Shortlisted for last year’s Man Booker prize, Exit West begins as a love story and turns into something more. Not quite magic realism, it is a novel that uses the fantastical in a way that reminded me a little of The Underground Railroad.
In a city swollen by refugees but still mostly at peace, or at least not yet openly at war, a young man met a young woman in a classroom and did not speak to her. For many days. His name was Saeed and her name was Nadia and he had a beard, not a full beard, more a studiously maintained stubble, and she was always clad from the tips of her toes to the bottom of her jugular notch in a flowing black robe. Back then people continued to enjoy the luxury of wearing more or less what they wanted to wear, clothing and hair wise, within certain bounds of course, and so these choices meant something.
The first half of this book concerns the growing relationship between Saeed and Nadia. Saeed lives at home with his parents while Nadia is estranged from hers, living alone in an apartment where Saeed visits her, waiting for her to throw down a black robe for him to wear as a disguise so that her neighbours won’t know that she is receiving a male visitor. Despite Nadia’s black robe, which she wears everywhere outside, she isn’t particularly religious, laughing at Saeed when he says that they shouldn’t have sex before marriage (though they do everything but). The robe is. she says, ‘So men don’t fuck with me.’
As their relationship develops, changes are taking place within their city. Fighting breaks out and both Saeed and Nadia lose their jobs as their companies are forced to close down. Nadia ends up moving in with Saeed’s family after realising it’s no longer safe to live alone. As fighting increases, and their part of the city is taken over by militants, they hear of a man who can get them out if they pay him. Saeed and Nadia will make this journey alone, taken first to a dentist’s clinic. After paying over their money they are shown a door through which they walk, ending up in a new room on the other side – in Mykonos.
The doors they travel through, next from Mykonos to London and finally to San Francisco, reminded me very much of the railway stations in The Underground Railroad, a representation of the refugee experience that speeds up Saeed and Nadia’s journey. This second half has a different feel to the first, partly as their relationship begins to stagnate and they find that, removed from the familiar, they have less in common. This begins to show most clearly as they land in London, living in a squat with other refugees. Nadia relishes living with a mix of people, attending meetings with a group of older Nigerian women, while Saeed travels to another squat to meet with men from his own country.
I can see why this book was shortlisted for the Man Booker. Imaginative and thought-provoking, the prose is deceptively simple, so that I whizzed through the first half in one sitting. The concept of the doors was imaginative but I wondered whether they made Saeed and Nadia’s situation appear too light. I didn’t fear for them as I imagined I would. Danger is always close by and yet the distance that the third person narration provides made me feel as though I was watching from too far away to feel more engaged. Perhaps this was the point, just as we watch tragedies occurring on the news every day without batting an eyelid. The disconnect felt real then, in a way that a more graphic and descriptive style might have failed at. I will be thinking of this book for a long time.
A little bit late to the party (Joanna Cannon’s second novel has just come out), The Trouble with Goats and Sheep was one of the big debuts of 2016.
Mrs Creasy was still missing on Tuesday, and she was even more missing on Wednesday, when she’d arranged to sell raffle tickets for the British Legion. By Thursday, her name was being passed over garden fences and threaded along the queue at shop counters.
What about Margaret Creasy, then? someone would say. And it was like firing a starting pistol.
Set on one street in an East Midlands town, the story is mostly told from the point of view of ten year old Grace. The year is 1976 and it’s a blazing hot summer. When Mrs Creasy from number 8 goes missing, it’s all the neighbours can talk about. Grace and her best friend Tilly decide to investigate and soon find that more than one person is keeping a secret…
Seeing events unfold through the eyes of a ten year old allows Cannon to broach some quite dark topics while keeping the tone of the book light. I think she gets hits the right note with Grace’s voice, though during the third person sections, following the adults on the avenue, were quite simplistic when tackling such things as alcoholism and abuse. In some ways, since Grace was always sticking her nose in, I would have preferred to see these things through Grace, letting the adult reader put the pieces together from what the child sees.
The main mystery, Mrs Creasy’s disappearance, is what everyone is talking about really it is concerned with what happened in the past. The narrative frequently flits back to December 1967 and the build up to a terrible event that still haunts the inhabitants of the avenue. What did actually happen, and could Mrs Creasy have found out? At over 450 pages, the plot was quite stretched out but just about held my attention throughout.
This is a quirky and charming novel, the sort of book that brings a smile to your face. Everyday goings on seen through the lens of a child make a refreshing change and the various plot strands are resolved satisfactorily at the end. Not a challenging read but perfect for a quiet winter weekend.
Seventy-four years old, Antiguan born and bred, flamboyant Hackney personality, Barry is known for his dapper taste and fondness for retro suits.
He is a husband, a father and a grandfather.
And for the past sixty years he has been in a secret relationship with his childhood friend and soulmate, Morris.
The obvious theme of this novel is the prejudice surrounding gay relationships, focusing particularly on the British Caribbean community. Barry’s wife, Carmel, has long suspected that Barry has been having an affair. He isn’t interested in sex with her and has suggested on occasion that they have their own bedrooms now that the kids have left. What she has no clue about is that Morris, Barry’s best friend, is actually his lover and has been since before she married Barry. at the age of sixteen.
Barry is a lovable rogue, a character who has a lot of flaws but who wins you over nevertheless. For years he’s been living a double life, feeling guilty for misleading Carmel but there are enough hints that she could have walked away earlier to stop the reader thinking the worst of him. Morris’s own wife left him and returned to Antigua after catching him in bed with Barry but kept her silence. Since then, Morris has gently pressured Barry to come clean, only Barry is afraid of losing his family, not only Carmel but his two adult daughters and his grandson.
Things come to a head when Carmel’s ninety odd year old father falls ill and isn’t expected to last long. She leaves immediately for Antigua and drops an ultimatum as she goes: things will have to change when she gets back. Barry takes this as a sign and as soon as she’s on the plane he makes his own decision. Finally he will tell Carmel the truth and move in with Morris.
I flew through this novel in a day. Barry is a delight despite his obvious selfishness and sometimes unreliable narration. He’s not a stereotype but instead is a man who has spent sixty years sneaking around when he’d rather not have, a man with a certain amount of wealth, who worked his way up in the Ford factory in Dagenham and who cared for his daughters when Carmel suffered post-natal depression. For all his bad points there’s an equalling positive side and he was a refreshing character to spend time with. His reluctance to come out is a lot more to do with his own prejudices than a real fear of what people will think, and he is surprised to find support from corners he’d not expected.
This book is for you if you want a feel good story with complexity. It isn’t perfect, and I found Barry’s daughters quite irritating, but it’s worth the read for Barry and Morris alone.
Amongst a spate of recent novels set in Auschwitz, The Tattooist of Auschwitz is based on a real man, Lale Sokolov, a Slovakian Jew who was forced to work in that role during his imprisonment in Auschwitz. In 2003 Heather Morris met Lale and they became friends over the years it took for him to tell her his story. Morris is a screenwriter rather than a novelist (this is her debut) and so first wrote this story as a screenplay before adapting it into this novel. Unfortunately, this becomes more evident as the novel goes on.
What I admired in this book is the way Morris presents all the horror without glorifying it. The things Lale had to see are at times incomprehensible, but there is no gratuitous presentation. Of course, knowing that Lale will survive to tell his story does stop you from fearing for his life, but that doesn’t minimise the danger he often finds himself in. Lale’s sense of determination is also impressive. He enlists fellow inmates to smuggle out jewels and money that are confiscated from the new arrivals, using them to buy extra food and supplies from the local villagers who work in the camp. He often uses the influence afforded by his role to help others, but there is the constant risk of being discovered.
The disappointment for me is in the way the book is written. It is almost as if Morris took her screenplay and wrote out each scene, replacing much of the dialogue with prose. They are short scenes with barely any internal reflection. At times it’s like reading non-fiction, just facts and events written down. It is such a shame as Lale and Gita’s love story could have been elevated but I wasn’t drawn into it the way I would have hoped. Even when Josef Mengele shows up, Morris tells us how terrifying he is rather than letting the reader work it out. This is basically a novel length example of telling rather than showing.
This novel is worthwhile reading if you have an interest in Lale and his story. It is a comprehensive retelling of a fascinating story, but as a novel it leaves me cold.
With the film version of On Chesil Beach due out later this year, it seemed a good time to try another McEwan (also, a short novel felt manageable on a New Year’s hangover). I’ve had mixed feelings when it comes to McEwan. I almost always like his ideas, but sometimes find his novels to be populated with insufferable characters.
This story is mainly set on one evening in July 1962. Edward and Florence are newly married, arrived at a hotel overlooking Chesil Beach in Dorset following their wedding earlier that day. Both of them are virgins but where Edward has spent much of their year long courtship desperate to take things further, Florence is terrified of what their wedding night holds in store. She finds herself repulsed by the very idea of sex but hasn’t said anything to Edward because she loves him and would rather suffer through the act than upset him. As they eat dinner in their honeymoon suite, we see their thoughts as nerves begin to intensify; Edward’s full of growing excitement, Florence full of growing terror.
Amidst the awkwardness of their dinner is interspersed the backstory of how Edward and Florence met, their respective family life and the successes and failures of their courtship so far. Edward knows from past experience that Florence has shied away from physical contact and is worried that things might go awry. McEwan shows us both points of view, so we see their first meeting from both perspectives and their individual thoughts on Florence’s fear of physical intimacy (though Edward doesn’t realise the extent of it).
The skill here is in showing us their misunderstandings. So when Florence pulls away from Edward’s kiss because she can’t stand his tongue in her mouth any longer, the only distraction she can come up with is to take his hand and lead him towards the bedroom. Of course, Edward is thrilled to think that she is keen to go to bed with him, not knowing that she is already regretting not being able to voice her concerns.
Like several of McEwan’s novels, this one hinges upon one event that has long lasting repercussions. As a short novel this works well and there was just enough of a backstory to make me believe in the love of these two people who at times feel still to be strangers to one another. We are shown the couple’s development and growing love, the responses to certain past events, and the fact that it is 1962 – attitudes to sex were different, although Florence acknowledges that her fears are extreme. A minor complaint is that the aftermath seems to mainly be told from Edward’s point of view and I missed Florence’s take. I do understand why this was done but it didn’t stop me wanting to know! This isn’t my favourite McEwan but it is an accomplished piece of writing that drew me in and made me care about the characters.
This book has been on my TBR since earlier this year when it was longlisted for the Baileys Prize. A hefty (545 pages) epic tale set in Kentucky and centred on horse racing – you’ve got to be in the right mood to pick that up. Am I glad I bothered? Yes and no…
This is the story of two families. One is rich and white, the other poor and black. The Forge family are a Southern dynasty going back generations in Kentucky. Their wealth came from working the farm, or rather from putting their slaves to work on the farm. The novel begins back in the 1960s, the young Henry Forge running away from the wrath of his father after accidentally killing the neighbour’s bull. Henry, son of John Henry, is taught that the white man is intellectually superior to the black man. Heritage is all, and John Henry wants his son to understand that it is his place to follow in his father’s footsteps. But Henry falls in love with horses and wants to turn the old farm into a stud farm. Over his dead body, says John Henry, and so it is.
The other family is Allmon Shaughnessy’s. He grows up with his mother Marie in a two room apartment in Cincinnati. Marie is black; his father, who turns up every now and again until one day he doesn’t, is white. With only Marie’s dwindling wages to survive on, things get worse when she begins to suffer with an unnamed autoimmune disease (similar to Lupus but not). With a job that doesn’t offer healthcare and only just pays her too much to qualify for Medicaid, Marie cannot afford to see a doctor or get treatment. When the local crack dealer offers Allmon a job, he takes the money for his mother to get a doctor’s appointment:
Marie: I don’t have insurance.
Doctor: Oh. I see. And with these medical records, you’re ineligible. Well…the only other thing I can suggest is that we get you started on prednisone. It’s cheap and it works. Of course, sometimes the side effects of the drug can be worse than the disease.
Marie: There’s nothing else?
Doctor: Not really. Lupus doesn’t get much research. Mostly, colored women get it. There’s nothing else to do but take steroids. We’re all still following a script that was written fifty years ago.
To pay the bills, Allmon runs drugs, ends up in juvenile detention through being in the wrong place at the wrong time, then ends up in adult jail (in a strange self-destructive act that makes no sense to me at the second time of reading). Surviving by alternately keeping his head down and fighting back when necessary, Allmon ends up in a lower security facility where he’s put to work with horses as part of his rehabilitation. It is this experience that brings him to the Forge farm on a day when Henry is absent, when his daughter Henrietta is in charge of hiring new staff.
What I loved about this book was the use of language. Morgan revels in rich description, though at times it does become a little too extensive, and reading it I felt the time that had been taken to create each image in a way that the reader could visualise the scene. The Kentucky tourist board must love this book! This is a brave book. Morgan tackles race, sex, violence, genetics, incest and legacy head on. The poverty of Marie and Allmon is as vivid as the richness of the Forge estate, and watching Marie’s illness progress, knowing that it was a failure in the system that was letting her down (and knowing that it wouldn’t happen in the UK, for all our own faults) was heartbreaking. There was a hopelessness to Marie’s plight. The foreshadowing of future events was at first clever, though I did then begin to guess the plot ahead of time. The amount of research done into genetics, presented on the page in a way that ties in with the story and doesn’t obstruct it, was brilliant.
What didn’t work so well for me was Allmon’s story arc. At no time is Allmon in control of his own destiny and this bothers me greatly. He makes mistakes that seem to follow the racist logic that old John Henry teaches his son back in the 1960s. Even his arrival at the Forge farm is down to the advice of an officer at the penitentiary. He embarks on an affair with Henrietta Forge after she makes advances, even though there is some doubt as to whether he even likes her. He leaves without a word when her father threatens him. For me, Allmon was reduced to acting as a template of what the author imagined a stereotypical man of colour to be. The ending proved that once and for all, a blazing climax that seemed to come from nowhere and have no useful purpose other than marking a dramatic end to the Forge era.
At first I wondered if this was a fault of the author not living through these experiences. But I actually had just as big an issue with Henrietta. After her parents divorce she is left with a father who becomes obsessed with her. In retaliation for his behaviour, as an adult she drives to a pub out of town, where nowhere will know her, and begins to use it as a place to pick up men. In this way her seduction of Allmon fits, but when she decides she’s in love after a few rolls in the hay with a man she knows nothing about because they never talk about anything, this feels like the author steering a plot back on course rather than an organic turn of events. I also call foul when characters don’t have any friends or confidantes. Henrietta I could buy since she grows up under her father’s shadow and is home schooled, but it seems strange that Allmon would not have any friends, even as a child in his old neighbourhood.
Overall thoughts: this could have been a brilliant book. It had all of the ingredients – masterful storytelling, epic reach, breathtaking prose. For me, I longed to root for a character. I would rather lose the horse analogies for a couple of hundred pages and have Henrietta break back against her father, or to have Allmon make a decision for himself that didn’t rely on Henry Forge’s twisted deals. By the end of 545 pages I just didn’t care what happened to any of them and that was disappointing.
The fifth, and final, book in the Cazalet Chronicles. The title says it all – this is the end of an era and the beginning of something new. It’s a novel that I think has to be read as part of the series. If you came to this as a standalone book you’d be lost within pages. I gave up trying to differentiate between the vast array of children after less than fifty! As with the other books there is a handy family tree at the front to refer back to when you forget which child belongs to which parent (every other chapter, especially since they are always meeting up and you end up with multiple children milling about the page).
This book begins in 1956, a gap of nine years after Casting Off. This delay allows the ‘adults’ to be now bordering on old age, the ‘children’ to be married off with their own offspring, and for new children (of which there are many and even two sets of twins) to be taking the place that their parents occupied in The Light Years. The Duchy, that grand Cazalet matriarch, dies in the first chapter, tended to by her beloved daughter Rachel. Her passing marks the beginning of a period of change for the whole family, presented over the next two and a half years.
I had many questions entering this novel: would Rachel finally stop hiding her love for Sid; would Edward have made a huge mistake by divorcing Villy and marrying Diana?; will Clary and Archie make a go of it; will Louise regret leaving her son with her vile ex-husband? Most of these are answered fairly quickly. Sid and Rachel do sort of stop hiding their love for one another, in a way that suits the times. The family accept that they are in love, at least. Villy and Edward are both regretting the past. Louise’s son is mentioned once in passing which did shine a new light on her character. None of the rest of the family seemed to pass judgment on his absence, though I did find it interesting that another family member criticised Diana for not seeming to mind that her older sons preferred to spend time with their grandparents than with her. Surely Louise’s actions were far worse…
On the other hand, Louise has always been quite selfish and superficial, so it wasn’t a stretch to imagine her never giving her son another thought. What annoyed me more was the Clary and Archie storyline. They are married by now, with two children, scraping a living through Archie’s art and teaching. Archie was always presented as a kind man, once so in love with Rachel, who of course could never love him back, that he had to avoid the Cazalets for a period. Although there must be a twenty year age gap, it wasn’t so odd that he and Clary fell in love since they had spent so much time together when Clary’s father went missing during the war. However, their story takes a dramatic turn when Archie does something that seems so out of character that I didn’t quite believe it. There is also a very strange incest storyline with another two characters that seemed unnecessary.
Unfortunately, this is my least favourite of the series. There are just too many characters to follow around, where in previous books we follow a limited number closely. Some chapters are only a page long, just time to follow a brief conversation that isn’t always pertinent to the plot. There is also an attempt to throw more sex in, some of which works, some of which made me smile. There is lots of cupping of breasts, people getting naked, Simon’s first love affair with a man. Villy realises that Edward left her because she didn’t enjoy sex; Edward realises he married Diana because she did enjoy sex but is otherwise a terrible human being and he should have stayed with Villy. The strength of the novel is that this definitely feels like the ending of something. Characters die, the Cazalet’s firm is going through a difficult time, the future of Home Place is in doubt now that there is only Rachel living there. The final section, where the family come home for Christmas, made up for the flaws of what came before. It was a fitting end to a fantastic series.