52/100 — Making books

AfterlightImage 104.JPG

The past two days here have been quiet because I’ve been away on a press pass.

Most of the time, sending a book to press means giving it to the printer to make magic happen, and trusting that the result will be good. Usually this goes well, too, and a few weeks later your finished book arrives at your desk, in a warehouse, and later (hopefully) on a shelf somewhere, as part of a routine process that, like most things we just accept, is actually somewhat of a miracle.

But sometimes, a colour book is particularly important, or difficult, and that’s when someone like me, or a designer, or an artist, visits the printer to make sure that the book comes off the press looking the way you’re hoping it will. That was my job this week. Colour books tend to be printed on sheets, which fold into sections. So as each section comes off the press, it’s taken to a light box, its ink densities are measured to make sure they’re consistent with the proofs and throughout the run, and someone (i.e. in this case, me) looks over it and approves it. (I can’t share photos of what I’m doing, but this is what it’s like.) It was a long, long day (as they tend to be), and I’m glad it’s over, but also glad it was done.

To be honest, though: this is not the fun bit for me.

This Wednesday, in between sheets to approve, I was given a tour of the factory. This is the fun bit. This particular company is a few hundred years old, so the building houses not only some fancy new machinery, but also traditional equipment, some of which was still in use only a couple decades ago.

In my job (and outside of it) I’m forever meeting people who seem to have no awareness of the many steps involved in making a book. I’ve been asked to make books happen within days more often than I can remember; as if printers only sit around staring at the wall until they’re given this one job, or paper grows out of the floor right where and when it’s needed. With all the progress technology has made in the past decades, producing books is still a physical process. Many, if not most books we see in bookshops today are still printed on offset presses. This means ink smudges, damaged plates that produce odd little blots; then there are boards that bend because of the weather and foil that flakes off because of the board, and all kinds of possible issues I can’t even imagine with my mere 5 years of experience. And then, of course, there’s the human element. (Making books would be so much easier if it weren’t for the people.) How so many books make it out into the world is a marvel, given everything that could (and does) go wrong. Seeing those old machines put everything into perspective a little. Imagine typesetting every page by hand. We’d have fewer typos, and much fewer books.

AfterlightImage 106.JPG

Every time I visit a printer, I’m overcome with awe and envy at everyone’s skill.

I envy the customer service people with their many years of experience, who know the materials and have made the mistakes and can advise you on anything.
I envy the press minders, with their incredible colour vision and knowledge of ink and paper, these machine whisperers who know how to coax just that shade of green out of the roaring, sometimes hissing beast that fills half the room.
I envy pre-press and lithography, with their knowledge of colour and colour separation, who know how to best write the instructions for just that shade of green in the language of cyan, magenta, yellow and black.
And, leafing through the guestbook at the printer and reading the words of so many who have visited before me, I envy the artists who make the works worth printing, and the designers who arrange those words and images on a page. I wish I could do all of these things.

AfterlightImage 107.JPG

Earlier this year I went to a choir concert that centred around the topic of reading. Their programme invited the audience to listen to the songs and reflect on ‘the role that books play in [their] life’.

I don’t know what kind of life I’d have without books. There not an aspect of it that I can imagine without them. That I get to be around them every single day is a little miracle in itself.

10/100 — Review | BLUE ANGEL by Francine Prose

In fiction, there are a few things I can’t resist:

  • historical horror (see: Michelle Paver, Dan Simmons, Stephen King’s Rose Red works)

  • stories about witches

  • stories about writing

  • stories set on college campuses

Blue Angel, Francine Prose’s 2000 novel about a writing teacher led astray, ticks two of those boxes.

Ted Swenson is an ageing novelist with a comfortable, somewhat stagnated life, teaching creative writing at Euston college while failing to write his third novel. Everything is fine until Angela Argo, a formerly quiet student of his, shows him the first chapter of her novel. Her writing turns out to be excellent. Enamoured with her talent Swenson begins to meet up regularly with Angela to support her, all while his university gears up to deal with the rise of sexual harassment charges happening in academia.

Unlike some of his fellow teachers, Swenson’s never slept with a student, nor his colleague Madga, the poetry teacher. He’s a good guy. That is, until clumsy, nervous, self-deprecating Angela seduces him with her words, her stories about forbidden love and desire between older men and younger women. We watch him watch himself fall for her, and like a car heading straight for a cliff, we see it coming, we can’t look away, and when it happens, it’s as devastating as it is unsurprising.

Blue Angel is a novel about ambition, class, and good intentions gone wrong. Life imitates art around every corner: Swenson’s novel Blue Angel is based on the movie At the Blue Angel, both being stories about men who ruin their lives to please a women who doesn’t love them back; his unfinished third novel is a retelling of Stendhal’s The Red and the Black, an ambitious man’s struggle to rise to success in a rigid class system; and most obviously, Angela’s novel Eggs is about a high school student’s affair with her music teacher. Swenson knows the stories, yet when it happens to him, he is unable to stop it. When Angela starts dropping tactical hints about how much she thinks about him, or aggressively calls him ‘such a guy’ to break down their student-teacher relationship, he doesn’t see the wood for the trees. He’s a good guy.

Other reviews I've read call Blue Angel a satire of modern academia. I read it as a character study. Swenson is a hilariously hopeless middle-aged man who has been cruising along so comfortably that he’s forgotten how to take control of his own life. When Angela eventually accuses him of sexual harassment and he is put on trial for a much more extreme version of events than he experienced, the truth almost doesn’t matter anymore. He just drifts along with it all, carried by the waves of scandal just like he’s let himself get carried towards them, leaning into the attraction a 19-year old engineered in him.

I found Blue Angel hugely entertaining, and I’m a little sad I’ve finished it already.

Author: Francine Prose
Publisher: Harper Perennial
Publication date: 2000
Rating: 4/5

8/100 — All the books I've bought in Berlin so far

When I came to Germany, four boxes of books arrived with me. Two contained books I already owned. The other two were full of books I’d panic-bought (or panic-collected at work) in anticipation of German book prices.

I need not have worried, because my book buying problem does not care about the state of my bank account.

The first thing I did once I found some free time was to check out English-language book stores. Bookshops are my happy place and I was especially nervous about being able to get new releases in English. When I arrived, my list of places to visit was about 90% bookshops. (Now it’s more 50:50 bookshops and food places. I really need to add some museums to that list, and maybe a lake.)

Because I have a problem (see above), I buy something almost every time I visit a bookshop. So while I read the books from the boxes, I make sure my TBR stack stays a consistent height. Here are my new Berlin acquisitions so far:

AfterlightImage 33.JPG

Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon James, bought at Curious Fox
The UK edition of this one came out after the US edition, so by the time I got hold of it (on publication day!) BLRW was already old news on Instagram, but I was so excited to get into it. But like every fantasy book I pick up (there aren’t many) it’s dense, and a challenge, so after the first 100 pages I put it down to take a break. I look forward to finishing it, but … not right now.

AfterlightImage 34.JPG

Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado, bought in Buchbox
One thing this new environment is bringing out in me is my desire to actually write (rather than just thinking about writing). I decided to read some short stories, so I could write better short stories, and after listening to an interview with Carmen Maria Machado on the Read Like A Writer podcast, I had to have this collection. I adored the first few stories, but Especially Heinous drained me of my will to live, and it’s been taking a break on my nightstand since then.

AfterlightImage 36.JPG
AfterlightImage 35.JPG

The Terror by Dan Simmons & Ein treuer Freund by Jostein Gaarder, bought in Thalia Alexa
One thing I really like here is the fact that almost every bookshop has a pretty decent English language section. I originally went to Alexa, the huge shopping centre by Alexanderplatz, to buy some running gear, but of course I couldn’t just walk past a 3-floor bookshop. I love historical ghost stories set in ice (there aren’t enough of them), and I’ve always enjoyed Jostein Gaarder, so both of these are safe bets.

AfterlightImage 37.JPG

Flights by Olga Tokarczuk, bought at Curious Fox
One lovely thing about this place is that it’s an exclusively English bookshop, which means more browsing time. That day it took me forever to pick something, until I saw that gorgeous yellow US cover. I very much judge books by their cover, and while I appreciate the minimalist blue of a Fitzcarraldo Edition, I’ll take a bird illustration over that any day. I can’t wait to sit down with this one weekend.

AfterlightImage 38.JPG

Blue Angel by Francine Prose, bought at Pequod Books
I’ve been meaning to read anything by Francine Prose ever since I heard her on So Many Damn Books discussing Mister Monkey. This one has the added bonus of being set on a college campus, which are my favourite things to read when it’s warm outside (I think that one summer I read The Secret History has shaped me in some significant way). The story centers on a middle-aged college professor who struggles to write his next book, and instead becomes fixated on a female student who’s showing a lot of promise. I don’t usually enjoy books about horrible people (they both. are so horrible.), but this one is strangely enjoyable, and will be the first Berlin-bough book I finish.

AfterlightImage 39.JPG

Das Floß der Medusa by Franzobel, bought at Autorenbuchhandlung
I’m terrible at resisting any book that has a painting on the cover, but – more historical horror on ships! About the human condition and whether evil is inherent in all of us! This is all I need!

I’m hoping to post a book review some time soon, but right now time just seems to be running away from me on a daily basis. Hopefully things will calm down eventually, but until then, I’ll do what I can.

Goodbye, 2018 – A Year in Reading

Yesterday, as has become tradition, I did Susannah Conway’s Unravel the Year workbook. The workbook always starts with a recap before it comes to the goal-setting, which is something I’ve never quite enjoyed. I’m not someone who likes to look back, because in the past that has always felt like a disappointment. I prefer looking into the future – making plans, starting again, believing that things can get better.

That was a little different this year. 2018 has been an amazing year in terms of my health and wellbeing, and I’ve felt his at every corner. It occurred to me recently that people who seem to have their shit together and are on top of things don’t necessarily have a secret – maybe they’re just not depressed. The difference between functioning while depressed and functioning while well is like the difference between crawling and dancing. And the insidious thing is: unless we’re in physical pain, we’re unlikely to notice exactly how hard things are while they’re hard. It’s only once the fog lifts that we realise we’ve barely been able to breathe. But once it does lift – wow.

So that’s one of my many takeaways from 2018. Another one is a list of 70 books I managed to read.

Here are some of my favourites:


Hunger by Roxane Gay (2017)
I’ve reviewed Hunger before here; I read it in March and am still thinking about it. Roxane Gay’s memoir about her relationship with her body, her place in the world and her struggle to be kind to herself made me tear up more than once. Raw and strong and beautiful, this is the kind of writing I would love to be capable of: to fully own a painful story, to not be diminished by it, and to share it in such a gracious, generous way is true skill.

The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim (1922)
I’d never heard of Elizabeth von Arnim before I found this one on the bookshelf at my local Tube station, but it captured my heart within the first few pages. This story of four women spending a month by the Italian seaside to escape their dreary London lives has a lot more to it than I first would’ve thought; Elizabeth von Arnim was a keen observer of people, and while this is ultimately a light comedy, there is a depth and a genuine desire to enjoy life in her characters that I don’t see often in books. I look forward to reading more of her work next year.

Braving the Wilderness by Brené Brown (2017)
It’s been a Brené Brown year for me – I spent New Year’s Day walking miles and miles while I listened to The Power of Vulnerability, a collection of her talks that neatly summarises her work so far. It introduces the concepts of shame and of wholeheartedness, which Braving the Wilderness follows by talking about – bravery, and the courage to be oneself. It was a much-needed help during a tricky time this summer when I was alone too much and needed reassurance that, ultimately, we’re all a little lost in our own wilderness, and that if we find a way to make peace with this fact and own it, we will be okay.

The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert (2013)
How did I never hear about this book before I found it in a charity bin? How has this book not won all the awards? The story of Alma Whittaker spans such a wide range of topics, over 19th century botany to the theory of evolution, love and meaning, a brush with the divine and making peace with oneself late in life, and I cannot even. It absorbed me for the entire week I was reading it, and I was equally sad to let it go and excited to pass it on to the next lucky person.
(I seem to remember someone mentioning that if Ms Gilbert hadn’t been pigeonholed as a ‘chick lit’ author by the time this book was published, it would’ve won more prizes. I’m inclined to agree that if it had been written by a man, it probably would’ve had more attention.)

Vita Nostra by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko (2007, this translation 2018)
I’m not the biggest fan of Fantasy or Sci-Fi, but I’m forever low-key looking for my next Harry Potter. So when something features a school, and it’s not immediately clearly a school for assassins (urgh), I’m interested. Pair that with the gorgeous cover, and I needed to read it.
Much like with the (very different) Signature of All Things, I lived and breathed this book, in which the teenage protagonist Sasha Samokhina, through a series of very odd events, enters the mysterious Institute of Special Technologies. What follows is a puzzling, alienating and atmospherically very Eastern European story about a girl trying to do well at a school where ‘doing well’ is just as hard to define as the tasks that are being set. The translator Julia Meitov Hersey has done what I imagine is an incredible job (how do you even begin), and I’m so glad this book is available in the English language. I really hope the rest of the series will follow.

I Love You Too Much by Alicia Drake (2018)
The blurb for this book makes it sound like a murder mystery, but don’t be fooled – this one is special. I usually try and avoid books about loneliness (I read too many of them in 2017), but I’m glad this one found me. I Love You Too Much follows Paul, the 13-year old son of a rich Parisian couple, in the aftermath of their divorce. Ignored by his father and overlooked by his mother, Paul seeks solace in food and his friendship with his mother’s help, until he becomes friends with Scarlett, a popular girl from his school. Just as things start looking up, Paul sees something he shouldn’t have seen. I can’t say too much without spoiling the plot, but I Love You Too Much is intelligent and subtle and devastating and followed me around for days after I’d finished it.

Melmoth by Sarah Perry (2018)
I resisted this one for quite a while, but after seeing a lot of glowing (and slightly concerning) tweets, I caved and bought it for Christmas. Someone on Twitter said they had to remove it from their nightstand in order to be able to sleep, and the same happened to me; I could not sleep with this book near me. Set in modern day Prague (which you wouldn’t know if people weren’t texting), the story follows a middle-aged Englishwoman named Helen Franklin, who comes into the possession of a collection of texts about Melmoth the Witness, a female figure that has been haunting the sites of human atrocities for millennia. Not free of guilt herself, the more she reads, the more Helen herself begins to feel watched.
Melmoth is a ghost story in which the ghost is less scary than those it haunts. Having committed crimes too big to confess, the people she visits carry their actions throughout their lives doomed to be followed by their guilt, with absolution so impossible that there seems to be only one way out. At times it’s true that Melmoth feels a little preachy and too bluntly commenting on the times we live in, but that worked for me. In terms of atmosphere, I can’t think of anyone who can match Sarah Perry here (maybe apart from Lionel Shriver with We Need To Talk About Kevin). It was terrifying and so, so good.


Looking back, 2018 seems to have been the year of books with a high emotional impact. Reading more than one book per week at times made me feel like I was racing through them rather than properly taking them in, so I’ll see if something can be done about that next year. But overall, it has been a great journey and I look forward to the reading year 2019.

(PS: I did read books written by men this year. I had to check though to be sure – none of them stood out ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Review | HOW TO BREAK UP WITH YOUR PHONE by Catherine Price


Have you ever found yourself with your phone in your hand without remembering how it got there?

Have you ever stopped what you were doing and picked up your phone because your lizard brain craved Instagram so suddenly the decision wasn’t even conscious? One minute you’re writing an email, and the next your fingers are tapping the access code into your phone while on your computer screen the cursor blinks on a half-finished sentence.

It’s not easy to admit all of this, but I suspect I’m not the only one with that kind of experience. I think most of us know on some level that our phones have more power over us than we’d like them to have; for me it’s those moments when I suddenly find myself scrolling through Instagram or Twitter, like I’ve blacked out for a second. And that happens several times a day!

I don’t want to live my life this way, and in early March, I bought How To Break Up With Your Phone by Catherine Price.


The book is split into two parts: part 1, the ‘wake-up’, is an info-dump designed to put the fear of technology in you. It explains what phones do to our brains, especially our attention spans, ability to multitask, and our mental health, including stress levels and sleep hygiene. Spoiler alert: it’s not good news.

Part 2, the ‘break-up’, is a 30-day programme designed to slowly wean you off your phone and, in week 4, reintroduce healthier habits. It encourages you to take a look at your phone use, introduces mindfulness habits, and, yes, asks you to delete your social media apps.


Tracking your phone use via an app (in my case, Moment) was an interesting experiment. According to Catherine Price, who quotes Moment itself, the average user spends about 4 hours a day on their phone. Think about that: FOUR of your waking hours. Of course not all of this is wasted (think maps, calculator, meditation apps, calendar apps, writing notes, chatting to lovely people), but let’s be honest: it’s so easy to get sucked into spending twenty minutes on Twitter when all you wanted to do is turn off your alarm.


My favourite part of the programme, however, has got to be the 24hr blackout, or ‘trial separation’. Yes, it’s what it sounds like: 24 hours without your phone. Without screens in general. No internet. No chatting. No Google Maps. Live like it’s 1991.

I did my 24hrs on Saturday last Easter weekend, which I’d decided to spend alone. I had a headache and no real capacity for being productive, so I just wandered the streets in an area that I know relatively well, given I hadn’t prepared for this at all and not looked up any maps. I’m not going to say this day changed my life (I actually found it quite concerning how much I twitched for my phone every time I waited for the bus or train. Habits, man), but somewhere in the early afternoon, a kind of calm settled on me. I got lost on my way to the bookshop, which hasn’t happened in forever. In the queue to the loos at the British Museum (it’s a very long queue) I suddenly got assaulted by very random unpleasant memories that seemed to have sensed I was without the protection of Instagram. But I dealt with them.

In the later afternoon, I settled in a café to read and write, and watch. Everybody was on their phone, hunched over their coffee, scrolling. Some people sat close enough that they could have belonged to each other, but it was hard to tell given that they didn’t interact with one another. The only ones in my immediate vicinity not on their phones were a group of well-off middle-aged women, who’d bought several slices of cake and cut them into four pieces each to share. They were having a blast. The whole picture reminded me how, as someone who likes writing, it’s so easy to get sucked into platforms like Instagram and Pinterest for ‘inspiration’, when the real inspiration (i.e. life) is often in front of us.


I’m done with my 30 days now. I don’t think my life has changed, really. Not dramatically. But I remember that day offline and how much time there was in it, how much capacity for attention I had. In the chapter on social media, Price talks about attention. ‘[O]ur attention is the most valuable thing we have,’ she says. ‘We only experience what we pay attention to. We remember only what we pay attention to.’

That quote has stuck with me. My phone background now says, ‘What do you want to pay attention to?’ (a tip from the book) Never stop asking this question. If your attention is the most important thing you have, do you want to spend it on your phone right now? Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes, the question makes me put my phone back in my pocket, so I can focus my attention where I want it to be.

We’ve come to accept that there’s an app for everything, including our mental and physical wellbeing. It feels disorienting to put away all our apps in search for a solution when we’ve learned to see them as a lifeline, something to hold on to. It wouldn’t say this book has taught me anything I didn’t know already, but in the absence of picking up my phone, it was something else to hold on to. I enjoyed my morning ritual of reading the day’s challenge and have since replaced it with meditation. I still have a long way to go in how I use my phone, but this book has been a nudge in the right direction.

Author: Catherine Price
Publisher: Trapeze
Publication Date: March 2018
Rating: 4/5

Last but not least, I would also like to leave you with this video by Anthony Ongaro that just blew my mind. In case you needed more arguments.

All the books in March


I know it’s been April for a while, but better late than never, right?!

Ann Veronica by H.G. Wells || 3/5
This book floored me a little. I’ve never read anything by H.G. Wells (yes, I know), so when I came across one of the most #relatable exchanges between a man and a woman since Cat Person, I was not prepared.
Ann Veronica, subtitled A Modern Love Story, is the story of our titular heroine who, in her early twenties at the turn of the 19th century, is still under the thumb of her father, who wants to decide over her comings and goings until he can marry her off. One day their disagreement escalates and Vee flees to London, where she realises that a young educated woman stands barely a chance to create a life that is independent of men. As we follow her on her struggle against a system that does not want her to succeed on her own, we encounter suffragettes, artists and scientists with varying attitudes towards life and the relationship between the sexes.
Ann Veronica makes some excellent observations of attitudes that are still around today (‘I respect and admire women too much to burden them with the ugliness of politics!’), but ultimately doesn’t go quite far enough for me. Ann Veronica’s time with the suffragette movement feels more like a confused phase than genuine conviction, and the ending seems like an indulgence for the author more than a gift to the reader. Altogether, not too bad for a book that is over 100 years old.

A Change Is Gonna Come by various authors || 4/5
This is a donation bin find from work – and what a find! A Change Is Gonna Come is a YA collection of 12 stories and poems by British BAME writers, aiming to ‘give creative space to those who have historically had their thoughts, ideas and experiences oppressed’. It’s an absolute treasure chest of stories dealing with race, racism, mental health, LGBTQ issues, history, the refugee crisis, disability and... time travel? Apart from being thoroughly enjoyable, this kind of book is the perfect argument for why we need diversity in writing and publishing – these are stories I’ve never encountered before, or not enough, and I really, really want more. I can’t wait to pass it on to the next happy reader.

I Still Dream by James Smythe || 3/5
I Still Dream is a (beautifully designed) book about artificial intelligence. The AI in this case is a system called Organon, created by Laura Bow in her teens during the 90s. The story follows Laura’s (and Organon’s) life as they follow the rise and development of another (commercialised) AI, SCION, as it worms its way into every part of everyday human life. I find it hard to describe what the book is about, because I couldn’t quite figure it out. The story spans Laura’s entire life (and some before and after), but I missed some sort of dramatic structure. While the narration mostly sticks with Laura, two or three chapters are inexplicably told from someone else’s perspective, but it takes pages to make clear who that person is. Neither Organon nor SCION are your average dangerous sci-fi AIs like HAL 9000 or VIKI, which is a nice change, but there is also no real sense of threat or stakes. The language seems geared towards people who know a thing or two about AI, so for me as a layperson who clearly didn’t get it, the overwhelming mood was ‘sounds like it’s gonna be okay, I guess’. Maybe the beautiful complexity I’ve read about in other reviews went right over my head. Who knows.

You Too Can Have A Body Like Mine by Alexandra Kleeman || 4/5
A lives with B. B admires A and wishes she could be like her. A is dating C. A finds it more and more difficult to tell herself apart from B. Is B turning into A? Is A turning into B? Why have B and C never met? Would C prefer B to A if he met her?
I read this book in a bit over a day, which is a pretty intense experience. Afterwards I wrote in my journal: ‘It’s something I’m not sure I want to exist. I feel unclean, like I caught something.’
I find it hard to say what this book is about. It’s about consumer culture, about advertising, about body image and love and religion and identity. But overall, it’s just plain terrifying. I don’t think it is meant to be a horror novel and I wouldn’t classify it as such, but there is such a strong sense of displacement, of standing outside oneself watching the world like something completely alien and incomprehensible. As someone who experiences dissociation on a regular basis, this book touched something I’m not sure needed touching. One element that needs to be mentioned is the text design, at least in my edition: every chapter starts with a plain smiley emoticon. Like the book looking back at you. It’s fucking terrifying. I loved it.


All the books in February (feat. #feministlitfeb)

And here we are in March. February has been a month of reading I didn't quite expect, and now I'm a little overwhelmed with it all. My TBR for FeministLitFebruary was ambitious, and I'm a bit surprised and impressed by myself to see how much I managed to read. I wish I'd written more reviews, but oh well. I'm still figuring it out.

Anyway, here's the roundup:

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen || 3/5
I read this for a creative project I was hoping to start, but it turned out I didn't have time for it this month.
This is my third Jane Austen book, and I just don't get them. With all their insight and many funny moments, my overarching annoyance at how obsessed with money and boring most of the characters are is just too much to enjoy them. And still, I miss them when I finished?? Sense & Sensibility is full of highly unlikeable characters, its ending is awful, and Elinor is one of the most frustrating protagonists I've ever come across. Can I stop reading these now please.

Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward || 4.5/5 || FeministLitFeb Challenge - An #ownvoices story
I read the book while a storm was raging through my own mind, so that might have to do with the way I experienced it, but goddamn. It's special.
Salvage the Bones follows the story of a family – three brothers, one sister, and their dad – in Bois Sauvage, Mississippi, 12 days before the storm Katrina hits. Esch, the narrator and only girl in the family, has just discovered she is pregnant.
I tried to write a full review for this title, but my words can't do it justice. It's a beautifully written, immersive read about motherhood and strength and destrucion that I can wholeheartedly recommend.

Brave by Rose McGowan || abandoned
I tried, and gave up on page 40. This is not a book that should be judged by its literary merit, of course not. But dear god it would have benefited a lot from some editing. The book is written in a 'stream of consciousness' kind of way, which I imagine makes for an intriguing audiobook, but is exhausting in writing. It lacks structure and is full of anger and a kind of 'I immediately saw through the bullshit' superiority that made it hard for me to want to keep reading. Rose McGowan has been through a lot and she has every right to be angry, but I've decided not to follow this particular story.

Six Stories & an essay by Andrea Levy || 4/5 || Instagram review || FeministLitFeb Challenge - A book written by a black woman
'I am not in the habit of making friends with strangers. I am a Londoner. Not even little grey-haired old ladies can shame a response from me. I'm a Londoner – aloof sweats from my pores.'
This short read explores the concept of identity throughout three generations, all inspired by Andrea Levy's own experiences or those of her family: the young man from the West Indies fighting for the British during the War; the Jamaican woman on her way to England full of expectation for a better life; and the immigrant's daughter, English through and through to the point where she needs to be made aware she is black. The essay that precedes the stories tells Levy's own story of growing up in a Highbury council flat, so unaware of her ancestry as the descendant of slaves that she considered herself white, and had to re-learn what it means to be a product of the shared history between Britain and the Caribbean.
Like a complex gemstone that looks different from every angle, this book provides a variety of short but impactful stories that should best be read in one sitting to appreciate this book as a whole.
(Also, can I just say – this Tinderpress edition is lush. The thick stock it's printed on, the clear foil on the cover, the handwritten titles? Oh my god.)

Hunger by Roxane Gay || 5/5 || full review here || FeministLitFeb Challenge - Feminist Wildcard
THIS BOOK THOUGH. It's amazing. Read it.

Red Clocks by Leni Zumas || 3/5 || FeministLitFeb Challenge - Feminist Fiction
This book is being sold by comparing it to The Power and The Handmaid's Tale, and I think that kind of marketing does it a disservice. Unlike the distinctly sci-fi/dystopian books by Naomi Alderman and Margaret Atwood, Red Clocks feels a lot more immediate and relatable: its America is one that looks well possible by 2020. Its horror is more subtle and takes a step back to make space for its characters, who are each impacted in a different way by the new legislation (abortion is illegal under any circumstances, and adoption is only possible for married couples). It's an immensely readable book that I looked forward to picking up each time, invested in all four main characters and their struggle for personal freedom.
But I think it tries too hard. Someone on Goodreads called it 'literary frills', and that's what they are – the narrator does not refer to the women by name, but title (the wife, the daughter, the biographer, the mender), which feels superfluous since they clearly have names; there are very disjointed bits of writing linked to a polar explorer Ro is writing about, which are either by the explorer herself or by Ro, and it's never quite clear what they are for; and especially in Gin's chapters there are bits of literary dissociation when the writing seems to slip in some kind of fever dream that made me wonder what I'm reading each time. I don't think any of these features are necessary, as the women's stories are engaging enough in themselves, and they distract more than they add. This would have been a gorgeous, important book without those frills.

Inferior by Angela Saini || 4/5 || FeministLitFeb Challenge - Feminist Non-Fiction
Can we take a second to admire this cover — thank you.
This seemed like the perfect book to read for this challenge: an exploration of the way science has been used to prove that women are the weaker sex, and what we know now. It looks at intellectual ability, physical differences and aging (or, 'What are old women good for'), looking at studies very different from the ones we always read about in the news. For someone who doesn't read as much non-fiction as she should, I found this book very well structured and very readable, and I have come away with even more respect for the female of our species: we are mighty, and I didn't even know half of it.

This was my first ever reading challenge, and I really enjoyed this. Maybe I'll do another one in the future.

But for March: easy reads.

Review | HUNGER by Roxane Gay


Today I noticed how every time I see a small child with a crisp packet in their hands, I have to keep myself from judging the parents. There's nothing like the smell of crisps to transport me back to my own youth: the greasy combination of oils and strong chemical tastes; the fizzy drinks that came along with them; that deep, desperate feeling of being sluggish and fat and gross.

I wasn't fat, but I grew up in an environment where being fat, feeling fat and the desire not to be fat have always been topics, and I suppose like most females on this planet I feel some level of societal pressure not to be ‘fat'.

It makes me feel strange and guilty using this word to refer to myself, having just read Roxane Gay's Hunger. I'm very aware that I have never been fat, or even overweight. While my personal feelings about my body may be one thing, I have never experienced life in a society that sees me as fat. There are so, so many experiences that I haven't had, that I can barely imagine anyone else ever having (like strangers removing items from a food cart that they disapprove of – my mind is still reeling from that one). Hunger is an important (and rare) record of those experiences, and the emotions that go along with it.

But there's a lot more in there to unpack – there is sexual assault, race, and the ever returning topic of (self-)worth, and the struggle to feel deserving: of love; of respect; of care, from oneself and others.

In a beautiful interview with Jenny Zhang for the Rookie Podcast, Roxane Gay has talked about those struggles, and the persistent feeling that haunted her since her teens: ‘This is all there is? How disappointing.' There's a beautiful, comforting moment during that interview where both of these wonderful, talented people talk about that loneliness, the feeling that life just might not be for them, something that can persist over years and years no matter how much work we put into dealing with life. Others feel like this too. Awesome people feel like this too.

Apart from the many other things it does, Hunger chronicles, with incredible honesty, one person's journey with those feelings. Sometimes the chapters are hard-hitting (there are a few about relationships that are particularly hard to read); sometimes they are hesitatingly gentle (like the one about cooking a Blue Apron meal and the attempt to nourish her body well). Overall, it is a journey – a very long, hard journey with some ups and many downs.

I don’t want to be relieved when a relationship ends. I have things to offer. I am nice and funny and I bake really well. I no longer want to believe I deserve nothing better than mediocrity or downright shoddy treatment. I am trying to believe this with every fiber of my being.

I cannot properly review this book without being more open than I want to be or am able to be. Which in a way is a shame – as she writes, sharing our histories (of violence) is important: 'It informs how I move through the world. It informs how I love and allow myself to be loved. It informs everything.' And by sharing our history in our own words, we gain control over them.
But I am not that brave, and that's just how it is.

But I can tell you, who is reading this, to read this book, and be inspired – to be better and kinder to your fellow humans; to be better to yourself; to tell your own story. We need more books like this, especially in times of the #MeToo movement when finally, someone is listening. We need more people to come forward and remind us that life is messy, and painful, and that everyone is fighting some kind of battle. And only if we know what these battles are, and all the many shapes they can take, and that they can be a massive part of us without defining us – then we can move through the world with open minds and be compassionate, and kind, and considerate to each other. That's the world I want to live in.

Author: Roxane Gay
Publisher: Corsair
Publication date: June 2017
Rating: 5/5

My #feministlitfeb TBR


Can you believe it’s February already? I can and can’t, but that’s just time passing, I guess.

I’ve been enjoying this blogging thing so far, but I would like to do more reviews. What a great coincidence then that a couple of weeks ago I stumbled across the #feministlitfeb challenge. This month-long readathon, hosted by ItsJaneLindsey on Youtube, aims to get people reading more feminist and diverse literature. Since a few books that fit the theme have been on my TBR for a while, I decided to join.

There are five challenges, and I have books for all of them, so here is my #feministlitfeb TBR:

#1 Read a piece of feminist fiction

Red Clocks by Leni Zumas
I’ve seen Red Clocks on Instagram quite a bit recently, and on a few TBRs for this challenge in particular. It's marketed as feminist dystopian fiction somewhere between The Power and The Handmaid's Tale, so I know I'm up for some light reading. It's not out in the UK yet, but if you know people...

#2 Read a piece of feminist non-fiction

Brave by Rose McGowan
To be honest, I know very little about Rose McGowan, but from what I've seen, I'm interested in how she experiences the world. (I'm also very annoyed by the bad reviews this book is getting based simply on the fact that people don't know her, without having read the book.)

Also in this category, if I can get round to them, are Inferior by Angela Saini and Hunger by Roxane Gay. I know Hunger is not the most feminist book by Roxane Gay, but it's the one that I found in the shop for little money, and I've only heard good things about it.

#3 Read an #ownvoices story about an experience that is not your own (in terms of race, sexual orientation, (dis)ability etc.)

Gold Boy, Emerald Girl by Yiyun Li & Six Stories and One Essay by Andrea Levy
I had to go shopping for this challenge, because I had no #ownvoices books left on my unread shelf. So with not much money left I went to our local bookshop and dug through the shelves, where i realised what a great selection of diverse literature they have. (And the books are so cheap. I got each of these for £3 each) I haven’t read anything by either author before, but I’ve heard good things and I can’t wait to dig into these.

#4 Read a book written by a black woman/non-male identifying person

Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward
I haven’t read anything by Jesmyn Ward yet and Sing, Unburied, Sing is not currently in my price range. Electric Literature recently published a list of books with 'wonderfully nuanced black female characters', and Salvage the Bones was one of them, so here we are.

#5 Feminist Freebie

Diversify by June Sarpong
Technically, any of the books in the other categories goes as a feminist freebie, but I really hope to get to this one. In Diversify, June Sarpong looks at the cost of social division and makes a moral, economic and social case for more diversity in our society. It feels like a must read to me, and it's time.

I probably won't be able to review all of these, but I'll do my best! Wish me luck.

All the books in January


And here we are – the end of January! It's been a good month for reading.

The Power of Vulnerability by Brené Brown || 4/5
I've had this lecture series in my Audible account for at least a year, and its time came this New Year's Day. I walked for miles all day, listening to Brené Brown's soothing but competent voice for hours (she sounds like such a mom, in the best possible way). It's a brilliant introduction to her work on living with vulnerability and cultivating what she calls wholeheartedness. I took a lot of notes.

On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan || 3/5
I found this on the book exchange shelf at my local Tube station and read it in a day. A young couple, Edward and Florence, arrive in a small hotel in Dorset by Chesil Beach for their honeymoon. They haven't had sex with each other before, and as the couple approach the act with mixed feelings, they reflect on their individual upbringings and future together. The point of view flips in between the two characters, highlighting the weight of things unspoken between two people who love each other dearly, but whose 'companionable near-silence' has created no space for true intimacy. I found it a stunningly written book, but was unable to root for or even like either of the two.

A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki || 5/5
A re-read. Ruth Ozeki is one of my favourite authors, and this might be my favourite book of hers. The story is told between two women: a teenage girl named Nao who, having grown up in Sunnyvale, California, struggles to adapt to life in Japan after her family has to move back; and Ruth, an author with writer's block who finds Nao's diary washed up on the beach of a tiny Canadian island years later. Beautifully written, the story is packed with history and information about Japanese culture and Zen Buddhism (Nao's great-grandmother is a nun), as well as thoughtful meditations on time, suicide, conscience and the nature of stories. A single-paragraph review doesn't do this very special book justice, so I'll just say that I wholeheartedly recommend this book to anyone.

Lullaby by Leïla Slimani || 3/5 || full review
A short novel about a Parisian couple whose nanny murders the children. While I appreciated the glimpses into the lives of several quite different people, I struggled to feel empathy for any of them. The story gradually builds the suspense and sense of unease in a skilful way, but stumbles and falls towards the end, where it feels unfinished.

Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue || 4/5 || Instagram review
This one's been on my TBR for quite a while, and I'm glad I've kept it until now! Set in the mid-2000s, the story follows a young Cameroonian family struggling to stay in the United States. The husband, Jende, lands a job chauffeuring a Wall Street banker and his family, and soon his wife, Neni, is asked to help out as well. They seem to be doing okay, until the financial crisis hits. Behold the Dreamers is an engaging read that draws the reader into the worlds of two very different families. While it focusses on Jende and Neni, we learn plenty about their employers and their own battle with the American Dream. The book makes space for everyone without taking sides, explaining their actions but not excusing them. Another book I'd absolutely recommend.

Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney || 4/5
This is an odd book in that I absolutely loved reading it, while disliking each single character. The titular friends are Frances and Bobbi, two 21-year old ex-lovers-now-best-friends, and Melissa and Nick, a thirty-something couple they befriend when Melissa writes a profile about the girls. The story is told from the perspective of Frances who, as Bobbi gets closer with Melissa, starts an affair with Nick.
Frances speaks with a sharp self-awareness that is an absolute joy to read, although what is most interesting about her is everything she doesn't talk about – as she obsesses over Nick, she glosses over health and family matters like they don't touch her, and other characters frequently remark on how impossible it is to read her. But as intriguing as her background seems to be, she is infuriating in her passivity. Nick is an unbelievable dickhead, Melissa is unlikeable from the start, and Bobbi, who seems the most intelligent and aware of the group, does not get enough to say or do. When I saw that the book had two parts I hoped that the second part would contain the events from Bobbi's point of view, and I'm still a bit disappointed that's not the case. This novel is immensely readable and polished, with some memorable scenes that were quite hard to read at times, but I wish the characters had just been a bit more likeable.

Good Morning, Midnight by Jean Rhys || 4/5
Oh my god, this book is capital-S Sad. It follows Sasha, a woman staying in Paris after personal tragedy, trying to make it through; she walks the streets during the day and sits in bars and cafés at night, reminding herself not to cry in public.
Sasha's sadness is thick and heavy and difficult to carry as a reader, so despite its small extent this book took me the longest to read. Which works so well, as everybody who has ever been this kind of sad will know – how the days stretch and become one long, endless grey fog. I want to read more by Jean Rhys, but I think I need a break for a bit.