The Gentleman from Peru by André Aciman

 

The Gentleman from Peru

by André Aciman

Il Primo Giorno della mia Vita by Paolo Genovese

 

Il Primo Giorno della mia Vita

by Paolo Genovese

Verklärte Nacht - a short story in Maltese

Verklärte Nacht

I occasionally feature on this blog some of my writings in Maltese... such as this short story. Verklärte Nacht was first published on the Facebook page of the literary organisation Għaqda tal-Malti - Universita' after a Valentine's Day call for writings on the theme of love.  It is a ghost story of sorts, whose protagonist is haunted by the spirit of his ex-lover who, in a departure from the tropes of the genre, is still very much alive…  The illustration is by Pascal Campion whose  contemporary pop-inspired works I really love.

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Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield

Our Wives Under The Sea

by Julia Armfield

The Bell in the Lake by Lars Mytting

 

The Bell in the Lake

Lars Mytting (Translated by Deborah Dawkin) 

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Haunted by History: "Block Seventeen" by Kimiko Guthrie

Block Seventeen

by Kimiko Guthrie

A review

"Three Apples Fell from the Sky" by Narine Abgaryan

Three Apples Fell from the Sky

by Narine Abgaryan 

(translated by Lisa C. Hayden)

A review

Andrés Barba's "A Luminous Republic"

 

A Luminous Republic

by Andrés Barba (translated by Lisa Dillman)

A review

Magical Thriller: "How a Woman Becomes a Lake" by Marjorie Celona

How a Woman Becomes a Lakeby Marjorie CelonaA review

American Trolls: "The Changeling" by Victor LaValle

The Changeling by Victor LaValle

A Review

"Braised Pork": a review of An Yu's debut novel

"Braised Pork" by An Yu

A review

Land of the Disappeared: A review of The Therapist by Nial Giacomelli

The Therapist by Nial Giacomelli

A book review

Despite its virulence, little is known about the disease.  They say that it attacks the brain and spinal column. That victims suffer encephalitis-like reactions. Lethargy, confusion and changes in personality are all common.  The media report cases of grandiose delusions and memory loss.  Some hear voices, other see impossible realities.  All eventually disappear.

Flash review : “Bottled Goods” by Sophie van Llewyn

“Bottled Goods” by Sophie van Llewyn

Bottled Goods has just been longlisted for the 2019 Women’s Prize for Fiction, after having previously been longlisted for the Republic of Consciousness Prize 2019 and nominated for the People’s Book Prize.   Here’s a brief review I had written when I read this “novel-in-flash” last year…

When Liviu's brother defects to the West, he and his wife Alina are hounded by the Romanian Communist authorities. We are in the 1970s, at the height of the Cold War, and not even well-connected Aunt Theresa, who practices the forbidden old folk ways even whilst her son works for the regime, can save Alina and Liviu from the unwelcome attentions of the Secret Police. The constant danger blights a relationship which could, and should, have been a special one.

 
Totalitarian rule casts a shadow on the history of the last century. Bottled Goods is neither the first nor the last novel to be inspired by the horrors of authoritarian governments. What distinguishes this novel from many others is its stylistic and narrative approach. 

It is, first of all, a "novel-in-flash" - written in the form of short interrelated vignettes which can, and in some cases have, been published as standalone pieces. Moreover, the narrative sometimes wanders into the territory of magical realism. These flights of whimsy give the novel a light touch, even whilst it's presenting us with the terror of a communist regime and its tragic impact on ordinary lives. The novel is permeated with a sense of fear and dread, yet the pill is sweetened by the fairytale narrative.

This is an original début from a distinctive literary voice.

Paperback, 176 pages

Published July 11th 2018 by Fairlight Books

http://www.fairlightbooks.co.uk/bottled-goods/

The quick and the dead : "Night Theatre" by Vikram Paralkar

"Night Theatre" by Vikram Paralkar

A Review

In a run-down clinic at the outskirts of a rural Indian village, a once-successful surgeon is bringing what remains of his career to an unassuming end.  Saheb, as the villagers respectfully call him, tries to do his job decently, despite lack of facilities, a sorely limited budget, stifling bureaucracy and institutionalised corruption.  As for assistance, he must make do with an untrained pharmacist and her handyman husband.  But he is soon to face his biggest challenge yet. One night, a young family – father, pregnant mother and infant son – present themselves at the clinic, suffering from horrific injuries inflicted by a band of bandits. It was a savage attack and no one could possibly survive the wounds they show the doctor. In fact, the would-be patients are dead, allowed to return to Earth by a friendly official of the afterlife. There’s one problem though – at dawn, blood will once again course through their veins.  In the course of one long night, the doctor must successfully complete three complex surgeries, not to save the living, but to resurrect the dead.

The dead tend to haunt ghost stories and horror fiction.  Vikram Paralkar’s Night Theatre (originally published in India as The Wounds of the Dead) is neither of the two.  Its horrors, if any, lie in the detailed surgical descriptions (Paralkar is a hematologist-oncologist and, presumably, speaks from experience) and in the quasi-existential sense of futility instilled by the evident moral failure of society.  If pressed to classify the novel, I would describe it as a work of magical realism.  Indeed, despite its fantastical premise, it feels strangely plausible, its plot driven forward by an inherent logic.  The tale has a fable-like quality (none of the characters are referred to by name) but Paralkar manages to use his surreal story as a vehicle for social critique.  At the same time, the otherworldly elements provide a springboard for ruminations about death and the meaning of life.

I must say that the book’s blurb intrigued me, but little did I expect to discover a little literary gem.  By turns tragic, darkly comic and ultimately moving, I thoroughly enjoyed this novel and can’t recommend it enough.  

Expected publication: February 21st 2019 by Serpent's Tail

Perchance to dream... Sandra Newman's "The Heavens"

The Heavens by Sandra Newman

A review

Whittling down the plot of “The Heavens” to its bare bones makes it sound incomprehensible, if not downright silly.  However, I’ll try to do it justice with as few spoilers as possible.

The novel’s “present” is set in New York around the year 2000.  Except it’s not the city as we know it, but one which is different in subtle yet significant ways.  A female, environmentalist President has been elected, it’s “the first year with no war at all” and there’s a general sense of utopian optimism.  In other words, all’s right with the world.

It’s certainly all right with Ben’s world.  He’s just fallen in love with Kate and can’t believe his luck.  Kate is smart and beautiful.  She’s exotic, describing herself as Hungarian-Turkish-Persian, three romantic, impractical strains, three peoples who had thrown away their empires.  She moves within a glamorous set of friends who welcome Ben into their fold.   

Soon, Ben learns that Kate has a strange recurring dream in which she visits an alternative reality.  As her relationship with Ben gets stronger, the dream also becomes more defined and we realise that, in her sleep, she is travelling to late 16^th century England, and experiencing it as (the historical) Emilia Lanier.  Lanier was a poet and musician, mistress to the cousin of Elizabeth I, and wife of court musician Alfonso Lanier.  Emilia is also sometimes touted as the “Dark Lady” of Shakespeare’s sonnets.    

On each return to the “present”, Kate notices that the world has changed from the way she left it, and often for the worse – this sets her on a mission to change the past, in the hope of creating a better future.  But the second part of the novel also presents us with a radically – and tragically – different possibility, namely that this whole time-travel thing is all in Kate’s mind, even though the novel’s post-apocalyptic ending leaves it up to us to figure out what is really happening between the book’s pages.

This is a quirky novel with an appropriately quirky set of characters.  Ben and Kate/Emilia are the protagonists, but Kate’s set of friends provide an eccentric supporting cast, adroitly reflected in the court circles frequented by Emilia.  It might not be a perfect comparison, but “The Heavens” reminded me somewhat of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas – firstly in the idea of different eras impinging on each other but, more importantly, in its mixture of genres.  “The Heavens” is part romance, part historical fiction/alternative history, part science-fiction, part fantasy/speculative fiction with a touch of magical realism.  On one level, it can also be read as an expression of millennial angst – there’s an important scene which recreates the 9/11 attacks, making it the third novel I’ve read in the past few months which in some way or another references a defining event of recent history.   (Ottessa Moshfegh's My Year of Rest and Relaxation and R.O. Kwon's The Incendiaries)

There’s similar variety in the style – which shifts from realistic narration to poetic description, from tragedy to comedy and back to something-in-between.

If it’s eclectic in its influences and style, “The Heavens” is equally varied in the subjects it addresses.  Now whilst I don’t mind genre-hopping one bit and actually love a novel which breaks barriers between genres, the boring part in me still tries to find an “anchoring” theme, subject or message.  In this regard, “The Heavens” is more like a colourful butterfly which flits impulsively from one theme to the next.  The novel could be an ideal book club choice as it provides plenty of discussion material.  Just a few of the questions raised:

·        How does the past affect the present?

·        Does history repeat itself?

·        Is the idea that we can affect the future merely an illusion?

·        On a larger scale, can politics really change the world for the better?

·        Is there a place for utopia and ideals?

·        Can art...music...literature... change the world?

·        Can love change the world?

·        What does it mean to be happy and can one be happy when the world’s in a bad state?

·        What does it mean to live with mental health problems or with a person with (possibly) mental health issues?

They’re not easy questions and the novel does not provide easy answers, which might be frustrating for some readers and quite the contrary for others.  What’s more impressive is that these themes are addressed (or, at least, raised) in a novel which often displays a light, playful touch.

Expected publication

February 12th 2019 by Grove Press

May 2nd, 2019 by Granta Books

Grove Atlantic edition cover

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The historical Emilia Lanier was born in a family of Italian musicians who served the Tudor court.  She married into another famous family of court musicians, the Laniers.  Of these, Nicholas Lanier, is by far the best-known, having been the first Master of the King’s Music.

Music plays an important part in the 16th/17th Century segments of the novel.  Viol consorts where a regular entertainment in the Tudor and Stuart courts.   Here’s a viol consort performance of Fancy for six Viols by Orlando Gibbons (1583 – 1625)

 

One of intriguing aspects of “The Heavens” is the way in which it brings together two disparate eras – an imaginary 21st century New York, and late16th century England.  For a musical equivalent, I suggest John Harle’s settings of Shakespeare.  Harle’s keening saxophone and the raucously expressive voice of Elvis Costello give them a contemporary feel but the pieces still nail the particularly English feeling of “melancholy (melancholia)

 

https://open.spotify.com/track/7sEnK1QdbZfuI0hZ8bBFyj?si=mv-uDd9gS5eUor9RN5WCuA

 

It’s interesting to compare Harle’s style to  a setting of Shakespeare’s poem “O Mistress Mine” by Thomas Morley (1557-1602), a contemporary of the Bard of Avon.

 

To end, here’s a link to an interesting and insightful blogpost about musical literacy in Shakespeare’s time:

 

https://blog.oup.com/2016/08/musical-literacy-shakespeare-england/#__prclt=A6Ds5eEl

 

Hamid Ismailov's The Dead Lake

The Dead Lake by Hamid Ismailov
(translated by Andrew Bromfield)

Book review

Whilst on a train journey across Kazakhstan, the narrator meets Yerzhan, a twenty-seven year old itinerant peddler and virtuoso violinist who, strangely, has the looks and build of a boy of twelve years. After overcoming his initial diffidence, Yerzhan starts to recount the tale of his childhood. He recalls growing up in a two-family settlement on a lonely, remote railway outpost in the Kazakh steppes, close to a top-secret “Zone” where Soviet nuclear experiments were carried out. He tells of his precocious musical talents on the dombra [lute-like folk instrument] and the violin, and his equally precocious love for his neighbour Aisulu. Chillingly, he recalls a fateful day when, during a school outing to the “Zone”, he waded into a radioactive lake to impress his classmates. Did the poisonous waters stunt his growth or was some other-worldly spell cast on him?

I suppose Hamid Ismailov’s novella might be regarded as a work of “magical realism”. I would prefer to describe it as a modern-day fable or myth. For what is mythology, if not an attempt to describe and explain the world through stories and symbols? In this case, Ismailov conjures up images of terrible beauty, by means of which he evokes daily life in the Kazakh steppes at the height of the Cold War. Andrew Bromfield's sensitive translation from the original Russian retains a poetic feel to it, as if the prose were permeated with the strains of Yerzhan’s dombra.

A haunting coming-of-age novel about a boy who does not come of age, this is my favourite amongst the Peirene Press publications I have had the pleasure to read.

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In case you were wondering what a dombra is, here are two clips of Kazakh music featuring the instrument