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ABC News
a day ago
- Entertainment
- ABC News
The best new books released in July, from Amy Bloom, Katherine Brabon and more
Welcome to the ABC Arts wrap of the best new releases. This month, we bring you two works of translated fiction, including the latest offering from a French literary sensation that our critic Declan Fry declares is "rip-your-hair-out brilliant". Also in the mix are a blackly comic debut about a queer woman's dissolute return to her hometown in New Zealand and a doorstopper exploring the fascinating phenomenon of postwar amnesia inspired by real-life cases of soldiers who lost their memories on the battlefields of World War I. Winter is the perfect time to hunker down with a good book — happy reading. Granta There's a particular pleasure in picking up a new novel by Amy Bloom, an author who writes love stories like no one else. I was a huge fan of her 2018 novel White Houses, a swoony yet clear-eyed fictionalisation of a romance between first lady Eleanor Roosevelt and journalist Lorena Hickok. In I'll Be Right Here, Bloom widens her scope, focusing on three generations of an unconventional family in a story that roams from wartime Paris to modern-day New York. At the centre of the story is Gazala, an orphaned Algerian girl who works as a maid and masseuse for the real-life French writer Colette during World War II. Gazala is quiet and loyal, but her gentle visage hides a ferocity and passion that presents itself in surprising ways. After the war, Gazala makes her way to New York, where she is reunited with her beloved adopted brother Samir and finds two new 'sisters' in Anne and Alma Cohen. The bond between these four people, and their various lovers, children, and grandchildren, will remain unbreakable for life. This is a novel that doesn't let the reader settle. Bloom changes time periods, introduces new characters, and drops shocking twists without fanfare or hand-holding. It's not always easy to keep track of who's who, but what emerges is a glorious tapestry celebrating the love found in a chosen family. At a launch event for I'll Be Right Here, Bloom joked that all her books are about the same four topics: family, love, sex, and death. To which I say: why would I want to read about anything else? — Claire Nichols Ultimo Press Thea is 16 and holidaying in Italy with her mother, who hopes to cure her daughter's chronic illness by visiting a renowned healer living in the Umbrian countryside. Sheltered and unworldly, Thea connects her physical condition to her actions, looking for things she can control. She is making sense of herself and her experience, feeling her way toward the contours of adulthood. Her mother, Vera, has also lived with chronic pain for most of her life. Wellness bloggers and health influencers offer Vera solace where doctors and rationalist thinking fail to. Vera knows force of will alone cannot change the body, but the possibility remains tantalising; the idea of release can be dreamt so often it begins to feel real. Is pain singular, isolating, or is it something that can be shared? Playing with ideas of subjectivity and identity, Katherine Brabon moves between Vera, Thea, and a third authorial voice, one that both addresses the reader in the second person and doubles as the characters' own self-address. Brabon is examining how people change in relation to each other — after marriage, after becoming parents — and the nature of the stories we project upon ourselves and others. As you reach the end and Brabon draws the threads together, a wise, tender portrait of the relationship between a mother and daughter emerges. Cure is a beguiling and resonant novel, in which the process of belief and the difficulty of integrating the experience of illness into self-identity is revealed to be extraordinarily fraught. — Declan Fry Bloomsbury American football is as foreign to me as the college and health systems that dominate not just US social and public policy, but an awful lot of fiction as well. Sameer Pandya's Our Beautiful Boys manages to make two out of three of these social systems fascinating and almost explicable: football and college. The story focuses on three teenage boys in their final year of high school, at that cusp between ambition and expectation. Vikram, Diego, and MJ are the beautiful boys of the title; they are smart, athletic, and full of promise. To succeed, they need to show social, academic, and athletic prowess, as part of the performance required to get them into the university of their choice. But the world doesn't operate in the same way for each of them, which they and their families are aware of to different degrees. Vikram's cultural background is Indian, Diego's is Hispanic, and MJ's is as WASP as can be. MJ is the only one with the cultural capital that allows him to walk around shoeless, with an air of disaffection, and the complicated racial dynamics of America play out differently for Vikram and Diego, too. Why does this matter? Because after a triumphant Friday night school football game — where the guts-and-glory and sheer beauty of bodies flashing down a field is depicted with exhilaration — the three boys head off to a party. They meet up with another kid, an annoying bully, Stanley, and the four of them enter a nearby cave. When they leave, Stanley is badly injured. Something has happened — but who did what to whom, and with what consequences? — Kate Evans UQP Nell Jenkins — queer, brash, and prone to bad decisions — escaped her hometown in New Zealand as a teenager after the death of her best friend, April. Now, 15 years later, she's back home to look after her mother, Leigh, who has had a stroke. Caring doesn't come naturally to Nell, who has only returned because she has nowhere else to go. She abandoned her life in Sydney after filing an HR complaint about her boss when their romantic relationship ended. She has no job, no money, and nowhere to live. Her hometown is now a popular weekend getaway spot, but for Nell, it remains a place of casual racism, homophobia, misogyny, and bad memories. For a queer teenager like Nell, home was a place where you could never be yourself. Chapters set in the past reveal more about their friendship and how April died. Nell's unwilling return painfully illustrates how stuck she is in her grief. It's "the centrifugal force … moving me from one dead end to the next". Now 33, Nell's life is a wreck; she's drinking too much, sleeping with the wrong people, and borrowing money she can't hope to repay. "I'm a user and a grifter. A drifter. A down-and-out country song," is how she describes it. Against her better judgement, she's drawn into the world of aging television psychic Petronella Bush, who is in town to revive her ailing career. She claims to hear multitudes of ghostly voices, the murdered girls who become "cautionary tales" for others. Blackly comic, Dead Ends is a book not about closure but the difficult process of rebuilding after loss. Nell, for all her flaws, possesses a crude and mordant wit that will have you guffawing aloud. — Nicola Heath Tuskar Rock Constance Debré's 2022 novel Love Me Tender was revelatory. But Name, her new novel, is perhaps her finest work to date. It concludes an auto-fictional trilogy Debré began in 2018, but you don't need to read the other two novels to fall in love with this one. Name opens as the narrator, having watched over her ailing father for weeks, confronts his death. An avatar of Debré, she is a former (disillusioned) lawyer, born into an illustrious Parisian family trying to maintain "their illusions about nobility, family, France, with their alcoholism, which they pretend not to notice". We delve into Debré's upbringing during the 1970s and 80s. She is ferocious toward the bourgeoisie, castigating a world of children who live with nannies before being shipped off to boarding school. By the time we reach the present day and her life as a lawyer for whom "justice is pointless", Debré has transformed into a woman in radical pursuit of her own story, happily disposing of everything superfluous ("family, marriage, work, apartments, belongings, people"). Debré's prose is a rush. Her voice grabs you by the lapels, hauls you up, and makes you do a double and then a triple-take. Alert, jagged, deadpan, she wakes you. Debré writes with the kind of immediacy you find in authors like Helen Garner, Édouard Louis and Chris Kraus. A paean to the joys of refusal, of realising and accepting there are no gods and no masters, Name is rip-your-hair-out brilliant. — Declan Fry Brazen (Hachette Australia) Maggie; Or, A Man and a Woman Walk into a Bar, is a deeply funny little novel that tells the story of what happens after the set-up to so many jokes. An unnamed narrator begins the story facing two things that threaten to change her life: her husband is having an affair with a woman named Maggie, and she's just found a lump in her breast. She hides her anguish in humour. As she recounts how her husband revealed his affair at an Indian restaurant, she glibly notes it was "a total naan-sequitur". Being playful and flippant is her way of processing the hurt. She becomes obsessed with Maggie, and with her tumour (which she also names Maggie), and starts to think of them in tandem — both cancers, eating away at her sense of normality. When she's lonely or bored or angry or sad, she tells "my Maggie" (the tumour) about it. As a stay-at-home mum, she feels she has built her life around her husband and children, and it's all about to crumble away. She seeks comfort in storytelling, retelling the Chinese folklore she was raised with to her children, desperate to find a message of solace or purpose. Yee's book is weird, poetic, and meandering. The reader is lulled in with humour and domestic intimacy but encounters accounts of grief and mortality along the way. — Rosie Ofori Ward Scribe Publications Why do stories of World War I still hold such resonance? It's something to do with the industrialised death, the iconic images of trenches, and the poetic howls of resistance. But there remains plenty of space for retelling, nuance, and new perspectives, which is what Dutch writer Anjet Daanje delivers in this novel. Daanje begins with a soldier whose backstory has completely disappeared, erased by trauma. Found on a battlefield in Belgium in 1917, wearing a hodgepodge of cast-off uniforms, he cannot remember his name and has no identification. He was discovered at midday, renamed Noon Merckem, and sent to an asylum in Ghent, where he stayed for four years. There he lives a cloistered life, surrounded by other lost soldiers. But the outside world intrudes when his story and photograph are published in the newspaper, and several women turn up in the hope that he might be their missing husband, brother, or son. This experience of amnesia by trauma really happened, as did fraught battles over the 'ownership' and identity of these men. In The Remembered Soldier, a woman named Julienne turns up and says Noon is her husband, Amand — a photographer — and that she's taking him home. All of this happens early in this 560-page novel. What unfolds is a story of memory and its slips; of doubt and survival; of families being remade and poverty in Europe. Cleverly, it's the work of photography that fades in and out of the story, as both a practical skill and as an occasionally manipulated memento, that situates the story in the darkroom of history and literature. — Kate Evans Tune in to ABC Radio National at 10am Mondays for The Book Show and 10am Fridays for The Bookshelf.
Washington Post
22-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Washington Post
‘If You Love It, Let It Kill You' turns navel-gazing into art
A few weeks ago, David Brooks ran out of things to write about in the New York Times and so decided to pour more water over some old tea bag about the death of literary fiction. 'America is now wholly given over to a damned mob of scribbling women,' he wrote, and 'the public taste is occupied with their trash.' No — wait — that was Nathaniel Hawthorne back in 1855, but you get the idea. Our latest novels, Brooks wrote, have grown timid and insular. As someone who's been reviewing fiction every week for three decades and often feels moved and dazzled, I could sense a rebuttal swelling in my evidently easily pleased brain. Just over the last few months, Bruce Holsinger's 'Culpability' tackled the ethical implications of AI, Susan Choi's 'Flashlight' explored the abiding tragedy of North Korea, Karen Russell's 'The Antidote' conjured up a magical tale of environmental destruction in the American West, and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's 'Dream Count' followed the intertwined lives of women in the United States and Africa. Timid and insular, sir? I think not. But it was then, perched atop my high dudgeon, that I noticed I was reading Hannah Pittard's 'If You Love It, Let It Kill You.' Pittard, as you may know from her 2023 memoir, 'We Are Too Many,' is an English professor in Kentucky whose husband cheated on her. Now she's written a novel about an English professor in Kentucky whose husband cheated on her. It sounds like the kind of book you'd want to keep on the bottom shelf if you had to debate David Brooks about the ambition and audacity of contemporary American fiction. At times, you might even wonder whose side Pittard is on. Early in 'If You Love It,' the narrator admits, 'I'm a chronicler of the everyday mundanities of life.' She imagines her students complaining, 'Where's the plot?' Her partner tells her, 'You're a family of navel gazers.' He's not wrong, but that Brooksian dismissal hardly tells the whole story, because the success of such a novel depends on the navel and the gazer. For all its quirky self-referentiality and cramped plot, 'If You Love It' is an account of female anxiety, depression and sexual dissatisfaction. For decades, male anxiety, depression and sexual dissatisfaction passed as capacious themes for fiction (See: 20th-century novels by White guys named John). That such audacious writers as Pittard, Kate Folk, Ada Calhoun and Miranda July are turning those themes on the lathes of their own sharp fiction isn't just fair play, it's cause for celebration. Pittard's special contribution is her ability to braid strands of pathos and comedy. The melancholy narrator, an avatar of the author trimmed down to 'Hana,' feels besieged by the close presence of family, including her sister's household next door; her severely unbalanced father, who wants to be a charming character in one of her books; her eccentric mother, who's dating three men simultaneously online; and her partner's 11-year-old daughter, who has surely heard Hana say she doesn't like kids. What's worse, Hana has just learned that her ex-husband is about to publish a novel about their ruined marriage that portrays her as a smug, insecure hack. The publisher will be using her full name in the publicity material. 'You can't use fiction as a means of making false accusations about living people,' Hana says. 'It's unethical. Fiction isn't a platform for revenge.' These indignant lines are funnier if you're tuned into the literary kerfuffle that's been rumbling between Pittard and her ex-husband, Andrew Ewell, who did, in fact, publish a novel last year called 'Set For Life' inspired by their ruined marriage. But what's pertinent to most readers is that this story follows a mad woman, a woman mad at life, who lives too much in her head, is dogged by erratic erotic urges and suspects there might be something troubling about her desire to play dead. 'It's all happening too quickly,' she thinks, 'and it couldn't be over too soon.' Hana's humor keeps rolling over these adamantine terrors like waves, but periodically when that tide of comedy pulls back, we find ourselves stranded with a middle-aged woman crying, 'oh my god this is not what my life was supposed to be, is it?' At such moments, 'If You Love It,' feels almost too heartbreaking to bear. But Pittard doesn't leave us there. For one thing, Hana imagines her writing students critiquing her story as it takes place. And they aren't particularly kind — 'Is this some sort of plot device?' they ask impatiently. Hana doesn't hold back on them, either. She portrays her students as chronically unimaginative writers always pestering her for permission to add vampires and talking cats to their work. Until, what do you know, a particularly acerbic kitten paws into Hana's life and starts mewing no-nonsense advice. And with that surreal intrusion, 'If You Love It' tilts another few degrees away from reality's plumb line. If memoir is that pious figure who vows to tell the truth and then lies, autofiction is the cheeky kid who wants extra credit for confessing her deceit up front. Is Pittard working through her own private catastrophes in this novel? Of course — but so is every other novelist. She's just letting us see the splintered timbers of her experience clearly enough to recognize our own. 'This book,' Hana tells us, is 'neither a comedy nor a tragedy but something much worse: real life.' And what is that, really, besides the long struggle to understand — and appreciate — that we're all characters in each other's stories. Ron Charles reviews books and writes the Book Club newsletter for The Washington Post. He is the book critic for 'CBS Sunday Morning.'
RNZ News
22-07-2025
- Entertainment
- RNZ News
Books Books Books: Some Helpful Models of Grief & Notes to John
media arts 27 minutes ago Book reviewer Anna Rankin talks to Jesse about her recommendations, Some Helpful Models of Grief, from Compound Press, by Aotearoa writer and artist Hana Pera Aoake and Notes to John by Joan Didion. Tags: To embed this content on your own webpage, cut and paste the following: See terms of use.
Times
17-06-2025
- Politics
- Times
Sarah Vine's barbed texts stir the Westminster grapevine
Sales of Sarah Vine's How Not to Be a Political Wife have hardly been hindered after fellow political wife Sasha Swire gave a catty critique, but the review still stung. 'At least I wrote my own book instead of getting my husband to write it for me,' Vine typed with equally sharp claws. This was on her WhatsApp thread for famous chums such as her ex-husband Michael Gove, ex-ministers Ed Vaizey and Amber Rudd, and the broadcaster Piers Morgan, who assured Vine, that 'the one thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about'. The thread can receive hundreds of daily messages, so at least they'll always be talking about each other. Vine's book talks about the ex-chancellor George Osborne, but he is yet to read it. This is not a first — he tells the Political Currency podcast that he would not buy Boris Johnson's memoirs as he 'didn't want a single penny finding its way into the Johnson bank account'. However, he still wanted to know what had been written about him. So, if Daunt Books spotted a man thumbing through the index and taking photos of various pages, you know who sent him. Signal failure It's no wonder that the government is pumping billions into our rickety infrastructure — it nearly cost them dear. When the business secretary, Jonathan Reynolds, was cosying up to his American opposite number, Howard Lutnick, before crunch trade negotiations, he sent him a WhatsApp which had been carefully drafted by many Whitehall departments. Moments later, Lutnick called back saying: 'Johnny, I got your message. I don't know what it means.' Lutnick started thrashing out a deal but there was a problem as Reynolds was being driven back to his constituency in Stalybridge. 'Every fifth or sixth word was genuinely cutting out of signal,' Reynolds said at a lobby lunch. 'I was literally slightly worried I was going to sell the f***ing NHS.' Look out for more money being spent on mobile phone masts in Lancashire. War and pizza The pizza parlours of Arlington County, Virginia, knew something was up last Thursday night. As Israel readied to attack Iran, the area around the Pentagon experienced a surge of pizza orders. Such activity is reported by the X account Pentagon Pizza Report, who monitor this vital indicator of the geopolitical weather. Surges are caused by Pentagon staffers cancelling their dinner reservations in anticipation of an all-nighter, but there is one other business which can indicate a crisis. The account also said a local gay bar had 'abnormally low traffic for a Thursday night'. Due to popular demand, our exam howlers series has been sent for a resit. Edward Asprey tells me of a prep school test where he was asked to define 'sangfroid' and a classmate wrote 'bloody cold'. The husband of Sue Roberts taught in Ghana and once set an exam about the 15th-century pretender Perkin Warbeck; he was amused to read one answer which began 'When Perkin Warbeck landed at London Airport'. Finally, Bernard Kingston once got wind of a history paper where the candidate wrote of Ferdinand Magellan being 'the first man to circumcise the world with a 40-foot clipper'.
Geek Girl Authority
29-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Geek Girl Authority
Book Review: CRUELER MERCIES
Thank you to Fantasy & Frens for sending me a copy of Crueler Mercies in exchange for an honest review. Crueler Mercies by Maren Chase is a fantasy novel with bite. True, it may include a number of genre tropes, like a protagonist who is a princess and a king with dubious morality. However, it sets itself apart with its ruthless refusal to pull punches. Please note that while this review avoids major spoilers, it does allude to some major plot points and resolutions. Crueler Mercies The story follows Vita, who believes she is the only child of the king of the realm. But one horrible day, when she's only nine years old, Vita's mother is executed. Vita is subsequently sent into exile. There, she spends more than a decade confined in a tower. However, the incarceration is somewhat alleviated by her new friends: a family of crows whose trust she earns and grows over time. But one day, the situation changes. An invading army conquers the city where she's being held. Soon, Vita is betrothed to the general who led the siege, Ardaric. This is thanks to her status as the rightful heir, lending legitimacy to Ardaric's claim to the throne. In exchange, Vita will achieve vengeance against her father. RELATED: Book Review: The Enchanted Feast Cookbook In the meantime, Vita meets Soline, one of her new ladies-in-waiting. Soline has her own reasons to resent Ardaric. But she also has knowledge of alchemy — a theoretical knowledge, if not a working one. Soon, Soline and Vita are working together to break the code of alchemy, so they can use it to gain the upper hand against Ardaric. Plus, Vita begins to catch feelings towards Soline … even if the stakes of such a relationship are even higher with Ardaric in the equation. Eventually, Ardaric's forces reach the castle where the king resides and begin a grueling siege. Will Ardaric conquer the king? Will Vita be trapped in a relationship she finds loathsome, or will she and Soline live happily ever after? And will Soline and Vita ever master the art of alchemy? An Accurate Title This book surprised me. In spite of the fact that the title Crueler Mercies hints toward this fact, I didn't expect it to get as brutal as it does. Part of this is probably the high number of romantasy novels I've read lately. In that fantasy subgenre, things tend to stay on this side of the 'Stephen King line.' Not so in Crueler Mercies. While it does include a romantic element, this isn't the narrative focus, but rather a subplot. This novel is simply fantasy … and comparatively grounded fantasy, too. While it takes place in a fictional world and includes alchemy, the majority of the story reads almost like medieval historical fiction. RELATED: Book Review: Upon a Starlit Tide Speaking of the setting, this novel includes one of my favorite tropes: a map of the world. But while I'm always a fan of a book that opens with a map, this map was particularly well done. The inclusion of 'handwritten notations' was inspired. One thing I do think this book could have benefited from: a more obvious content warning. As alluded to above, the novel gets surprisingly brutal. While I personally didn't feel overly blindsided by the darker twists and turns, I can definitely see how some readers might. And to be clear, there is a content warning included at the top of the copyright page. However, I didn't notice this until after I had finished reading. I think it would have been better to have put the content warning in the center of its own page, as I imagine many readers could overlook the warning on the copyright page, as I did. Spoiler Alert In this final section, I am going to briefly discuss the ending of Crueler Mercies. If you don't want to have any hints about how the story ends, then please consider skipping the rest of the review. One of my very favorite elements of this novel was the fact that Vita herself does not pull any punches in the final pages of Crueler Mercies. In many stories, a woman protagonist must be 'likable,' which is code for 'non-threatening.' I adored the fact that Vita was not forced to adhere to any such sexist standard. RELATED: Book Review: Divining the Leaves At the conclusion of the novel, Vita dispenses bloody justice. This isn't to say she does anything that many male protagonists wouldn't be 'allowed' to do. But it often seems as though female protagonists are prohibited from engaging in the same behavior as their masculine counterparts. I applaud Crueler Mercies for presenting a woman who is unapologetic in securing and wielding her power. More characters like this, please. Crueler Mercies features a cover illustration by Camille Murgue, a cover design by Charlotte Strick and a map by Ilana Brady. Incredibly, this is Chase's debut novel. For some reason, 2025 has had a number of stunning debuts, and even among these Crueler Mercies is near the top. This novel is excellent, and I'm looking forward to reading more work by Chase in the future. Crueler Mercies will be available at a local bookstore and/or public library beginning on June 3, 2025. Book Review: SHIELD OF SPARROWS Avery Kaplan is the author of several books and the Features Editor at Comics Beat. She was honored to serve as a judge for the 2021 Cartoonist Studio Prize Award and the 2021 Prism Awards. She lives in the mountains of Southern California with her partner and a pile of cats, and her favorite place to visit is the cemetery. You can also find her writing on Comics Bookcase, NeoText, Shelfdust, the Mary Sue, in many issues of PanelxPanel, and in the margins of the books in her personal library.
