO</b><br/ >
A crushing portrait of life in Communist Poland, <b>The Graveyard</b> tells of a hapless factory worker systematically destroyed by the faceless powers that be after he drunkenly abuses a policeman.<br/ >
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<b>DOPPELGÄNGER</b> by <b>DAŠA DRNDIĆ</b><br/ >
<b>Drndić</b> called <b>Doppelgänger</b> her "ugly little book" and, while she may be right, it also distills everything that was great about her into two strangely-linked stories. It starts with two old people masturbating one another through their adult diapers on a park bench and ends with a man suiciding by slamming his head against the steel doors of a rhino enclosure. In between, we get all the ugliness of 20th century European history. A perfect, sickening gem. <br/ >
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<b>THE TIDINGS OF THE TREES</b> by <b>WOLFGANG HILBIG</b><br/ >
In the ashes of what was once a forest, a failed writer encounters inhabitants called Garbagemen who are sorting through the detritus of a destroyed civilisation and arranging discarded mannequins into obtuse poses. This is horror at its most existential.<br/ >
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<b>BESIDE THE SEA</b> by <b>VERONIQUE OLMI</b><br/ >
Rendered in a voice so convincing, so maudlin, so devoid of hope, <b>Beside The Sea</b> is the confession of a young mother who has taken her two young sons to a seaside town in order to kill them. There are no fancy tricks here, just the crushingly pained words of a woman who has been failed by the system and sees no alternative but to snuff out their little lives. The single most devastating book I've ever read.<br/ >
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<b>TOO LOUD A SOLITUDE</b> by <b>BOHUMIL HRABAL</b><br/ >
I can relate to no character in modern literature more than Hanta, the tragic wastepaper compacter who narrates this novel. Although his job is to collect and crush discarded books, he is also a saviour of greater works, pulling them from the trash piles and stuffing them in his bag to take home. His little house is crumbling under the weight of all the books, but his love for literature far exceeds his sense of self-preservation. One of my favourite books about the love of books.<br/ >
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<b>CHRIST'S ENTRY INTO BRUSSELS</b> by <b>DIMITRI VERHULST</b><br/ >
The whole city goes into conniptions when word leaks out that Jesus is back and he's coming to Brussels. <b>Verhulst</b>'s book is an hilarious excoriation of our celebrity/religion/consumer obsessed society. <br/ >
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<b>COMEDY IN A MINOR KEY</b> by <b>HANS KEILSON</b><br/ >
A "righteous gentile" is bitterly disappointed when the Jew he is hiding in the attic dies, meaning that he will not be able to reap the glory. Plus there's the small issue of disposing of the body. A sharp satire on the limits of altruism. <br/ >
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<b>THE FISH GIRL</b> by <b>MIRANDI RIWOE</b><br/ >
A gorgeous novella that makes high art of Somerset Maugham's scraps, <b>The Fish Girl</b> will draw you in gently before plunging a thousand daggers into your soul. A hugely deserving winner of the wonderful Viva La Novella prize a few years ago.<br/ >
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<b>KLAUS KLUMP: A MAN</b> by <b>GONÇALO M. TAVARES</b><br/ >
The third book in the consistently brilliant "Kingdom" trilogy of linked novellas, <b>Klaus Klump</b> tells the story of a man devoid of values bumbling his way through a bleakly amoral world. Cold, exististential brilliance. I also recommend <b>Tavares</b>'s <b>Neighborhood</b> cycle as an intidote - it's bloody hilarious and absurd.
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<b>A WHOLE LIFE</b> by <b>ROBERT SEETHALER</b><br/ >
Rare is the book that can so profoundly move me in so few pages. <b>A Whole Life</b> is the story of a very ordinary man, a cripple carving out an unremarkable existence in the Austrian Alps, who is swept up as a bit player in historical moments of the 20th century. I really can't speak highly enough of its subtle, radiant beauty. <br/ >
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<b>PINK MIST</b> by <b>OWEN SHEARS</b><br/ >
Ok, I'm sort of cheating here. Pink Mist is a novella, but it's in the form of a prose poem. Still, as a searing indictment on the sheer horror and futility of war I can think of few equals. I think I cried multiple times. Absolutely magnificent.<br/ >
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<b>THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE</b> by <b>MARCEL SCHWOB</b><br/ >
Children leave their homes en masse to find the Holy Land, but are instead tricked and sold to slave traders. Those familiar with this medieval legend will somehow still find themselves horrified by <b>Schwob</b>'s masterful, dreamlike retelling. Reads like a fable forced through a mincer. I mean that as a compliment.<br/ >
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<b>A DEVIL COMES TO TOWN</b> by <b>PAULO MAURENSIG</b><br/ >
The devil, posing as a publisher, turns up in a town full of aspiring writers. Nastiness, petty jealousy and all-round hilarity follow. A pitch perfect fable that is eminently relatable while maintaining that other-worldliness that is the hallmark of the form. Every writer should read this. <br/ >
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<b>THE DEVIL'S WORKSHOP</b> by <b>JACHYM TOPOL</b><br/ >
The narrator is mistakenly identified by a weird Belarussian cabal, as the man who 'saved' Terezin and made it a popular destination for Holocaust tourists. Hoping to build a monument of their own, they kidnap him and set him on the task of popularising The Devil's Workshop, the 'ultimate' house of horrors. A short, absurdist fairytale, <b>Topol</b>'s book hilariously lampoons its subject while giving pause for serious thought about the boundaries of respectable commemoration.<br/ >
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<b>THE A26</b> by <b>PASCAL GARNIER</b><br/ >
Crime fiction doesn't get much better than this masterpiece of amorality. Having been diagnosed with terminal cancer, Bernard finds himself free from society's shackles. What follows can only be described as a rampage of depravity.<br/ >
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<b>MAD SHADOWS</b> by <b>MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS</b><br/ >
What was it that <b>Tolstoy</b> said about families? Well the one at the centre of <b>Mad Shadows</b> must be the most singularly miserable, unlikeable family of all time. A thoroughly nasty, unpleasant, misanthropic delight. I loved it!<br/ >
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<b>LATE SONATA</b> by <b>BRYAN WALPERT</b><br/ >
Beautifully-crafted, thoughtful, and elegiac, this gorgeous novella has big and profound things to say about ageing, creativity and the nature of love through time that greatly belies its brevity. Another Viva La Novella prize triumph.<br/ >
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlcaV_EP1KjjaUb2uNaghc0hVzH13sd89kleUUcypMDVIWPYssMp56xRxfERcmIlsdpcWTzxikBBW03sX9q_6_v8bBfcli68WH83vsg6OabqgAfLLIAmp4gHF9U4P26xuEtT4zz6O3-CwA/s1800/WALPERT.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlcaV_EP1KjjaUb2uNaghc0hVzH13sd89kleUUcypMDVIWPYssMp56xRxfERcmIlsdpcWTzxikBBW03sX9q_6_v8bBfcli68WH83vsg6OabqgAfLLIAmp4gHF9U4P26xuEtT4zz6O3-CwA/s320/WALPERT.jpg"/></a></div>The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-14857695663249165652020-03-24T12:46:00.000+11:002020-03-26T14:14:34.287+11:00Reading In a Time of COVID19 (Part 2)BUT WHERE WAS <b>THE STAND</b>???<br/ ><br/ >
Ok, ok. I heard you. And yes, I know how many people see <b>Stephen King</b>'s mega-brick as the pinnacle of pandemic literature. Not to mention the BIG BOOK to end all BIG BOOKs. But would you believe that it took me a few minutes to remember whether or not I'd actually read it? And then about ten seconds more to find my review? So without further ado, and with the caveat that I'm actually quite a fan of <b>King</b>'s, here's what I wrote back in February, 2013:<br/ ><br/ >
<i>Allow me to distill this monster epic to its essence. A moderately scary guy picked up from the cutting room floor of a <b>Cormac McCarthy</b> novel goes to war with my great great grandmother in an America ravaged by a killer flu. Cue Armageddon Americana. The end. Widely considered <b>King</b>'s greatest work, <b>The Stand</b> is reasonably engaging but about 800 pages too long. I'm surprised <b>Peter Jackson</b> has resisted making it into a trilogy.</i><br/ >
<br/ >
Oh well... back to irregular programming!<br/ ><br/ > I've been thinking a lot about other books that might be worth reading during these strange times. Three more categories sprang to mind overnight (can't say I've been sleeping all that well at the moment). I mean, we may be in this for a long, long time. Might as well try to knock off a few bucket list books while we can. <br/ ><br/ >
<b><u>THE ISOLATED FEW (That Aren't Beckett, Marquez or Murakami)</u></b><br/ >
First, in keeping with the general sense of malaise we've all been feeling, some plague-adjacent novels that deal with themes of isolation, quarantine and loneliness.<br/ ><br/ >
<a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2014/05/microviews-vol-51-five-star-frenzy.html"><b>An Unnecessary Woman</b> by <b>Rabih Alameddine</b></a>. A hugely life affirming, utterly gorgeous novel about a woman who locks herself away during a civil war and translates literary classics into Arabic. It's the book about loneliness and the intrinsic value of life you didn't know you had to read. <br/ ><br/ >
<a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2011/02/microviews-vol-9-david-vann-ad-miller.html"><b>Caribou Island</b> by <b>David Vann</b></a>. Although not focused on a solitary character left alone, this bleak survival story of a couple on the frozen Alaskan plains still manages to plumb the depths of isolation with chilling (sorry) power.<br/ ><br/ >
<a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2017/12/2017-in-review-its-final-countdown_29.html"><b>Euphoria</b> by <b>Heinz Helle</b></a>. Speaking of bleak, this story of man versus man versus the brutality of nature is what I like to think of as <b>The Road</b> minus any prospect of redemption.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>This Blinding Absence of Light</b> by <b>Tahar Ben Jelloun</b>. A political prisoner is kept in an underground cell, not much bigger than a grave, for thirteen years. <b>Jelloun</b>'s novel is a marvel, pitting the human spirit against extreme, solitary deprivation.<br/ ><br/ >
<a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2016/01/the-dignity-of-dependence-door-by-magda.html"><b>The Door</b> by <b>Magda Szabo</b> </a> Oh how I love this book. While not about isolation as such, it without equal when it comes to questioning how we "other" those we deem to be beneath us. <br/ ><br/ >
Anything by <b>Thomas Bernhard</b>. When it comes to misanthropic works of human isolation, few are as unforgiving as the novels of <b>Bernhard</b>. It takes a brave soul to wade into the swamp of his sentences, but if you're game, you'll be greatly rewarded (albeit it a kind of horrific and painful way). Of particular relevance is <b>Frost</b>, <b>Correction</b>, <b>Gargoyles</b> and <b>The Lime Works</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
<a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2016/01/the-mirror-smeared-garth-greenwalls.html"><b>What Belongs To You</b> by <b>Garth Greenwell</b></a> The existential dread born of dislocation underpin this splendid novel about obsession and the human need for connection in what ever form one can claw it. Again, not exactly on point, but absolutely extraordinary for what it says about being alone in a strange place.<br/ ><br/ >
<a href="http://"><a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2011/04/fear-and-self-loathing-in-paris-tenant.html"><b>The Tenant</b> by <b>Roland Topor</b></a></a> Another take on the mental collapse brought about by isolation, <b>The Tenant</b> is rightly considered a masterpiece of claustrophobic solitude. <b>Polanski</b> made a good movie of it, but nothing compares with the sheer brilliance and horror of the novel itself. In my all-time Top 5. <br/ ><br/ >
<u><b>LEGENDS OF THE LONG FORM (That Aren't Tolstoy or Joyce)</b></u><br/ >
If there was ever a time to hit those huge classics you've always meant to read, surely it must be now. There are so many to choose from, but these are a few of my favourites.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Les Miserables</b> by <b>Victor Hugo</b> Granted you'll probably find yourself breaking into song every few scenes, <b>Les Mis</b> is a remarkably readable epic of poverty and revolution in France. I could hardly believe how quickly I raced through its fifty million pages.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Don Quixote</b> by <b>Miguel de Cervantes</b> Okay so you might sing one or two songs along the way (what is it with classics and their musical adaptations???), but you'll most certainly be enchanted by the windmill-conquering adventures of the lunatic knight and his trusty sidekick. Weighing in at five thousand <b>Les Mis</b>es, it'' take you a long while to get through, but I guarantee you'll be glad you did.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Moby Dick</b> by <b>Herman Melville</b> A rip roaring adventure and a deeply detailed lesson on flensing in one, <b>Moby Dick</b> could probably have done with a huge edit, but you'll hardly care when you're standing with harpoon ready, sea spray whipping your face, waiting for the white whale to surface. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Man Without Qualities</b> by <b>Robert Musil</b> A book so stupidly huge that it's usually published in two or three volumes, <b>The Man Without Qualities</b> depicts life amidst the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy. Sounds gripping, right? Well, believe it or not it is. And the four billion gazillion pages fly by. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Brothers Ashkenazi</b> by <b>IJ Singer</b> Moving a bit forward in time... you're probably familiar with <b>Isaac Bashevis Singer</b> but not many remember his brother, <b>Israel Joshua</b>, who, in my opinion, was the better writer. This sprawling family saga is about as perfect they get. Another in my all-time Top 10.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Saville</b> by <b>David Storey</b> Thought I'd go out on a limb here and add a forgotten Booker winner to the pile of classics. <b>Storey</b> is hardly spoken of in the same breath as <b>Hugo</b> or <b>Cervantes</b>, but Saville has a decidedly <b>Dickensian</b> air to it and so ought to sit alongside the others. <br/ ><br/ >
And the one I haven't read: <b>Life and Fate</b> by <b>Vassily Grossman</b>. I know a few people who consider this the greatest novel ever written. I'll get to it one day but I'm not sure I have the emotional fortitude to join <b>Grossman</b> on the front right now. <br/ ><br/ >
<b><u>SERIES TO BINGE READ (That Aren't Proust, Powell, Mantel, Kanusgaard or Ferrante)</u></b><br/ ><br/ >
Netflix and its ilk have made us accustomed to binge watching countless series, one after the other, ad infinitum. Flicking through the various streaming services, I used to be all like, "Arghhhhh, how am I ever going to watch all this?" Now, only a couple of weeks into the pandemic, I'm more like, "Ah, crap. I've watched every episode of every show ever. Give me some books." So if, like me, you like losing yourself in a single world over the course of multiple novels, you might want to check out these.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Border Trilogy</b> by <b>Cormac McCarthy</b> Sure, he's written my favourite post-apocalyptic book of all time, but <b>McCarthy</b> is best known for single-handedly inventing the Western noir. The three novels that make up the <b>Border Trilogy</b> (<b>All The Pretty Horses</b>, <b>The Crossing</b>, <b>Cities of the Plain</b>) are each superb in their own right, but read together they make up an extraordinary feat of narrative bravado, with descriptive splendour and a fair dose of human tenderness to boot.<br/ ><br/ >
<a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2015/12/2015-secondary-stars-and-other.html"><b>The Notebook Trilogy</b> by <b>Agota Kristof</b></a> There's a current of abject brutality that runs through <b>Kristof</b>'s chilling masterpiece of children set loose in a land ravaged by war. The three books (<b>The Notebook</b>, <b>The Proof</b> and <b>The Third Lie</b>) differ stylistically, clearly designed to offer alternative angles on the same theme. It all gets a little confusing in the middle, but when you come out the other side.... hoooo-weeee.... Mind. Blown. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>Your Face Tomorrow</b> by <b>Javier Marias</b> I'd rate <a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-infatuations-by-javier-marias-best.html"><b>The Infatuations</b></a> as one of the greatest European novels of the 21st century. Go and read that. But when you're done, it's well worth checking out <b>Marias</b>'s three book sequence (<b>Fever and Spear</b>, <b>Dance and Dream</b> and <b>Poison, Shadow and Farewell</b>). Steeped in intriguing philosophical concepts, it is also a bloody great adventure with all the undercurrents of crime and international intrigue that make <b>Marias</b> one of the most accessible literary reads. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>The History of Bestiality</b> by <b>Jens Bjorneboe</b> If you really want to wallow, <b>Bjorneboe</b> is your guy. He is one of the most confronting and difficult authors I've ever encountered, but spending the time working through his novels (they're actually quite short) is endlessly rewarding. But be warned: the story (likely apocryphal) goes that, when embarking on this trilogy (<b>Moment of Freedom</b>, <b>Powderhouse</b>, and <b>The Silence</b>), <b>Bjorneboe</b> said that by the time he was finished he'd know so much about man's capacity for inhumanity to his fellow man that he would no longer be able to live in this world. When the third one was done, he killed himself. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Jesus Trilogy</b> by <b>JM Coetzee</b> If I may quote myself from last year: "taken together, the three books (<b>The Childhood of Jesus</b>, <b>The Schooldays of Jesus</b> and <b>The Death of Jesus</b>) are remarkably enigmatic - but I think <b>Coetzee</b> is asking this: Stripped of the things that we consider fundamental to personhood - a name, an identity, a home, family, friends, language, control over our minds and bodies, longevity, community, etc. - is there some intrinsic value in having lived?" TL;DNR: Just read it. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Discworld Series</b> by <b>Terry Pratchett</b> Sometimes all you need is a good laugh, and nobody makes me laugh as heartily or consistently as <b>Pratchett</b>. The <b>Discworld</b> series has about seventy billion books, so they'll keep you occupied and overjoyed throughout. A much needed antidote to these shitty times.<br/ ><br/ >
Well, that's about it for my pandemic reading recommendations coverage for now. Hope to see you back here, where I'll be returning to regular programming in the coming days.
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-11333208212324472422020-03-23T09:04:00.000+11:002020-03-23T10:32:04.946+11:00Reading In a Time of COVID19 (Part 1)And just like that, the world changed.<br/ ><br/ > Needless to say, the new normal is shit. Who would have thought that in 2020 we'd be locked in our homes, steering clear of one another, anxiously waiting to get a sense of quite how catastrophic this oncoming plague is likely to actually be. Hope resides in a combination of the ancient and the modern: physical isolation and medical science. To that end, sending a huge shout out to all who have tried not to be #COVIDIOTS and, most importantly, the essential workers on the frontline. No doubt this has made us reconsider how we ought to be valuing the different levels of the so-called societal strata.<br/ ><br/ >
One thing that has become increasingly apparent is the importance of reading at this time. It is not just a luxury but a damn necessity. To pass time. To stay sane. To be communal, to find new friends while separated from our communities. In the coming days and weeks, I'll try fill this blog with new short reviews and musings to point you in the direction of great reads. But for now, just a couple of recommendation posts, starting with these two lists - <i>Pandemic Reads</i> and <i>Big Books To Live In</i>. And whether you're turning to e-reading, rifling through your piles of unread books or availing yourself of all the wonderful indie bookstores that are staying open and delivering books to your door without you having to partake in any person-to-person contact just remember the new mantra. STAY SAFE. STAY HOME. STAY KIND.<br/ ><br/ >
<b><U>PANDEMIC READS</U></b><br/ >
For some people this might be cutting it too close. But if you are up for reading how some of the world's finest writers have considered life as we are currently experienced it, look no further than these extraordinary novels.<br/ >
<b>The Plague</b> by <b>Albert Camus</b>.<br/ >
<b>Blindness</b> by <b>Jose Saramago</b><br/ >
<b>The Road</b> by <b>Cormac McCarthy</b> <br/ >
<b>A Prayer for the Dying</b> by <b>Stewart O'Nan</b><br/ >
<b>Station Eleven</b> by <b>Emily St John Mandel</b><br/ >
<b>Light</b> by <b>Torgny Lindgren</b><br/ >
<b>Nemesis</b> by <b>Phillip Roth</b><br/ >
<b>The Last Town of Earth</b> by <b>Thomas Mullen</b><br/ >
<b>The Children's Hospital</b> by <b>Chris Adrian</b><br/ >
<b>The Trespassers</b> by <b>Meg Mundell</b><br/ >
<b>Severance</b> by <b>Ling Ma</b><br/ >
<b>Pale Horse, Pale Rider</b> by <b>Katherine Anne Porter</b><br/ ><br/ >
<b><u>BIG BOOKS TO LIVE IN</u></b> <br/ >
If you're more inclined to escape this whole clusterfuck and lose yourself in a great, big book, then here are a few of my absolute favourite 400+ pagers, with links to the ones I've reviewed or discussed on this blog.<br/ >
<a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2016/02/microviews-vol-58-more-words-from-weird.html"><b>The Lost Time Accidents</b> by <b>John Wray</b></a> (490 pp, but close enough and too good not to include here)<br/ >
<b>The Slaughterman's Daughter</b> by <b>Yaniv Iczkovits</b> (525pp)<br/ >
<b>Europe Central</b> by <b>William T. Vollamn</b>(832pp)<br/ >
<b>The Tunnel</b> by <b>William H. Gass</b> (652pp)<br/ >
<a href="http://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2013/09/microviews-vol-39-apocalypse-new-zealand.html"><b>The Luminaries</b> by <b>Eleanor Catton</b></a> (848pp)<br/ >
<a href="https://baitforbookworms.blogspot.com/2010/05/dog-bite-degustation-chabons-amazing.html?m=0"><b>The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay</b> by <b>Michael Chabon</b> </a>(639pp)<br/ >
<b>Underworld</b> by <b>Don Delillo</b> (827pp)<br/ >
<b>House of Leaves</b> by <b>Mark Z. Danielewski</b> (662pp)<br/ ><br/ >
Might you brave <b>Laszlo Krasznahorkai</b>'s <b>Baron Wenckheim's Homecoming</b> (512pp) before I do? Or might this be the time you finally trudge your way through the holy grail of literary bricks, <b>Infinite Jest</b> by <b>David Foster Wallace</b>(1077pp)? Whatever you choose, keep up the mantra: STAY SAFE. STAY HOME. STAY KIND.<br/ ><br/ >And be sure to check back in a couple of days for more book-nerdy tips!
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-69002873900505060352020-03-02T10:49:00.000+11:002020-03-02T10:49:22.881+11:00The Battle of the Book BehemothsLike just about every other reader on the planet, I'm anxiously awaiting the arrival of the last instalment in <b>Hilary Mantel</b>'s Cromwell Trilogy, <b>The Mirror and the Light</b>. Unlike many others, I have the somewhat daunting distinction of not having read any of them. Yes, knowing from the outset that it would be told over the course of three books, I decided to wait until they'd all been published then go at them as one. While that sounds kind of piggish and silly (and I admit it is), at least I didn't quite do what a friend of mine did, holding off for all the <b>Knausgaard</b> books to be translated before embarking on them (he even toyed with learning Norwegian as it would probably be quicker). What I hadn't anticipated, of course, is quite how long each book would be. <b>Wolf Hall</b> kicked things off with 675 pages. <b>Bring Up the Bodies</b> was a relative novella at 432. And now... gulp... along comes <b>The Mirror and the Light</b>, which breaks the scales at over 900 pages. So that's about twenty-four billion pages I have ahead of me, in a single sequential stretch. <br/ ><br/ >
Not that I'm complaining. It is, however, indicative of a very clear trend: the big book is well and truly back. I say this as I'm halfway through <b>Colm McCann</b>'s new novel, <b>Apeirogon</b> (a mind-bending addition to the "i" before "e" except after "c" rule exceptions), which, at 457 pages, is seriously hurting my wrist. Meanwhile, <b>Yaniv Iczkovits</b>'s incredible novel, <b>The Slaughterman's Daughter</b>, has also finally found its way to the English-speaking world in what, I must say, is one of the most stunning aesthetic carapaces I've seen in just about forever. That's another 500 pages (every one of which I relished last year when I read it in proof form). And so they keep coming. Just look at my bookshelf!<br/ >
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFN2Izm7ec1iaOLKRBTDoRrlnzcKb0YzRRhCiLg2dTu0XmfL54l80Aa8ExMRr2IviwRvc_joBJeLRcD7pDq1cSF7oM8-MBfyxlWjd4uippRe6bHpRTbMG8rBW8pi_GmM7fRX03X3FMlyq/s1600/bigbooks2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFN2Izm7ec1iaOLKRBTDoRrlnzcKb0YzRRhCiLg2dTu0XmfL54l80Aa8ExMRr2IviwRvc_joBJeLRcD7pDq1cSF7oM8-MBfyxlWjd4uippRe6bHpRTbMG8rBW8pi_GmM7fRX03X3FMlyq/s400/bigbooks2.jpg" width="283" height="400" data-original-width="954" data-original-height="1348" /></a></div>
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I have yet to brave <b>Krasznahorkai</b>'s brick. And I'm dying to read <b>Tyll</b>, after all the raves it's been getting. So much for my annual tally clocking 200 books. Maybe I need to shift to page counts instead!The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-9945053571410359982020-02-25T20:55:00.002+11:002020-02-25T20:55:59.015+11:00The Books That Made Me Vol. 1: I Am The Cheese by Robert Cormier<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7U1NsOdK4EFepDNinuRy21YCc5GXZWxjbXR5Txn5nznXPgqtg8DUru-KRlcLYNAYfZRnptp3tAE1n-0J2lfYc_pKcCSaIpV9OjvM6yl5IuplG4FGh187DckAOCQ6Uc4RMkaLroK9aVl9J/s1600/IATCheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7U1NsOdK4EFepDNinuRy21YCc5GXZWxjbXR5Txn5nznXPgqtg8DUru-KRlcLYNAYfZRnptp3tAE1n-0J2lfYc_pKcCSaIpV9OjvM6yl5IuplG4FGh187DckAOCQ6Uc4RMkaLroK9aVl9J/s400/IATCheese.jpg" width="242" height="400" data-original-width="620" data-original-height="1024" /></a></div><br/ >Mr. Grey was guilty. That much I knew. I stood at the front of the class, near <b>Ms. Rapke</b>'s desk, and clutched the cue cards in my sweaty hands. The notes were scrawled in tiny script; I would barely have been able to read them, even if the ink hadn't smudged. Twenty pairs of eyes - tenth graders, precariously hanging from the cliff of childhood, set to fall at any moment; judgemental, cynical - all on me. It had come to this: my closing address. <br/ ><br/ >
Three weeks earlier, I begrudgingly picked up the book, fully prepared to hate it. The year was 1991, and Mt Scopus College was still in that late-80s miasma of literary staleness. The texts they forced us to read for English sucked, completely removed from our experience as teens. Indeed, I went back and reread most of them for this blog a few years back, hoping to discover that I was just too immature to appreciate them at the time. I was, after all, a dickhead as a kid. Alas, nope. I was right. They <i>did</i> suck. All of which is to say that I came to this book with close to no expectations, other than having had my interest slightly piqued by something <b>Ms. Rapke</b> said on the first day: At the end, we will be holding a trial. That was it. No details.<br/ ><br/ >
So began what has become a lifelong love affair with <b>Robert Cormier</b>'s YA masterpiece <b>I Am The Cheese</b> (if you preferred <b>The Chocolate War</b> you are, of course, wrong). It may not be my favourite book of all time, but it's the one that I have read more than any other. I make a point of reading it at least once a year (I'd say I've now read it over thirty times), to remind me what it is like to be awakened to the potential of the novel as a form. It is my personal madeleine, a mnemonic that instantly transports me back to those few weeks in Year 10, but also a revelation: I find something new, something jaw-droppingly brilliant on each new reading. There is little by way of plot description that could do it justice. Adam Farmer is cycling to Rutterberg, Vermont to deliver a parcel to his father. Along the way he encounters various people and landmarks, all slightly eerie and unsettling. Something is not right. Interspersed between the chapters are transcripts of interviews. At first it seems he is undergoing some kind of therapy following a traumatic event. Brint, his interlocutor, is gentle, caring but disturbingly probing. It's as if he has an agenda. As the story progresses we learn that Adam is the only survivor of a car accident that killed his family. And that when it happened they were on the run. Adam's father was a journalist who uncovered and reported on a huge corruption scandal. Organised crime was implicated, but so too was the government. The family went into witness protection. Their handler was a man Adam knew as Mr. Grey. He visited regularly, whisking Adam's father into the basement where they speak in whispers. As Adam pieces together the fragments of his family's past, as his reality begins to drop out from under him, we are also forced to rethink everything we've read. Who is Brint? What is the purpose of these interviews? Could it be that Adam - whose real name we learn towards the middle of the book - might yet be the final victim?<br/ ><br/ >
<b>I Am The Cheese</b> is many things: structurally innovative, perfectly plotted, daring (for a book written in 1977, it sure was willing to ask some difficult questions about power) and a lot of fun. It also has a twist that is so astonishing, so deftly executed, that I can't help but think it remains a major cultural influence. I wouldn't be surprised if it was lingering in the backs of the minds of those who wrote <b>The Usual Suspects</b>, <b>The Sixth Sense</b> and even <b>Fight Club</b> (yes, I know that was Pahlaniuk). I can only imagine how it must have felt back in 1977, when readers didn't routinely question the reliability of their narrators.<br/ ><br/ >
Back to the classroom. The trial ran over two English periods, an hour and a half in all. <b>Ms. Rapke</b> was the judge. Other students played the roles of Mr. Grey, Adam and the defence lawyer. Guilt was to be decided by popular vote, in a show-of-hands poll of the rest of the class. I spent days honing my skills, watching <b>Twelve Angry Men</b>, <b>LA Law</b> and, the latest upstart in the world of legal drama, <b>Law & Order</b>. I cross-examined Mr. Grey, who did a barely passable job of inhabiting the character, with a fire this book had ignited in me; one that would carry on for the rest of my school days and ultimately launch me into a legal career, albeit one on the defence side of the criminal law fence. But it was the closing argument that sealed the deal. I had spent so long examining the book, finding the clues and the incriminating evidence that, should you pay close enough attention, is there to be found, that there was no room for doubting that not only was Mr. Grey responsible for the deaths of Adam's parents, but he was also planning to kill Adam. <b>Ms. Rapke</b> put it to the class: Who thought Mr. Grey did it? A brief moment of inaction. Silence. I don't think I could breathe. Then the hands went up. Every single one of them. His fate was sealed. And so was mine.<br/ ><br/ >
I read <b>I Am The Cheese</b> again this week and fell in love with it all over again. To think what the right book can awaken in a kid. And the right teacher. How lucky I was to have had <b>Ms. Rapke</b>. And <b>Mrs. Auster</b>, <b>Ms. Swaitlo</b> and <b>Mrs. Jensen</b>, all of whom encouraged my crazy love for the written word. Some of whom read the many extra stories I gave them each Monday after a weekend locked away in my room (me, not my teachers). Some of whom gave me books from their own collections, books they thought I'd like. To think, without them, and without <b>Mr. Cormier</b>, I might have become a corporate lawyer. Perish the thought.<br/ ><br/ >
PS <b>Andrew Saffer</b>, if you're reading this, I still have your copy. It was a twenty-eight year loan, yeah?The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-11544320063634000622020-01-18T10:10:00.000+11:002020-01-18T10:47:40.919+11:00Microviews Vol. 60: Nelson, Ciment, Vermes,<b>The Red Parts</b> by <b>Maggie Nelson</b><br/ >
<b>Maggie Nelson</b> has been hovering on my reading periphery for a few years now. So many people I know adore her and her mega-hit, <b>The Argonauts</b>. But it was a personal recommendation from a friend whose taste I greatly respect (and mostly share hehe) that finally got me to pick up one of her books. And holy moly was she right! <b>The Red Parts</b> is, not to put too fine a point on it, a work of genius. Its back story alone deserves an entire book: <b>Nelson</b> had just published a cycle of poems about her murdered aunt, Jane, when she got word that the case had been reopened and an arrest made. It was long believed that, despite significant differences in MO, Jane was killed by John Collins, aka the Michigan Murderer. A chance DNA match, almost 40 years after the fact, proved otherwise. <b>The Red Parts</b> is a breathtaking deconstruction of the trial that followed calling into question the legal process and its players, as well as family lore, memory and criminal responsibility. It is personable, personal and engaging while also being intellectually rigorous and satisfying. Needless to say I’m a convert. I’ve already ordered <b>Bluets</b>.<br/ >
<i>5 Hooks</i>
<br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Body in Question</b> by <b>Jill Ciment</b><br/ >
In the few years I practised as a criminal lawyer, I was constantly intrigued by jury dynamics. The more I watched them, the deeper the curiosity became, all the more so because I knew that, simply by virtue of having studied and practised law, I was disqualified from ever experiencing it first hand. Gone were my fantasies of pulling a <b>Henry Fonda</b> and swaying eleven of my “peers” to the side of justice. We’re a good few years down the track now but the feeling remains. What the hell goes on back there when “we” can’t see them? For jurors C-2 and F-17 in <b>Jill Ciment</b>’s excellent novel, the answer is simple: lots of sex. Caught up in an affair that is fuelled in equal parts by boredom, the fear of ageing and the simple reality of throwing a bunch of people into a closed, isolated environment, the two take every opportunity to bonk, hoping the others won’t catch on. As it happens, there’s a murder trial going on, too. And what they take to be a private matter is quickly discovered, throwing the whole trial into jeopardy. As tawdry as it all sounds, <b>Ciment</b> is subtle in her execution, and <b>The Body In Question</b> is a surprisingly perceptive study of loneliness, attraction, guilt and social responsibility. <br/ >
<i>4 Hooks</i><br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Hungry and the Fat</b> by <b>Timur Vermes</b><br/ >
Debuts don’t come much more audacious than <b>Timur Vermes</b>’s satirical masterpiece, <b>Look Who’s Back</b>. Inexplicably plonking Hitler back in contemporary Germany and charting his meteoric rise to reality TV superstardom, <b>Vermes</b> managed to stick a mighty big skewer through German politics, the worldwide obsession with celebrity, and the ever-present willingness to disregard morality when it clashes with personal convenience. It’s a bloody funny book, all the more so for how true it all rings. Now, with the considerable weight of expectation on his shoulders, <b>Vermes</b> returns with <b>The Hungry and the Fat</b>, a book that does not pack quite the same punch as his first but still has a lot of uncomfortably funny things to say. Nadeche Hackenbusch - model, TV presenter and queen of the vacuous platitude - has landed in quiet the pickle. Despite great ratings, her white saviour wet dream of a reality TV show, Angel In Adversity is about to be canned. She’s still in Africa’s largest refugee camp and has grown rather fond of her ‘co-stars’. In particular, a certain young chap called Lionel has stolen her heart (and her marriage). Together, they plan the ultimate stunt - to lead the refugees on foot to Germany. It’s positively biblical! Cue apoplexy from all sides. The TV execs scramble to work out how best to follow the exodus. Leaders of countries along the path roll out the heavy defences. German politicians of every shade go into meltdown - can they stop the influx without seeming callous/weak? The people smugglers shift into overdrive. It’s like watching the biggest clusterfuck train wreck unfold in slow motion. <b>The Hungry and the Fat</b> is a big book in both ambition and actual size (it pushes 600 pages), and <b>Vermes</b> gives each narrative enough rope to hang itself in spectacular fashion. I didn’t get the same thrill as I did reading <b>Look Who’s Back</b>, and there was some pretty odd geopolitical commentary towards the end that did not sit well with me, but there is no doubting <b>Vermes</b>’s satirical flair. Could he be the <b>Jonathan Swift</b> of our times?<br/ >
<b>4 Hooks</b>The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-76893541190534721542020-01-09T12:10:00.001+11:002020-01-09T12:10:48.971+11:002020: A Visual Book Diary Vol. 1I've always struggled to keep track of all the books I read. I used to keep a list but stupidly saved it on a local drive and, when the computer went kaput, it took ten years of reading data with it. <i>Goodreads</i> is a pretty decent way to keep track, but I tend to read a fair few manuscripts and also forget to add a bunch of published books because I'm a) lazy and b) a technophobe. This year, I've decided to hit the issue two ways. Firstly (and obviously), I'm starting the spreadsheet thing again but saving it to my <i>Dropbox</i>. But, let's be honest, there will come a day that I forget to pay for my renewal and I'm going to lose everything again. It's how I roll. Secondly, I thought it might be nice to keep a visual diary of sorts by lining up the books on a shelf as I read them. That way, I can take a pic every couple of months and see how the year is progressing. <br/ ><br/ >So here we go: the 9th of January, five books in, this is the first entry in my visual book diary (ignore the back row - I'm at the dreaded double shelving stage of my book collecting). Yes, it's been a great start. Some reviews coming soon!<br/ ><br/ ><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuGnduNaOfANC5bf0I8s4YUirxxkoX93c25V106Ti3GOdhCmnScaJd0MgYG1PSTpcbeKT8THIs1GEvJdfQcEWmf_zw1VkqWqkWBBSELVE4qseEDqFXQcJ84rItthTdcK6JCendMt9dpCL/s1600/IMG_-ws0nqa_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuGnduNaOfANC5bf0I8s4YUirxxkoX93c25V106Ti3GOdhCmnScaJd0MgYG1PSTpcbeKT8THIs1GEvJdfQcEWmf_zw1VkqWqkWBBSELVE4qseEDqFXQcJ84rItthTdcK6JCendMt9dpCL/s400/IMG_-ws0nqa_resized.jpg" width="400" height="223" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="892" /></a></div>
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-54386096118872918712020-01-06T20:53:00.002+11:002020-01-06T21:00:08.712+11:002020: A New, Red DawnOf the many ways I'd thought about opening this first post of a reinvigorated blog, this was not one of them: My country is on fire. My city, far from the flames, has been blanketed in smoke. Pictures from some of the burning towns look nothing short of apocalyptic. Hell, even my bayside suburb, usually glorious and vibrant at this time of year, looks like a scene from a disaster movie. Through it all, I've mostly locked myself inside and read. Six days in and I'm onto my sixth book for the year. Like many city folk in Australia, I've felt helpless and despondent. And useless. Until today. <br/ ><br/ >With mad props to <b>Emily Gale</b>, <b>Nova Weetman</b> and others, the Australian (and now international) writing community has mobilised to raise money for the Country Fire Association (the roof body for the volunteer country fire fighters in each state). If you head over to <i>Twitter</i> right now and follow the hashtag <b>#AuthorsForFireys</b> (Fireys is Aussie slang for firefighters), you can see a whole array of amazing items being auctioned off for the cause. There are signed books, manuscript appraisals, AMAs, the chance to have characters named after you in your favourite author's next book, special handmade book-related knick knacks... you name it. Literally every author and book industry person I know is getting involved and it's magnificent. Personally, I've bid on a cartoon portrait of my dog, an original typed draft of a story by <b>Josephine Rowe</b> and the chance to have a ferret in the wonderful <b>RWR McDonald</b>'s next book named after me, in honour of my beloved (and much-missed) ferret, Spaekk.<br/ ><br/ >
I'm also getting on board with a special package of book related stuff that includes:<br/ ><br/ >
- An inscribed copy of <b>The Book of Dirt</b><br/ >
- A signed Chinese edition of <b>The Book of Dirt</b><br/ >
- A copy of the new <i>Text Classics</i> edition of <b>Arnold Zable</b>'s incredible novel <b>Cafe Scheherazade</b>, to which I have written the introduction, signed by <b>Arnold</b> and me<br/ >
- A curated collection of my Top 5 novels of all time<br/ >
- Two unpublished short stories<br/ >
- The first two chapters of my latest work-in-progress (a pretty surreal novella)<br/ >
<i>Plus I will be matching the winning bid dollar for dollar.</i><br/ ><br/ >
All <b>#AuthorsForFireys</b> auctions run until 11pm AEST on Saturday January 11.<br/ ><br/ >
At the moment the highest bid for my lot is at a staggering $700. I genuinely cannot believe it. If you want to get involved, or check out all the other incredible things on offer, be sure to jump on <i>Twitter</i> and search the hashtag. <br/ ><br/ >
These are pretty scary, shitty times. But at least I feel a bit better knowing how beautiful and generous the reading and writing community can be. Sending much love, strength and hope to those on the frontline.<br/ ><br/ >
Check back soon when I'll be returning to regular programming.
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-23148895439383196912019-12-31T11:54:00.004+11:002019-12-31T11:54:54.995+11:002019 In Review: And The Winner Is...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqzGeVGuCjCVMzFtfjVBaauISCAFJrwgbHMjCyDXSfhoEtRVsh-lz0Tqh-8HmeXOzmoFCfsN4TTHJykfbHj7Dkio-r2PMgkLivWniBIbJDLthhdKMoJa2SYOhXd2mk_VU8Aoc6PPbuNcc/s1600/Edouard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqzGeVGuCjCVMzFtfjVBaauISCAFJrwgbHMjCyDXSfhoEtRVsh-lz0Tqh-8HmeXOzmoFCfsN4TTHJykfbHj7Dkio-r2PMgkLivWniBIbJDLthhdKMoJa2SYOhXd2mk_VU8Aoc6PPbuNcc/s400/Edouard.jpg" width="248" height="400" data-original-width="993" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br/ >
Well, this is a first. A non-fiction book? Only 80 pages? Who even am I? In what turned out to be a pretty good reading year for me - 129 books (dammit I hate not finishing on a round number) - it was <b>Édouard Louis</b>'s tiny gem that stood out from all the others. Sure, it might be short, but what it lacks in length it more than makes up for with an abundance of depth, heart and rage. Those familiar with <b>Louis</b>'s previous two books will no doubt have expected something incendiary and urgent, but what might surprise readers is just how tender this book is. Gone is the artifice of autofiction. <b>Who Killed My Father</b> is straight-up memoir, which <b>Louis</b> deftly uses to build towards a jaw-dropping <i>J'Accuse</i>-style denouement. <br/ ><br/ >It begins with <b>Louis</b> returning to the dull, depressed town in which he grew up, to visit his dying father. The two have had a fraught relationship; <b>Louis</b> is a prodigiously talented, gay firebrand. His father is thoroughly working class, a product (and victim) of the crushing machinery of French capitalism. For a long time he simply couldn't understand or accept his son. Through reflections on his childhood and teen years, as well as the visit itself, <b>Louis</b> charts the steady decline of a proud man. It is a sad, painful march towards what could be ultimately viewed as a meaningless death. <br/ ><br/ >What might have been a wholly glum undertaking is lifted to the realm of high art by <b>Louis</b>'s ability to find courage and dignity in his father's ordinary existence. And, in a transformation that might strikes some readers as surreal as Gregor Samsa's (it's worth noting that this almost reads like a counterpoint to <b>Kafka</b>'s <b>Letter To My Father</b>), Louis's dad rises above his unsophisticated prejudices to love his son, and genuinely try to understand him. <b>Louis</b>, in turn, comes to understand and appreciate his father.<br/ ><br/ >All of this alone would have made <b>Who Killed My Father</b> an incredible book. <b>Louis</b>, however, is not satisfied to leave his father's sad fate unaccounted for. And so we are treated to the most ferocious, intellectually satisfying and downright brilliant critique of the French class structure that you're likely to encounter. It's worth noting that the title does not end with a question mark. <b>Louis</b> isn't trying to discover who killed his father. He knows. The book, therefore, is an indictment, and a damning one at that. These are not words. They are lightning bolts. The last few pages had me crying with rage, and sobbing at the pure act of love all I had read represented. There aren't many books I can say changed the way I think about the world. This is one of them.<br/ ><br/ >
Happy New Year everyone. Here's hoping 2020 brings our world a little closer to decency, kindness and justice.The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-16080979104031020932019-12-30T10:53:00.001+11:002021-10-11T07:22:02.775+11:002019 In Review: The Final CountdownCrack out the sparklers, I'm vertical again. And I'm not sure if it's just the painkillers speaking or just how I always get when it comes to writing down my Top Ten but I feel like jumping up and down on a couch with excitement <b>Tom Cruise</b> style as I announce my favourite books of the year. But, let's face it, I'd probably put my back out again so I'll just sit here and type as usual.
<br/ ><br/ >
10. <b>The Trespassers</b> by <b>Meg Mundell</b><br/ >
Have you ever wondered what <b>Hitchcock</b> might have made of <b>Camus</b> or <b>Saramago</b> if given half the chance? Me too! Well, I reckon the answer might lie in <b>Meg Mundell</b>'s fantastic new novel, <b>The Trespassers</b>. It's spec fic awesomeness is abundance, where paranoia, claustrophobia and murder run rampant on the high seas and sharp social commentary simmers between the lines. As a highly original take on important issues like refugee policy, xenophobia, environmental degradation and corporate greed, <b>The Trespassers</b> really has it all. An excellent, layered novel that is an absolute ripper to read.<br/ ><br/ >
9. <b>10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World</b> by <b>Elif Shafak</b><br/ >Ferocious, complex and deeply humane, <b>10 Minutes 38 Seconds In This Strange World</b> is an extraordinary work of protest fiction. <b>Shafak</b> has a remarkable ability to empathise with her characters who, for the most part, dwell on the margins of Turkish society. As such, her meditation on the "disposability" of certain classes of people is nothing short of an excoriation. Finishing this book left me bereft, even with the sweet glimmer of beauty at its end. I still think it should have won the <b>Booker</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
8. <b>The Parade</b> by <b>Dave Eggers</b><br/ >I blow hot and cold with <b>Eggers</b>. But the moment I saw this on the release horizon I had high hopes. Set in an unidentified, lawless country, it follows two Western contractors hired to clear a path to the capital. It's mostly a record of repartee between two completely unsuited companions, but there is something sinister lying underneath. An urgently modern fable, with lashings of <b>Beckett</b> and <b>Kafka</b>, an undercurrent of <b>Kadare</b> and a fistful of, well, <b>Eggers</b>, it drew me in only to punch me square in the jaw. With my favourite closing paragraph of the year, <b>The Parade</b> is easily <b>Eggers</b>'s best work since <b>What Is The What</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
7. <b>Bloomland</b> by <b>John Englehardt</b><br/ ><b>Bloomland</b> is a stunningly masterful reckoning of contemporary America. Innovative in the way it is told, perceptive in its understanding of desperation, grief and anger, and unadorned by cheap gimmickery (I'm looking at you, <b>Shriver</b>), I genuinely cannot think of a better novel about the scourge of school shootings than <b>Bloomland</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
6. <b>Lanny</b> by <b>Max Porter</b><br/ >
Like almost everyone who read <b>Porter</b>'s extraordinary debut, <b>Grief Is The Thing With Feathers</b>, I was very excited to see how he'd follow it up. Grief was such a singular work, its style unique and confounding in the best possible way, but it was also short. Could <b>Porter</b> sustain this kind of magic over the length of a novel? In a move that seemed almost tailored to my taste, what he gave us was a folk tale; a fable that deconstructs the form with its own traditional tools. <b>Lanny</b> is a breathtaking work of the imagination, rendered with stylistic gusto. <br/ ><br/ >
5. <b>A Devil Comes To Town</b> by <b>Paulo Maurensig</b><br/ >Lampooning the world of writers and writing might seem like shooting fish in a barrel, but it's bloody hard to pull off successfully. I can count on one hand the literary satires that really work - <b>The Information</b> by <b>Martin Amis</b>, um... um... At last I can add a second to the list with this incredibly funny, oddball tale. The conceit itself is a riot: a rural town in which everyone is a writer working on their manuscript, desperately hoping to be published, is visited by the devil in the form of a big city publisher. Petty rivalries spill over, jealousy abounds and each writer demeans him or herself worse than the last. It's absolutely absurd but, dare I say, it's also scarily accurate. Read it and weep with laughter.<br/ ><br/ >
4. <b>Feast Your Eyes</b> by <b>Myla Goldberg</b><br/ ><b>Goldberg</b> follows up her international bestseller, <b>Bee Season</b>, with this morally complex story of art, motherhood and ambition. Based loosely on a true story, and set against the restrictive social mores of post-War America, it charts the meteoric rise and spectacular fall of photographer Lillian Preston. <b>Goldberg</b> brilliantly presents it as the catalog to a posthumous exhibition at MOMA, annotated with recollections from her friends, lovers, curators and, of course, her daughter, naked childhood photos of whom precipitated the fall. A beautifully challenging, but ultimately redemptive and moving read.<br/ ><br/ >
3. <b>The Death of Jesus</b> by <b>J.M. Coetzee</b><br/ >A crushingly sad, yet hugely triumphant finale to <b>Coetzee</b>'s Jesus trilogy. I think it took me until about halfway through this third book to finally understand his grand project, and wow is it a deep, existential one. Of course, I may be wrong - taken together, the three books are remarkably enigmatic - but I think he is asking this: Stripped of the things that we consider fundamental to personhood - a name, an identity, a home, family, friends, language, control over our minds and bodies, longevity, community, etc. - is there some intrinsic value in having lived? I'm not entirely certain of his answer, but it is clearly the profound fixation of somebody grappling with his own legacy as he reaches his later years. How might he be remembered? By who? And for what purpose? These are vexing questions for someone who, like <b>Coetzee</b>, has made a point of living a moral, activist life. That said, it might do well for anyone who dares wonder if their life was worthwhile to ask the same. Let's just hope that, as <b>Coetzee</b> might be obliquely suggesting, it's not some quixotic folly to suppose we've mattered at all<br/ ><br/ >
2. <b>EEG</b> by <b>Daša Drndić</b> <br/ >Could this be the most searing swan song ever written? Andreas Ban has failed to kill himself (you may remember <b>Belladonna</b> closing with his apparent suicide), and so his misanthropic disdain has only intensified. Sick, exhausted and pissed off, he continues to rail against everything and everyone he hates, while trying to wrench the faceless, nameless victims - those who history usually forgets - from the abyss of memory. <b>Drndić</b>, who died last year, bids us farewell (read: gives us the middle finger) with a veritable evisceration of our species' propensity for barbarity, brimming with the moral ferocity, dark humour and panoramic history readers have come know and love (or should I say fear?). A dense, unflinching masterpiece.<br/ ><br/ >
The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5916640680794365241.post-87388055491945651722019-12-27T11:50:00.001+11:002019-12-27T13:43:34.829+11:002019 In Review: Some Books I Loved (Part 2)Greetings from the very Tiger Balmy sickbed! Turns out 2019 gave us a great crop of books. I wasn't expecting this list to be so long and I'm not even down to my Top 10. I still hope to read four or five books before the year is out so the list might grow yet. But for now, here's a bunch more books I loved this year.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Diver's Game</b> by <b>Jesse Ball</b><br/ >
<b>Jesse Ball</b> can do no wrong and here he out <b>Attwood</b>s <b>Attwood</b> with a terrifyingly plausible take on an alternative present. For fans, think of it as a companion of sorts to <b>The Curfew</b>.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Doggerland</b> by <b>Ben Smith</b><br/ >
I haven't delved into the whole cli-fi thang anywhere near as much as I'd like to, but from my limited experience I have to say, <b>Doggerland</b> is bloody excellent. Bleak, propulsive, frightening and eerily believable, it had an almost <b>Cormac McCarthy</b>esque darkness in the relationship between the three characters. One of very few books that I literally could not put down. Also, I couldn't help but wonder whether this is what <b>Waterworld</b> might have been like if it that steaming shit-heap of a film had actually been good.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Space Invaders</b> by <b>Nona Fernández</b><br/ >
I have a strange obsession with The Disappearances and this is one of the most beautiful and moving stories about that terrible time in Chile's history I've read. Centred around a group of children who remember a classmate who one day stops turning up to school, and the infamous Caso Degollados case, it frames the horrors from a child's perspective, giving the whole thing a wide-eyed clarity that more worldly, jaded narratives simply could not. Gorgeous and chilling.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Halibut On The Moon</b> by <b>David Vann</b> <br/ >
Several harrowing, soul-crushingly bleak and excruciatingly intense novels down the line, we might just have hit "Peak <b>Vann</b>". <b>Halibut On The Moon</b> sees this master of the existential abyss coming full circle, revisiting the event that inspired his incredible first novel-in-stories, <b>Legend of A Suicide</b>, and shaded all those that followed. Imagining the final few days of his father's life, days that we as readers already know will end in suicide, <b>Vann</b> demonstrates unparalleled insight into a mind tumbling over the edge. That he is able to mine such deeply personal trauma is remarkable. That he does it to such great effect, without melodrama, judgement or self-pity, is truly extraordinary.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Man Who Saw Everything</b> by <b>Deborah Levy</b><br/ >
At this point in her career, Deborah Levy really can't do any wrong and this, in my opinion, is her best novel yet. It's high concept sliding doors as historical stocktake. Read it to see just how exciting contemporary literature can be.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Exquisite Cadavers</b> by <b>Meena Kandasamy</b><br/ >
Speaking of exciting, this little novel absolutely blew me away with its structural innovation, smashing down the wall between the author and the work they produce. <b>Exquisite Cadavers</b> is a dual narrative. Its primary (imagined) story is about Karim, a Tunisian immigrant, and Maya, his English wife. Struggling to make ends meet, and in the face of constant casual racism, theirs is a love circumscribed by the realities of Brexit-era London. Meanwhile, in the margins, <b>Kandasamy</b> tells her own story of writing the book, giving us a glimpse into the way her own life and observations - particularly of the abysmal treatment of women, political dissidents and minorities in Modi's India - inform Karim and Maya's story. Absolutely astounding.<br/ ><br/ >
<b>To Be Taught, If Fortunate</b> by <b>Becky Chambers</b><br/ >
I was hand sold this by a local bookseller who knows my taste and thought that, even though I don't read a great deal of science fiction, I'd love it. <b>To Be Taught, If Fortunate</b> is a series of linked stories about Adriane, an intergalactic explorer who finds a different planet/system in each chapter. Unsurprisingly, each is significantly different and brings new, often morally challenging, considerations to her voyage. What makes the book brilliant though is what's going on in the background. As the stories progress, <b>Chambers</b> drops little hints that things on earth aren't going quite so well and that Adriane just might be the last person alive. A quite ingenious book and an excellent illustration of why it's worth getting to know your local booksellers. Hi <i>Grumpy Swimmer</i>!<br/ ><br/ >
<b>Call Me Evie</b> by <b>JP Pomare</b><br/ >
It's been a long time between drinks for me when it comes to reading a thriller but I'm pretty damn happy this was the one that broke the drought. Dark, propulsive, sinister and downright great fun. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>Witness: Lessons from Elie Wiesel's Classroom</b> by <b>Ariel Burger</b><br/ >
We are all familiar with <b>Elie Wiesel</b> the great Holocaust survival novelist, Nobel Laureate and humanitarian activist. Yet Wiesel considered himself first and foremost a teacher. <b>Burger</b>, who was <b>Wiesel</b>'s teaching assistant for several years, gives us unparalleled insight into this aspect of the great man's life. It is a deeply moving account of a mentorship that evolves into friendship, full of touching personal reflections and important lessons from a master. <br/ ><br/ >
<b>The Topeka School</b> by <b>Ben Lerner</b><br/ >
Is it possible for a book to be propelled almost entirely by the quality of its writing? Strip away the lyrical splendour of <b>The Topeka School</b> and you've got the story of a nerdy high school debater and two shitty marriages (his parents and their friends). Ok, I'm being somewhat reductive - there are issues of small town dynamics, the pressure of having "famous" parents (or being that parent), and the genesis of childhood violence - but still... Now, back to the writing. Holy shit, is <b>Ben Lerner</b> the most effortless prose stylist of the modern generation? Seriously, this book could have been about moss growing in a cave and, in his hands, it would still have been better than most of the books I've read this year<br/ ><br/ >
Well that just about covers them all. Next up, the Top Ten. But before I do, a quick shout out to two albums that I just discovered and that were too late to make my list of favourites for the year. I'm absolutely loving the new <b>Reaganomics</b> album, <b>The Ageing Punk</b>. A total explosion of fun, even if it does hit a little close to home.<br/ >
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Also, <b>Moon Tiger</b> released <b>Crux</b> back in August and I totally missed it. Thanks to a few <i>Top 10</i> lists I've been reading over the past few days I went and checked it out. Wow. Think <b>Scurrilous</b>-era <b>Protest the Hero</b>, but a bit more fun and proggy. Definitely one of my best new discoveries of the year. <b>Awe At All Angels</b> has fast become one of my favourite songs of the year.<br/ >
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The Bookwormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09438661852327001822noreply@blogger.com0