Tag Archives: literary fiction

Yellowface

Satirical novel about jealousy, plagiarism and Own Voices in the publishing industry

I know this author from her fantasy series which I first read some years back. She has recently made a stir in the book world with her foray into literary fiction, and I picked this book as my next gardening audiobook to read. By sheer coincidence, my sister bought me a paperback edition for Christmas thinking it would be the kind of thing I would like. She was correct, and it meant that I was able to take a photo rather than just share the audiobook cover.

Photo is of “Yellowface” by Rebecca F. Kuang. The paperback book is sitting to the right of a blue plate with a greenish pancake on it against a brown, woodgrain background. The pancake has a bite taken out of it. The cover is yellow with two eyes and eyebrows looking to the left.

“Yellowface” by Rebecca F. Kuang and narrated by Helen Laser is a satirical novel about a young white writer called June who is friends with Athena, a vastly more successful Asian-American writer. Although their friendship doesn’t appear much closer than acquaintance, after a night out together results in a fatal freak accident, June finds herself in possession of Athena’s next project. What follows is a morally fraught chain of events where June’s newfound success draws more and more criticism.

This is a clever and biting novel that tackles issues of cultural appropriation, plagiarism and how trials by public opinion play out through social media. The story is told in first person from June’s perspective and she is a delightful villain whose capacity for self-delusion is truly remarkable. June’s ambition combined with a lack of any special talent or originality set her up to seize an opportunity that most (but not all) writers would never consider taking. Kuang explores the conversations around these issues smoothly and as a reader, you find yourself filled with both schadenfreude and begrudging empathy as June’s actions snowball. Exactly how this plays out is supported with excerpts from emails and Twitter threads. I particularly enjoyed Kuang’s explorations of the common idea that someone’s success in the literary scene may be because of their ethnicity, rather than despite it. I also really liked how Kuang provided a behind-the-curtain understanding of how things work once you have an agent, a manuscript and a publisher and how much (and how little) authors are supported to sell their work.

A keenly insightful and thoroughly enjoyable book.

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Young Mungo

Content warning: sexual violence, addiction, gang violence

Literary novel about growing up queer in Glasgow

I was ready for my next audiobook for my tri-weekly-ish run and this came up as a suggestion. I had heard of this author who won a Booker Prize for his debut novel “Shuggie Bain”, but had not read the novel. When I saw this book with quite a provocative title, even though it was a little longer than my usual range (13 hours!) I was very interested to try it out.

Image is of the audiobook cover of “Young Mungo” by Douglas Stuart. The cover is of two young men with fair skin and brown hair kissing passionately.

“Young Mungo” by Douglas Stuart and narrated by Chris Reilly is a literary novel about a 15 year old boy called Mungo. The novel opens with Mungo going on a fishing trip with two men his mother met from Alcoholics Anonymous to a remote lake in Scotland. The novel flashes back to months earlier with Mungo living in public housing in Glasgow with his older sister Jodie. Their mother has run off and as he is underage, Mungo is at risk of being removed by social services. A soft-natured boy, Mungo struggles with being pressured by his older brother Hamish to take part in gang violence with other Protestants against Catholics. However, one day he meets a Catholic boy called James who raises pigeons and their fast friendship soon grows into something much more.

This was an exceptional novel full of complexities and with a perfectly paced plot. I was so inspired by this book that I made the above playlist. You can tell Stuart writes from a place of intimate knowledge of the poverty and violence that Glasgow experienced during the deindustrialisation in the 1970s and 1980s. Against this broader social backdrop, Stuart examines the dynamics of a fractured family of individuals trying to find their way in a city devoid of opportunity. However, my absolute favourite part of this novel was how delicately Stuart handles the theme of innocence. Mungo, aptly named after the patron saint of Glasgow, is a beautiful, sensitive boy who, while acutely aware that his social background and uncontrollable facial tic precludes him from any kind of excellence, nevertheless manages to live a gentle life in adoration of his mother and sister. However, Mungo’s desire to live an authentic life ultimately becomes impossible without the sacrifice of innocence and Stuart manages to create a story that is both heartbreaking and eminently satisfying. Reilly’s Scottish burr was the perfect narration for this novel and you felt completely transported into Mungo’s life.

An exemplary novel and I can’t wait to read more of Stuart’s work.

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Filed under Audiobooks, Book Reviews, General Fiction, Young Adult

Bunny

Literary body horror novel about women at university

Content warning: bullying, sex slavery, horror

Ages ago I requested this book on Netgalley not because I love rabbits, but because the description was really intriguing. Unfortunately it was in my early days of the platform and I didn’t realise you had to download books within a certain timeframe and I didn’t get a chance to read and review it. However, I have remained intrigued by this book ever since and eventually I caved and bought a copy for my Kobo.

Image is of “Bunny” by Mona Awad. The eBook cover is orange-red with a monochrome photograph of the back of a rabbit. The ears are pointed towards the reader.

“Bunny” by Mona Awad is a literary body horror novel about a young woman called Samantha Mackey who has won a prestigious scholarship to study creative writing at Warren University in New England, USA. There are four other students in the cohort, a clique who call each other ‘Bunny’ as a term of endearment. She and her only friend Ava privately make fun of the Bunnies, and Samantha has even come up with a special nickname for each: Cupcake, Creepy Doll, Vignette and the Duchess. However, one day the Bunnies invite Samantha to their Smut Salon, and slowly and seemingly despite her better judgment, Samantha is brought into the fold. With Ava all but forgotten, the Bunnies show her how they really use their creativity and Samantha has to decide where she draws the line.

This was an incredibly refreshing book and I am so glad that I went and bought a copy. Awad wrote with an exquisitely twisted clarity, shifting tones easily between Samantha before the Bunnies and Samantha after. Warren University is like an parallel universe where everything is a little darker, a little more dangerous and a little more possible. A big theme of this book is loneliness and isolation, and Samantha’s difficulty connecting with people was cleverly written. The characters are erudite and mysterious, and Awad seamlessly weaves in modern social issues into their conversations. There was a lot of interesting commentary about university culture, and the banality of academic privilege juxtaposed against the surreal events of the book was, in my view, far more captivating than other books set in universities I’ve read recently. There is an excellent twist to this book and I won’t spoil it by saying anything more, but while I had some guesses, I did not come close to appreciating the full story. I also really enjoyed Awad’s commitment to the rabbit theme with subtle references throughout the book.

There was only one very minor thing about this book that I found a bit difficult and that was keeping track of the Bunnies themselves. Of the four Bunnies Creepy Doll (Kira) was probably the most distinct, and while I appreciate that they were supposed to be a bit of an amorphous blur, it was a bit hard at times to tell who was who.

I honestly was so inspired by this book that I went and made a playlist to try to capture its very particular atmosphere. This book has such a unique flavour, it really got under my skin and I am so glad I went out of my way to buy it.

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Call Me By Your Name

Queer literary romance about identity and growing up

Content warning: sexual themes, reference to abuse

While looking for audiobooks that fit my strict criteria (9 hours or less), I came across this one. I had heard many, many things about this book because it was adapted into a film starring Timothée Chalamet who everyone is constantly talking about for some reason. I was really keen to see the film, but I decided to listen to the book first.

Image is of the audiobook cover of “Call Me By Your Name” by André Aciman. The cover shows a young man resting his head on the shoulder of another man. They are both looking up at a blue sky.

“Call Me By Your Name” by André Aciman and narrated by Armie Hammer is a Bildungsroman about Elio, a 17 year old Jewish Italian-American boy whose parents have a house in Italy. Every summer, Elio must give up his room to a university student invited by his academic father to stay for 6 weeks. This particular summer, in the mid-1980s, the student invited is Oliver. Eminently cool in his seeming indifference, Elio is surprised to find himself extremely attracted to older Oliver. As Elio fantasises more and more vividly about Oliver, he begins to question what this means for his own sexuality and whether the erotic tension between them is truly unrequited.

This is an exquisitely written novel that is as much a love letter to the male form as it is an exploration of a young man’s transition into adulthood. Aciman’s prose is some of the most beautiful and compelling I have come across in a long time. He captures perfectly that teenage obsessiveness, where you get sucked into the vortex of every single detail of every single interaction. Where the time spent thinking about experiences that have or could happen is almost more intoxicating than the reality. The film was a great adaption, but it is a challenge to put on screen prose that takes place largely in the protagonist’s mind – especially when that prose is so captivating in its apparent raw honesty. This book is full of layers and layers of depth, and I found myself wondering whether the names Elio and Oliver were intentionally chosen because of how many letters they shared.

I think this story, in both book and film format, has become iconic. It inspired Lil Nas X’s song “Montero (Call Me By Your Name)” and Sufjan Steven wrote a song specifically for the film that is just magical. The European summer setting is of itself so enticing, where intellectualism and hedonism intertwine in a sublime way. There are some iconic scenes in this book, and one of my favourites is where Elio’s father speaks to him about his friendship with Oliver. That conversation is such a fantastic template for a parent supporting their child’s sexuality, though I found myself wondering if part of the reason Elio’s father had such great empathy was the suggestion that he himself had experienced something similar.

I also have to say something about the narration, which was done by Hammer who actually played Oliver in the film adaptation. He did a phenomenal job narrating this book; and although the book is told from Elio’s perspective, Hammer’s familiarity with the subject matter brings a noticeable intimacy to an already very intimate book. He has a clipped, deep American voice that was very easy to listen to. However, I cannot laude his performance without mentioning the abuse allegations that have been made about him over the past year. I didn’t know about this at the time I listened to the audiobook or watched the film, and in fact it was only in reading more about the actors that I read about the allegations.

While the accusations levelled against the narrator may dissuade you from listening to the audiobook, I cannot recommend Aciman’s novel enough. I understand that he has written a follow up novel called “Find Me” and I am definitely going to read it.

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The Yield

Literary novel about Wiradjuri connection to family, Country and culture

Content warning: missing child, Stolen Generation, racism, colonialism, eating disorder, sexual assault

This novel won the 2020 Miles Franklin Literary Award, so it was already on my radar. I bought it a couple of months ago, but was inspired to make it my next book by the recent IndigenousX #BlakBookChallenge.

“The Yield” by Tara June Winch is a literary novel about a fictional place called Massacre Plains. The story is told from three point of view characters: Aboriginal man Albert Gondiwindi, his granddaughter August Gondiwindi and Reverend Ferdinand Greenleaf. Albert has found out that he does not have long to live, and spends his last living days recording the language of his ancestors in a dictionary that uses vignettes from his life to explain the words and their meaning. Shortly afterwards, August finds out her Poppy has died and returns home from the UK for his funeral after many years of estrangement. Things in Massacre Plains are both exactly the same and completely different as she reconnects with her Nana, cousin, aunties and an old flame. In 1915, Reverend Greenleaf pens a letter to the British Society of Ethnography to tell the truth about what happened in the Mission he established in Massacre Plains.

This is a brilliantly crafted novel that combines three narrative techniques to create a compelling and multifaceted story. Albert’s dictionary in particular was such a unique way of storytelling. Albert, who was taken from his family as a child and placed in a Boys’ Home, is visited by his ancestors who lead him through time to gently and patiently teach him the language and culture that would have otherwise been lost to him. His chapters are all the more poignant because they cast into relief how much was stolen from Aboriginal people through colonial violence and racism, making the knowledge bestowed by his ancestors critical. Greenleaf’s chapters are also interesting because they provide the dramatic irony of someone who genuinely believes that they are doing the best for the people in their care, but who is ultimately contributing to their loss of culture and who is powerless to protect them, especially the women, from slavery and sexual violence perpetrated by settlers.

Although less avant-garde in structure than the other chapters, August’s story is no less compelling. When she returns to the home her grandparents raised her in, she struggles to make sense of Prosperous House’s painful memories and the plans for it to be repossessed by a mining company. August’s chapters are in some ways the most heartrending. August has to confront the old trauma of losing her sister Jedda, who went missing when they were young, and face the new trauma of being displaced from her home. These traumas take their toll on August, who throughout her life has struggled with disordered eating. Her journey to the city with her aunty to visit the museum and see her people’s artefacts showed how painful it is that so much Aboriginal history is not even accessible to the people whose heritage it is. Through this experience Winch touches on the idea of repatriation, consistent with the strong theme of returning home that underpins this novel.

Finally, I also really enjoyed reading the Author’s Note and Acknowledgements which provide plenty of recommendations for further reading, some historical context for the compilation of Wiradjuri language and a little bit of insight into Winch’s own research, writing process and family. Winch is a fantastic writer and this is an excellent and original novel committed to truth-telling and full of heart.

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Filed under Australian Books, Book Reviews, General Fiction, Historical Fiction

The Ice Palace

Norwegian literary novel about a missing schoolgirl

Content warning: missing child

While on my trip to Northern Europe, I wanted to read a book from every country I visited. This book is hailed as a Norwegian classic, and I was keen to try something a bit different to Scandi Noir.

Image result for the ice palace tarjei vesaas

“The Ice Palace” by Tarjei Vesaas and translated by Elizabeth Rokkan is a literary novel about a young girl called Siss who meets a new girl in school just as winter is setting in at her small Norwegian town – freezing the river solid. Although Unn is much more reserved than popular Siss, Siss is nevertheless drawn to her and the two girls spend an intimate evening playing together. The next day, after Unn skips school to explore a frozen waterfall, the town bands together to try and find her. One of the last to see her, Siss is grilled for answers as to where she may be. While Unn remains missing, Siss is also at risk of being lost.

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Icicles on traditional houses just outside Oslo, Norway

This is a beautiful, eerie novel that explores the intense yet fragile nature of the friendship of young girls. I don’t like to compare books too much, but it reminded me of “Picnic at Hanging Rock” and “Cat’s Eye” by Margaret Atwood. It had a similar dreamy quality juxtaposed against the sharp clarity of friendship, made all the more dramatic by the captivating yet deadly winter landscape. The opening scenes of the book with the cracking sounds of the ice in the darkness and the frozen beauty of the waterfall was mesmerising. This is quite a short book, almost a novella, and I am still haunted by it. Vesaas knows exactly how much information to give to the reader, and exactly how much to withhold. I also thought that he provides the reader with an incredible insight into the life-shattering and unresolved grief that comes with knowing someone who has gone missing.

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A waterfall on our way to Aurlandsfjord and Nærøyfjord

This was an excellent, haunting book that is an ideal novel for travelling through the spectacular scenery of Norway.

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The Children Act

Legal drama about a life and death decision

I’ve only ever read one book by this author before, but he recently came across my radar after a minor controversy where he appeared to suggest that his new novel was unlike conventional science fiction and examined ethical dilemmas instead of focusing on “anti-gravity boots“. Anyway, I’d bought this book for my friend a long time ago because I thought it’d be relevant to her interests, so I asked her if I could borrow it back to read.

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“The Children Act” by Ian McEwan is a legal drama about Fiona, an English High Court judge, who specialises in family law. Although extremely successful in her work, congratulated by her peers for her well-written judgments about impossible ethical questions, Fiona’s personal life begins to fall apart when her husband announces his intention to have an affair. Unable to deal with this, Fiona throws herself headlong into a new case about a Jehovah’s Witness boy is refusing treatment for his leukemia. When the hospital makes an urgent application, Fiona decides to visit the boy in hospital to determine whether he is competent to make his own decision. However, as the judge, it is Fiona’s decision that matters the most and the way she makes it will change his life forever.

McEwan is compelling writer with a keen eye for human interest topics. This is a well-researched book and McEwan combines interesting case law with the realities of living a very privileged, but in some ways very lonely life. I thought the stand-out of this book was the character of Adam, a 17-year-old boy on the cusp of adulthood who is both dazzling in his potential and very, very young. McEwan captures his beauty and his folly extremely well.

I’ve been trying to put my finger on what it was I didn’t like about this book. I’ve looked at it from a few different angles, and ultimately I’ve had to conclude that it was Fiona’s characterisation. McEwan takes the stereotype of the working woman to its extreme with Fiona who had no children, has no time for her roving husband and whose only foray into any kind of wild abandon was a couple of trips to Newcastle with some cousins who are never named. Even though she is the main character, there’s an element of humanity, of realness missing from Fiona. I accept that McEwan is trying to shine a light on how cool legalistic arguments are not always suited to hot moral issues, but I refuse to accept that real people exist who are as banal as Fiona.

A well-written book but a shadow compared to my favourite fictional magistrate, Laura Gibson, who I cannot wait to see return to screen.

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