'Small Things Like These' by Claire Keegan

 

Claire Keegan's 'Small Things Like These' is a powerful novel of 110-pages, about to be stretched into a movie adaptation starring Cillian Murphy.

I got this book for myself in lockdown - some time in 2021 - but didn't crack it open until today, to help pull myself out of a reading slump and concentration-shortage. Keegan helped me on both fronts; but she also sharpened my senses reading this one, giving me a bone-deep pleasure that comes from a perfect book that nuzzles itself into your side, at just the right time.

Ostensibly this is the story of an Irish coalman in his early 40s in 1985, as Christmas day approaches and he catches himself pondering deep thoughts and idly imagining a different life for himself ... amidst memories of his long-dead teenage mother, his unknown father, and the world of men that await his five young daughters.

Whilst this is happening, he goes to the Convent on three separate occasions to deliver coal, and encounters "fallen women" - girls - who beg him for escape. His wife warns him to stay on the right side of people, and a local businesswoman reminds him that "they" - the Church - have a hand in everything.

And yet. Furlong keeps thinking about them, and his own life - how different it would have been, had his mother ended up in a place like that with him, or without.

As they carried on along and met more people Furlong did and did not know, he found himself asking was there any point in being alive without helping one another? Was it possible to carry on along through all the years, the decades, through an entire life, without once being brave enough to go against what was there and yet call yourself a Christian, and face yourself in the mirror?

This is Keegan writing about the Magdalene Laundries in Ireland, and the long arm of Roman Catholic orders ... though; for all of Furlong's deepening thoughts about the point and purpose of life, and what it takes to be a good person, you can read many a substitute in Keegan's novel, for the abuse of women.

Keegan's is at once a scathing critique of the vast network of church-and-state institutions that perpetuated violence and brutality in Ireland, and even without going into the mechanics, she makes clear how the Catholic church kept a colonial hand in Ireland's formation. But this story is also a meditation on what we do with our time; how we spend a life.

Before long, he caught a hold of himself and concluded that nothing ever did happen again; to each was given days and chances which wouldn't come back around. And wasn't it sweet to be where you were and let it remind you of the past for once, despite the upset, instead of always looking on into the mechanics of the days and the trouble ahead, which might never come.

Furlong is contrasted against his wife; a woman who grew up with both her parents and wants to keep a similar order in her own world now, and for their own five girls in the future. Furlong's musings about what goes on at the convent, and the girls he has encountered there, turn her into a Lady Macbeth-type, bemoaning a damned spot of thought.

'Where does thinking get us?' she said. 'All thinking does is bring you down.' She was touching the little pearly buttons on her nightdress, agitated. 'If you want to get on in life, there's things you have to ignore, so you can keep on.'

That Furlong is a colaman conjures the Dickensian character of Ebenezer Scrooge, who permits his clerk - Bob Cratchit - one coal for a fire. Furlong's persistent memories too, of a childhood raised in a stately home where his teenage mother was servant but also permitted to raise her child out of wedlock, have a touch of the 1946 classic 'It's a Wonderful Life' for how George Bailey looks backwards and forwards on his life and all its turning points. Nothing Keegan does is by accident; her sentences are sharp, the thoughts cutting, and her decision to set this as a Christmas tale is especially clever ... after all; what better time of year to contemplate the good and bad of people, to reach for our higher-selves?

This novel was extraordinary. Keegan does more with a mere 110-pages than some authors will in their lifetime, and you cannot help but feel you are in the presence of greatness with every page-turn.

5/5

'Slow Dance' by Rainbow Rowell

 

Received from the publisher is return for an honest review 

From the BLURB: 

Everybody thought Shiloh and Cary would end up together – everybody but Shiloh and Cary.

‘Slow Dance’ follows these star-crossed best friends from their inseparable teen years on the wrong side of the tracks to their far-flung adulthoods – through her marriage and motherhood and his time in the Navy – as they try to work out what they’re actually supposed to be to each other.

🪩

I was up until midnight finishing this; laughing, crying, and just having the best reading experience. I have always loved Rainbow Rowell’s adult fiction - ‘Attachments’ has been my No. 1 fave … but ‘Slow Dance’ maybe just knocked it down to No. 2.

I remember in ‘Attachments’ there was a lot of love for the 1977 movie ‘The Goodbye Girl’ - which is arguably all about another chance of romance when you think you’re down and out and nobody could possibly want you any more … and I feel like ‘Slow Dance’ is a bit of a homage to that time in life. Where so few romance novels choose to expand; Rainbow Rowell dares to tread. 

For anyone who just discovered David Nicholl’s ‘One Day’ via the new adaptation (and now you need to mend what he beautifully broke) - Slow Dance will be right up your alley. Swap out University of Edinburgh for Omaha, Nebraska - and meet Cary & Shiloh bouncing between 1991 and 2006. Where so few romance novels choose to expand on the missed loves and those that remained unrequited for so long, Rainbow Rowell bursts open this idea of approaching your mid-30s and being full of regret and “what if’s?” and choosing to explore new (old) love anyway.

And she does it with her usual Rainbow Rowell sparkling repartee and dialogue … and the most impressive ability to make characters you’ve just met feel so beloved and lived-in.

I adored ‘Slow Dance’ … it is a slow burn - that’s kinda the whole point and plot - and I feel like some people won’t appreciate how lovely it is to have a book like this. It has the hard edges of life amongst a really tender romance. But I thought it was spectacular. One of my favourite reads from Rowell and for the year.

‘Do you think that makes us strangers?’
‘No,’ Shiloh said. ‘But also, yes? Like - cells get replaced in the human body every seven years so that’s two full iterations since 1992. You don’t have any cells left that remember me.’
‘I’m pretty sure my cells remember you, Shiloh.’

5/5 

'The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper' by Hallie Rubenhold

 

From the BLURB: 

Polly, Annie, Elizabeth, Catherine and Mary-Jane are famous for the same thing, though they never met.

They came from Fleet Street, Knightsbridge, Wolverhampton, Sweden and Wales. They wrote ballads, ran coffee houses, lived on country estates, they breathed ink-dust from printing presses and escaped people-traffickers. 

What they had in common was the year of their murders: 1888. 

Their murderer was never identified, but the name created for him by the press has become far more famous than any of these five women. 

Now, in this devastating narrative of five lives, historian Hallie Rubenhold finally sets the record straight, and gives these women back their stories. 

⦾

The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper by Hallie Rubenhold, read on audiobook by Louise Brealey. 

“Poor women were expendable …”

I listened to the audiobook of this, via my library's BorrowBox app - even though I've also owned the B-format paperback since about 2020, I could just never bring myself (or my heart) to pick it  up and read it of my own volition, but on audiobook I tore through it. And under the talent of Brealey's narration, who could bring out various regional accents to really help things along - it was superb. 

This was such a tough listen but I’m really really glad that I finished this book and I found it to be an extraordinary non-fiction work and by far one of the best non-fiction books I’ve read in a long time. 

I was completely upended, however to discover that this book has pissed off so many people and specifically “Ripperologists” to the point that Hallie Rubenhold has been horribly abused and harassed because she did to research into the canonical five victims of Jack the Ripper - and put fourth credible evidence that not all of them were prostitutes as the sick lore of this madman murdering spree dictated for so long. 

Her book is a gracious and human examination of what it meant to be a woman in the 1880s and the impossible position that they were put in to either be Madonna or whore. She digs into the Victorian mindset of the time that insisted that their murders had to somehow be prescriptive to the wider public and so they were painted as Scarlet women. Their stories absolutely broke my heart and patterns did emerge in all of them — domestic violence, alcoholism (if only to have some alleviation from the drudgery of being a woman at the time) …  the way people were kept impoverished and women in particular who had to bear the burden of childbirth and child rearing. Lack of education being the lightning rod overarching issue for so many people of this time. Just an incredible historical examination of everything never said about these women that I found to be so touching and crucial.

As I was reading, I was repeatedly struck by the realisation of how true it is now - just as it was in 1888 - that all it takes is a bad bout of luck, illness or injury for any one of us to experience houselessness and our fate to be completely undone. I thought that about each of these women at so many points in their life as Hallie unpicked them for us ... and my god, did my heart go out to them - across space and time. 

The very final chapter in the book is the Author listing all of the items found on four of the victims upon their death; in one of their pockets was one red mitten — and that visual is just touching and heartbreaking, as was the entire book.

5/5

'The Ministry of Time' by Kaliane Bradley

 

From the BLURB: 

A BOY MEETS A GIRL. THE PAST MEETS THE FUTURE. A FINGER MEETS A TRIGGER. THE BEGINNING MEETS THE END. ENGLAND IS FOREVER. ENGLAND MUST FALL. 

In the near future, a disaffected civil servant is offered a lucrative job in a mysterious new government ministry gathering 'expats' from across history to test the limits of time-travel. 

Her role is to work as a 'bridge': living with, assisting and monitoring the expat known as '1847' - Commander Graham Gore. As far as history is concerned, Commander Gore died on Sir John Franklin's doomed expedition to the Arctic, so he's a little disoriented to find himself alive and surrounded by outlandish concepts such as 'washing machine', 'Spotify' and 'the collapse of the British Empire'. With an appetite for discovery and a seven-a-day cigarette habit, he soon adjusts; and during a long, sultry summer he and his bridge move from awkwardness to genuine friendship, to something more. 

But as the true shape of the project that brought them together begins to emerge, Gore and the bridge are forced to confront their past choices and imagined futures. Can love triumph over the structures and histories that have shaped them? And how do you defy history when history is living in your house?

'The Ministry of Time' is the debut novel from British-Cambodian writer and editor based in London, Kaliane Bradley. 

So, this may well be my favourite book of 2024. WOW-ee. What an enjoyable read, especially for a low-science fiction girly whose particular proclivity is time-travel tales (those are always my fave 'Doctor Who' episodes, the back-in-time ones). So, some random observations; 

⦿ I am very fond of 2005 YA novel 'The White Darkness' by Geraldine McCaughrean, which is about a teenage girl who is genuinely in love with (the long-dead) Captain Lawrence 'Titus' Oates from the doomed Terra Nova Expedition. So when I read the blurb for 'The Ministry of Time' about Britain having harnessed time-travel and successfully bought six travellers from various eras to the modern-day, including Commander Graham Gore from the doomed Franklin expedition - I was all in. *Especially* when the blurb hinted that Gore's present-day "bridge" - the protagonist of the novel who is tasked with helping him acclimatise and who maybe starts to develop feelings - I was *ALL IN*. 

⦿ Time-travel has always been my bag. Modern-day women falling for out-of-time men is my particular favourite sub-genre ... I know exactly when this started; 'Playing Beatie Bow' by Ruth Park, and the time-travelling Abigail falling for Judah in the 1800's. This was particularly cemented when I read 'Outlander' by Diana Gabaldon as an 18-year-old; WWII army-nurse Claire passing through the stones to Jamie Fraser in the 18th century. No doubt there's some Marty McFly 'Back to the Future' Michael J. Fox appreciation thrown in there too. But this sub-genre of sci-fi and time-travel is my jamboree. And 'The Ministry of Time' gave it to me in HEAPINGS of timey-wimey goodness. The romance is slow-burn but makes up for it because our protagonist (whose name we don't know, but we get an intimate first-person account from) crushes HARD on Gore and that amps up the burn. But I was also very sucked into the mechanics and politics of the time-travel itself, so it wasn't like I was ever cooling my heels and checking my watch for the low sci-fi to get good ... it was ALL good. 

⦿ The politics of time-travel in this book reminded me of the Norwegian sci-fi series 'Beforeigners', about people from different time-periods suddenly randomly appearing in Oslo, becoming refugees of time that the Norwegian government has to deal with. It's also a little bit like the (brilliant) Aussie TV series 'Glitch' set in a small outback town where; 'Seven people from different time-periods return from the dead with no memory and attempt to unveil what brought them to the grave in the first place.' I like this connection in particular because there's a shady organisation linked to the raising of the dead, a big-pharma laboratory called "Noregard" (best in-universe name for a corporation, ever.) It's also a wee bit like the 2001 rom-com starring Hugh Jackman and Meg Ryan, 'Kate & Leopold' about an English Duke from 1876 falling for a modern-day New Yorker when he's unceremoniously dragged into the future. If any/all of those recs are your picnic; this book is for you. 

⦿ He filled the room like a horizon ... the writing was sumptuous, and gorgeous at times. Sometimes Bradley had a turn-of-phrase of description that made me go "ohhhhh." When something changes you constitutionally, you say: ‘the earth moved,’ but the earth stays the same. It’s your relationship with the ground that shifts. 

⦿ I actually first heard about this book, in a Guardian round-up of British debuts to look out for, and the description of Kaliane Bradley's idea made my spine sizzle and then I Googled her even more and found that she partly wrote the idea for 'The Ministry of Time' during Covid and lockdowns and because she kinda fell in love with the only photograph of Graham Gore. No, really. 'Kaliane Bradley Fell in Love With a Dead Man. The Result Is The Ministry of Time' ... if that's not an *amazing* sales-pitch I don't know what is. 

⦿ I just loved this. It's extremely cinematic and I wouldn't be surprised to find it is being developed into a movie or limited-TV series. It both feels appropriately head-nodding to plenty of other fabulous low-sci-fi time-travel that will make aficionados happy, but also sparkly-unique enough to keep adding to the conversation about the space-time continuum. Even if I guessed the small twist that comes, I did so because I know this sub-genre so well and expected certain markers along the way and Bradley did not disappoint. I loved this so much, I was only one-chapter in when I knew it'd give me the best bookish hangover and be hard book to follow-up, probably throwing me into a reading-rut.

5/5

'Love, Death & Other Scenes' by Nova Weetman

 

From the BLURB: 

Nova Weetman’s unforgettable memoir reflects on experiences of love and loss from throughout her life, including: losing her beloved partner, playwright Aidan Fennessy, during the 2020 Covid lockdown; the death of her mother ten years earlier; her daughter turning eighteen and finishing school; and her own physical ageing. Using these events as a lens, Nova considers how various kinds of losses – and the complicated love they represent – change us and can become the catalysts for letting go.

This is a moving, honest account of farewelling a partner of twenty-five years, parenting teenagers through grief, buying property for the first time at the age of fifty, watching Aidan live on through his plays, and learning to appreciate spending hours alone with only the household cat for company. Warm and wise – and often joyful – Love, Death & Other Scenes ultimately focuses on the living we do after losses and what we learn from them.

At one point while reading Nova Weetman's memoir, I said out loud to the empty room; "Geez, you're good Nova."

Such was the power and force of certain sentences, ideas, inflections and offerings throughout. "As writers, we are stealers of other peoples memories, bowerbirds of story," she writes at one point - and then puts that ability to collect on full display throughout as she recounts the life she built with her partner, playwright Aidan Fennessy, who battled and then died from prostate cancer in 2020 during Melbourne's numerous lockdowns and waves of Covid.

I know Nova as a colleague, a fellow middle-grade author and someone I greatly admire, and whose books I truly - hand on heart - believe helped me in tapping into my own voice for this age group. I think it's a little odd that I feel like I know-her, *know* her now after reading 'Love, Death & Other Scenes,' though. And especially because I have a tangential understanding of the loss she and her two children experienced in 2020. My uncle died after his third bout of cancer - having beat the other two, it was pancreatic in the end, third time unlucky - and unlike Nova's partner who had the option but didn't use it; my uncle chose Voluntary Assisted Dying and went out on his own terms, at home, December 2020. We were all there. I'm both surprised and not at all by how much reading Nova's perspective of a death like that during Covid - which I watched my aunt and cousin go through, one of the helpers minding children and looking for ways to ease their pain - I needed to reexamine and feel.

But I'm also surprised at how beautifully romantic this book was too, as Nova writes about how she and Aidan first met - how she fell first, and pursued ... how so much of their relationship felt like it needed balancing, especially in their creative exchange; ‘He introduced me to albums I’d never heard, to singers dead before my time, and the way that songs stain your memories giving them meaning they don’t have in silence.'

In this too, I feel weirdly intimate to the story because Nova writes about Aidan's final play he ever wrote - 'The Heartbreak Choir' - finally being staged, but only after his death. His final work he never got to see fully-realised. It's because I know Nova and am a fan of hers, that I was aware through social media what she was going through - and when tickets became available for 'The Heartbreak Choir' debut performance in Melbourne, I snapped them up for both myself, my mum, and my aunt - also knowing that she in particular may find some comfort in both the story, and its background. And she did - we all did. I saw 'The Heartbreak Choir' in May 2022 and loved it! A play my Aunt still talks about, has triggered her love of theatre to the point that she and my mum will now spontaneously ask me to check out what's on and what's coming up, book something for us all.

'Love, Death & Other Scenes' feels like another chapter to that play, in a way. How apt, that Nova muses towards the end of her memoir; ‘And it is in words that I can find him,' and it's in both her words and his that I feel something being unlocked, and another story I want to share with my family. That I want to press this book into their hands and say; 'It's us, a little bit.' We're not so alone, I think.

5/5

'Unruly: A History of England's Kings and Queens' audiobook read by author, David Mitchell

 

From the BLURB: 

A seriously FUNNY, seriously CLEVER history of our early kings and queens by one of our favourite comedians and cultural commentators.

This will be the most refreshing, entertaining history of England you'll have ever read.

Certainly, the funniest.

Because David Mitchell will explain how it is not all names, dates or ungraspable historical headwinds, but instead show how it's really just a bunch of random stuff that happened with a few lucky bastards ending up on top. Some of these bastards were quite strange, but they were in charge, so we quite literally lived, and often still live, by their rules.

It's a great story. And it's our story. If you want to know who we are in modern Britain, you need to read this book.

 ♛ ♛ ♛

This just *delighted* me and had me running to find any other audiobooks of David Mitchell's on my Library's BorrowBox app (and yes, I am forever disappointed when somebody says "David Mitchell" and means the bloke who wrote Cloud Atlas. I want 'Peep Show' David Mitchell, 'Upstart Crow' David Mitchell - and this book proves why!)

I listened to this while I walked the dog, and I must have looked like a King George III-level maniac laughing and guffawing as I picked up his poo (with a bag) and walked blithely along, nodding and laugh/crying ... but it was truly just *that* good!

David Mitchell's injections and rants are next-level (at one point he manages to tie in the absurdity of awards for art; like the year that the theme song for 'Shaft' was up against 'The Age of Not Believing' from 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks' for best song at the Oscars, to which he says you may as well compare a fish-finger to a ladder for all the good it does to categorise and quantify two pieces of art like that ... and he's not wrong!)

Mitchell only takes the book up to King James-ish because he says that was the last time that monarchy had true, absolute power before Parliament, Prime Ministers, foreign Governments and such started interfering with what the royals had bamboozled England into thinking was "divine rule," ... I do hope he decides to write a second-book about the waning royals (is it too much to ask that he give a full-throated debate on why a Republic would be better? Throughout the listening of this I could feel his tension to rein in what could have been an 11-hour long rant on the subject!)

As such, this was perhaps the most enjoyable new read I've encountered this year so far. Amazing!

5/5

'Witch of Wild Things' by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

 

From the BLURB: 

Legend goes that long ago a Flores woman offended the old gods, and their family was cursed as a result. Now, every woman born to the family has a touch of magic. 

Sage Flores has been running from her family—and their “gifts”—ever since her younger sister Sky died. Eight years later, Sage reluctantly returns to her hometown. Like slipping into an old, comforting sweater, Sage takes back her job at Cranberry Rose Company and uses her ability to communicate with plants to discover unusual heritage specimens in the surrounding lands. 

What should be a simple task is complicated by her partner in botany sleuthing: Tennessee Reyes. He broke her heart in high school, and she never fully recovered. Working together is reminding her of all their past tender, genuine moments—and new feelings for this mature sexy man are starting to take root in her heart. 

With rare plants to find, a dead sister who keeps bringing her coffee, and another sister whose anger fills the sky with lightning, Sage doesn’t have time for romance. But being with Tenn is like standing in the middle of a field on the cusp of a summer thunderstorm—supercharged and inevitable.

I am a seasonal reader, and that’s a very hard thing to be in Melbourne at the moment where we’re swinging between heatwaves and downpours. So I find it interesting that in a bit of a reading slump, I randomly decided to reach for a witchy book that includes a character whose mood can change the weather … 

This is my first read by Gilliland - and it’s her third book, but first adult romance. Her second YA book - ‘How Moon Fuentez Fell in Love with the Universe’ - won and was shortlisted for a slew of awards, and was already on my radar. But TikTok actually put me onto ‘Witch of Wild Things’ - about a Mexican woman who returns to her hometown where her dead sister haunts her, another curses her, and the boy who made her swoon over AOL until he broke her heart has grown into a hot man with forearm tattoos.

The fact that we come from dirt, and eventually turn to dirt, is spooky and incredible to think about it at the same time. My sister is dirt by now, surely. All of our ancestors are, too. This must make dirt holy, holy enough for the old gods to walk upon it from time to time. Holy enough that Nadia gives it a little cup of espresso to drink every single morning.

 I’m so glad I started with this book because it *hit the spot* - was lovely and spicy, but also made me weepy and tender-hearted. Our protagonist Sage has a particular story-arc about being the oldest sibling to her two sisters, and defaulting to a parental responsibility role that’s so rarely explored in fiction like this … imagine Luisa Madrigal’s ‘Surface Pressure’ song from ENCANTO, made into a novel. 

It’s also very ‘Practical Magic’ by Alice Hoffman (BUT - it’s actually more of the 1998 Sandra Bullock/Nicole Kidman classic movie ‘Practical Magic,’ with its cottagecore-comfy and whimsy, whereas the book is … not? It’s darker. So if you prefer movie ‘Practical Magic’ then *this* is the book for you … not the actual Hoffman book, FYI and lol) 

You can *kinda* tell that this book struggled to find a strong plot, however. And Gilliland hints at this in her acknowledgements, where she talks about a severe bout of writer's block from which this story was borne, from the scraps of an abandoned and unworkable idea. It does have a little bit of that feeling, like; she was immersed in this town and this family, the universe, and an actual strong through-line of story had to be somewhat shoehorned in. 

So while I loved this - I maybe would have liked a few threads to be more deeply explored and wrapped up, and *maybe* it got slightly too easy by the end … but those are minor quibbles in an otherwise very sparkly and lovely book.

4/5