Man Booker Longlist Rankings 2017



AAAaaaaaand I’m back. In celebration, I will write a blog post that’s almost a carbon copy of my last one but with this year’s Man Booker Longlist.

I read the entire longlist before the prize was announced so needless to say: I have opinions (also a lot of time on my hands apparently). This has been one of my favourite longlists in years so competition was fierce. My personal rankings and reviews:

13. History of Wolves by Emily Fridlund – Overrated (the only disappointment on the list – I may have liked it in another context but it wasn’t Booker-worthy)

12. Home Fire by Kamila Shamsie – Intriguing (but I’d probably get more out of it if I knew the source material better!)

11. Days Without End by Sebastian Barry – Touching (gay civil war couple – what’s not to love?)

10. The Ministry of Utmost Happiness by Arundhati Roy – Complex (which basically means I didn’t understand half of it)

9. Swing Time by Zadie Smith – Decent (by Smith standards)

8. 4321 by Paul Auster – Epic (in the classical sense of the word)

7. The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead – Horrifying (and he wants you to be horrified)

6. Elmet by Fiona Mozley – Strange (but in a very good way)

5. Autumn by Ali Smith – Decent (by Smith standards)

4. Solar Bones by Mike McCormack – WOWOWOWOWOW

3. Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor – How did this not make the shortlist?!?!?!

2. Exit West by Mohsin Hamid – Topical (and oh-so human)

1.  Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders – A very very very very worthy winner


Please agree/disagree with me in the comments below – I’d love to get some different perspectives!

My Ranking for the Booker Shortlist 2016


Oh my poor neglected blog.

My MacBook recently kicked the bucket (RIP) and I don’t have the money (or the inclination) to drop $3000 on a new one. In consequence, my blog has suffered. But not my reading! I recently finished His Bloody Project which means I’ve completed the Booker Shortlist for 2016. See below for my ranking:

6. Do Not Say We Have Nothing by Madeline Thien

5. His Bloody Project by Graeme Macrae Burnet

4. Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh

3. All That Man Is by David Szalay

2. Hot Milk by Deborah Levy

1. The Sellout by Paul Beatty

I wholeheartedly agree with the panel’s decision to award Beatty the prize – what an amazing entry for the first American winner.

I know this isn’t exactly topical but I wanted to share my thoughts and see what others thought of the shortlist as a whole. Please comment below! Agree with me, disagree with me, share recipes for Portuguese tarts, etc.

The Little Red Chairs by Edna O’Brien


Summary from Goodreads:

Vlad, a stranger from Eastern Europe masquerading as a healer, settles in a small Irish village where the locals fall under his spell. One woman, Fidelma McBride, becomes so enamoured that she begs him for a child. All that world is shattered when Vlad is arrested, and his identity as a war criminal is revealed.

Fidelma, disgraced, flees to England and seeks work among the other migrants displaced by wars and persecution. But it is not until she confronts him-her nemesis-at the tribunal in The Hague, that her physical and emotional journey reaches its breathtaking climax.

The blurb for this one makes it sound more than a little ridiculous (and in some regards it is a bit unbelievable) but that is not the tone for this one at all. It’s dark, deeply troubling, and politically engaged. SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS ONE. Aspects of this book are about war and persecution, especially its effects on women, and it doesn’t shy away from the graphic. There is one scene in particular that left me pretty shaken up and horrified. Be safe readers. Don’t expose yourself to anything that could be harmful.

Moving on, there is no denying that O’Brien’s writing is powerful and confronting. Even though this story doesn’t take place in a war zone, reverberations of violence sound throughout. Quite a few chapters are given over to cameo characters who give heart-wrenching accounts of their experiences in their war-torn homelands. It reminded me a bit of Rachel Cusk’s work – in form if not in content.A very timely read considering Syria and the refugee crisis. There’s a strange juxtaposition – especially in the second half of the book where Fidelma is in London – of the mundane and the horrific. The Irish housewife who finds herself the victim of a war taking place across the continent and is struggling to deal with the aftermath:

I hate him, I want to inflict every punishment on him, including taking his voice, his voice box out, and strangling it syllable by syllable. I want the three men pulped, I hate myself and my own body, I think only violence will end the violence. This hate fills my heart, my soul and my being. When I menstruate I want to wipe my face in it, to add to the defilement. You see, I have lost all connection between what is natural and what is unnatural. I hear stories of the other women in that room, fates far harder than mine, excruciating, and I am moved, but I am not moved enough to stamp out the hate that is strangling me. (page 217) 

It’s hard to encapsulate just how much goes on in this story – I’m finding myself still thinking about it weeks after finishing it. My review really doesn’t do it justice.

This was my first novel by her and it won’t be my last.

Maurice by EM Forster


He would not deceive himself so much. He would not – and this was the test – pretend to care about women when the only sex that attracted him was his own. He loved men and always had loved them. He longed to embrace them and mingle his being with theirs. (pg 51) 

Another recommendation! I tend to read at a pretty quick pace so I’m constantly pestering my friends for suggestions on what to read next. I haven’t read a lot of Forster (only A Room With a View) so I was happy to give him another go.

Maurice was published posthumously in 1971, nearly 60 years after it was written. This is perhaps unsurprising when you find out this was Forster’s ode to homosexual love. Forster explains in his afterword that “A happy ending was imperative. I shouldn’t have bothered to write otherwise. I was determined that in fiction anyway two men should fall in love and remain in it for the ever and ever that fiction allows.” A gay love story with a happy ending – delightfully ahead of its time. It was also a Hugh Grant movie if thats your thing.

Although its ahead of its time in its sexual politics it can be a bit conservative in its social politics. Maurice is a snob. A dull, misogynistic snob. So the worst kind of snob really. It was hard to care about characters who didn’t seem to care about anyone else. I know you don’t have to like the characters to enjoy the novel but if you’re not rooting for the romance what’s the point?

I’ll try Forster again. A Passage to India probably. But he’s not my fav really.

An Equal Music by Vikram Seth


Summary from Goodreads:

Michael Holme is a violinist, a member of the successful Maggiore Quartet. He has long been haunted, though, by memories of the pianist he loved and left ten years earlier, Julia McNicholl. Now Julia, married and the mother of a small child, unexpectedly reenters his life and the romance flares up once more.

I’ve had my eye on Seth’s modern classic A Suitable Boy for a while now but a friend recommended that I give this one a go first. My reaction could best be described as… mixed. Although apparently I gave this one 4/5 stars on Goodreads so leaning towards the positive end of the mixed spectrum… Let’s call it positively mixed. Yeah, let’s do that.

My first concern was the glut of classical music references in the novel – an aspect that has turned me off other books in the past. But the writing is so fantastic and engaging that I couldn’t help but reading on. Seth’s writing was positively cinematic at points – when Michael first catches sight of his long lost love and tries to chase down her bus on Oxford St, I was actually on the edge of my seat.

Now for the bad: I couldn’t care less about the characters or the plot. How could anyone be expected to enjoy reading about a character who un-ironically says things like: “Well, ’tis better to have loved and lost, though, isn’t it, Mrs. Formby, than never to have loved at all?”  The best way to describe Julia and Michael? Dull, dull, dull, trite, and dull.

Anyone else have an example of a book they loved for the writing but couldn’t stand the characters or the plot?

Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders



Summary from Goodreads:

On February 22, 1862, two days after his death, Willie Lincoln was laid to rest in a marble crypt in a Georgetown cemetery. That very night, shattered by grief, Abraham Lincoln arrives at the cemetery under cover of darkness and visits the crypt, alone, to spend time with his son’s body.

Set over the course of that one night and populated by ghosts of the recently passed and the long dead, Lincoln in the Bardo is a thrilling exploration of death, grief, the powers of good and evil, a novel – in its form and voice – completely unlike anything you have read before. It is also, in the end, an exploration of the deeper meaning and possibilities of life, written as only George Saunders can: with humour, pathos, and grace.

There are enough reviews floating around the blogosphere on this one that you’ve probably read every opinion possible on this one. The good, the bad and the ugly. I’ll let you know now: this one is alllllll goooood.

I’m a big George Saunders fan but I was concerned that his first foray into long form fiction wouldn’t stand up to his amazing short stories but this is right up my alley. Avant-garde, hilarious, touching, and intellectually engaging.

Saunders is the quintessential American writer for me and you can’t get more American than writing about Lincoln. As Goodreads so helpfully points out above, the book follows the immediate aftermath of Willie Lincoln’s death but in a delightfully strange way. The chapters alternate between pieced together historical primary resources and a strange cacophony of dead voices who populate the “bardo” (Buddhist purgatory?).

Told with Saunders’ trademark humour the novel is also terribly moving. While you can’t ignore the historical, or dismiss the darkly comical, Lincoln in the Bardo primarily operates as a meditation on grief and moving on.

Perhaps a bit strange to be to everyone’s taste I will continue to devour anything and everything that this man writes. 5/5 stars.


Queen Bees: Six Brilliant and Extraordinary Society Hostesses Between the Wars by Sian Evans


Summary from Goodreads:

In the aftermath of the First World War, the previously strict hierarchies of the British class system were weakened. For a number of ambitious, spirited women, this was the chance they needed to slip through the cracks and take their place at the top of society as the great hostesses of the time. In an age when the place of women was uncertain, becoming a hostess was not a chore, but a career choice, and though some of the hostesses’ backgrounds were surprisingly humble, their aspirations were anything but. During the inter-war years these extraordinary women ruled over London society from their dining tables – entertaining everyone from the Mosleys to the Mitfords, from millionaires to maharajahs, from film stars to royalty – and their influence can still be felt today. Great Hostesses looks at the lives of six of these remarkable women, including Lady Astor, who went on to become the first female MP, and Mrs Greville, who cultivated relationships with Edward VII, as well as Lady Londonderry, Lady Cunard, Laura Corrigan and Lady Colefax.

You can probably tell from some of my previous reviews that I’m a big fan of social history so I was crazy excited to read this one. I couldn’t help but be fascinated  – especially as Evans name drops every famous Brit from the first half of the 20th century: royalty, Churchill, Kipling, JM Barrie, Woolf, Yeats, GB Shaw and others all make cameo appearances. But unfortunately, the good news stops there.

I found Evans’ narrative style more than a little off-putting. She jumps from one woman to another in the space of a couple of paragraphs. It’s messy and difficult to follow. Honestly, each of these women deserved their own book – or at the very least their own chapters. I mean one of these women was the first female MP!

Evans also has a bad habit of repeating her descriptions – an editor with a heavier hand would have been appreciated.

All-in-all, I’m not sure I can take away a lot from this one except for some juicy tabloid-y anecdotes about certain interwar celebrities. I’ll leave you with one of these anecdotes about Mrs. Greville saving her pennies during the Great Depression:

Nevertheless Mrs. Greville economised in a way that only the truly rich would; she owned very valuable emeralds… and magnificent ropes of pearls, but had to pay considerable insurance premiums whenever they were worn . So she had replicas made and often wore those instead, especially when she was travelling. Only an expert could have told them apart, and her insurance premiums were much reduced as a result. (pg 164) 

Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter


Spanning 50 years and several continents, there is so much going on in this one that I’ll look to Goodreads for help with a description:

A love affair between movie stars and a short stay in a remote fishing village in Italy set in motion a train of events “that effect the tangled lives of a dozen unforgettable characters: the starstruck Italian innkeeper and his long-lost love; the heroically preserved producer who once brought them together and his idealistic young assistant; the army veteran turned fledgling novelist and the rakish Richard Burton himself.”

Drawn in by its oh-so-hip cover, my friend Alex and I picked this one out to read together. She read it first and told me it was terrible so I was reluctant to start. My thoughts: a masterpiece? Certainly not. Terrible? I beg to differ.

This is what I would (complementarily) call the quintessential beach read: easy, engaging, a definite page turner. I can already imagine the film version (Emma Stone as the lead of course).

At times, the narrative does feel a little jam-packed – lots of characters, timelines, and locations. But I never felt lost or bogged down in too much detail. On the contrary, the multiple intersecting storylines kept me interested – if you get bored with one character don’t worry because you’re soon on to the next!

My biggest criticism would have to be the fictionalisation of Richard Burton – I feel like its a bit unfair to turn a real person into a character to be used and abused by the story. Couldn’t Walter have given us a fake movie star who the reader understands is Richard Burton-esque? Am I being too picky here?

Although this won’t go down as one of my top reads of 2017 it was a fun ride and should be appreciated as such. A good go-to when your reading brain needs light and easy.


The Brittle Star by Davina Langdale

The Brittle Star

The Western seems to be making a bit of a comeback these days so, after relishing every blood-soaked minute of Hell or High Water and HBO’s Westworld, I jumped at the chance to read an early copy of Davina Langdale’s The Brittle Star.

Coming of age story, Western, American Civil War story and courtroom drama all wrapped into one, The Brittle Star follows John Evert Burn from adolescence into manhood as he searches for his mother, who was abducted in a raid on their Californian ranch.

I was intrigued by the idea of a Western, usually the province of white, middle-aged, American males, written by a young British woman but, for better or for worse, Langdale holds true to the genre. She conjures up an evocative depiction of 19th century California and an especially effective picture of Los Angeles as a Wild West town. She also provides all the requisite pieces that we’ve come to expect: outlaw with a heart of gold, brothel-visiting, bar-room brawling, gun battles, etc. Though at times Langdale is guilty of falling into clichés, the story’s engaging cast of characters and evocative settings save the novel from becoming too formulaic.

Langdale’s most noteworthy accomplishment seems to be in her ability to draw together genres. Like Westworld’s marriage of western and sci-fi, The Brittle Star brings together disparate (although slightly more traditional) genres, transitioning from Western to Civil-War story to courtroom drama. My harshest criticism of Langdale’s novel would be that she takes on too much at times and, therefore, some of her character and story-building suffer. Langdale is occasionally forced to deliver information with little to no set up – btw: he’s now an alcoholic; btw: they just happen to know where some gold is buried nearby.

Spanning the continental states and several genres, The Brittle Star is an entertaining and impressive first novel. It is a fun and fast story and the 350-plus pages seem to fly by. A solid choice for your summer reading list.

Guest Review: The Night Manager by John Le Carre


Another brilliant review by Sarah H.! She’s been pushing Le Carré on me for years and now she’s going to do the same to you. Enjoy! 

Ever since Trump was elected, I’ve been longing to read John Le Carré. I put it down to the constant hints of Russian subterfuge on the news. It all seems so quaint (in the moments when you can forget it’s horrifying): Russian operatives in my mind are too closely connected with go-go dancers and bad hair.

Mr. Le Carré, for those not in the know, is the premier thriller novelist of the Cold War. He can plot but the man can also write. The well-read Hugh Laurie has admitted to fan-girling over Mr. Le Carré in his youth and that tells you a lot about the kind of novelist Mr. Le Carré is. High quality spy thrillers are the name of the game, but with an eye for character.

Of his many novels, I ended up reading the Night Manager which isn’t about the Cold War as it happens but is excellent anyway. It concerns a British ex-army turned luxury hotelier who comes face to face with the worst man in the world and decides to do something about it. It’s a story about what happens when ruthless evil is pursued by a morally minded bureaucracy. It was thought-provoking. It was also a blast.

My one complaint is that the Night Manager fails the Bechdel test hard. Every woman in the book is either the subject of a sexual conquest or somebody’s loving and supportive wife. Everyone interesting is male. I wish I thought Le Carré was doing this ironically to point out the gender biases of this world of high espionage, but I suspect he isn’t. That caveat aside, I enjoyed the book enormously. And because I think reading imperfect books is still a good thing, I would encourage others to do the same.