Review: This One Sky Day by Leone Ross

Rating: 5/5 stars.  "Popisho was just too goddamned Popisho right about now." Welcome to Popisho, where metaphor becomes real and the real becomes metaphor. This One Sky Day is literary fiction at its absolute finest. We are introduced to the far, far away archipelago of Popisho, which seems to have a very Caribbean feel - although the word Caribbean is never mentioned, Ross preferring to preserve Popisho's mystery. The archipelago is populated by the offspring of, generations and generations ago, emancipated slaves and the indigenous population of Popisho. As much as Popisho is very deliberately isolated from the politics and various goings-on of the outside world (in fact, it could very much be a collection of islands in a mystical parallel world, like a tropical Avalon, if it were not for the very off-hand mention of Korea and Romania at around three-quarters in), this is important. "This was the dead language of their ancestors, wrenched to life in these throats; lost, found and streaming out of their mouths and down their lips. Singing through the thickening air. In each face she could see terrible compassion and sorrow." Through everything, Ross displays a fantastic undercurrent of humour of every shade imaginable: playful, witty, surreal, cutting, deadpan - and it works perfectly. She toes the line between comedy and tragedy, dancing through the shades of grey between and creating something that is so multifaceted, so complex, and so human. Although Popisho has the makings of paradise, the author does not for one second allow us to think that human nature is any different here than anywhere else. But here's where this novel differs from so many of the misery-drenched, melancholia-worshipping literary fiction books - the corruption and tragedy never quite manages to eclipse the sheer atavistic wonder both these islands and of the human condition. Yes, humans can be selfish, greedy, and their arbitrary hatred for that which is different can anchor into society, into conventions, into their very souls. But Ross also reminds us of the flipside: of how people can find wonder in everything, of the never-faltering curiosity and awe of the human species, and how there's always people who strive to right wrongs - and they aren't always doomed to failure. Sometimes, they can prevail. Sometimes, darkness doesn't win. There's so much more I can say about this novel, but I won't, because a large part of the beauty of this novel is having the intricately imagined world of Popisho unfurl in front of your eyes as the author intended. But I will say this: If this novel doesn't make it onto the Booker Prize longlist (at least), there's no justice in this world. This One Sky Day will be published on April 15. Amazon Affliate links: UK | US | DE

 

Review: Milk Fed by Melissa Broder [General Fiction]

 

Rating: 4/5 stars. CWs for book: eating disorders, parental abuse, mentions of homophobia. "The word golem, in English, means shapeless mass. But in Hebrew, it means unfinished substance." The golem is one of the central motifs of this novel, and in some ways, the book itself is an "unfinished substance" as well - but not in a bad way. It's left open-ended and nebulous, but that's the idea - in life, there aren't any endings (except death, which would have gone against the optimistic flair of the novel), but ever-constant change and development - and Rachel, the protagonist of this book, has certainly changed for the better. The title is possibly the most well-chosen title I've seen in a long time. As it suggests, this is a novel about being mothered. What it definitely isn't, is a novel about mothers. It's a novel about seeking that primal, maternal comfort from anyone and anything you can when the woman who birthed and raised you is only ever a source of poison. As a novel in the "literary fiction" sort of category, it's certainly not for everyone. What it is, however, is a love letter. A love letter to food, to eroticism and sapphic love, to Judaism, and ultimately, to yourself.  Amazon Afflilate links for Milk Fed paperback: UK | US | DE

Review: The Discomfort of Evening by Marieke Lucas Rijneveld [Literary Fiction]

 

Rating: 1/5 stars. 

"According to the pastor, discomfort is good. In discomfort we are real."

This quote sums up the whole book - but not in a good way.

The Discomfort of Evening is the classic Misery Porn that is so common in literary fiction. (Personally I think "literary fiction" is just genre fiction wearing a monocle and smoking a cigar, but lets not talk about why I think the whole term is stupid right now.)

It was the epitome of "literary fiction" in basically every single way - the Hemingway-esque prose (i.e. not poetic or purple; minimalist), a series of increasingly terrible events, burgeoning childhood/adolescent sexual awakenings tainted by said terrible events, and of course you mustn't forget to point out how hypocritical religion is.

Unfortunately, I've become accustomed to literary fiction being depressing to the point of farce, so I wasn't particularly surprised. The literary consensus seems to be that happy endings are for genre fiction, especially romance, and literary fiction is all about being Serious with Gritty Realism that always manifests as awful things happening because life is pain and full of misery, apparently. I don't want to stop reading literary fiction, because some can do depressing books well (The Secret History, Lolita), and some don't have a wholly depressing ending  (The Great Gatsby, Cloud Atlas).

The Discomfort of Evening is a novel about a deep, roling depression that takes over the family after the death of the eldest son. You would think, then, that we got a lot of emotional insights - but we didn't. The author took "show, not tell" to its extreme, so we hardly ever know precisely what Jas is feeling, which in turn creates a disconnect between the reader and the main character. It was just all a bit flat, and pointless. An entirely pointless book with incredibly mediocre writing; although this might be a translation issue, I doubt it.

And this won the International Booker Prize. My God. When are Serious Literature people going to stop going crazy over wanky stuff like this which is basically just, "I'm a child on the cusp of being a teenager and a tragedy has happened but my parents refuse to talk about it so everything is fucked I guess. Oh and BTW, religion is bad."

It's like the author was like, "Oh fuck, I just realised my book is a load of pointless wank, I'd better shoehorn some social commentary into it! Uhhhh religious people are hypocritical. Yup, that should do it."

I have no idea how I read this whole thing without skimming, actually. Forget the International Booker Prize, I think I deserve some sort of prize for finishing this in its entirety.