Blurb

Soon after her husband’s tragic death, Robin Besher makes a startling discovery: He had recklessly blown through their entire savings on decrepit rentals in Four Points, the Appalachian town Robin grew up in. Forced to return after decades, Robin and her daughter, Haley, set out to renovate the properties as quickly as possible—before anyone exposes Robin’s secret past as a teenage prostitute. Disaster strikes when Haley befriends a troubled teen mother, hurling Robin back into a past she’d worked so hard to escape. Robin must reshape her idea of home or risk repeating her greatest mistakes. Margo Orlando Littell, author of Each Vagabond by Name, tells an enthralling and nuanced story about family, womanhood, and coming to terms with a left-behind past.

Review

One of the best things about getting involved with Book Twitter and sharing my blog with more than two people is that I have been introduced to some fantastic books that I might not otherwise have come across. I want to thank Lori @TNBBC for getting in touch with me, and for offering me a copy of The Distance From Four Points in exchange for an honest review. Do follow her on Twitter and check out the eclectic mix of books that she promotes – I have my eye on several more!

Margo Orlando Littell’s novel was a real experience for me – it was one of those books that crept up on me slowly, and revealed layers of meaning that I was not expecting when I started reading. It begins with a simple premise: Robin and her teenage daughter are forced by circumstance to move from their comfortable lives in suburbia into one of the decrepit rental properties her husband bought before his death in Robin’s home town of Four Points. At first I was slightly taken aback that the ‘secrets’ of Robin’s past were almost casually revealed in the opening chapters – we learn very early on that she had been a sex worker as a teenager – but it gradually became clearer and clearer that I had underestimated the author and the book itself. This is not a sensationalist account of the past coming back to haunt a reformed character: it is a different kind of reckoning, a lesson in acceptance and finding peace. As with the very best fiction, I learned a lot from reading this book.

As the story develops, so the language becomes more nuanced and descriptive, and from my initial impressions of this being quite a straightforward book, I moved towards being both emotionally and intellectually challenged by the characters and the themes of this novel. I have to admit, I did not warm to Robin at first: I found her behaviour quite hard to fathom, and her rejection of her former friend, Cindy, when they first meet again after twenty years or so, actually made me feel quite antagonistic towards her. However, as their relationship develops and their lives become more entangled, I found myself beginning to understand both women, in a way that reflects the depth that Littell manages to create in her characters. Robin and Cindy became real to me, and Cindy in particular provides the novel with both humour and heart, without any cloying sentimentality. Other characters, too, are much more than they first appear: the landlords, the ex-lover, the teen mum – each is three-dimensional, complex, intriguing. These are characters who are only familiar on the surface – Littell reveals their uniqueness and, I think, in doing so, questions the reader’s own assumptions alongside Robin’s.

The descriptions of the crumbling, decaying properties and the physical labour needed to repair them to even a semi-acceptable level were another highlight of the book for me, as well. I was very interested to find out that in her research, Littell unwittingly became a landlord herself (you can read about her experience here) – and her prose certainly has an authentic ring to it. The tension between the gentrification process and the landlords’ need to make a living was also something I had never considered. The author’s determination to show every side of the argument is more than just commendable – it is REAL, it reflects the messiness of life in all its complications, rejecting false dichotomies and revelling in the prismatic, multi-faceted nature of human experience.

I haven’t read many novels that have sent me on a similar trajectory of starting out complacent and then catching myself and realising I had grossly underestimated the book, and it was a really interesting experience. This book is so much more than it seems, and it surprised me at every turn. I would be very interested to read her first novel, Each Vagabond by Name, and will certainly be keeping an eye out for more works by this quietly subversive author.

The Distance From Four Points is out now, published by the University of New Orleans Press.

Blurb

Against the backdrop of war, a group of children barricade themselves in an abandoned townhouse, cherishing what’s left of their innocence with the help of a dressing-up box…

An ageing widower moves into the shed at the end of his garden to plan out his ‘endgame’ surrounded by a lifetime’s worth of hoarded curiosities…

The characters in David Constantine’s fifth collection are all in pursuit of sanctuary; the violence and mendacity of the outside world presses in from all sides – be it the ritualised brutality suffered by children at a Catholic orphanage, or the harrowing videos shared among refugees of an atrocity ‘back home’. In each case, the characters withdraw into themselves, sometimes abandoning language altogether, until something breaks and they can retreat no further.

Review

I don’t quite know how I have never managed to come across David Constantine’s work before, but, it has to be said, my failing quite pleases me, because I now have his entire ‘back catalogue’ to look forward to. I love a good short story collection, and I love being introduced to writers I haven’t read before, so I was delighted to receive an ARC of this book ahead of its paperback publication date. Many thanks to Zoe at Comma Press for my copy. The review below is my honest, unbiased opinion.

The sixteen stories in this collection are powerful, both individually and when taken as a whole. Constantine is a remarkable writer, able to blend personal, intimate moments with wider political implications, zooming in and out of the human experience in a seamless manner. There were two or three stories which didn’t grab me as strongly, but I suspect this is at least partly because Constantine’s work requires quite intense concentration; it seems to me to be the kind of book that would reward careful reading and rereading. Having said that, when I tried to pick out a couple of favourite stories, I ended up choosing half of them!

The opening story, ‘The Dressing-Up Box’, is stunning. The premise of a group of children forming their own mini society has, of course, been done before, but what struck me here was the trust placed in the children by the author – there is no Lord of the Flies anarchy here; instead, acceptance and empathy govern the children’s actions. When the newcomer, Monkey, discovers the treasure trove of dressing-up clothes beneath the floorboards, the delight and excitement is palpable. The way in which the children are able, even in these extreme circumstances, to let their imaginations run riot, and not to lose that sense of wonder, is beautifully depicted. As a first introduction to Constantine’s writing, it blew me away, and reminded me of the power of the short story form.

As I mentioned, there were several other stories that really stood out for me. ‘Siding with the Weeds,’ in which Joe visits his old friend Bert, who is now more or less living in a shed at the end of his garden, is such a subtly surprising story, full of gorgeous nuggets of prose – when Bert reveals the full version of the ‘beautiful clean thought’ he had started to write down, I honestly felt something break in my chest. Constantine’s writing contains many of these moments, heartbreaking in their truth and beauty. In ‘The Diver’, Lucy accompanies her father on one of his expeditions, and the events that unfold perfectly encapsulate those moments of near-trauma that can mark us almost as much as the real thing.

Constantine’s work is also timely. In ‘Rivers of Blood’, two elderly people reflect on their experiences of the demonstrations resulting from Powell’s infamous speech, and in ‘Seeking Refuge,’ Fahrid struggles to move on from what is happening back in the country he fled. In ‘bREcCiA’, the strange book made up of collages of images and texts, which so captivates the protagonist, seems to encompass the entire modern world in its pages, showing the true scope of Constantine’s concerns.

‘When I Was a Child’ is perhaps the most emotionally powerful piece in the collection, describing the covert horrors of life in the House of the Brothers and Sisters of Mercy, an orphanage. What happens with White Star is chilling – I shall say no more here, but Father Dominic is a dark, dark villain. Even in this bleak story, though, there is a hint of hope at the end. This is brought to the fore in the final story in the collection, ‘Ashton and Elaine,’ a deeply moving piece which brings the book in a full circle back to the optimism we can have in the goodness of children. It is a cliche to label them our hope for the future, but Lord knows in these times, our hope has to come from somewhere.

I was captivated by this collection, which takes the reader on a journey between emotion and intellect, politics and the personal, and I would recommend it to anyone who reads in order to think more deeply about ourselves as human beings. It is powerful stuff.

The Dressing-Up Box is published by Comma Press. The paperback edition is out on 25th June and is available to pre-order here.

I thought I would take a pause and reflect on some of the incredible books I have read so far this year. If I agonise too long about this list, I am sure to feel bad for the many brilliant books I haven’t included, so before I can change my mind, here is my list of Top Ten Reads of 2020, so far:

1. Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi (2018). I read this as part of an absolutely stellar reading month in February, which you can catch up with here.
2. The Animals at Lockwood Manor by Jane Healey (2020). Read my full review of this beautiful book here.
3. Where The Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens (2018). I read this in March, along with several other great books which you can check out here.
4. Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo (2019). So much has been written about this book, I only briefly rave about it in my April round-up here.
5. The Truth Must Dazzle Gradually by Helen Cullen (2020). Out in August, you can read my full review here. One to pre-order for sure.
6. Silver Sparrow by Tayari Jones (2011). Another stunning April read.
7. You Will Be Safe Here by Damian Barr (2019). Read my full review here.
8. Saving Lucia by Anna Vaught (2020). Read my full review here.
9. The Sound Mirror by Heidi James (2020). Another one to pre-order for August! You can check out my review here.
10. Conjure Women by Afia Atakora (2020). I only finished this a couple of days ago, but it will stay with me for a very long time. You can read my review here.

I feel so lucky to have discovered so many amazing books this year, and I am sure there are many more to come! I’d love to know your favourite reads of 2020 so far, and your thoughts on any of the books on my list!

Blurb

‘After Miss May Belle died, they said the river swelled up fit to weep for her. Living water, it swallowed up the old, proud stalks of cotton. And Miss Rue, the only one left to sustain her mama’s curse, found herself afeared of what the river water might dredge up, secret things better left hidden.’

The pale-skinned, black-eyed baby is a bad omen. That’s one thing the people on the old plantation are sure of. The other is that Miss Rue – midwife, healer, crafter of curses – will know what to do.

But for once Rue doesn’t know. Times have changed since her mother Miss May Belle held the power to influence the life and death of her fellow slaves. Freedom has come. The master’s Big House lies in ruins. But this new world brings new dangers, and Rue’s old magic may be no match for them.

When sickness sweeps across her tight-knit community, Rue finds herself the focus of suspicion. What secrets does she keep amidst the charred remains of the Big House? Which spells has she conjured to threaten their children? And why is she so wary of the charismatic preacher man who promises to save them all?

Rue understands fear. It has shaped her life and her mother’s before her. And now she knows she must face her fears – and her ghosts – to find a new way forward for herself and her people.

Review

First things first: I bought the hardback copy of this book last month with my birthday money from my lovely bookish auntie, and the physical book itself is a thing of beauty. The gorgeous cover attracted me as much as the promise of the story within, and after reading the book and appreciating the meaning behind the plants, flowers and the double-sided doll, I am so glad that I own a copy of this beautiful book. I can say straightaway that I will be rereading this one.

Conjure Women tells the story of Rue, born into slavery on a southern plantation, the daughter of the healer and midwife of the slave community, brought up to take her mother’s place. As the war approaches and Slaverytime is replaced by Freedomtime, the Black inhabitants of the former plantation create their new life in almost total isolation from the outside world. Rue finds her position challenged by a sickness that descends upon the children of the community, and by the arrival of Bruh Abel, the preacher man who draws hope and trust away from Rue.

It is hard to believe that this is a debut novel. Afia Atakora plunges the reader into the era immediately before and after the American civil war with such assurance that I felt an instant confidence and trust in her storytelling abilities, and that confidence didn’t waver over the nearly-400 pages of this amazing book. From the start, I was utterly captivated by Rue as a character. She is a fascinating, complex character, her motivations and loyalties both nuanced and mutable, and I found her completely convincing. Although most of the novel is written in the third person, the voice that Atakora creates is strong and compelling, and, as with the very best of historical fiction, there is a real feeling of immediacy, of the past being reanimated before our eyes. Rue’s mother, May Belle, is also a deeply intriguing character, and the relationship between mother and daughter that plays out across the non-linear timeline of the book is deliciously complicated. Varina, Marse Charles’ daughter, is another well-drawn character; it would be easy to cast the white daughter of the plantation owner as a purely negative figure, but I found my sympathies towards her ebbing and flowing as the story progressed.

The plot is just as strong as the character development. I don’t want to give away too much in this review, but I found that the story hit precisely the right balance of surprising me with the unexpected and rewarding me with those precious ‘scenes I would like to see’ that a book which truly engrosses me as a reader has me predicting and longing for. The narrative is beautifully paced, twisting and turning enough to keep the reader absolutely hooked, but never sacrificing nuance or character development for the sake of a juicy plot point. I also adored the way in which, towards the end of the book, when the clever back and forth of the timeline has become comfortable, Atakora finds new and exciting ways of mixing up the narrative and raising it to ever more dazzling heights. And the prose is just stunning: the kind of writing that seems effortlessly gorgeous but is in fact carefully crafted and perfectly pitched.

Conjure Women is the sort of book which makes me jealous of those of you who haven’t read it yet, as you have all of its joys ahead of you. The blend of incredible prose, meticulous but lightly-worn research, a gripping plot and unforgettable characters make this book pretty damn close to my idea of the perfect read, and I honestly can’t recommend it enough.

Conjure Women is out now, published by 4th Estate in the UK and Random House in the US.

Blurb

“In this collection of eerie, beautifully-crafted stories, lives are lived slightly out of sync with the ordinary world. From a man who makes sock puppets to elderly Italian craftswomen and hens at a taxidermy party, family stories are seamlessly woven with folklore, journeys and natural phenomena to examine the quirks, pain and resilience of human existence.

Framing her tales in the nebulous, shimmering concepts of sky, light and rain, Judy Darley deftly explores our relationship with the natural world and one another, reminding us that however far we travel, some connections remain unbreakable.”

Review

There are few things that excite me more than a brilliant collection of short stories. I love getting lost in a novel, of course, and spending time getting to know characters over pages and pages, but there is a different kind of thrill involved in reading a book of short stories, a kind of lucky dip element, a little bit of lots of different things, a fictional tapas spread which tantalises different parts of the mind with each new tale. Sky Light Rain is a fantastic example of this: the stories are varied both in length and tone, some flash pieces, some almost like mini chapters of a novel. Exploring Darley’s many worlds is a delicious treat.

The titles of the stories, which are divided into three sections, read almost like poetry in themselves. The opening story of ‘Sky’, ‘Untrue Blue’, lifts the reader up into the world of the imagination from the very first sentence: “As children we would go flying at night“, and your feet do not touch the ground until the final sentence of the last story of ‘Rain’. Darley’s imaginative flights of fancy are poetic and beautiful, crammed full of stunning natural imagery and surprising word combinations, but alongside the ethereal beauty, the fairytale language and imagery, there is a darker note, thrilling and at times horrifying. In the ‘Light’ section, ‘Invertebrates’ is the clearest example of this, but there are more subtle threads of gothic-tinged darkness in many of the stories.

Some of the shortest pieces are the most impactful. Flash fiction is so difficult to write well (I have tried!) but Darley excels at it. ‘Weaving Wings’ and ‘The Moth Room’ were among my favourite stories in this collection; both are under a page. Of the longer stories, ‘Woman and Birds’, about a peculiar treasure hunt in Barcelona, ‘The Blue Suitcase’, about a woman who follows through on an airport impulse I’m sure most of us have thought about but would never act upon, and ‘Merrow Cave,’ a story that beautifully combines personal and mythical elements, are three that will stay with me for a long time. I don’t want to go into too much detail in this review as for me one of the greatest joys of this collection was the thrill of the unexpected, the way some of the stories mutated into fairy tales while others remained more rooted in the ‘real world’.

There is a strong sense of experimentation and limitless imagination in this collection, and it is a pleasure to experience. I highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in the boundless possibilities of short fiction, and the blurred intersection of myth and reality.

Note: I received a gifted copy from the publisher in return for an honest review. Many thanks to Valley Press and to the author for my copy of Sky Light Rain.

Sky Light Rain is published by Valley Press and is available to purchase here.

For further information about Judy Darley, have a look at her beautiful website http://www.skylightrain.com/ or find her on Twitter @JudyDarley.

This is the second book published by Bluemoose as part of their year of publishing women only. I reviewed Saving Lucia by Anna Vaught last month and absolutely adored it, and I jumped at the chance to receive a proof copy of Heidi James’ The Sound Mirror in exchange for an honest review. Many thanks to the author and publisher for my copy.

I didn’t know much about the book before I started reading, which actually used to be my default mode for approaching books in my pre-Twitter days. I’d load up my Kindle with titles from lists I made months ago and ‘go in blind’ to whatever came up first. I am getting much more methodical, (and I am reading more physical books these days, with blurbs and cover quotes and so on), but it was quite nice to dive into this blurb-less proof with absolutely no preconceptions. It made the delicious surprise of what was to come all the sweeter.

The first thing I have to state is that James’ prose is beyond stunning. I sometimes like to copy out sentences that I find particularly beautiful or meaningful, and I honestly had to give up as I was just copying out the whole text. From the opening lines, the novel grabbed me and didn’t let go:

“She is going to kill her mother today. But she’s no monster. She’s not the villain. It’s a beautiful day for it, winter sharp, the sky an unfussy blue.”

What a way to start a novel. And it got better and better from there.

The chapters alternate between three third person viewpoints: Tamara, Claire and Ada. The story is narrated in the present tense, which creates a wonderful sense of moving between time and space, entering into the lives of these women at different points. Their chapters each have a unique voice – even though ‘I’ is not used, we are immersed in their worlds by the shifting grammar and syntax which clearly marks out the three stories. Honestly, James does this better than many writers who use the first person for their multiple viewpoints. Claire’s chapters in particular are so full of her personality that I warmed to her immediately.

The three main characters are complex and nuanced. Each has an intriguing starting point: Tamara bears the emotional and physical scars of a traumatic childhood; Claire longs to avoid repeating history and becoming her mother; and Ada is taken away from her home in India to cold, grey England to start a new life. The different time periods are evoked rather than stated, and it took me a little while to orientate myself, but this only adds to the sense of lives overlapping and history repeating itself. What impressed me the most was the ways in which the characters develop and change as the novel progresses, most notably Ada and Claire as their stories are more linear; I was so invested in them as characters that I took their actions very personally, and the frustration I felt when they disappointed me at times was not through them acting out of character but merely proving their human frailty. When fictional characters hurt you, you know the author is doing something right.

Tamara seems to me to have a different role to play in the novel – her narrative dips in and out of her childhood, adolescence and beyond, and her chapters provide some of the novel’s most profound insights into the way in which genes, ancestory and history do not so much guide as lead us:

“You imagine history trails you like clanging tin cans on a wedding car, but you’re wrong. History is a halter that leads, we’re beasts of burden with a ring through our nose.”

The “we” voice that trails her, a sort of chorus, reminded me a little of Akwaeke Emezi’s beautiful novel Freshwater, whose protagonist has gods living inside her. This plurality, the echoes of other lives that reside within us, comes together beautifully at the end of The Sound Mirror, in a way I did not see coming.

The Sound Mirror is a dazzling achievement: a razor-sharp, insightful novel with fully realised characters and a perfectly-judged balance of ideas and story. I will be getting my hands on everything else this author has written as soon as possible – James is a fiercely talented writer, and I am so pleased to have been introduced to her work through this beautiful book.

The Sound Mirror is out in August, published by Bluemoose Books. You can preorder a limited edition hardback directly from the publishers here.

It has been another fantastic month of reading. I’ve read eight books, which means I am right on track for my target of reading 100 books this year. I think I have decided that between eight and ten books a month is about the right pace for me – any more, and I would feel under pressure!

As an aside, I am so pleased that I have got my reading mojo back. Last year was the first year since having kids that I managed to do any substantial reading (and indeed writing), and this year I can feel my neural pathways being twanged back into life, allowing me to tackle more complex books than I have been able to read for a long time. As some of you may have gathered, I’ve been a stay-at-home mum for the last three years, and while that has taken on a rather-too-literal meaning in the past couple of months, it is a choice (and a privilege) which works extremely well for our family for the moment. However, I know I am not alone in feeling as if my ‘self’ has been subsumed by this role (especially in my son’s first year, when sleep was a mere pipe dream) and it is an extraordinary sensation to feel ‘Ellie’ returning to the fore. Books have always saved me, and they’re doing it yet again.

Anyway, onto this month’s reading!

Ordinary People by Diana Evans (2018)

This was a joyous start to the month: a funny, profound, moving novel in which nothing happens quite as you expect it to. We follow Michael, his partner Melissa, and their friend Damian at a point in their lives when the choices they have made conflict with a rising desire for freedom, for something different from life. Evans slips effortlessly between the three points of view, and I was deeply drawn to all three complex, nuanced characters.

There are underlying themes of important issues such as race and gang violence, but these are a hum and not a shout. The main focus seems to be the sad, poignant way in which relationships can disintegrate over time. As we dive into their consciousnesses, the three protagonists let us in on their innermost fears and desires, and it is a thrilling experience. I was particularly struck with the way in which Evans uses music, most notably, of course, John Legend’s, to create a kind of soundtrack to the novel (indeed, I think there is a playlist that goes along with the book, which I will be investigating). There is also a very interesting final section, which may not work for everyone, but which I thought was brilliant. I don’t have much more to say about this book as I thoroughly enjoyed it – I love writing detailed reviews, but sometimes when I read a book ‘for fun’ (they are all fun, really, but my fellow book bloggers know what I mean!) I like to just be able to say ‘I loved it. The end.’

Watermarks by Lenka Janiurek (2020)

I reviewed this wonderful memoir for a blog tour, organised by @damppebbles. I highly recommend it – you can check out my full review here. Lenka’s story is utterly unique, and the vivid present tense narration plunges you into her world from the opening page.

You Will Be Safe Here by Damian Barr (2019)

I have written a full review of this astounding novel here. It is a staggering achievement, and a novel that will stay with me for a very long time. This was the first of a couple of books I read this month that stirred a forgotten urge in me to write an essay – fortunately for you, I haven’t done so yet! (I miss studying.)

Love Me to Death by Susan Gee (2020)

I don’t tend to read a lot of thrillers, but I had read Gee’s debut novel, Kiss Her Goodbye, and was struck by the quality of the writing and also the slantwise approach that she takes to the genre. Love Me to Death is even more chilling than her first novel, but it shares the same fascinating angle: what if, instead of focusing on those trying to solve the crime, we delved into the psyche of the shadowy figure at the edges of traditional, procedural thrillers? In both of her books, the killer is revealed very early on, and the focus is not on the ‘who’ but the ‘why’. This appeals to me greatly as a twist on the genre, and it is bolstered by Gee’s crisp, precise prose.

The snowy setting of Love Me to Death adds greatly to the atmosphere of the book. Mr Anderson is creepy, unsettling, and occasionally utterly terrifying. Gee makes a bold and intelligent choice in creating parallels between the criminal and the ‘hero’ of the novel, Jacob, a sympathetic, endearing character whose growing connections with Mr Anderson ramp up the tension to almost unbearable levels. For a book in which the crime seems clear-cut from the start, there are an impressive amount of twists and turns – Gee knows how to hook her readers. I can’t wait to read more from this talented writer. If you are a fan of psychological thrillers, this is definitely one for you. It is published by Aria Fiction and is out now.

This is Not a Book About Charles Darwin by Emma Darwin (2019)

Emma Darwin writes SO well about the act of writing itself. Her book Get Started in Writing Historical Fiction has been invaluable in my attempts to, well, get started in writing historical fiction, and her blog, This Itch of Writing, is packed with insightful advice. This non-fiction book is something of an oddity (in the best possible way) – it is a detailed account of her failure to write a novel about her family. It is a hard book to describe, as it is so resolutely its own creature – part confessional, part writer’s notebook, and also a record of a truly brilliant mind.

It is almost intimidating how exacting Darwin is in terms of her research and her quest for the right story for her novel – there were definitely points where I wanted to tell her to give herself a break! But I sense that is not her style. This is an absolutely fascinating – and generous – insight into a writer’s process, and I highly recommend it to anyone who wants a glimpse of what is really involved in creating the books that we as readers love so much.

Saving Lucia by Anna Vaught (2020)

If you follow my blog, you’ll know that I am newly converted to the brilliant world of Bluemoose Books, who published the beautiful Leonard and Hungry Paul last year, and who, this year, are exclusively publishing books by women. Saving Lucia is one of the most intellectually exciting books I have read this year, and another one that I would happily spend hours writing an essay about! I have reviewed it in full here – you don’t want to miss this book.

What Doesn’t Kill You by Elitsa Dermendzhiyska and Others (2020)

My third non-fiction read of the month, which is quite a high ratio for me! This collection, published by Unbound, is absolutely stunning – a must-read book for anyone who experienced mental health issues, or who knows anyone who has, which I would imagine pretty much covers all of us. You can read my full review here – I think this book is deeply important, and I hope it is very widely read indeed.

I Wanted You to Know by Laura Pearson (2019)

I wanted you to know that I was going to write a longer review of this book, but that I only finished it last night and I am still reeling. I wanted you to know that it is one of the most affecting, emotional, devastating stories I have read for a long time. I wanted you to know that if you are a mother, or, in fact, if you have or had a mother, or if you didn’t have a mother for whatever reason, this book will make you sob. I wanted you to know that the tears will be worth it, because the message of human kindness and love is so strong in this book that it will heal your broken heart. I wanted you to know that this is the best I can do in terms of a review of this book, because it is too precious and real and raw for my poor attempts at analysis. I wanted you to know that you should read it, and that it will change you.

Laura Pearson is brave and brilliant and this book is so moving. That is all.

If you’ve made it to the end of this post, well done and thank you! I’ve got some wonderful books lined up for June, and would love to hear what you are all reading at the moment. What books have you loved this month? What are you planning to read in June? Sending bookish good vibes to all. Ellie x x x

I am very pleased to share my review of this powerful and important non-fiction collection published by Unbound. Many thanks to the publisher for providing me with a free copy in exchange for an honest review.

Blurb

“A stellar cast of writers and thinkers.” Nathan Filer

An explorer spends a decade preparing for an expedition to the South Pole; what happens when you live for a goal, but once it’s been accomplished, you discover it’s not enough? A successful broadcast journalist ends up broke, drunk and sleeping rough; what makes alcohol so hard to resist despite its ruinous consequences? A teenage girl tries to disappear by starving herself; what is this force that compels so many women to reduce their size so drastically?

In this essay collection, writers share the struggles that have shaped their lives – loss, depression, addiction, anxiety, trauma, identity and others. But as they take you on a journey to the darkest recesses of their mind, the authors grapple with challenges that haunt us all.

Review

In her foreward, Elitsa Dermendzhiyska asks the following questions:

“How can we live with our demons? How can we grow from our wounds? How can we write another story when the one we wanted is taken away from us?”

As anyone who has struggled with mental health issues knows, there are no easy answers. But one thing which is becoming increasingly clear is that the first step is breaking the silence and having open, honest, often painful conversations about our demons and our wounds. Personally, I am so much more open about my own battles with depression and anxiety than I used to be, partly – and I cannot stress this enough – because others are also more willing to share their stories. This project, clearly a labour of love by Dermendzhiyska, is of vital importance not only for those of us who may have experienced these kinds of issues, but also, I think, for those who have not. Revealing what goes on beneath the surface of the ‘self’ which we present to the world is hugely illuminating in terms of helping us to understand each other a little better, and to treat each other with more compassion and kindness – qualities we need now more than ever.

The book is divided into three sections: ‘Struggle,’ ‘Self,’ and ‘Striving’. Each contains essays by different authors, representing a huge range of experiences and opinions. Every essay deserves its place here, and I took something from all of them. Together they form a record of human experience which is profoundly moving. I was particularly struck by A.J. Ashworth’s ‘Eight,’ in which she recounts in vivid present tense her first ever panic attack; Irenosen Okojie’s beautiful, almost fable-like ‘Three Wise Women,’ telling of how she was saved by her grandmother when she was a baby; Hazel Gale’s incredibly powerful ‘The Last Fight’ and Ben Saunders’ brutally honest ‘A Very Long Walk in a Very Cold Place.’ These latter two essays are particularly shrewd inclusions in this collection as, on the face of it, Gale and Saunders have both completed physical achievements (in kickboxing/boxing and polar exploration respectively) that outwardly seem to represent a kind of ‘success’ unthinkable to those of us for whom getting out of bed is sometimes more than we can manage. There is a lesson here about challenging our assumptions and respecting the fact that we can’t judge the interior lives of others based on what we can see from the outside.

The final point I want to make about this collection is an aesthetic one. Many of these essays are written in gorgeous, startling prose, sometimes experimental, representing the very best of creative non-fiction. The talent on display adds a bittersweet layer of pleasure to the pain of the experiences recounted, and got me thinking deeply about the connection, explicitly mentioned in several of these essays, between creativity and inner struggles. This is a beautiful, affective, important collection that delves into what it means to be an imperfect human. I highly recommend it.

What Doesn’t Kill You is published by Unbound and is out in June. It is available for preorder now.

Foyles: https://www.foyles.co.uk/witem/biography/what-doesnt-kill-you-fifteen,elitsa-dermendzhiyska-rory-bremner-9781783527649

Saving Lucia is the first book of indie publisher’s Bluemoose’s year of publishing women only. Bluemoose is one of my most exciting Book Twitter discoveries – this is the second book published by them that I have read, and I have three more waiting on my shelf. Do check them out on Twitter @Ofmooseandmen. They do brilliant things.

Onto the book itself: I have only just finished it, and my mind is still fizzing. It is, quite simply, a true work of art. I am hugely concerned that I won’t be able to do this brilliant book justice here, so I am tentatively (and perhaps appropriately) subtitling this review “Initial Impressions From an Over-Stimulated Mind” as I guarantee you now I will be revisiting this book, and it will be in my thoughts for a long time.

I can’t remember the last time a book made me feel so intellectually excited. The premise, as laid out in the blurb, is in itself enough to set my thoughts spinning:

“How would it be if four silenced women went on a tremendous adventure, reshaping their pasts and futures as they went?”

Well, let me tell you, it would be a literary rollercoaster, a delicious journey through some of the finest writing I have encountered for a long time. Vaught teeters gracefully on the boundary poetry and prose, building in motifs and refrains that bring to mind music, visual arts, and the very best of literary traditions. The book reads like a classical work, richly woven with references and wide-ranging knowledge, and yet it is also something entirely new. We do not so much follow the four women, psychiatric patients all, as enter into their consciousnesses, and it is a thrilling experience.

Lady Violet Gibson, who once attempted to assasinate Mussolini, is an engaging, funny, utterly unique character, and I was as eager as Lucia Joyce, forgotten daughter of James Joyce, to join her on her imaginative adventures. This is an intellectual book, but it is also brimming over with love, and the friendship between the two women at the heart of the book is beautifully depicted. The trust they place in each other as they, along with Bertha and Blanche, dash through time and space, seemed to me to absolutely capture the essence of the best of female friendship. We see each other’s flaws, but we love each other full-heartedly anyway – unlike with a lover, we do not have to internalise those flaws – they do not hurt us in the same way. (Oh, how I miss my female friends! V, A, M – I love you!)

There is also such a spirit of generosity in this book, built into its very structure. Violet asks Lucia to set down this story, trusting her implicitly to do right by these women who have been so wronged and silenced by society. And Lucia rises to the challenge: the first person voice used by all four protagonists blends into a beautiful harmony. At first, it requires intense concentration to follow who is speaking, but gradually the reader’s attention is rewarded by it becoming easier and easier to know whose voice we are in. This is a marvellous achievement by Vaught, and I am going to have to go back and puzzle out how she pulls it off.

This is a book that demands close reading, but that attention more than pays off. I had a couple of instances of feeling so deeply connected to the text that I felt it like a tug in my chest: the first was when I was doing my usual thing of trying to work out what the book reminded me of – it is highly original, but I had just begun to think that it called to mind The Waves, which I finally read last year, when on the next page I read the phrase “a room of one’s own” and then a few pages later Woolf herself was referred to. I honestly get so excited by these psychic coincidences when I am reading! And I had another one – I had been thinking all the time I was reading that I wanted to write an essay about this book, to make notes, to research the background which is so richly mined by Vaught, and then Lucia herself gave gentle permission for the scribbling of notes in the margin, and, I admit, I thanked her out loud. You get me, Lucia.

There is so much I haven’t even touched on here – the nuanced exploration of mental illness and the destructive objectifying of these women by their societies, the astounding depth of the historical research which lends Vaught’s book authority even as she subverts and plays with the official historical narrative, the recurring motif of the passerines whose wingbeats echo throughout the story…I could go on!

As you can no doubt tell, this book has left me buzzing. It hits that sweet spot for me that the work of Angela Carter and Margaret Atwood does – imaginative flights of fancy combined with so much profound truth and beauty that my mind and my heart feel full. This book is a gift.

Saving Lucia is out now and is available to purchase directly from the publishers here.

Anna Vaught’s website has lots of fascinating information about the book and the history behind it: www.annavaughtwrites.com

Twitter: @BookwormVaught

I am really excited to share this amazing opportunity with you all! Read on to find out details of how you can submit your crime/thriller/dystopian novel or novella to this inaugural imprint!

About PM Press:

We are a Kindle-First imprint of Holland House Books that specialises in crime, thriller and dystopian fiction. Phaidra Robinson and Mia Skevington set up PM Press in April 2020 in order to pursue their respective loves of true crime and detective fiction. Our background of Literary Fiction at Holland House Books means that we bring an expectation of and experience in producing high quality books to these genres. An inaugural imprint, this is the time for authors to submit their work for the chance to be one of our founding book releases.

Call for Submissions:

We are looking for most types of crime and thriller fiction, from the classic English whodunit through to police procedurals, or classic noir through to mind-bending psychological thrillers. Maybe you want to introduce us to a dystopian future. We want well-written, satisfying work – a good twist and convincing characters are the ways to our hearts. It may be cosy and comfortable or dark and disturbing… or something completely different.

If you have a completed novel or novella which you believe may fit, then send us:

1) The first fifty pages of your work.
2) A synopsis of your work (maximum two pages).
3) A covering letter with a brief overview – we do NOT need you to do a brilliant ‘pitch’ or the kind of blurb which would go on the back of the book. The basic story, main character(s) and the general themes is all we need.

These documents should be Word Documents, size 12 in a standard font, with a line spacing of 1.5.

Please email us at pmpress@hhousebooks.com and address them to the Editor Phaidra Robinson.

PM Press Social Media Links:

Email: pmpress@hhousebooks.com

Website: https://pmpress9.wixsite.com/pmpress
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PMPressHHB 
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pmpresshollandhouse/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/PMPress1

Good luck to everyone who submits their work! Thank you to Emma at Damp Pebbles and PM Press for inviting me to take part in this exciting call out!