Sight by Jessie Greengrass Review

Another one of those “this needs a full review” moments.

Sight is a beautiful, singular novel by Jessie Greengrass.  Reading it is like entering an intricate, secret world with the narrator, who is as curious as you are to unlock its mysteries.

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Narrated by a woman who is pregnant with her second child, it is partly a meditation on motherhood.  As she grapples with the choice whether to have a baby, it is really asking how can we fully see ourselves, understand the people close to us and cope with the sense of nostalgia that there is a better life, or version of us, just out of reach.

Greengrass is unflinchingly honest on the question of being a mother and a daughter. The narrator is ambivalent about becoming a parent, struggles with the changes to her body and self-identity.  Her marriage, too, is realistically depicted.  Here she describes missing her husband, Johannes, when away, but she knows that on her return,

“I would walk back through the door and all this certainty of love would fade behind the unwashed windows and the unbought milk to the usual chafing familiarity with one another.”

Her prose is exquisite: long, lyrical sentences with a rhythm that propels you forward.  The musicality and attention to thought reminded me of Virginia Woolf, especially Mrs Dalloway walking through London, and the realism and honesty are a little like Elena Ferrante, but having said that, her voice and style feel original.

Greengrass relates stories of Rontgen, who invented the X-ray, Freud’s psychoanalysis and John Hunter’s surgical experiments.  She tries to see how things really are – in pregnancy, marriage and family – and seems to find comfort in these pioneers who tried to pierce the surface and really see our bodies and minds.  These examples illuminate her thoughts and enrich the story.

Throughout, we see humans imperfectly striving to ‘see’ better – “but the price of sight is wonder’s diminishment”.

The narrator faces moments of transition – her mother passing from life to death; her pregnancy to birth; and from not-seeing to the sight of bones through an X-ray.  But she is also aware of the transitory nature of life – all the ephemeral moments, silences and mistakes.  Slowly she comes to terms with the value of these in-between times, from the things left unsaid between her and her mother to the cold drinks she shared with her grandmother, Doctor K.  Her relationship with Johannes contains gaps and silences:

“… somewhere in the space between us, the uncertain image of our future shivered.”

The scientists are a key to this insight.  They are doers: in their search for truth they experiment and, if that experiment does not succeed, the next one might.  John Hunter tried and failed to perform a Caesarean operation; after he died, his pupil carried on his work.

Here she reflects on how we choose our life (moment by moment):

“… how easily, how unwittingly we might break each possible future in favour of another and how, looking back, in place of what had been possible we would see only that thin contingent line, what happened, rising through the vast and empty darkness of what did not.”

Art and literature seek truly to see and describe elements of who we are, and I loved the juxtaposition of scientists doing the same.  It was uplifting to think of those great figures of history stumbling but persevering.  Life is a series of acts, failures and transitions to our fully realised selves.

Sight has been long-listed for the Women’s Prize for Fiction and is my tip to win (although, caveat – I won’t have a chance to read the whole list so my opinion is wildly unqualified!).

What are you reading at the moment?

 

Women’s Prize Longlist Predictions

The Women’s Prize for Fiction (formerly the Bailey’s prize) is one of my favourites, so I’m looking forward to the longlist being announced on 8 March.  Here are my predictions.

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman

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I loved this. Eleanor is a singular character, sympathetic even though she is tactless and anti-social. Her weekends spent drinking vodka alone in her flat are sad and cast light on loneliness, something we can all relate to on some level. I expected a bleak story (and there is one) but it’s also drily funny and I laughed out loud often. Raymond and his mother are too perfect, and her mother too evil, but it still rang true.

The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock by Imogen Hermes Gower

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This lived up to the hype. I was drawn in immediately to 18th century London: Mr Hancock anxiously awaiting his ship and famed courtesan Angelica Neal trying to live independently. Beautifully written (but doesn’t feel overwritten); Gowar used to work in museums and her descriptions of objects and materials give texture to the story.  She also finds the comical side. It’s not too supernatural despite the mermaid, although I found the second half less convincing than the first. A wonderful debut.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

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There is a lot of heart and soul in this book. Good portrayal of privileged and troubled teens, white-bread parents, artist Mia with daughter Pearl and the town of Shaker Heights (suburbia on steroids). Mystery surrounds Mia and an adoption dispute affects them all. It felt contrived at times, Mia too saintly, Mrs Richardson too brittle & overall I thought it tried to do too much. Points of view changed so I didn’t become attached to any one character.  Reese Witherspoon and Kerry Washington are adapting this for television – I think it will be fabulous on screen.

Home Fire by Kamila Shamsie

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Extremely good.  A re-telling of Antigone set in contemporary London, the sister is the story’s hero. Her brother is a jihadist – I wanted to empathise with him more, but even so, Shamsie succeeds in putting the reader in this family’s shoes: I haven’t read anything like it (Orhan Pamuk perhaps).  Engaging writing and has the high drama of Greek tragedy.  It grew on me as it went on and ended strongly.  Recommended.

Tin Man by Sarah Winman

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This left me a little bit broken. I resisted the sentimentality at first, but the characters Ellis, Michael and Anne drew me in and I could not put it down. A story of friends grappling with love in Oxford and London, told with great care, truth and occasional humour. Incredibly moving throughout. The scenes of neighbours and friends helping each other through tough times (death; the AIDS crisis) were simply told, but heart-warming.  This is a refined, accomplished work. I like the economy of language and how deftly Sarah Winman moves between scenes and characters. Less is more, things are left unsaid, but she is careful to show us the good side of people. I appreciated this optimism in a book with so much sadness tugging at its heart!

Anything is Possible by Elizabeth Strout

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I loved these stories, based in the same town and whose characters are loosely connected. It’s comforting meeting characters more than once, and the gentle atmosphere despite the dark subjects. The spare prose is beautifully restrained. And while town life moves slowly, the stories are vivid and propel you forward. Family, loneliness and redemption are explored, with heartfelt characters: flawed, overweight, creepy, but she treats them with compassion.

Winter by Ali Smith

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The second in Ali Smith’s series of seasonal books.  The first, Autumn, is on my shelves and will be my next read I think.  And then I’m very much looking forward to Winter – everyone is raving about it so I have no doubt it will make the long-list.

Sight by Jessie Greengrass

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This is my current read.  It’s exquisite so far, with lyrical but precise sentences that remind me of Virginia Woolf.  Max Porter has compared it to Shirley Hazzard (one of my favourite authors) and it has a similar, careful beauty and intelligence that feeds your mind as you read.  Loving it.  Eric from Lonesome Reader has tipped this to win the Booker prize so we shall see!

Manhattan Beach by Jennifer Egan

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This is on my shelf to read.  I’m including it on the strength of A Visit From the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan’s earlier book which I absolutely loved.

Fire Sermon by Jamie Quatro

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The story of a woman’s crisis in her marriage and faith, this sounds intense.  But it’s getting some high praise so I’ll be intrigued to see if it makes the long-list.

How many do you think I’ll get right? I’d love to hear your predictions.

Happy International Women’s Day!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10 Books for Women in Translation Month

Here are my top ten books by women in translation.  It is Euro-centric, so if you have some more diverse recommendations, please send them my way!

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  1. Nona’s Room by Cristina Fernandez Cubas, translated by Kathryn Phillips-Miles and Simon Deefholts: Strange, compelling stories set in Barcelona and Madrid.  Assured writing, the stories portray realistic families and homes (a girl and her ‘special’ sister, a woman mourning her husband) but twist and turn with elements that make you question reality or the narrator’s state of mind. It’s not often that fiction surprises.  Her fearless exploration of the human mind reminded me of Elena Ferrante’s Days of Abanonment.
  2. My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante, translated by Ann Goldstein: I recommend all four books in the Neopolitan Quartet (this is the first).  Her writing is clear and lyrical, with a sense of urgency that propels the story along.  I loved the friends Lenu and Lila, the one studious, the other fierce, both vividly described so you can hear them speak, and see them gesticulate; you feel the heat, poverty and everyday violence of their neighbourhood.  I love the girls’ strength, the feeling of being in Italy and Ferrante’s honest depiction of that place and time.  IMG_9426
  3. The Summer Book by Tove Jansson: actually, everything by Tove Jansson.  I loved the Moomintroll books as a child, there is something so cosy, comforting, gently funny about them and together with her illustrations, they tap into a child’s imagination in the most delightful way.  In this book, a six year old girl spends a summer with her grandmother on an island in Finland.  It has a wonderful sense of place and nature, and a story that is compelling but lightly told.  She is so economical and her writing deceptively simple.  It leaves much to think about, but most of all her characters are quirky, unsentimental but completely lovable.  She’s an icon, what can I say! IMG_9353
  4. Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky, translated by Sandra Smith. A beautiful book.  Set in World War Two, it describes a family who flees Paris and moves to the countryside, and the tensions that arise when they have to host a German soldier during the occupation.  Irene Nemirosvksy, then a celebrated author, wrote this in in the French countryside during the war, and tragically died in Auschwitz in 1942.  I was swept away by the story of Lucile, and the contrast between the perfectly observed domestic scenes and constraints of village life, and the dangers of war, all written with musical fluidity and a sense of humour.  Nemirovsky was an impeccable writer and this is her masterpiece.  Read it!
  5. Fear and Trembling by Amelie Nothomb, translated by Adriana Hunter. I loved this novella about working at Yumimoto Corporation in Tokyo.  Amelie Nothomb has a wonderful, wry sense of humour but also a deep understanding of Japanese culture.  Her empathy for her colleagues and ability to laugh at herself make for terrific, laugh-out-loud comedy and an at times poignant study of the constraints of life in Japan working for ‘the company’.
  6. The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Osagawa, translated by Stephen Snyder: The housekeeper goes to work for a maths professor whose memory, damaged by an accident, lasts only 80 minutes. He communicates in maths terms: she is less educated but sensitive, and learns to appreciate his love of numbers. The professor is kind to her son & they share a passion for baseball. Much is unspoken (what was his life like before the accident?), but there is a gentle message to treat people with respect, not condescension. I liked her carefully drawn characters and clean writing style.
  7. In Diamond Square by Merce Rodoreda, translated by Peter Bush: A five-star read.  Set in Barcelona, this is the story of Pidgey, her marriage to Joe and her daily struggles to survive in the civil war. Told in a dreamlike prose, which is not normally my style, but its raw beauty, the urgency of the story and the characters won me over. A wonderful evocation of 1930s Barcelona but Pidgey’s quiet strength and the trauma of war have a timeless quality. Very moving. I loved this & will read more of Rodoreda’s work.
  8. Cry, Mother Spain by Lydie Salvayre, translated by Ben Faccini: I picked this up in Waterstones just before we visited Barcelona, and am just reading it now.  It’s set in the civil war, but told with an originality and perspective (a village girl who is supposed to become a maid, until the war intervenes) that makes the story fresh.  I like her dark humour and the character of Montse, now a spirited old woman but telling the story of her youth.
  9. The Door by Magda Szabo, translated by Len Rix.  Szabo was arguably Hungary’s foremost female novelist.  The narrator (who I think remains unnamed) hires an older housekeeper, Emerance.  She is a strong, eccentric character, and we don’t know what drives her but gradually learn about her past: the reader’s sympathies ebb and flow between the narrator and Emerance. It highlights the way older people are treated in society, and the afterpains of war. Slow at times but rich and satisfying, told in finely crafted prose. The singular characters and some vivid scenes have stayed with me long after reading it. Related image
  10. Subtly Worded by Teffi, translated by Anne Marie Jackson and Robert Chandler: I enjoyed these stories very much.  Deftly written, Teffi has a deceptively light style, handling poignant subject-matter with elegance and a sense of humour.  These stories open a window into the Russian literary circles of the early 1900s – fascinating in itself, not to mention her encounters with Tolstoy and Rasputin, which are wonderfully recounted.  Teffi was forced to leave Moscow in 1917 and I recommend her memoir of this period, Memories: From Moscow to the Black Sea.

What are your favourite books by women in translation?

Baileys Prize 2017

The Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction will be announced on 7 June.  Here is my quick and incomplete guide to the shortlist.

The shortlisted books are:

The Power by Naomi Alderman

Do Not Say We Have Nothing by Madeleine Thien

First Love by Gwendoline Riley

Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo

The Dark Circle by Linda Grant

The Sport of Kings by C. E. Morgan

I’ve read four of the list (pictured below – missing my copy of Do Not Say We Have Nothing, back in London but probably my favourite of the list).

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Just add Baileys!

I am intrigued by First Love and have heard mixed reports of The Sport of Kings.  My thoughts on the four I’ve read … :

The Power

Women have the power to electrocute you with their hands.  This gives them swagger and confidence; men are afraid to walk the streets at night.  Gender wars and global upheaval ensue, reverse-echoing current geopolitics (men must stay at home, genital mutilation, etc).  Alderman seems to say: women would behave in the same way as men, given the chance.  Muscular, engaging writing and interesting characters.  The story is science fiction (which I don’t tend to enjoy because of the extra leaps of faith it requires) and works at a macro level, so I wasn’t ‘in’ its world.  But a very strong book.  I would not be surprised if it won.

Stay With Me

Yejide and Akin are married in 1980s Nigeria and trying to have a baby.  Traumatic events occur, without being sensationalised.  This is a gentle book, despite the emotional punch.  The writing does not draw attention to itself but presents the characters with sensitivity and compassion.  It took me a while to get into and I did not love it overall – I couldn’t get traction or immerse myself in the story – but I admired its originality and sense of place.  A quietly strong book.

The Dark Circle

Beautiful writing, sympathetic characters sent to a sanatorium with tuberculosis, and an interesting moment in history – 1949-51 – I wanted to love this more than I did.

Well-crafted, I liked brash Lenny and Miriam in London, but the parts with bored, ill sanatorium patients dragged and I never got attached to the characters (although Persky the American was fun).  The story felt contrived at times, pressing on the reader the symptoms of TB and historical treatment of the disease.

But – beautiful craftsmanship, each sentence honed and polished, thoughtfully written, intelligent and (I’m assuming) historically accurate.  There is much wisdom here, but it’s put as the characters thinking, which was sometimes a stretch.  For example, Hannah the German (“Germany had an innate dislike of chaos and untidiness”) reflects that “in the spirit of the British there was, she felt, a kind of human glitch, the system could handle a sense of humour …”

The patients analyse Metamorphisis and its parallels to their situation and the Jews (waking up one day and being in a body that is treated as though one might as well be an insect).  This was interesting but I found it a little clunky.

The sanatorium part ends and soon after that I thought the story came to a natural end, without a neat resolution but the tension in the story (who survives) is answered.  But then there is a long tail as the story goes on for 40-odd pages, following the surviving characters into old age, which I didn’t need.  Perhaps it’s ‘completing the circle’ or to satisfy the readers’ curiosity, but I thought it weakened the novel.

I so wanted to like it more!  I plan to read more of Linda Grant as she’s hugely talented and maybe with a story that’s more about the characters and less about an ‘issue’ I’ll have more luck.

Do Not Say We Have Nothing

Madeleine Thien - Do Not Say We Have Nothing

A devastating story, beautifully told.  It may inspire you to listen to Bach, Shostakovich or Prokofiev anew and deepen your compassion for all the people of China who lived through the Cultural Revolution, and their children.  It’s long and intricate – I needed a cast of characters at times – but it weaves together whole lives with care and delicacy and the characters feel real.  Accomplished, this feels like the novel Madeleine Thien was born to write.  Highly recommended, with a tissue caveat.

This is my pick for the prize!  Who do you think will win?