Microviews Vol. 49: This Is Your Brain On Ice

Never fear Bookworms. I haven't disappeared. No great disaster befell me - death by a million paper cuts, spontaneous eye explosion, blog burnout. I just took a month to sit back, relax and read. Lots. Twenty one books in January and counting. As you know, I'm off the crazy "Review Every Book I Read" wagon, so it's back to the good old random Microviews of yore. Enjoy!

Andrew's Brain by E.L. Doctorow
Much has already been made of Andrew's Brain being Doctorow's "old man" book. Like Roth's Everyman and Exit Ghost or Delillo's... well... everything after Underworld, it ponders the great existential threat: mortality. The comparisons are, however, unfair. Sure, there's a degree of late life crisis about this book, but it has very little of the rueful belly button gazing that made the others a bit of a chore to read. That said, Andrew's Brain is a pretty strange affair. It opens with some sort of confessional or therapeutic conversation between Andrew (who speaks of himself in the third person) and a mysterious interlocutor. Is it a friend? A therapist? A cop? We learn straight up that his first marriage has failed, that his subsequent marriage - to a student, no less - has also ended (albeit in a less clear cut manner) and that he dumped the child of that second marriage on his first wife before running away. The full story is drawn out by the other speaker and it is one mostly marked by frustration, tragedy and heartbreak. Fate, for Andrew, is a bitch. Andrew's Brain reaches its emotional crescendo three quarters of the way through when we learn what happened to the second wife. Those few pages reminded me of Doctorow's power to profoundly move a reader. Then something weird happens. Something very, very weird. The novel takes such an unexpected left turn that it comes close to careening out of control. Enter Andrew's old college roommate, now the president of the United States, and his cabal of Yes Men. Doctorow doesn't even try to hide their identities: Chaingang and Rumbum. It borders on puerile. Andrew moves into the inner circle but seems to be more of a cog in some elaborate prank. Doctorow takes political aim and fires but, by that stage, I was so far removed from the novel that I couldn't even tell if he hit. Indeed, I was reminded greatly of Delillo's Falling Man - I was watching a brilliant writer grappling with the way the world has changed but not quite able to get the upper hand. I suppose it was all necessary to get to the final chapter which, I have to say, was perfectly pitched. It will answer a lot of your questions but one will undoubtedly remain: What on Earth was Doctorow doing for those forty-odd pages?
4 out of 5 Sparking Synapses

On Such A Full Sea by Chang-Rae Lee
Having been raised on a steady diet of JG Ballard dystopias I came to Chang-Rae Lee's latest with a great deal of excitement. Straight up, he is not the sort of novelist I'd ever have expected to attempt this kind of story. His lyricism and sensitivity gave me hope that he'd bring something new, something more, to it all. Could this be The Handmaid's Tale for a new generation? It started well enough - Fan escapes from B-Mor (a future Baltimore) in search of her boyfriend Reg, but not before destroying the tanks of fish that provide vital nutrition to the city. It is a brilliantly realised first chapter, one that firmly establishes the parameters of this strange post Apocalyptic America. The descriptions of Fan swimming through the schools of fish are beautiful - vintage Lee. I don't quite know, then, why the book lost me pretty much straight afterwards. Fan's trek through the "open counties", her search for a brother who has been elevated to the high Charter caste, the various grifters and desperadoes she meets... it all just left me cold. It was as if I was reading the treatment for a novel rather than the novel itself. I can see how Lee has given us a glimpse at the Ghost of America Future with its environmental carnage, socio-economic disparity (especially in terms of universal health care - hello Republican bozos) and governmental collapse. In that sense, this is a harrowing read. But as a novel, a narrative to draw me in and make me truly appreciate the dire state of the world he has created, it just didn't float my fish.
2.5 out of 5 Concrete Islands

A Meal In Winter by Hubert Mingarelli
In one of my all time favourite novels, Schopenhauer's Telescope, two men are locked in tense conversation as one digs his own grave at gunpoint. That is pretty much the entire book. There's an air of Nazi and partisan about them, though it is never clear what war they're fighting or which one is which. One will die, the other will walk away. It is incredibly difficult to know who you should actually feel for - did the good guy win? The author remains silent. Hubert Mingarelli's masterpiece in miniature, A Meal In Winter, has a very similar feel. Three Nazis stationed at some remote outpost are sent to hunt down Jews hiding in the forest. For them it is a reprieve - their willingness to brave the winter chill means that they will be excused from partaking in the daily executions. It doesn't take long for them to find a Jew but before they can bring him back the weather sets in and they are forced to take refuge in an abandoned hut. Cold and hungry, they search the building for a few food scraps and set about making soup, all the while discussing what should become of the Jew. The sudden appearance of a Polish farmer complicates matters - his presence is disruptive but he has alcohol which will warm them and add flavour to the broth. He is allowed to stay. After an interminable wait, the soup comes to the boil and the five men sit down to eat together; enemies breaking bread. Not a single word is exchanged but the dynamic has completely changed. The Jew is now human. Do they release him so that they will have one redemptive memory when the war is over? Or do they take him back to certain death at the outpost? Failure to return a Jew means being put back on firing squad duty. Returning him robs them of redemption but excuses them from ever pulling another trigger. For the three soldiers it is an agonising choice. A Meal In Winter is one of the most harrowing, morally complex works I have ever encountered. Read it. It will strengthen your soul.
5 out of 5 Empty Ladles

Property by Rutu Modan
A few years back, a friend of mine was studying at the Yiddish Institute in New York where she befriended a non-Jewish girl from Poland in her dorm. For as long as they stuck by the great Fawlty Towers mantra "Don't mention the war!", all went well. Then, in what I can only assume was an attempt to curry further favour, the Polish girl happened to mention that Poland is one of Israel's most strident supporters. My friend was puzzled. The conversation went something like this:
"Why?"
"Because if anything happened to Israel the Jews might come and take our homes."
"Well, they're not exactly your homes."
"Of course they are. The Jews abandoned them during the war."
"And where do you think they went? On holiday?"
Thus ended the friendship. Rutu Modan's wonderful graphic novel, The Property, is an exploration of the strange relationship between Jews and Poland, especially the paranoias that itch beneath the surface. Mica accompanies her grandmother Regina from Israel to Poland in what at first seems like a search for the apartment in which her family lived before the war. From the opening panels, Modan is in top form, skewering the hilarity of Israeli airports, affectionately stabbing at the... um... Israeli national attitude. It's funny but tender; Modan clearly comes from a place of love. Things take an unexpected turn when they reach their destination - Regina finds the apartment but there is much more to the trip than she has let on. Meanwhile Mica chums up with a non-Jewish Polish guy (in an Operation Ivy jacket no less) who starts as tour guide but soon becomes much more. And of course, there's the oddball, annoying Israeli following them all - it's not hard to tell that he has ulterior motives, though it takes a while to realise what precisely they are. The Property is a joy to read, beautifully rendered in shifting graphic styles, utterly compelling and, when the penny drops, absolutely heartwarming (if kind of tragic).
4.5 out of 5 Kosher Kielbasas

Leaving the Sea: Stories by Ben Marcus
Ben Marcus has a strange way of popping up randomly in my life. When my band was touring America, a young lady I befriended was raving about this debut short story collection by her lecturer at university (or professor at college, I've never understood the American academic nomenclature). It was called The Age of Wire and String and, she assured me, was at the absolute cutting edge of contemporary literature. Plus she thought her professor was cute. Fast forward a few years and I rate that same author's novel, The Flame Alphabet, as the tenth best book of the 2012 with a tongue in cheek rant against him for not fully realising what I thought was the book's incredible potential. A couple of days later, while I was enjoying a lovely holiday on the Aussie coast, a familiar name popped up in my Inbox. Ben Marcus. To put it mildly, he wasn't happy. Clearly the Australian idiom had gotten lost in translation. I agonised over it for a few hours before editing the review to lessen the perceived sting. I'm still not sure if, in an ideological sense, I did the right thing but I hadn't intended to insult him and felt that ought to be made clear. Bottom line is I think he's a bloody excellent writer. Even if he can't take a joke. Anyway, this is all a round about way of saying that, before I go any further, I will declare that I liked Leaving The Sea. I liked it a lot. It is an uncomfortable collection of stories, to be sure, but I mean that in a good way. Presented in six suites, each stranger than the one that came before, it cements Marcus's place as the modern master of the experimentally surreal. Leaving The Sea starts off with what I can only describe as a narrative honey trap - the writing is gorgeous, the stories quite straight forward. "I Can Say Many Nice Things" stands out, as a washed up writer stoops to taking a creative writing course on a cruise ship. Hell, Marcus seems to be saying, is other wannabe writers. It's funny and sad and, I'm guessing, cathartic. The first suite closes with the rather depressing "Rollywood" (which reminded me of the Ben Folds song Fred Jones Pt. 2), a perfect buffer for the profound shift in comfort that follows with the dual punch of brief interviews that make up the second suite. The shifts turn to tremors and then full on quakes as Marcus throws conventional storytelling to the wind in favour of dazzling experiments in style, substance and atmosphere. That's not to say there aren't many moments that will appeal to the narrative traditionalists amongst you. "Watching Mysteries With My Mother", where a man obsesses over his mother's imminent death, is deeply moving. The desperation of the dying narrator trying out last-chance, probably shonky, treatments in "The Dark Arts" is palpable. Even some of the experimental stuff is quite accessible - the prose is always beautiful, the readily familiar often identifiable within the fabulous. Like any short story collection there are lulls - after all, not every experiment can work - but as another step on Marcus's consistently interesting path, Leaving The Sea is well worth your attention.
4 out of 5 Apocalypse Drills

Celsius 451: Fireproof Reading

Greetings from all nine rings of hell. Yes, after mocking us with a moderately warm December peppered with thunderstorms and the odd cold snap, Melbourne has decided to give us a chance to surf the solar flares. For four days now we have sweltered in this inferno. Forty plus degrees every day. Overnight lows of thirty. Well played, Satan. Well played. The city has all but shut down. Australian Open tennis players are melting on contact with the court. Swimmers are being boiled alive on our beaches. A power pole just exploded in the street (I heard it on a news flash). And, sadly, bush fires are raging out of control on the city's outskirts.

I, of course, am having none of it. Apart from one sojourn outside (to court where, I should add, the only suit that should be required in this heat is a birthday suit) I've locked myself away in a small, air-conditioned room with Louie, a jug of iced water and a big pile of books. Two and a half weeks into the year and I'm onto book thirteen. It's been a great start. After being floored by the brilliance of Jesse Ball's Silence Once Begun, I've managed a run of not-quite-as-good but still wonderful reads. Graphic fiction has featured prominently with Property by Rutu Mordan, Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, Essex County by Jeff Lamire and Wilson by Daniel Clowes. They've proved a fantastic escape from the heat - complex stories and ideas presented in a lively way that does not numb your eyes with repetitive black print. I also thoroughly enjoyed the action-lit (not my usual thing) of Almost Dead by Assaf Gavron and God's Dog by Diego Marani as well as the brain thumping complexity of Josef Winkler's House-That-Jack-Built-In-Hell, When The Time Comes.

Come to think of it, I can't remember another year that started this well. Nor can I remember a year so heavily front loaded with hits. I've just begun Chang Rae Lee's On Such A Full Sea which, thus far, is a totally unexpected, highly compelling, JG Ballard-esque joy to read. I'm anxiously anticipating the arrival of the new E.L. Doctorow, Andrew's Brain as well as Leaving The Sea, Ben Marcus's latest collection of short stories. I loved Homer and Langley and was a big fan of The Flame Alphabet, even if Marcus didn't quite see the humour in my rave (apparently my Australian way didn't translate well to the American idiom). I expect big things from their follow ups.

With novels expected from other heavy hitters in the first half of 2014, this is shaping up to be another amazing read for book lovers. Now, if only I can think of a special B4BW reading project (preferably less onerous than "Review Every Book I Read) I'll be all set to keep this silly little blog enjoyable for you. I'd happily take suggestions!

Sublime Sounds: Silence Once Begun by Jesse Ball

Here's a strange thought. Is it possible that I read the best book of 2014 on the very first day of the year?

It took all my self control not to crack it open the moment the package arrived on my doorstep. There were still four days left in 2013. To read this book, like every fibre in my body was telling me to do, would have upset the space/time continuum. A 2014 book read and reviewed in 2013? If it turned out to be as good as I expected, I would be forced to let it fight The Infatuations to the literary death for top position. Would that even have been fair given that a book from the future must have all the disintegration laser Martian technologies you'd expect if, like me, you spent your childhood locked in your room with comic books and computer games and trashy sci-fi novels? Most importantly, could I possibly deny myself the great joy of yammering on about it for the next eleven and three quarter months?

Well, never fear. I resisted. There will be much yammering.

As I watched the countdown on TV, my fingers anxiously skittered across the cover of Jesse Ball's highly anticipated new novel, Silence Once Begun. The follow up to my favourite book of 2011, The Curfew, it is his first novel to be published in hardcover, the first to be published by Pantheon (part of the Knopf publishing family) and, most likely, the first to get the kind of widespread exposure he has long deserved. Put simply, there is a lot riding on this book. The moment the first firework exploded, I began reading.

Allegedly based (albeit very loosely) on true events, Silence Once Begun is the story of Oda Sotatsu, an unassuming man who confesses to a series of disappearances in 1970s Japan. The crimes themselves are intriguing, but what makes Oda's story so unique is his complete silence from the time he is arrested until his execution. Other than a few very minor exchanges with the various other players, he simply does not speak. Even more disturbing, it is quite clear that he did not commit the crimes - only a written confession, handed in prior to his arrest, links him to the disappearances. There is no other evidence.

Ball (or a fictional simulacrum thereof) unfurls Oda's story through a series of interviews with all the others involved in the case: his parents, his brother, his sister, the court reporter, a prison guard and, finally, the two most significant and troubling characters, a mysterious woman called Jito Joo and the very shady mastermind of it all, Sato Kakuzo. Each share their own impression of Oda and his involvement in the crime. Some are crushed by the weight of shame, some vigorously defend him, some accept his guilt but warm to him and the dignity he displays throughout the process. Despite their differences, there is one thing that links them all: a strong belief that nobody else's version can be trusted. Silence Once Begun is not a tale told by an unreliable narrator, it is one told by a whole slew of them.

Ball adds some editorial commentary between the interviews, but for the most part it is just their voices building up to a deafening wall of white noise. The effect is quite spectacular. When it reaches a crescendo, Ball pulls back and gives the stage to the soft, romantic voice of Jito Joo. Now in her late 50s she offers a version steeped in nostalgic poetry, a tragic love story. That is if she is to be believed. The moment Joo signs off, Sato Kakuzo steps in to declare her totally untrustworthy and complicit in the plot. His is the last version, and by far the most disturbing. It is not a chronology but a manifesto; Sato's great plan to shake the complacent Japanese society to its core by subverting its most sacred cultural mores. Think Machiavelli meets the Leopold and Loeb. The very identity of the country will be his victim. Oda is merely the patsy. When Sato does the great unveil, you can't help but be furious at the way the machinery of a developed society can be made to run on its own steam in the completely wrong direction. As Sato says, "The judges are doing what I am telling them to do, simply because I understand better than they do this one thing: the absurd lengths to which human beings go to prove themselves reasonable".

Ball dedicates the book to two of my favourite Japanese authors, Kobo Abe and Shusaku Endo. It's not hard to see their influence. Silence Once Begun is daring in both form and substance. It says a lot about the selective way in which we construct truths, how we don't actually need the central event or player for us to settle on an accepted or acceptable narrative. Japanese society is the perfect prism for Ball's argument, but it would be wrong not to see ourselves in some of the refracted rays.

With Silence Once Begun Jesse Ball has shattered the wall of sound in spectacular fashion. It is a towering achievement and, to my mind, the benchmark for all fiction this year.

5 Out of 5 Lynched Larynxes

2014: Reading Once Begun

The new year has kicked off with a bang! Three days in, four books read, including the quite extraordinary newie by Jesse Ball, Silence Once Begun. I'll be writing a full review in the coming days once I've had a bit more time to digest it but, suffice to say it did not disappoint even with the weight of my ridiculously high hopes resting on its shoulders.

I also took the downtime to revise and update my Best Books of All Time list. The Top Ten has shifted around and now consists of:

1. The Trial – Franz Kafka (1925)
2. The Brothers Ashkenazi – I.J. Singer (1936)
3. I Am The Cheese – Robert Cormier (1977)
4. The Tenant – Roland Topor (1964)
5. The Book of Daniel – E.L. Doctorow (1971)
6. Trieste – Dasa Drndic (2012)
7. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay – Michael Chabon (2000)
8. A Dry White Season – Andre Brink (1979)
9. Waiting For The Barabarians – J.M. Coetzee (1980)
10. The Assault – Harry Mulisch (1982)

If you want the full list, free feel to get in touch at baitforbookworms@gmail.com and I'll be happy to send it to you. I don't want to clog up an entire page here with a seemingly endless litany of titles. Anyway, hope you're getting some good reading in over the break. Jesse Ball and I will be back very soon.

2013: And The Winner Is...

If only I had been born a hundred years ago. Maybe two hundred. Sure, I'd probably have died at birth, seen my family wiped out by plague, contracted some disease we haven't even heard of today or been trampled by an elephant while performing my daring trapeze act in an Eastern European travelling circus BUT I also might have had the incredible fortune of being there when some of the great classics were first published. Assuming I was lucky enough to get an education and wasn't just sweeping chimneys or shovelling runny shit from ditches, you probably would have found me waiting in line for the latest Dostoevsky, Hugo, Austin, Dickens or Poe. Then I'd hand-press pamphlets with my opinions and run around the streets trying to get people to read them. That's how bloggers rolled back then. Alas, it just wasn't to be. Or was it?

2013 brought me the closest I think I will ever come to experiencing first hand the release of a book that is destined to be read as a classic well after I'm around to rave about it. It was a book so profoundly moving, so perfectly constructed, so enthralling, that I was in awe from the first line. At its most basic, The Infatuations by Javier Marias is a murder mystery. A woman obsesses over a couple she sees in a diner. She doesn't speak with them but feels she has some deep connection. One day she opens the paper to learn that the man has been killed. Marias uses this relatively simple premise to crack open the world as we know it. What he has to say about human nature, about the way in which society functions, about life and literature is something you'd expect to read from one of the greats of classical literature. With The Infatuations, I think he just might have joined them.

And so, Bookworms, this brings us to the end of another year. Wishing you and yours a great 2014 with many happy hours spent glued to any number of fantastic books.

Microviews Vol. 48: In By A Frenchman's Whisker

Back in January I promised to review every book that I read this year. I thought I'd finished when I closed Rivers, a great book on which to end the challenge. Unfortunately, I couldn't resist. Two more days... surely there was time to read one more. And so I bring you this final blip on the radar, a lonely island, a single white flag flapping in the wind. What can I say? A promise is a promise.

An Officer And A Spy by Robert Harris
Along with Terry Pratchett, Robert Harris has long been one of my guilty pleasures. Fatherland still stands as my favourite thriller of all time as well as the best "What If?" novel I know. Engima was also a really cool take on a very exciting moment in military history. The Roman novels aren't exactly my thing, but as works of historical fiction they tower above most others. Bottom line - this guy knows how to write his way into history. Who better, then, to write the 'definitive' fictionalisation of the Dreyfus affair? There's something of The Titanic in this sort of venture. We all know how it ends. We know many of the characters. We know many of the details. And, of course, we all know Zola's classic full page indictment on the French military and judicial systems, J'Accuse. Harris comes at the story from the perspective of one of its middle tier players, Colonel Georges Picquart. Instrumental, albeit unwittingly, in the initial frame up of Alfred Dreyfus, his subsequent promotion to head of the military intelligence unit allows him to revisit the case and discover to his horror not only that Dreyfus was innocent but that the real villain had escaped any sort of justice. All of this is nothing new, but Harris creates such an incredible atmosphere of anti-semitism, conspiracy, arse-covering and downright arrogance amongst the upper echelons of the French military that the book left me seething with incredulity that they could ever have gotten away with it. Picquart was the perfect choice to tell the tale. He was, ultimately, on the side of truth and justice but he was also part of the machine that allowed it to happen. For him to be caught up and crushed in its cogs when he tries to expose the truth demonstrates the very fickle nature of power. An Officer And A Spy is a wonderful book and while it may not exactly be high literature it is a heady lesson in the feeble nature of powerful people caught in their own traps.
4 Out Of 5 Broken Sabres

2013: Words In Numbers (A Brief Statistical Interlude)

Strap on your pocket protectors, it's time for another expedition into a world of crap I don't understand. Yes, instead of giving proper thought to the drafting of my Book Of 2013 announcement, I have been playing with Excel trying to work out how to make it add a long list of numbers (surely there must be a button for this). Three hours on and... success!!!

So here it is, my year in mathematical form (this year with a bit more explanatory memoranda).

Total Number of Pages Read: 36,830

Longest Book: In a year of pretty heavy bricks (The Luminaries at 834, The Son at 562, The Redeemer also 562, The Invention of Hugo Cabret at 530), it was Stephen King's supposed masterpiece The Stand that absolutely clobbered the competition at a whopping 1,325 pages. Alas, it still wasn't a patch on Misery.

Shortest Book: They say size doesn't matter, and a fair few short books I read this year proved more than their weight in paper. All the wonderful Finlay Lloyd Smalls (Bruno Kramzer, NY, Anxiety Soup, Nothing Ventured and The Dark Days of Matty Lang) clocked in at 60 pages, while Colm Toibin managed to scrape in a Booker nomination in just over 100 with The Testament of Mary. Elie Weisel's Open Heart was 79 pages, The Library of Unrequited Love was 96 and The Amber Amulet only 86. But it was Matthue Roth and Rohan Daniel Eason's absolutely gorgeous kids' book My First Kafka that made those others look like Proust at a mere 32 pages. You know what they say about small packages...

Average Length of Books Read in 2013: Yes I understand the statistical fallacy of this sum, but my average book was 241 pages long. And while no single book actually came in at that number, Peter Terrin's The Guard was 242 and The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P., The Twelve Tribes of Hattie, My Name Was Judas, Donnybrook and The Giant Beard That Was Evil were all 240.

Time Spent Reading (Based on an average reading speed of 90 pages an hour): 404 hours. That's almost 17 days. And to think, I could actually have slept if I wasn't so hopelessly addicted to the written word.

And there it is, Litnerds. The cold hard facts of 2013. As I learnt in year 7, when my teacher threw me out of class and refused to teach me, you can't argue with maths.

2013: The Final Countdown

And so another year draws to an end. As always I leave behind a bunch of books I wish I'd read but just never had the time to yank from my shelf. One or two of them might have made this list. Apologies, then, to: Middle C by William H. Gass, Southern Cross The Dog by Bill Cheng, Wreaking by James Scudamore, Property by Rutu Modan, The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker and The Man With The Compound Eyes by Wu Ming-Yi. I'd also have liked to read The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt and Bleeding Edge by Thomas Pynchon. Oh well. Of the 90 or so books from 2013 that I read (as opposed to the other 65), these were my favourites.

THE TOP 10 OF 2013: FROM 10 TO 2

10. First Novel by Nicholas Royle. It starts as a reasonably conventional campus novel. Momentarily famous writer spends his days teaching and shagging students while trying to come up with his second novel. When a student hands in a story that might just be his life Royle shifts gears and gives us a brilliantly meta riff on identity, creation and psychosis. A highly literary Single White Female, if you will.

9. Goat Mountain by David Vann. After his last novel, Dirt, I was a little worried that Vann had run out of steam. Goat Mountain allayed that fear. Heart stopping tension when a family hunting trip turns murderous. Once again, the landscape is the real marvel, but the young boy, his father, grandfather and family friend traipsing around with a poacher's corpse makes for beautifully uncomfortable reading.

8. The Silence and The Roar by Nihad Sirees. A frightening glimpse into the suppression, exploitation and outright destruction of creativity under a dictatorial regime. After trying to help a student who has been bashed by the police, a young author is cast into bureaucratic purgatory. Kafka's nightmare vision made real.

7. It's a tie! Red Sky In Morning by Paul Lynch and Rivers by Michael Farris Smith. Two superb debuts, two harrowing reads. Red Sky In Morning might well be Ireland's answer to Blood Meridian. Brutality and injustice prevail when a good guy is forced to take terrible action. As for Rivers, no doubt JG Ballard would have been chuffed to write a dystopia as fully realised and utterly compelling as this. Can be read as a bloody ripping adventure or something far, far deeper.

6. The Devil's Workshop by Jachym Topol. Topol turns the whole Holocaust tourism concept on its head with this short, disturbing novel. A man who single handedly reinvigorated Theresienstadt is kidnapped by Belarusian operatives hell bent on making their forgotten camp into some sort of evil Disneyland. Hilarious, shocking with plenty of food for thought.

5. Carnival by Rawi Hage. Still can't make heads or tails of this completely disorientating thrill ride of a novel but I definitely know it's one of my favourites of the year. Modern life unfurled through the prism of a taxi driver cruising around town during the city's mysterious carnival.

4. Equilateral by Ken Kalfus. This whimsical tale of an hilariously madcap scheme to dig a giant equilateral triangle in the desert then light it to communicate with Mars has kept me smiling for around eight months now. Full of rich period detail and joyous storytelling, it is a ray of light in an otherwise rather dark Top 10.

3. Pink Mist by Owen Shears. I can't think of another poem (admittedly extended, and in prose form) that has ever moved me as profoundly as this. In the tradition of last year's magnificent novel Yellow Birds, Pink Mist is a searing indictment on the sheer horror and futility of war. Absolutely magnificent.

2. Harvest by Jim Crace. I have spent the last two days incessantly swapping first and second position on my list. Crace bows out of the writing game with one of the most staggering allegories of modern society ever produced. Xenophobia, selfishness, opportunism, injustice, baseless fear and hatred. It's all there in this literary mirror. Recoil in horror. The truth is very, very ugly. And yet Harvest is so beautifully executed, such a classic piece of storytelling that there is not even a hint of bitterness to Crace's pill.

Microviews Vol. 47: The 2013 Clearinghouse Sale

Rivers by Michael Farris Smith
I have read many literary visions of the apocalypse over the years but none has struck me as so wholly realised as the storm drenched purgatory of Michael Farris Smith's superb debut novel Rivers. From the opening lines - "It had been raining for weeks. Maybe months. He had forgotten the last day that it hadn't rained..." - the unrelenting storms remain a constant presence. It is a disturbing, bleak vision; the southern end of the USA cut off by governmental decree, its residents told to choose between going north for safety or being left to fend for themselves against the unforgiving rage of nature. Cohen is one of those who chose to stay. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving the place he has buried his wife. He drives the wastelands in his jeep, living off the land, trading with the black marketeers, hiding from the rain, whatever it takes to survive. A chance violent encounter with a young couple leads him to a strange cult and its unhinged messiah. At first he is sucked in, helping to find supplies, taking refuge in their shelter. But the followers dream of mutiny and see him as their saviour. What follows is a Mad Max like quest to find the line and escape the rain. Success, however, does not necessarily guarantee safety because just over the other side waits the one man who knows Cohen's secret. A literary dystopia of the greatest kind. Bring your snorkel.
4.5 Out Of 5 Broken Levies

All My Friends Are Superheroes by Andrew Kaufman
Ten years on, Andrew Kaufman's debut still has all the charm, humour, warmth and madcap zaniness that I remember having loved when I first stumbled across it. The tale of Tom, an ordinary guy desperately trying to get his superhero wife (The Perfectionist) to see him again after being cursed by one of her ex-boyfriends (Hypno), it is about as sweet a love story as you will ever find. Kaufman plays on everyday idiosyncrasies as the basis for his superheroes - they are all normal people over-endowed with one particular trait. This hilarious skewering of everything we love and loathe in ourselves has always been the book's greatest strength. The logical gymnastics Kaufman displays in conjuring them will blow your mind. For this, the tenth anniversary edition, he has added some appendices filled with a slew of new superheroes. Far from being some crass gimmick, they serve to expand an already wonderful universe. So whether you are happening on Tom's story for the first time or just want to meet the new guys on the block (or to own the book in lovely blue hardcover), you would be a smelly Lex Luthor not to pick this up.
5 Out of 5 Sticks of Kryptonite

The Asylum by John Harwood
There aren't many people writing good ol' fashioned gothic novels these days. I can't even remember the last time I found myself plonked in a decaying old mansion with a cast of menacing folk who may or may not be trying to kill me. And so it was with equal parts foreboding and pleasure that I settled in to John Harwood's latest novel The Asylum. From the outset Harwood heaps on the tension - a young woman wakes up in an asylum with no memory of how she got there and sure of only one thing: she is not who the doctor says she is. The story slowly unravels with all the classic gothic tropes - betrayal, murder, identity theft and, of course, psychotic medical experiments. Depending on how perceptive you are, Harwood will keep you guessing well into the story but after a while even the slowest amongst you will work out what's going on. Once you do, The Asylum becomes a bit of a cliche, not in the least bit helped by its extremely lame ending. Read it for the atmosphere, enjoy it for what it is.
3 Out of 5 Dusty Chandeliers

Red Sky In Morning by Paul Lynch
It was little surprise to learn that, in his other life, Paul Lynch is the Irish Sunday Tribune's chief film critic. His debut novel has the cinematic scope and feel of a great epic despite clocking in at less than two hundred and fifty pages. Told in dense, often difficult prose, Red Sky In Morning is an unforgiving, brutal tale of crime, retribution and the simple unfairness of life. Fans of Cormac McCarthy are sure to revel in its bleakness - John Faller is as good a villain as McCarthy's monster from Blood Meridian, The Judge. His absolute disregard for life in all its forms remains genuinely shocking throughout the novel. As for the hero, Coll Coyle, well you know how it is. A good man, forced to do something terrible, then flee his home in Ireland for the anonymity of America. There he toils, exploited by a callous expatriate to work the land like a dog for next to no pay mistakenly believing that he has left Faller behind. To borrow from a fantastic film, There Will Be Blood. A magnificent piece of storytelling.
4.5 Out Of 5 Headless Horsemen

True Actor by Jacinto Lucas Pires
Some Tarantino-esque posturing (by way of Spike Jonze) from this Portugeuse young gun. Abril, a lowly actor, finds himself cast in the title role of Being Paul Giamatti, an existential adventure that screams either Academy Award or Straight-To-Video. While preparing for this role of a lifetime he is suddenly implicated in the murder of the city's most famous prostitute. Everything begins to collapse around him - his marriage, his career, his country - and Abril must try to work out who exactly he is if he's to clear his name. A cool distraction but perhaps too smart by half.
3 Out Of 5 Reservoir Fictions

Strange Bodies by Marcel Theroux
If ever there was a movie to be made of Strange Bodies it would have to star Marlon Brando. Not Streetcar-era heartthrob Brando. Fat, monstrous Island of Dr. Moreau Jabba the Brando. Of course I realise that would be impossible but that's kind of what this book is about, the quest for immortality. Nicholas Slopen turns up at his former girlfriend's house needing a place to crash for the night. Only problem, Nicholas Slopen has been dead for two years and this guy doesn't in the least bit resemble the one she once dated. He does, however, remember every intimate detail of their time together. By the morning he has disappeared, leaving behind a USB stick. The bulk of the book is, we are told, what was stored on it. Slopen details his engagement by a music industry big wig to authenticate some recently found Samuel Johnson letters. It seems an easy job at first, one that appeals to his vanity. But behind what he figures to be a rather complex fraud lies something far more sinister, an experiment to transfer the internal life of a person into the body of another. The physical vessel may never be immortal but the mind certainly could be. From this intriguing premise, Theroux has crafted a metaphysical thriller with all the bells and whistles. It's even got the Russian mob. I dare say Theroux would have done well to make them kidnap about fifty pages and drop them at the bottom of a river in concrete boots. That would have made for a leaner, more punchy reading experience.
3.5 Out Of 5 Shelled Marys

Life After Life by Kate Atkinson
Some of you may recall one of my favourite graphic novels of all time, Daytripper by Gabriel Ba. In it, the protagonist gets to live life over and over, seeing how it would have turned out had he died at different points along the way. Here, then, is the long form literary equivalent and, while Kate Atkinson's book is not as dizzyingly brilliant as Daytripper, it is still a moving marvel of narrative construction. Ursula Todd is born in 1910. First time round she is stillborn. Then she lives a few days. Then a while longer. And so on until she manages to reach a ripe old age. Chance (sometimes fortuitous, sometimes malevolent) seems to dictate the outcome. One time she will be hiding in a bomb shelter during the London Blitz, another frolicking around Berlin with her buddy Eva Braun. One time she will marry an awful brute, another a kind gentleman. Her friends and family will die or they will live. Perhaps most impressive is the way Atkinson plays with the decisive life events so the reader gets the feeling that Ursula narrowly escapes the death that claimed her last time round. And yet for all that it has to commend it, Life After Life is merely a gentle pleasure, enjoyable in a country manor kind of way (think a less compelling Atonement) but without a great deal of impact.
3.5 Out Of 5 Piles of Rubble

2013: The "Best Of" Bridesmaids

Another bumper year, another night spent shuffling cue cards trying to sort out what would make my Top 10. I wish I could have put these in. Then again, I also wish I could fly. To my own tropical island. With a talking lemur called Alfi. Whatever. If you haven't read these books Alfi will find you and poop in your fridge.

The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton: Anyone who picked up Catton's debut The Rehearsal knew that she was destined for huge things. With The Luminaries she delivered both literally and figuratively - 850 pages of ingeniously constructed New Zealand Wild West storytelling and a Booker Prize to boot. After all the bitching about the prize that's been going on of late, it's nice to remind yourself that sometimes the judges hit on a truly worthy winner. Given the strength of this year's Booker field, that's really saying something.

The Son by Philip Meyer: Nestled somewhere in this hefty tome is 2013's book of the year. Unfortunately the extraordinary tale of Eli McCullough's kidnapping by a Commanche raid party and subsequent initiation into their brutal way of life is padded out by two far lesser interesting tales that run as parallel threads throughout. A salutary lesson for writers and editors alike: learn to recognise the magic.

The Testament of Mary by Colm Toibin: The shortest book ever to be nominated for a Booker Prize, Toibin's masterful act of biblical ventriloquism must be read to be believed (pun only sort of intended). Drawing on traditional narratives, apocrypha and some very smart personal theorising, The Testament of Mary is refreshing, daring and immensely enjoyable.

Bough Down by Karen Green: She doesn't mention his name even once, but Green's meditation on the death of her husband David Foster Wallace and her attempts to come to terms with it through art is nothing short of breathtaking. Don't dare call it a misery memoir; Bough Down is life affirming art in its own right.

Murder in Mississippi by John Safran: Think what you want of Australia's enfant terrible (though not quite the enfant anymore), but he sure has a knack for finding a great story. Moreover, he is willing to risk his life to become part of it. Unsurprisingly, Murder In Mississippi reads like a classic Safran series put to the page - fast, funny, sharp and socially important. Don't let the nebbishe whimsy fool you.

The Making Of by Brecht Evens: It's not that hard to take the piss out of the literary world. Let's face it - we're all a bunch of wankers. But this extremely entertaining graphic novel managed to nail the absurdity of it all in a way I haven't seen since Martin Amis's The Information. Gorgeously drawn and hilariously spun this was not only the best graphic novel I read all year but one of the best books period.

A Few Flower Girls: Odds Against Tomorrow by Nathaniel Rich, The Illusion of Separateness by Simon Van Booy, Bruno Kramzer by AS Patric, Saving Mozart by Raphael Jerusalmy.