June has been a wonderful month for books, if not so much for my 20 Books of Summer challenge – so far, I’ve only read two more from my list! Going to the fantastic Emerald Street literary festival tempted me to buy more books, and NetGalley and publishers have also been kind to me. So, as it’s impossible to review all I have read, but with the feeling that most of these books deserve at least a few lines…
The month started very well with William Boyd’s Restless. I’ve always struggled with literary spy thrillers, and was especially put off by Ian McEwan’s pretentious Sweet Tooth; Restless is the antidote. Boyd doesn’t try to do anything clever other than tell a cracking good story, which doesn’t stop Restless being an intelligent and incredibly well-structured novel led by two genuinely strong (not Strong Female Character strong) women.
My next read was utterly different. I felt lukewarm about Emma Donoghue’s biggest hit, Room, but have long been a fan of her early novels on contemporary lesbian life (Stir-Fry, Hood) and her more recent historical novels (The Sealed Letter). Her latest, The Wonder, is absolutely compelling. Drawing from historical testimony, the novel, set in the mid-nineteenth century, considers the case of Anna O’Donnell, a young Irish girl who seems to be surviving on little more than a few tablespoons of water a day. Her poor Catholic family claim that she has been blessed by God, and Anna herself is profoundly religious. But when Lib, an English nurse who trained with Florence Nightingale in the Crimea, is employed to test the truth of the O’Donnells’ story, she finds far more beneath the surface – even if the secrets she uncovers are not the kind that she initially expected. Despite its simple plot-line, this story only becomes more gripping as it continues, driven by the acute contrast between Anna’s fading body and her steadfastly determined mind.
I was hugely looking forward to Helen Sedgwick’s The Comet Seekers, which was why I put it on my 20 Books of Summer list in the first place. Its fragmented narrative broadly follows two characters: the story of astronomer Róisín, who yearns to travel and moves between a series of postdocs, research projects and homes as she follows the stars, and chef François, who has grown up watching his mother Severine talk to her family ghosts. The novel opens arrestingly, as Róisín flees the Antarctic base where she is working and shelters in a small red tent against the rage of winter storms. The image of the red tent is one that is stitched throughout the novel, re-emerging at a number of crucial moments, and certainly I could almost see its glow against the white of the Antarctic sky. Unfortunately, I didn’t find that the novel lived up to its early promise. The threads become too fragmented, as we follow comets as far back as 1066 to meet early ancestors of the main characters; I loved Róisín’s refusal to settle, her rejection of motherhood, but still didn’t feel that I really got to know her; and the prose felt too diffused, too airy. This unkind and uncharitable review in the Scotsman calls this cadence ‘mimsical realism’, and while I don’t agree with much of what this reviewer says, I’d like a term for the kind of novel that is so removed from reality while not introducing fantasy or science-fiction tropes (I don’t think the ghosts count). There’s a trace of this in Diane Setterfield’s The Thirteenth Tale, which I also sped through this month. It’s something that I do struggle to engage with, although Sedgwick’s writing is wonderful, and I’m still looking forward to seeing her tackle something more concrete in her next novel, The Growing Season.
I also read one of my most anticipated popular non-fiction releases this year, Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge. Eddo-Lodge’s original blog post on the subject, describing the emotional labour of trying to get white people to understand their racial privilege, has stayed with me ever since I first read it, and it’s reproduced in a modified form here. As Eddo-Lodge has noted on Twitter, publishing this book has ironically meant that she’s forced to have ever more conversations with unsympathetic white people about race – from those who follow her at conferences to the woman ‘loudly bursting into guilty tears’ at an event where she was talking about her work. It’s such vivid descriptions of how it feels to have to constantly justify one’s own experiences to people who either refuse to listen or talk about their own guilt rather than truly focusing on the experiences of the person who has actually experienced racism that make Why I’m No Longer Talking… stand out. To an extent, I recognise that a lot of this book wasn’t really meant for me, in that I’m already familiar with much of the historical and sociological information that Eddo-Lodge cites. Nevertheless, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t a vital and useful text – especially the chapter on black British history, which is inevitably sweeping, but fills an important gap that was much discussed at the History Matters conference I attended a couple of years ago. In brief, black British history, apart from the history of slavery, is rarely taught in British schools, and black British schoolchildren deserve to hear the kind of history that their white British peers take for granted. Any criticism of Eddo-Lodge’s chapter for being too simplistic, therefore, is misplaced, because in terms of popular knowledge (if not academic knowledge) of black British history, she’s basically starting from scratch. I also found the chapter on white feminism incredibly thought-provoking, although it left me with some questions. Most importantly, Eddo-Lodge seems to equate ‘white feminism’ with the liberal feminism of Sheryl Sandberg of Lean In fame  – the blinkered assumption that the key issues facing all women are how to secure places in the boardroom and break the ‘glass ceiling’. While she rightly critiques this kind of feminism, I wondered what she thought about other forms of feminism – for example, socialist feminism – that pay much more attention to the needs of working-class women but can be equally blind on questions of race. In other words, I was worried that the definition of white feminism she puts forward here was too narrow – although, to be fair, a full critique would easily fill a book on its own. Come to think of it, that’s certainly a book that I’d love to see Eddo-Lodge write.
Alongside Eddo-Lodge’s book, I read another of my 20 Books of Summer, Paul Beatty’s brilliant novel The Sellout, which takes questions of race that we often believe can only be mentioned in serious tones and puts a brutally satirical twist on them. It’s almost impossible to describe, but I would certainly recommend it.
Finally, I’ve managed to acquire a number of books that are not on my 20 Books of Summer list. I’m so excited about Francis Spufford’s Golden Hill, which has just won the Desmond Elliot Prize. I’ve picked up two NetGalley proofs – Tracy Chevalier’s New Boy, a retelling of Othello set in a 1970s Washington DC elementary school , and Imogen Hermes Gower’s debut The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock, which is about late-eighteenth century mermaids, and has an absolutely gorgeous cover. I bought Things I Would Tell You at the Emerald Street festival, which is a collection of British Muslim women’s fiction and non-fiction edited by Sabrina Mahfouz, with contributors ranging from big names like Kamila Shamsie, Leila Aboulela and Ahdaf Soueif to a Muslim teenager. I can’t wait to dive into it. Finally, I also purchased Stuart Dybek’s The Start of Something: Selected Stories at the beautiful Livraria Lello, a bookshop in Porto – partly because it was one of the few English books they had that I hadn’t already heard of.
 I am not sure if Sheryl Sandberg could be termed a liberal feminist herself, but this is certainly the school of thought that her work has been associated with.
 I’ve already read this. It’s not very good. Full review coming soon!