If you liked Seaplane on Final Approach, try…
Previous subscription picks…
Diary of a Void, by Emi Yagi
translated by David Boyd and Lucy North
Diary of a Void: Emi Yagi£12.99
Ms Shibata has had enough. Tired of working long hours in a male-dominated office where she is expected to make coffees and clear away the cups after meetings, she decides on impulse to lie to her colleagues and tell them she is pregnant. As opening gambits go, it’s hard to deny this one is immediately compelling. Ms Shibata starts to track this fictitious pregnancy and adapt her lifestyle accordingly, sinking deeper and deeper into the lie until we’re left wondering how far she can take it – it’s an exquisite trajectory.
You can read this novel as part of a wider and, for us, deeply satisfying seam of modern Japanese literature that interrogates the role of women in wider society (see below for a few more examples of this pleasing trend), but on a purely narrative level the delights are ample: turns of phrase recur and redefine themselves as the book progresses, male behaviour becomes increasingly ungainly and pathetic as the faux-pregnancy becomes more obvious.
This is a deliciously smart and crafty story of deception, but one that wears its worldlier themes lightly. Hidden beneath the snippy facade there are salient ruminations on the societal pressure placed on women’s bodies, and almost melancholy musings on the futility of opposing the patriarchy. Whichever way you read it, we hope you’ll find the peculiar atmosphere will linger like it did for us after finishing this excruciatingly well-crafted book.
If you liked Diary of a Void, try…
Lolly Willowes, by Sylvia Townesend Warner
If you’ve visisted us in the shop and asked us for a recommendation you may already know that we tend towards the spooky wherever we can. We were very excited, then, to discover that a new clothbound edition of Sylvia Townsend Warner’s daring novellette Lolly Willowes is to be released in time for October. It’s a relatively new favourite of ours, and we’re not ashamed to admit we weren’t hip to its charms despite it being first published in 1926. With a prescience that feels somewhat unearthly, Warner uses her titular character to undermine and comment upon the patriarchal structures of between-war Britain by having unmarried Lolly abandon her comfortable life for a life of solitary witchcraft in the countryside.
Even now, in these more enlightened times, Lolly’s move feels gleefully transgressive. The excitement, of course, cannot last and the way Warner ekes out the finer details of exactly what is wrong with Lolly’s new home village is irresistible. Without giving anything away, the finale to this book is stunning and inventive, but like so many other elements in this book it’s hidden beautifully. Delivering the chills and, in a gentle but very real way, the thrills – Lolly Willowes does everything we’d want a book to do this spooky season.
If you liked Lolly Willowes, try…
Afterparties, by Anthony Veasna So
We’re huge fans of a well-crafted short story collection at Storysmith, and we loved this warm-hearted, bold collection of interconnecting stories about Cambodian-American lives. The stories express the joy and messiness and pain and love of real lives, families striving to make ends meet, to feel fulfilled, and to hang on to some semblance of Cambodian cultural heritage whilst trying to achieve the American dream. The stories take us to the heart of ordinary existence, sometimes with an absurd twist; a mechanic whose business is failing because he wants to offer jobs to his whole community, a high school teacher who can’t move on from his dream of being a badminton star, cousins trying to psyche themselves up to attend a relative’s reincarnation party.
Veasna So’s playful tone makes for entertaining reading, but the effects of the Cambodian genocide hover in the background of all of the stories, the younger generations are grappling with the complexities of their culture and identity, feeling the inherited grief of their parents and grandparents and dealing with the gaps in their family trees. The stories depict the incredibly human capacity to carry on in the face of so much adversity, to work, fight, party, date and eat a huge amount of Cambodian donuts.
Anthony Veasna So’s writing is so full of heart, he navigates the nuanced topics of immigration, race and sexuality with a sharp wit and tender understanding. Afterparties is sadly the only published collection from this talented writer whose career was just about to start when he passed away in 2020.
If you liked Afterparties, try…
The Twilight Zone, by Nona Fernández
(translated by Natasha Wimmer)
This unconventional historical novel is crammed with details that bring its subject alive with incredible energy, a blazing journey through the Pinochet dictatorship in Chile during the ‘70s and ‘80s. Told from the perspective of a journalist and documentarian (in a distinctly auto-fictional manner) uncovering the details of a man known only as ‘the man who tortured people’, The Twilight Zone is a propulsive and unrelenting excavation of ordinary life under oppression. In researching her unconventional subject, the narrator reveals the psychological damage not just on the individual, but the whole nation.
While the subject matter is unavoidably heavy, it’s delivered as a counterpoint to the mundanity of real life, of pop culture and family life. The classic sci-fi TV show that shares its name with the book is used as a neat way of framing the surreality of the situation, and as we discover more about the man who tortures people we begin to see a complex, uneasy humanising effect. Books like this reinforce the cliche that a good novel teaches the reader more than just the mechanics of the story, and with The Twilight Zone we were bowled over by how much insight, atmosphere and history you can glean from such clever prose (brilliantly translated, we should add).
If you liked The Twilight Zone, try…
Maud Martha, by Gwendolyn Brooks
We’ve been quietly devouring some of the choice morsels from Faber’s ‘Faber Editions’ series. These lovingly-produced and rediscovered classics which have included such Storysmith favourites as Mrs Caliban by Rachel Ingalls and They by Kay Dick, and now the absolute crème-de-la-crème: Maud Martha, the only novel by Pulitzer Prize winning American poet Gwendolyn Brooks. First appearing in 1953, this carefully executed novel of Chicago life was never published in the UK, and didn’t exactly make waves back in the US either, but now its reputation can be rightly reconsidered.
We weren’t hugely familiar with Brooks’ poetry on reading this slim and powerful volume, but now that we have we know this: Maud Martha is a miniature masterpiece. Told as a series of vignettes that capture Maud Martha’s childhood, her teenage years, her early marriage and her journey into motherhood, we see snapshots of a life condensed. This is a book of ordinary people doing everyday things – a trip to the movies, putting up a Christmas tree, furnishing the kitchenette – but in-between these moments of domesticity there’s laughter, pain, passion and heartbreak, the sheer grind of existence. It’s very easy to love Maud Martha herself: she’s poised, quietly defiant, and the real genius of the novel is in how Brooks makes her life accessible to us, shows the reader its gentle strength without veering into sentimentality.
If you liked Maud Martha, try…
The Godmother, by Hannelore Cayre
There are few things we like more than an unexpected crime novel. Perhaps it’s something about the conventions of the genre, the classic rhythms of a whodunnit or a police procedural, but when an author tries and succeeds to reinvent a classic formula, it’s a source of great joy for us. When we first came across this French translation a few years ago, we got that exact feeling – that The Godmother really was something a bit special. Don’t be fooled by its brevity, and don’t expect any easy answers: one of the delights of this stylishly-told curio is the way in which it continually subverts your expectations.
Our heroine, Patience, has earned an honest living for 25 years as a translator for the police, feeding vital wiretap information from African drug gangs. But when her financial security suddenly comes under threat due to bureaucratic injustices, she decides upon a most unexpected career-change, a total reinvention of herself. The Godmother is going to use all her experience of the criminal underworld gleaned from decades hidden in plain sight. She’s just not going to use it in the way you’d expect…
If you liked The Godmother, try…
Ruth & Pen, by Emilie Pine
Ruth & Pen£14.99
Emilie Pine has already made a name for herself in the literary world with her essay collection Notes to Self, which we absolutely loved in the shop (and probably recommended to you at some point if you happened to pop in). Now she seems set to take it by storm again, with her debut novel Ruth & Pen, and we’re so pleased to be able to bring this special story to you hot off the press in its publication week.
In some ways, Ruth & Pen feels like a contemporary (and more accessible) rendition of James Joyce’s Ulysses – a kind of evolution of the Irish novel, if you will. Taking place in a single day in Dublin, the novel follows the two titular women, unknown to each other but plagued by similar concerns, on the verge of falling in and out of love. On this day, Ruth is contemplating her marriage to Aiden, and whether the wounds that they have inflicted on each other can be repaired. Meanwhile Pen is preparing to speak her truth, and tell her best friend Alice exactly what she means to her. It’s a tender consideration of love, miscommunication, friendship, neurodivergence, fertility, the climate crisis, therapy and grief. It broke and simultaneously warmed our hearts and we hope you enjoy your ‘trip’ to Dublin as much as we did.
If you liked Ruth & Pen, try…
Love in the Big City, by Sang Young Park
(translated by Anton Hur)
Love in the Big City begins with an unlikely pairing: the narrator Young and his college best friend and roommate Jaehee, a situation considered unacceptable by almost everyone except themselves due to her being unmarried. Nonetheless, they form a mutually beneficial cohabitation-of-convenience as they ricochet between classes, terrible boyfriends and freezer-cold cigarettes, setting the tone for the novel as a whole. It’s a portrait of contemporary Korean queer culture that is both celebratory and mournful, ironic and melancholy in equal measure, rendered in a narrative style that brims with personality.
From these humble coming-of-age beginnings, the novel bounces between Young’s escapades in love and loss over the course of his 20s and 30s, with Seoul, South Korea as the titular big city. But while the topic is indeed love, it’s unconventional and not always romantic. Sometimes it’s an obsessive, addictive, all-consuming love; sometimes it’s an accidentally unshakeable friendship and the awful void it can leave. It’s also the joyous sexual freedom of the big city and the punishingly lonely and isolatingly conservative moral climate of Korea at large – the complexities and contradictions of gay life in modern Korea are laid bare in a thousand well-realised moments.
Love in the Big City is a celebration of this multitude: idyllic and devastating, and surely destined to become a queer cult classic.