Novellas in November 2026 Link-Up (#NovNov26)
For the SEVENTH year in a row, Cathy of 746 Books and I are co-hosting Novellas in November as a month-long blogging and social media challenge. A novella technically contains 20,000 to 40,000 words, but to keep things simple we define it as any work under 200 pages. Thanks for joining us in celebrating the art of the short book (nonfiction, too).

This post will be pinned at the top of my site so you can add in your planning posts and book lists during the remainder of October, and reviews starting on 1 November.
Click below to add your link!
#NovNov26 Possibility Piles and Other November Reading Plans
Not much more than two weeks now before Novellas in November (#NovNov26) begins! Cathy and I are getting geared up and making plans for what we’re going to read. I have a couple of novellas out from the library, but mostly I’ve gathered potential reads from my own shelves. I’ll start with our buddy read, Rie Qudan’s Sympathy Tower Tokyo, of course. Some of these (Gordon, Hynes, Leavitt, Messud, Porter) contain more than one novella. This year some newer acquisitions – by Brooks, Garner, Jaeggy, Laski, Tuttle and Westcott – are calling my name.

I also have a huge number of novella-length works on my e-readers; the covers below represent a selection:
I’m hoping to coincide with several of November’s other challenges, too.

German Literature Month, hosted by Caroline and Tony: Ageing is novella-length and would count towards week 3 (nonfiction); I think I have a Rilke volume on my Kindle, so I may try to coincide with week 4 (commemorating the 100th anniversary of his death), too. I have some longer German novels as well (Sebald and Seethaler).

German / Misc. / Nonfiction
Margaret Atwood Reading Month, hosted by Marcie. I plan to read selections from the essay collection Burning Questions and the ENORMOUS selected poetry volume Paper Boat, which was part of my birthday book haul. I’ll also read her daughter Jess Gibson’s short story collection, The Good Eye (perhaps comparing it to one of Atwood’s collections).

Nonfiction in November, co-hosted by Liz: Controversially, we include short nonfiction under the #NovNov umbrella, and I have a nice little stack saved up (see above). I also have plenty of longer nonfiction on the go: a mixture of review books to catch up on, books from the library (such as this past year’s Wainwright Prize nominees), and stuff from my shelves that I’ve always meant to read.
Sci-Fi Month: Not a genre I typically read, and I don’t have any novella-length options at the moment, but I do have the first science fiction outing by a theologian (!) whose work I keep up with: The Last Voyage by Brian D. McLaren.

Spy any favourites or a particularly appealing title in my piles?

The link-up is now open for you to share your planning posts! Keep in touch via Bluesky (@bookishbeck.bsky.social / @cathybrown746.bsky.social) and Instagram (@bookishbeck / @cathy_746books) and use the feature images Cathy made plus hashtag #NovNov26.
Have any novellas lined up to read next month?
The Parent Trap by Erich Kästner for #1949Club
Simon and Karen’s classics reading weeks are always a good excuse to pick up an older book or two. The mistake I sometimes make is to have just one option lined up; if I don’t get on with it, I can’t participate. I read the first 20 pages of Yukio Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask, which promised to be a psychologically astute picture of awakening to homosexuality in a repressive culture (“in this house it was tacitly required that I act like a boy. The reluctant masquerade had begun”) but also had the makings of a queer tragedy, which I couldn’t bear just now. Then I found a nearly new copy of The Parent Trap in the Little Free Library a few days ago and spotted that the twins share my birthday! Of course, I could have reviewed it for German Literature Month and Novellas in November, as I did with Kästner’s Emil and the Detectives last year, but instead I treated myself to the delightfully cosy, if far-fetched, story.

You likely know the story from a film adaptation starring Hayley Mills or Lindsay Lohan. I don’t think I’ve seen either, though they are culturally familiar to me. In Kästner’s original, separated twins are rejoined by chance at a summer camp in Austria. Luise Palfy has come here from Vienna, where she lives with her single father, a music director. One day an additional group of 20 little girls arrives from Germany, including Lottie Körner, who resides in Munich with her single mother, a journalist. It’s immediately evident that the two nine-year-olds are identical twins – same birthdate and -place – but with different hairstyles and their own personalities. They decide to switch places, partly as a trick to teach their parents a lesson, but partly to regain a long-lost and much-missed mother / father.

The girls have to be quick studies to cover up that ‘Lottie’ has ‘forgotten’ how to cook and that ‘Luise’ has suffered a horrendous decline in her handwriting and schoolwork. But there’s no fooling some, such as the doctor’s pug, Peperl, who is suspicious of a blonde stranger pretending to be an old friend. The girls are canny and stubborn, envisioning a new future and then doing whatever it takes to achieve it, but the emotional strain starts to show. I found myself upset with the parents’ Solomonic decision to split up their twins at their divorce. It’s just cruel; who would do such a thing?! In a sense, the whole premise of the novel is as hard to believe as the fantasy ending (“Catching up with lost happiness as if it were a missed lesson at school”), yet I gave myself over to it. Kästner’s tone is just right, shrewd and playful, and Walter Trier’s illustrations are charming. I recommend reading something middle grade every once in a while as an antidote to the awfulness of adulting and the occasionally depressing nature of modern literature. [Translated from German by Anthea Bell] (Little Free Library) ![]()

(The whole Pushkin Children’s classics range is brilliant – see also From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsberg and The Murderer’s Ape by Jakob Wegelius.)
Here are other famous 1949 titles that I’ve read (just 3 of the top 20 on the Goodreads list of the most popular books published that year):
- The Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell
- A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold
- 1984 by George Orwell

I’ve previously participated in the 1920 Club, 1956 Club, 1936 Club, 1976 Club, 1954 Club, 1929 Club, 1940 Club, 1937 Club, 1970 Club, 1952 Club, 1925 Club, and 1961 Club.
It Comes Round Once a Year / It Comes for Us All
I turned 43 on Wednesday the 14th – I share a birthday with some illustrious folk, including Dwight D. Eisenhower, Katherine Mansfield, Winnie the Pooh, and Susan of A life in books.

I passed a pleasant, low-key day: a roofer was here in the morning to finish replacing our bathroom roof; I took a long walk out to the edge of the countryside; I read from a few books I was enjoying, including a couple birthday-appropriate ones; we went out to dinner at our favourite restaurant, which serves seasonal English tapas; there were some tipples; and back at home I opened my gifts (books plus a book token to buy more, a gin Advent calendar, vermouth, and chocolate marzipan) and had a slice of the chocolate caramel cheesecake my husband made for me from Hummingbird Bakery’s Cake Days cookbook.
I planned to put up an album on Facebook the next day with a wry quote from Nora Ephron’s I Feel Bad about My Neck (“According to my dermatologist, the neck starts to go at forty-three, and that’s that”) and the Munch’s-Scream emoji. I was mildly vexed with my husband for taking a photo of me that shows the silver coming in at my hairline and wasn’t sure if I’d include that one. I had it all planned out, clever me.
Then I woke up to a message from my dad saying my sweet cousin Dawn had died some hours ago – the middle of the night our time, but 8:30 p.m. their time, so still my birthday. I can’t pretend we were close: she was part of my dad’s Georgia clan but relocated to Oklahoma 30 years ago, and I don’t think I’d seen her in the flesh in nearly 35 years. We kept in touch at a Christmas card sort of level over the years.
I can’t say it was a huge shock, either: she came home on hospice, bedbound with incurable lung disease, in late September. But we’d done a video chat with her earlier in the month and she seemed so well and optimistic that we – even my sister, a hospice nurse who’s seen this play out many times – thought we were looking at months, not days. Then she got pneumonia again, on top of her existing issues, and it was just too much for her body to take. She was 54.
This instantly put things into perspective for me. I’m so glad we reconnected, though we should have done more, and sooner. It was beautiful to see photos of her with her mother and brothers, who visited her for several days and left not knowing it was two days before the end. Right to her last she was thinking of others and making connections; she even wrote me birthday wishes, which made her loss seem all the more surreal.
Now, on each birthday, I’ll remember my cousin and the family she left behind. It feels right, something to be philosophical about rather than resent. A reminder that life is fragile and bittersweet, and something I must always strive to be grateful for.
From my current earworm, Denison Witmer’s “Confessions”:
“Nothing seems as random as the gift of life, and I hope I’m not wasting mine.”
Get Ready for Novellas in November! (#NovNov26)
Novellas: “all killer, no filler”
~Joe Hill
Hard to believe it’s nearly that time again. For the SEVENTH year in a row, Cathy of 746 Books and I are co-hosting Novellas in November as a month-long blogging and social media challenge celebrating the art of the short book (we include nonfiction, too). A novella technically contains 20,000 to 40,000 words, but to keep things simple we define it as any work under 200 pages.

This year’s buddy read is a 2024 novella translated from the Japanese last year:
Sympathy Tower Tokyo by Rie Qudan [translated by Jesse Kirkwood] is the author’s fourth novel and won the Akutagawa Prize. An architect named Sara Machina is assigned to design a city skyscraper meant to house criminals in comfort. While trying to navigate a middle way between compassion and recrimination – complicated by her own past victimhood – she converses with an AI chatbot. This engaging exploration of language, creativity and conformity comes with high praise from writers ranging from Helen Phillips to Bryan Washington. (134 pages)

Please join us in reading this any time between now and the end of November!
You might like to start off the month with a My Year in Novellas retrospective looking at any novellas you have read since last year’s NovNov and finish with a New to My TBR list based on what short books others have tempted you with.
It’s always a busy month in the blogging world with Nonfiction November, German Literature Month, Margaret Atwood Reading Month and SciFi Month. Why not search your shelves and/or local library for novellas that could count towards multiple challenges?
From 19 October a link-up post will be pinned at the top of my site so you can add your planning posts and book lists. Keep in touch via Bluesky (@bookishbeck.bsky.social / @cathybrown746.bsky.social) and Instagram (@bookishbeck / @cathy_746books) and feel free to use the terrific feature images Cathy has made plus our new hashtag, #NovNov26.
September Releases by Ilić, Lowe, McCallum, Philyaw & Temple
Dreamlike pandemic-era comics, cold-water swimming in Scottish lochs, poetry about art and a mixed-race heritage, a cheeky novel about beauty queens and Black church politics, and a laugh-out-loud guide to how (not) to traverse a midlife crisis: some great books came my way last month!
Nightmares and Daydreams: A.C. 2020 by Mirko Ilić
“A.C.” stands for “After Covid.” In 2020, the Bosnian-born, New York City-based artist started drawing comics again after many years. These wordless, one-page, greyscale pieces explore the emotions of the pandemic era, with entrapment, surrealism and startling violence as recurring elements. Ilić plays with scale, scope and time. There are Escher-like optical illusions and mise-en-abîme effects. People meld with each other, metamorphose or disappear. A multi-lane city street splits open to reveal a chasm that swallows the cars and pedestrians and then closes back up as if nothing ever happened. The artist himself seems to appear in a number of scenes, looking out windows, sleeping in a coffin-like box or watching porn on his computer. There are a number of images that verge on the pornographic, in fact, with naked women and a dominatrix. (Shara McCallum (below) voices my reaction to these in “The Nude”: “Don’t offer me a neatly trimmed or, God forbid, / shaved, depilated, waxed, exfoliated c**t.) Disappointingly, Ilić lists his inspirations in a “Visual reference index” at the end, which rather spoils the mystery. I knew without consulting it that spread 29, in which a bedbound old man reaches out his arm and clenches his fist in front of a portrait of Dylan Thomas, was an allusion to “Do not go gentle into that good night.” That was one of my favourites in an inventive and striking but sometimes vulgar work.
With thanks to SelfMadeHero for the free copy for review.
Shiver: The Lessons of the Lochs by Brigid Lowe
When Brigid Lowe’s marriage broke down, she moved with her three children from northern England to an Edinburgh flat. Feeling simultaneously unmoored and free in her early forties, she undertook an ongoing challenge-to-self to swim in 1,000 of Scotland’s lochs (there are 30,000 in total). “I am a fanatic. I swim outside now most days,” she confesses. For her, cold-water swimming means “taking in, and being taken in, by each loch and each moment on its own terms. There is no template.” Although she argues for the uniqueness of each loch, I found that the story quickly grew repetitive. Lowe is so sparing with personal details that I didn’t feel as engaged as I might have been with the overlaid narrative of her transformation from a traumatised wanderer to a strong, rooted matriarch. A prime example is her rape, which she refuses to name as such and recounts, in vague terms, in two pages. I’ve read a spate of swimming memoirs now, among them Freya Bromley’s The Tidal Year, Ruth Fitzmaurice’s I Found My Tribe and Jessica J. Lee’s superlative Turning, and it takes a lot for a book to hold its head up above that flood. I thought the setting of Scotland – her zeal for which I share (“Sometimes you fall in love with a place, and it’s as mysterious as any falling in love”) – would be that point of difference. While the prose is sumptuous and I enjoyed the glimpses of Scottish landscapes and wildlife across the seasons, they weren’t enough to hold my interest. The frequent references to Celtic legends, with a feminist slant, means that, in addition to swimming enthusiasts, I’d be more likely to recommend this to readers of works such as Sharon Blackie’s If Women Rose Rooted than to memoir junkies or tourists.
With thanks to Elliott & Thompson for the free copy for review.
Behold by Shara McCallum
McCallum’s seventh book is a lush collection of ekphrastic poems (responses to artworks) and reflections on Jamaican American ancestry. In “Self-Portrait” – the first in a series with that heading – those major themes blend beautifully with a hefty dollop of assonance and sibilance: “At this point, I don’t know what in me is Jamaican / versus American. … since / we’re on the topic of the singular, about this subject: / she’s awfully tired of being parsed to see if she’s a fraud.” She applies art terms to the self: “Chiaroscuro” for a mixed-race identity and “Craquelure” for the wrinkles that provide “evidence of my ravishment” by time. Passion for art history (especially art by women and people of colour) meets fervour for social justice as McCallum exposes “the casual violence of misseeing” – who would look twice at the photograph of her Jamaican grandmother sweeping in midlife? I was unfamiliar with most of the artists and works featured, but that was fine; I almost didn’t want to look them up lest I spoil the magic of both by comparing the image with the poem.
With thanks to Alice James Books for the advanced e-copy for review.
The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw
Philyaw’s 2020 short story collection, The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, was a surprise hit and set the bar high for her debut novel. Luckily, this lives up to the promise of her first book, which I called “bold and sexy,” and is all the more provocative for being set in the rarefied world of Southern U.S. Black megachurch pastors and their wives. Scharisse Freeman came from poverty, born to a single teenage mother who died of breast cancer when Scharisse was an adolescent. When she married David, 15 years her senior, it wasn’t unlike ascending to royalty. Together, they’ve raised a daughter, built a thousands-strong congregation, and lent their brand to everything from relationship books to salad dressing. At home they have a personal chef (David’s cousin Marcus) and an ice cream parlor. Schar seems like a shoo-in to win the annual First Lady pageant, but that’s before a scandal breaks linking her to her nemesis Daphne Lancaster’s husband, Jeddah, a mayoral candidate and inveterate adulterer also based in their town of Belleton, Georgia. Deciding how to refute the false allegations opens Schar’s eyes to her husband’s and the church’s priorities and uncovers a shocking secret about her father’s identity and the real cause of her mother’s death. Along the way, she tries to fix her relationship with her estranged bestie Petra, who is Black British and lesbian.
Fun fact you probably didn’t know about me: I grew up attending a Black megachurch in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. I recognised so much here: the opulence, the scripture quoting, the high fashion. A few names of public figures are real (Creflo Dollar and his yacht!); most other details are made up but totally believable if you’re at all familiar with this world. The novel is a little overlong (400+ pages) and soapy, but Schar’s voice is so fun and sassy that it carries the whole thing. Her footnotes and comebacks are hilarious, and you’ll want to cheer as she defies convention and blazes a trail for herself. (Read via NetGalley)
A Very British Midlife Crisis: A Survival Guide to the Best Years of Your Life by Rob Temple
I started reading the Very British Problems series (which arose from a Twitter account of the same name) from the beginning, with the launch of Temple’s first book in 2013. Though I’ve missed some of the sequels, I’m delighted that this one unexpectedly dropped through my letterbox. I laughed and grimaced my way from start to finish; I could recognize pretty much every nonsensical decision, pathetic impulse, odd habit, and crotchety opinion. Not all of them are applicable to me, I hasten to add, but might be quirks I’ve observed in others of my generation or above. Temple proceeds thematically, considering health and work challenges, fashion, exercise, relationship and parenting issues, and so on. He translates dating profile phrases and rates hobbies by their potential regret value. Occasionally, his wife offers a female perspective. I probably guffawed the most at the section where he goes to a student house party as research (“I felt a TREMENDOUS urge to clean the bathroom”) and the glossary at the end (sample entries: “Being Knackered: Your permanent energy level,” “Cancelled Plans: Your favourite thing in the whole wide world”). This is silly, sure, but also warm and relatable. I think any reader of a certain age would get a kick out of it. I plan to pass my copy on to my brother-in-law, who turns 40 next month.
With thanks to Allen & Unwin for the free copy for review.
More to come: A sci-fi pairing as Under Story by Chloe Benjamin goes head to head with Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel.
Which of these September releases have you read, or will you seek out now? What am I missing out on?
#ShortStorySeptember Round-Up with Statistics
Thank you for joining in and making this second year of Short Story September such a success! In total, 25 bloggers contributed 80 posts, including planning posts and book lists plus reviews that together covered 38 individual stories and 60 whole collections (and a bonus biography of a short story writer).
If you want to take a look back at the link parties, they are here and here.

The authors covered more than once this year were Celia Fremlin and W. Somerset Maugham; the only book reviewed more than once (certain stories, at least) was Vampire Tales, a good lead into R.I.P.
As always, I bit off much more than I could chew and I’m still making my way through a number of collections and single stories. For my benefit, if no one else’s, the link party will stay open (and the opening post pinned on my site) through 6 October. I’ll come back and update the final statistics as well.

















The more accurate keyword would probably be “synchronicity,” which according to Carl Jung, who “believed in a universe of mysterious connections,” is “a meaningful coincidence in which an internal mental state somehow attracts a real-world parallel” (quotes from The Spirituality Gap by Ali Millar). An intriguing idea, that: somehow, by thinking about these ideas or details, I might be … luring repeat incidents to me?!
A daughter named Rebecca in Switzy by Emma Cline and Family Family by Laurie Frankel (where she’s known as Bex); and sisters named Rebecca (known as Becks) in one story of The Rental Heart and Other Fairytales by Kirsty Logan and The Long Road to Holy Island by Austin Suggs. Those are both nicknames I’ve had, by the way. The one nickname I detest is Becky.

Telluride, Colorado features as a setting in Almost Animal by Amy Irvine and in one essay of The Land and Its People by David Sedaris.








I encountered lines from the song “Closing Time” by Semisonic in Here We Are at the End by Sara Barnard (a specific reference to the pop song accompanied “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end” – which I was amused to learn is actually a quote from Seneca!) and Family Family by Laurie Frankel (“You don’t have to go home. But you can’t stay here.” – not attributed, but I can’t but think she had the song in mind.)


The lines “Leave as soon as you think to yourself, ‘This is a great party. I’m having a wonderful time’” from Nora Ephron’s I Feel Bad About My Neck are echoed in Emma Cline’s Switzy.






A three-year-old gets their own cereal breakfast in Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.
Shirley Temples (the non-alcoholic cocktail) are mentioned in Idle Grounds by Krystelle Bamford and The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw.
An unwanted mince pie in Idle Grounds by Krystelle Bamford and I Remember Nothing by Nora Ephron.




Someone being pulled back into the womb in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin and Nightmares and Daydreams: A.C. 2020 by Mirko Ilić.







These nine stories explore religious and cultural limitations on Nigerian women’s lives at home and in London. The title story questions whether Riliwa’s efforts to assimilate have been worthwhile; “It amazed her how much England was lauded and celebrated back home. Her reality was cruel and cold.” In “Dodo Is Yoruba for Fried Plantain,” Morayo married into privilege in the Gloucestershire countryside, but long since discovered the relationship was a sham. On trips to London markets to buy authentic African ingredients, she wonders if reconnecting with her roots will redeem lost time. A longing for motherhood underpins several of the stories, even sometimes explaining willingness to ignore homosexual urges. I was most impressed by “House Girl,” in which the abused protagonist flees her inescapable situation in a full-on Anna Karenina finale. There is not a lot of cheer here, but ample Adichie-esque talent with character, details, and plot to keep one reading. (Public library)
I already reviewed the single story “
How had I never heard of Henley – an accomplished novelist, story writer, poet and playwright who was a National Book Award finalist for her debut? These eight linked short stories initially attracted me because they’re set in (fictional) Whistle Pig, Western Maryland, a region of my home state I know reasonably well, with Baltimore an occasional counterpart. Each spins its own web of connections and complications; together, they form a composite portrait of a community through its (ageing) women. Though Roxy’s 100th birthday has passed, she still shows her photographs and supports friends through a women’s art collective. Jill manages the family orchard and frets about her gambling-addicted father. After a disabling accident, Harper borrows Aunt Jill’s car for her gig as an artist’s model. Claire lashes out at her tenure refusal and her husband’s request for an open marriage. Sally leaves an IVF struggle behind for a vacation home in the Bahamas. A massage therapist hears a customer’s life story; sixtysomething friends diverge through varying experiences of illness and sex. I especially appreciated the matter-of-fact portrayal of a middle-aged asexual character. These fine stories reminded me of work by
I’m not sure why I felt led to buy this Polari First Book Prize winner, as I’ve struggled with Logan’s fiction before (“The Gracekeeper” here was expanded into a novel). Of the 20 stories, many are flash length; I tended to prefer the slightly longer, queer takes on history and folklore. “Underskirts” is voiced by houseguests and servants, including the various maids the Lady of the manor seduces. It starts as a bit of fun when teenage girls experiment sexually with each other; then one goes to live with Baba Yaga in “Witch.” In “Coin-Operated Boys,” Elodie comes up with a novel solution to her lack of suitors. Many of the characters are young people reeling from loss or facing transition moments. A fair few stories are in titled or numbered fragments and have multiple narrators or a reverse chronology. You certainly couldn’t complain of them being samey. Still, many feel wispy, like there isn’t enough time to care about or understand the characters; to turn a skit into a full-length, satisfying drama. (New purchase from Salt Publishing)
My fourth collection (after
I could make a quip about how apt the title is for the contents, but that would feel mean. My sense with Williams’s second collection was that her practice was to think of an outlandish image or moment and go from there. What if a courtship withered because one partner accidentally sent footage of walrus sex? (“Scrimshaw,” which was a finalist for the BBC National Short Story Award in 2020.) What if someone hired a skywriter to scrawl “Will you marry me?” outside a restaurant window and it wasn’t received well? What if someone reading the radio shipping forecast (which lends the title phrase) used that segment to address their failing relationship? These 19 stories are inventive, yes, and often delight in wordplay and obscure vocabulary. That will be no surprise to anyone who’s read
Rattlebone by Maxine Clair (1994): Vibrant and varied snapshots of a Black community in Kansas. I feel like Tayari Jones must have been influenced by it.
A Desert between Two Seas by A. Muia (2025): Exquisitely detailed historical stories about a Mexican priest, his houseboy’s enforced pearl-diving, and the wanderings that ensue.
Fen by Daisy Johnson (2016): Adolescent girls discover sex – “Virginity was a half-starved dog you were looking after, wanted to give away as quickly as possible so you could forget it ever existed.” I read six stories but found the majority of them too similar, and provocative for the sake of it. Two good ones: “Starver” compares disordered eating with local eels that refuse to eat when the land is drained; in “Language,” a ghost struggles to communicate. (Gift from my wish list)
Night, Neon by Joyce Carol Oates (2021): I reviewed
[from The Redemption of Galen Pike]
[translated from French by Marjorie Laurie; from the Everyman Short Stories volume]

(I reviewed
My introduction to Navarro, a Spanish author, reminded me most of Agustina Bazterrica’s