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!

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Booker Prize Shortlist Reads by Kennard and Perry & A Prediction

I’ve now read all but one of the novels on the Booker Prize shortlist (is it any surprise that it’s the longest one, The Disappearers by Marlon James, that I’ve been too daunted to attempt?). Luke Kennard and Rebecca Perry are both poets, which tends to indicate that particular care will be taken over the prose. Apart from that and having unnamed first-person narrators, I see no similarities between the two books, which are wildly different in tone. I have a preference, and I bet it’s not what you expect. Both: Public library

 

Black Bag by Luke Kennard

This was uproarious entertainment from the meta first line onward: “If you met anyone as whiny, as disobliging and egocentric as the average narrator of a novel in real life you’d find them unbearable.” An out-of-work actor in his late thirties who survives from one murder mystery dinner theatre gig to the next sees an ad for an unusual job. All he has to do is sit silently at the back of a university lecture hall each week, wearing a black leather bag with eyeholes. The professor is repeating a famous psychology experiment about attitudes changing through repeated exposure. For the narrator, being black bag is about freedom from his identity and inhibitions; maybe, also, finding solidarity. For his friend Claudio, who streams footage of himself gaming for a living, it’s a potential investment opportunity. For Justine, a married academic the narrator meets on campus, it’s a chance for kinky anonymous sex. I laughed out loud at the narrator’s habits of imagining his life in a 19th-century Swedish village and voicing his parents’ dog’s thoughts, and at so many random lines:

Is it not the case that for most of my life I have felt like I have just put a large crisp in my mouth during what turns out to be a quiet and pivotal scene in a play?

In the kingdom of dumb f*cks the guy with the English major is king.

Think of the moment, following the 2008 subprime crisis, when cupcakes proliferated like a cancer.

Ridiculous the plot may be, but it’s as hilarious as the novel is at the sentence level. For all that, it is still a cogent critique of modern masculinity, hypercapitalism and artificial intelligence (the scene where he and Justine go to see an AI-produced film, The Orb of Homuncules, is side-splitting). My criticism would be, as I’ve heard from various others, that the novel is overlong and slightly aimless in the second half; it could easily lose the 80 pages covering Claudio’s temporary absence. Still, when’s the last time a Booker nominee was this much pure fun?

 

May We Feed the King by Rebecca Perry

An unnamed curator arrives at a historic palace to stage its rooms with scenes of historical accuracy, tenderly rendered in the sort of detail only the most attentive visitors will register. Among other things, she’s an aficionado of high-quality, lifelike (expensive) fake food. She throws herself into the work as a way of distracting herself from the emptiness of her personal life since her partner left. We figure this out by reading between the lines, because she’s quite cagey: “At this point, certain things had happened in my life. I was ready to immerse myself.” She also finds herself unexpectedly drawn to the archivist, referred to by they/them pronouns. Her sections are in one- to two-page fragments, titled in a way that can obfuscate or signal an interpretation, such as “Peeking through a Crack in the Curtain and Seeing Another Curtain.” My favourite passage came from “All Work Is Holy”:

The rule is this: it must appear as if the person or people have just left the room. The viewer must feel as if the air is alive with their energy, that they only just missed them, that they will be back in any moment. If this isn’t the case, the scene is no more than an arrangement of objects. The scene is dead.

Indeed, the French phrase for “still life” is nature morte or dead nature. To try to bring history back to life, Perry devotes all but the first 55 and last 26 pages to a recreation of an unwilling medieval king’s court. He’s only on the throne because his two brothers died. There are rumours of infidelity concerning both him and his wife, and talk of removing him for incompetence. Soon they will all pass from life into legend.

I loved the late scene when the curator is introducing the exhibit to visitors and hears their ideas about how we know what happened in history – this is like a transcript of absolutely the best uni lecture or event Q&A ever. What gets preserved and passed down, and why? To what extent is there meaning in physical artefacts? These questions are compelling, yet I only really engaged with the contemporary storyline, while the historical pastiche felt like sub-Hilary Mantel, occasionally evocative but often edging towards pretension.

 

I’d already read:

The End of Everything by M. John Harrison: A “dull, watery postapocalyptic slog [that] sheds no real light on the past, present, or future”.

The Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout: About “a likeable Everyman with the same …secrets and struggles we all have.” It’s “the most engaged Strout has been with the present day, and the most specific she’s gotten about political outrages.”

John of John by Douglas Stuart: One of my books of the year. “Cal seeks to reconcile his sexuality and artistic goals with his family’s expectations and his devout upbringing. The characters’ power plays and acts of desperation are heartrending, but mischief and love of colour and crafts lend lightness.”

 

Here’s my thinking…

Masculinity is a/the theme in four of this year’s shortlisted novels (from the Kennard: “men are mostly frightened and crazy and very easily misled”) – and in last year’s winner, Flesh by David Szalay, too.

I’ve felt sure that The Disappearers or John of John would win: previous winners whose works normalize homosexuality. I would want the latter to win for its beauty and emotional power, but I think the former more likely as the judges (including Raymond Antrobus, who is British Jamaican) may have an eye on the whiteness of recent winners.

Elizabeth Strout may be doomed to be a Booker bridesmaid. I don’t think this is her best book, but I wouldn’t mind if it won.

I would actually be delighted if the Prize went to the wildcard, Black Bag. But I can’t see that happening. The same goes for the Harrison (please oh please).

Let’s say, though, that the judges want something completely different. Then perhaps May We Feed the King is it. Mary Beard (chair) and Patricia Lockwood, in particular, came across as huge fans during the shortlist announcement event.

I’m torn, so I’ll just go with the novel I loved the most: John of John by Douglas Stuart.

 

What’s your prediction for the winner?

Autumn Reads, I: Maxine Clair and Kate Mosse

Our clocks went back on Sunday; combine that with the significant wind and rain we’ve had around Storm Austen and it has felt more wintry than autumnal recently – though today is a lovely mild day. This is the season for which it’s hardest for me to find appropriate reads (excepting R.I.P. spookiness), but I did read one book specifically about autumn and another that I’m including because of the title of its first chapter and its use of a school as a setting. The orange/leaf covers fit the bill, too.

 

Rattlebone by Maxine Clair (1994)

I found out about this after its 2023 reissue (by Daunt Books in the UK). Because the chapters are like linked short stories, I started reading it in September, but I’m still only two-thirds of the way through. Right from the first line, I got strong Tayari Jones vibes (particularly her latest, Kin):

We heard it from our friends, who got it from their near-eyewitness grandmothers and their must-be-psychic neighbour ladies, that when she was our same age, our teacher, Miss October Brown, watched her father fire through his rage right on into her mother’s heart.

In this opening chapter, “October Brown,” Irene Wilson and her friends start to awaken to the mores and secrets of adults. “Intuition is the guardian of childhood; it was keen in us, and we were right.” I always love the use of the first-person plural, however brief. Subsequent stories see the children resisting a Catholic missionary’s efforts and forming friendships across boundaries of class and respectability. We get glimpses of the wider Rattlebone, Kansas Black community, too. October Brown is considered a seductress, and dismissed from one of her boarding house situations because of rumours (as voiced by her landlady in “The Roomers”). I’d recommend this to fans of Jones, as above, and Alice Munro. (Secondhand – Better World Books with a voucher)

 

Autumn: The Story of a Season by Kate Mosse (2026)

I truly admire Mosse as a literary champion heavily involved with the Society of Authors and the Women’s Prizes in the UK. As I felt with the only other Mosse book I’ve read (An Extra Pair of Hands; Granny Rosie is still going!), though, this was pleasant but insubstantial. It may be because both are nonfiction works and she devotes her true energy to her expansive historical fiction.

I’d read Michael Morpurgo’s Spring and Val McDermid’s Winter (the best of the bunch) and wanted to continue with the series; even though all the entries have been somewhat lacklustre, I enjoy reading with the seasons and seeing what others cherish about each one. The challenge with such a book is to create something that is specific to one’s own experience but also can evoke universal feelings in others.

Mosse doesn’t keep to a strict diary format but does proceed from early September through the end of November in 2025, reporting every few days or so on the weather and happenings in her household and community. The cold nights drawing in, admiring local trees (“Trees, if conditions are right, outlast us. They are the true custodians of a house and garden, not the humans who come and go”), going for long country walks, having sloe gin and apple snow, thrilling to spooky stories: all good. But there’s also a little bit too much, even in such a short book, about Chichester and its West Sussex surroundings. This may be inevitable given that Mosse has lived there her whole life, but it was hard for me to summon much interest in local rituals related to Bonfire Night and the War Memorial. She has attempted to create a “marriage of landscape and memory and history,” an account of “the roots of my becoming a writer,” and perhaps for fans of her fiction she will have succeeded.

For a professed nature lover, though, there were a couple of howling errors here: monarch butterflies are incredibly rare UK migrants, so I doubt she saw them on her buddleia; and “a few ospreys are wading”? Hardly. She probably means oystercatchers. (She also misquotes Edith Wharton describing the appeal of ghost stories as “the thrill of the shudder”; the original quotation says “the fun.”) Samantha Rock’s linocuts are lovely, though. (Public library)

Love Your Library: October 2026

My thanks, as always, go to Eleanor for posting about her recent library borrowing and reading.

I’ve been catching up with most of the rest of the Booker Prize shortlist and reading lots of other delicious new releases thanks to the library. For Novellas in November and Nonfiction November, I’m also getting together a small stack of novellas and short nonfiction to supplement all the options from my own shelves.

 

My library use over the last month:

 

READ

  • Hail Mary by Funmi Fetto
  • Autumn by Kate Mosse
  • Sheets by Brenna Thummler (a reread)

 

SKIMMED

  • The Green Roasting Tin by Rukmini Iyer
  • The Good Terrorist by Doris Lessing

CURRENTLY READING

  • The Strangers by Naomi Alderman
  • Stop All the Clocks: Poems of Love and Loss by W.H. Auden
  • The Leveret by Anna Goldreich
  • Black Bag by Luke Kennard
  • Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel
  • May We Feed the King by Rebecca Perry
  • The Salt King by Natasha Pulley
  • The Original by Nell Stevens
  • The Queen’s Gambit by Walter S. Tevis
  • Lights by Brenna Thummler
  • The Housekeeper by Rose Tremain

CHECKED OUT, TO BE READ

  • Every Last Fish by Rose George
  • Eat the Planet Well: How to Fix Our Toxic Food System – One Meal at a Time by Dave Goulson
  • Hollywood, Ending by John Green
  • Neurodivergent, by Nature by Joe Harkness
  • End the Struggle and Dance with Life: How to Build Yourself Up when the World Gets You Down by Susan Jeffers
  • Paradises Lost by Ursula Le Guin
  • Suspicion by Seichō Matsumoto
  • Godfather Death by Sally Nicholls
  • Green Crime by Julia Shaw
  • When the Forest Breathes: Renewal and Resilience in the Natural World by Suzanne Simard
  • Elizabeth and Her German Garden by Elizabeth Von Arnim
  • The Return of the Soldier by Rebecca West
  • If Anyone Builds It, Everyone Dies: The Case against Superintelligent AI by Eliezer Yudkowsky

ON HOLD, TO BE COLLECTED                                                                   

  • Dodge City by Patrick deWitt
  • I Found Myself … The Last Dreams by Naguib Mahfouz

 

IN THE RESERVATION QUEUE

  • The Good Russian: In Search of a Nation’s Soul by Jana Bakunina
  • The Man Who Read Books by Rachid Benzine
  • Honour & Other People’s Children by Helen Garner
  • The Mushroom Tapes by Helen Garner et al.
  • Stations by Louise Kennedy
  • End Times Fascism: And the Fight for the Living World by Naomi Klein and Astra Taylor
  • Taipei Story by R.F. Kuang
  • Are You with Me Now? by Hanif Kureishi
  • Solace in Winter by Mary Lawson
  • Look What the Cat Dragged In by Jason Rekulak
  • Dead and Alive by Zadie Smith
  • A Very British Christmas by Rob Temple
  • O Now! by Niall Williams

RETURNED UNFINISHED

  • The Most of Nora Ephron – I read a few pieces, but it turns out rereading her two essay collections was enough for now.
  • Everest by Ashani Lewis
  • Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima – I didn’t have the heart for a tragic queer story at this time.
  • How to Be Hopeful by Caitlin Moran – I read the first 16 pages or so. I used to find her Times columns amusing and read her first couple of books, but this felt limp.
  • Night, Neon and Other Stories of Suspense by Joyce Carol Oates

 

RETURNED UNREAD

  • Hag: Forgotten Folktales Retold by Daisy Johnson et al. – I lost interest; I think I’m a bit burnt out on short stories after Short Story September!
  • Fiesta: A Journey through Festivity by Daniel Stables – Again, a loss of immediate interest, plus I needed to make space on my card.

 

What have you been reading or reviewing from the library recently?

Share a link to your own post in the comments. Feel free to use the above image. The hashtag is #LoveYourLibrary.

#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 Bavaria. 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 southern 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):

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.”

Book Serendipity, August to September

From Jennifer Croft’s superb Notes on Postcards (forthcoming in November):

I’d heard that story of Horace Walpole and the etymology of “serendipity” before. Tying together dangling threads is a good description of what I try to do with these posts, which arise from my reading.

I call it “Book Serendipity” when two or more books that I have read at the same time or in quick succession have something in common – the more bizarre, the better. This is a regular feature of mine every couple of months. Because I usually have 20–30 books on the go at once, I suppose I’m more prone to such incidents. People frequently ask how I remember all of these coincidences. The answer is: I jot them down on scraps of paper or input them immediately into a file on my PC desktop; otherwise, they would flit away!

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?!

The following are in roughly chronological order.

 

What’s in a name?

  • Girlfriends named Maddie (in Year of the Drought by Roland Buti) and Mattie (Tom’s in Pardon Our French by Alex Durand and Tom Carles); plus a granddaughter (in The Typing Lady and Other Fictions by Ruth Ozeki) and niece (in The Land and Its People by David Sedaris) named Maddy.
  • A character named Hattie in Leaving the Yellow House by Saul Bellow and The Correspondent by Virginia Evans.
  • A character named India in Leaving the Yellow House by Saul Bellow and Family Family by Laurie Frankel (our second The Marriage Plot/Literary Wives club read this year in which the protagonist was named India, after Mrs. Bridge by Evan S. Connell).
  • 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.
  • A mother named Monica in The Summerhouse Trilogy by Alice Thomas Ellis and Apt Pupil by Stephen King.
  • A Hilda in The Given World by Melissa Harrison and one story of Self-Help by Lorrie Moore.
  • A Clare in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin, The Leveret by Anna Goldreich and The Given World by Melissa Harrison.
  • A Sergio in Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and a Serge in So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.
  • A son named Silas in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin and So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.
  • Compensation for run-over chickens in Year of the Drought by Roland Buti and Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller.

 

  • “Enough is enough” is a slogan in The Land and Its People by David Sedaris (where it’s also an essay title) and Yellow Pine by Claire Vaye Watkins.

 

  • 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.

 

  • A trip from Paris to see Chartres Cathedral in The Magician by W. Somerset Maugham and Shadow of a Man by May Sarton.

 

  • Fleeting references to the Donner Party in Yellow Pine by Claire Vaye Watkins and The Nightingales by Emil Wilson.
  • An essay about an Icelandic sheep ram, and the idea that one should ride geldings because they’re calmer and more reliable than mares, in Animals Taught Me Everything by Pam Houston and The Land and Its People by David Sedaris.

 

  • The protagonist’s work performance declining due to dementia, and a tweed jacket, in Switzy by Emma Cline and Luna, Phoenix, Queen by Julie Orringer. (There’s also a tweed jacket mentioned in Strange Weather in Tokyo by Hiromi Kawakami.)
  • German artist Käthe Kollwitz is mentioned in Seed Corn Must Not Be Ground (the title is from one of her works) by Pat Browne and The Book of Mating by Laksmi Pamuntjak.

 

  • Child brides and incestuous rape are mentioned/feature in Almost Animal by Amy Irvine and The Book of Mating by Laksmi Pamuntjak, both of which I was reading early for Foreword Reviews.

 

  • The keeping of goats in Almost Animal by Amy Irvine and American Daughter by Era Bell Thompson, both of which I was reading early for Foreword Reviews.
  • In August I unwittingly started rereading two books that I’d first read in April 2013 (is 13+ years the ideal interval?!): I Feel Bad about My Neck by Nora Ephron and Flush by Virginia Woolf.

 

  • Men by the name of Christmas: the narrator’s parents wanted to name him Noel (but the German state didn’t allow it?!) in Botany of Madness by Leon Engler; and a main character is named Joe Christmas in Light in August by William Faulkner.

 

  • To the narrator’s question of whether something awful has happened / they’ve done something wrong, a reply of “it very likely had but she hadn’t heard about it yet” in Our Spoons Came from Woolworths by Barbara Comyns and “Most likely. You know that better than I do” in Botany of Madness by Leon Engler.
  • The idea that human–animal communication/connection is deeper than that between humans because it is beyond language plays a major role in three books I read around the same time: Animals Taught Me Everything by Pam Houston, Mitz by Sigrid Nunez, and Luna, Phoenix, Queen by Julie Orringer. (The Houston and Orringer both publish on 13 October and I was reviewing them early for Shelf Awareness.)

 

  • The fact that children of alcoholics feel they have to make everything perfect to avoid conflict appears in Botany of Madness by Leon Engler and Animals Taught Me Everything by Pam Houston.

 

  • 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 stereotype of overachieving Asian Americans is mentioned or discussed in Family Family by Laurie Frankel, Miracle Creek by Angie Kim, and To Grieve Is to Carry Another Time by Matthew Salesses. There are Korean Americans in all three, and Korean children adopted into a white family in the Frankel and Salesses.

  • A young woman is aghast at her mother getting rid of loved pet(s) in Nightjar by Emily Ruskovich and The Nightingales by Emil Wilson (both titled after birds!)

 

  • A mention of the practice of buying single cigarettes from a city corner shop for 50 cents in Between Two Kingdoms by Suleika Jaouad and Miracle Creek by Angie Kim.
  • Saving turtles from the road in Yellow Pine by Claire Vaye Watkins and then a mention of someone else doing so in To Grieve Is to Carry Another Time by Matthew Salesses.

 

  • 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 holy well is mentioned in The Given World by Melissa Harrison and Shiver by Brigid Lowe.

 

  • A sexy pastor’s wife features in one story of Hail Mary by Funmi Fetto and The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw.
  • A flawed pearl is mentioned in Apt Pupil by Stephen King and A Desert between Two Seas by A. Muia.

 

  • A mention of hara-kiri (literal) in Death in Midsummer by Yukio Mishima and A Better Death by Jonathan Romain; and as a metaphor in What I Don’t Know about Animals by Jenny Diski.
  • Camel cigarettes appear in Miracle Creek by Angie Kim and Apt Pupil by Stephen King.

 

  • A woman remembers being nicknamed an “ice queen” in one story of Everest by Ashani Lewis and Plum by Hollie McNish.
  • A woman has to have a bowel movement in the labour ward in Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and Natural Disaster by Lisa Owens.

 

  • The challenge of being a mother in the film industry is discussed in Family Family by Laurie Frankel and So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.

 

  • A three-year-old gets their own cereal breakfast in Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and So Good to See You by Francesca Hornak.

 

  • A woman feels guilty of neglect due to her eight-year-old son’s death in a lake in Under Story by Cloe Benjamin and The Correspondent by Virginia Evans.

 

  • A viral scandal where photographs/video footage are misconstrued to make a woman look bad in Hum by Helen Phillips and The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw.

  • A misunderstanding causes a mother to be investigated for child neglect in one story of Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong and Hum by Helen Phillips.

 

  • 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.

 

  • A woman impulsively takes a dishwashing job in Under Story by Cloe Benjamin and Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel.

  • A scene of putting out sandbags in Rattlebone by Maxine Clair and The Long Road to Holy Island by Austin Suggs.

 

  • An unwanted mince pie in Idle Grounds by Krystelle Bamford and I Remember Nothing by Nora Ephron.

 

  • A child in hospital with acute appendicitis in one story of Don’t Go to Sleep in the Dark by Celia Fremlin and Natural Disaster by Lisa Owens (and with suspected appendicitis in Shiver by Brigid Lowe).
  • The Tennyson poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade” is mentioned in Idle Grounds by Krystelle Bamford and Peck & Peck by Bonnie Garmus.

 

  • Having to get off an elevator at the previous floor because it doesn’t go up to the destination in Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel and Blood Is Dripping onto the Courtyard by Elvira Navarro.

  • Realizing one’s bed is unmade in one story of Everest by Ashani Lewis and A Very British Midlife Crisis by Rob Temple.

 

  • Confusion over the name of a possibly abused dog (with special powers!) adopted from a shelter in Peck & Peck by Bonnie Garmus and Luna, Phoenix, Queen by Julie Orringer.

  • I encountered the phrase “She’s not worth it” in both Peck & Peck by Bonnie Garmus and The True Confessions of First Lady Freeman by Deesha Philyaw within 10 minutes!

 

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

 

  • An apple orchard as a setting in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin and one story of Apple and Palm by Patricia Henley.

  • “Little Nemo in Slumberland” as an image and metaphor in Switzy by Emma Cline and Nightmares and Daydreams: A.C. 2020 by Mirko Ilić.

 

  • A lost twin sibling – lost at birth in Peck & Peck by Bonnie Garmus and H Is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald; lost later on in one story of The Rental Heart and Other Fairytales by Kirsty Logan.
  • A portal to another timeline, and characters who are doubles of each other, in Under Story by Chloe Benjamin and Exit Party by Emily St. John Mandel.

 

  • A lesbian couple moves to a new house and the one woman feels isolated and sad because she’s recently had a miscarriage in the debut novels The New People by Andrea Uptmor (reviewed for BookBrowse) and then The Leveret by Anna Goldreich.
  • Nagging a woman to use lotion on her hands as they’re the first place to show signs of ageing in Hum by Helen Phillips and one story of Moderate to Poor, Occasionally Good by Eley Williams.

 

A couple of visual ones:

  • I was reading The Land and Its People by David Sedaris at the same time as Country People by Daniel Mason, one of whose blurbs happens to borrow Sedaris’s title phrase.

  • I was reading Botany of Madness by Leon Engler and encountered this passage on the day of the solar eclipse in Europe (12 August):

What’s the weirdest reading coincidence you’ve had lately?

Mega #ShortStorySeptember Catch-Up! Fetto, P. Fitzgerald, Henley, Logan, L. Moore, E. Williams & 2 Partial Reads, 3 DNFs, 2 Single Stories

In total, I read 10 collections, as well as parts of five more, and nine individual stories for Short Story September. It would be absurd for me to be disappointed with those numbers (in comparison to last year’s 15 collections, I guess). Today is the last day of the link-up, so I’m calling it a day and giving brief responses to the rest of the books I read for the challenge. (My other reviews: six stories, Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong, “Death in Midsummer” by Yukio Mishima, three R.I.P. collections.) The range of styles, settings, and subject matter in the below really showcase how much the short story can do, often in very few pages.

Hail Mary by Funmi Fetto (2025)

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)

 

The Means of Escape by Penelope Fitzgerald (2000)

I already reviewed the single story “The Axe,” which is the odd one out – a mischievous ghost story. The rest are more typical of Fitzgerald: elegant slices of historical fiction, immediately establishing mastery of a place, time and set of circumstances, whether that be a convict on the loose in 1850s Australia (the title story), Impressionist-era English painters seeking models in Paris (“The Red-Haired Girl)”, or a poor boy who loses his precious medal in the 1660s (“Desideratus”). A couple of the stories appear to be contemporary and have a gently comic tone: the fussy conductor located on a tiny Scottish island in “Beehernz,” the overbearing stately-home guide in “Not Shown.” There’s a timeless, allegorical feel to “The Prescription” (one of two Greek/Turkish settings), in which doctors who once had a mentor–student relationships give rival diagnoses, and the title of “Our Lives Are Only Lent to Us” indicates philosophizing about the tragic losses in a small Central American town. I was dazzled by the breadth of Fitzgerald’s imagination and the confidence of her execution. (Secondhand – Community Furniture Project, Newbury)

 

Apple & Palm by Patricia Henley (2026)

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 Stewart O’Nan and Ann Patchett.

Published by Cornerstone Press. With thanks to publicist Caitlin Hamilton Summie for the e-copy for review.

 

The Rental Heart and Other Fairytales by Kirsty Logan (2014)

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)

 

Self-Help by Lorrie Moore (1985)

My fourth collection (after Bark, Birds of America and Like Life) by Moore, who is truly one of the great short story writers. In keeping with the title, four story names start with “How” and several are in the second person, to distance the main character and/or establish a tongue-in-cheek, advice-giving imperative. Women navigate marriage, infidelity, motherhood, and having ill or mentally compromised mothers of their own. I got Melissa Bank and Nora Ephron vibes from the first story, “How to Be an Other Woman.” Charlene’s quick wit makes her much more than just a mistress: “‘So, you’re a secretary.’ Squirm and quip: ‘More like a sedentary’.” “The Kid’s Guide to Divorce” adopts a child’s perspective with equal aplomb and is only four pages. In “Go Like This,” Liz schedules her escape from cancer for Bastille Day. The diary entries of “Amahl and the Night Visitors” wrestle with freedom vs. control in a couple’s relationship through their argument about whether or not to let the cat go outside. A woman persists in writing despite her professors and classmates objecting to her “outrageous and incompetent” sense of plot. There are such hilarious turns of phrase – “a strange flesh sundae of despair and exhilaration,” “full-haired as Easter basket grass” – throughout that I was taken aback by the dark turn in the final story, “To Fill,” where the narrator’s flippant wordplay masks her mental instability. A treat for Amy Bloom and Helen Simpson fans. (Secondhand – The Bookshop, Wigtown)

 

Moderate to Poor, Occasionally Good by Eley Williams (2024)

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 Attrib. and Other Stories or The Liar’s Dictionary. Too often, though, it feels like showing off skill but not committing emotionally, which means I didn’t believe in the lovelorn narrators and their peculiar predicaments. (“Too-quick chicanery of thought can cause a conversational form of the bends.” Quite.) The highlight was “Squared Circle,” about two pro wrestlers who convene every year on the anniversary of their famous showdown, even when one is seriously ill. (Gift from my wish list last year)

 

I’m still reading two excellent linked short story collections that I’m taking my time over:

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.

 

A few DNFs:

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)

 

Everest by Ashani Lewis (2024): I read more than two-thirds of the book but can barely tell you anything about it. There’s some anxiety about social media, some coming-of-age discovery, some mean-girls friendship. Technically, the stories are accomplished, but they lack warmth. Two good ones: “Antarctica,” about an ill, older woman petitioning to go to the Scott Polar Research Institute; in “The Imitation Oyster,” fine dining is the basis of a liaison. (Public library)

 

Night, Neon by Joyce Carol Oates (2021): I reviewed two stories on Oates’s birthday. My third Oates DNF; I don’t have high hopes of getting through a book by this lady. Despite the short form, she has such repetitive phrasing. Two good ones: in “Curious,” a writer makes generous anonymous donations to change a grocery clerk’s life; in “Parole Hearing, California Institution for Women, Chino, CA,” a Charles Manson follower appeals. Even in this nine-pager – short for Oates – the anaphora of “Because…” statements gets old. (Public library)

 

Single stories:

“The Quiet” by Carys Davies (2014)

[from The Redemption of Galen Pike]

A good companion to West and Clear; all three share a vivid historical setting and a surprise ending that makes you want to stand up and cheer. Susan Boyce is a pioneer’s wife, isolated and battered. Her neighbour, Henry Fowler, keeps coming around, including when her husband is away, and at first there’s a hint of menace about his visits. But then they compare their scars. Brilliant. (New purchase from Salt Publishing)

 

“The Necklace” by Guy de Maupassant (1884)

[translated from French by Marjorie Laurie; from the Everyman Short Stories volume]

Thanks to Emma of Words and Peace for recommending this one. It’s such an instant classic I a) can’t believe I’d never encountered it before and b) can’t imagine a time when it didn’t exist. A young woman with little money but grand pretensions marries.

She was eternally restive under the conviction that she had been born to enjoy every refinement and luxury. Depressed by her humble surroundings, the sordid walls of her dwelling, its worn furniture and shabby fabrics were a torment to her.

She had no pretty gowns, no jewels, nothing—and yet she cared for nothing else. She felt that it was for such things as these that she had been born.

Now, as Madame Loisel, she is keen to make a good impression at her first society outing, an At Home at the Education Office, but has nothing to wear. She begs her husband for money to buy a new dress, then borrows a diamond necklace from a friend. When the necklace gets lost in the hustle and bustle of the party, it has lasting consequences. “How small a thing can serve to save or ruin you!” This sobering morality tale is like Flaubert crossed with O. Henry. The lesson I drew from it was, just confess! I lost one of the earrings that I borrowed from a friend to wear to the Booker Prize ceremony, and everything was fine! (Little Free Library)


Whew, all caught up!

 

And the final statistics for Short Story September:

25 bloggers

80 posts

38 individual stories &

60 whole collections reviewed

(+ 1 bonus biography of a short story writer)

All the posts are here and here.

Thank you all again for joining in!

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.