20 Books of Summer 2025 Plans
It’s my eighth year participating in the 20 Books of Summer challenge, this year co-hosted by Annabel and Emma after Cathy stepped down. #20BooksofSummer2025 starts on 1 June and runs through 31 August. In some previous years I have chosen a theme, even something as simple as “books by women.” Last year I combined two criteria and managed to get through 20 hardback books I owned by women. The problem with setting even simple boundaries like that is that I seem to almost immediately lose interest. Even more dangerous to pick 20 specific books, lest I go off them right away. Nonetheless, that’s what I’ve done. Expect substitutions galore, however; most years I read only half (or less) of what I’ve earmarked.

My only firm rule is that all 20 books must be from my own shelves. Ideally, they wouldn’t overlap with my usual reviewing commitments, book club reads, or other themed challenges (e.g., June: Reading the Meow, Father’s Day, Scotland holiday; August: Women in Translation), though it would be no problem if they did. I’m the only one enforcing this!

Other themed June reading options.
I like to work towards multiple goals, so I’ve chosen five books each in four categories.
Books I acquired new this year:

Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Hungerford Bookshop) – I pre-ordered this, a super-rarity for me, and read the first 20-some pages before petering out. I think it’s fair to say it won’t be a favourite of hers for me, but I’d still like to read it in its publication year.
The Hotel by Daisy Johnson (Hungerford Bookshop with Christmas gift token) – Creepy short stories by an author whose long-form fiction I’ve really enjoyed. Also counts toward my low-key goal of reducing the list of authors by whom I own two or more unread books.
Girl by Ruth Padel (Hungerford Bookshop with Christmas gift token) – A poetry collection about girlhood through history and in myth. A repeat appearance on my summer reading list; I reviewed her Emerald in 2021. Good to add it in for variety, and a quick win length-wise.
Stag Dance by Torrey Peters (Bookshop.org) – I bought this to show solidarity with trans women after a short-sighted legal ruling here in the UK. Detransition, Baby was awesome but I haven’t managed to get into this yet. It contains three long short stories plus a novella.
How I Won a Nobel Prize by Julius Taranto (Hungerford Bookshop with Christmas gift token) – I believe it was Susan’s review that put this on my radar, though the title and the fact that it’s an academic satire would have been enough to get it onto my TBR.
Catch-up review copies:
A couple of these date back to 2023…

Beautyland by Marie-Helene Bertino – “At the moment when Voyager 1 is launched into space … , a baby of unusual perception is born to a single mother in Philadelphia. Adina Giorno … recognizes that she is different: She possesses knowledge of a faraway planet. The arrival of a fax machine enables her to contact her extraterrestrial relatives.” Quirky; well received by blog and Goodreads friends.
The Sleep Watcher by Rowan Hisayo Buchanan – I’ve read her other two novels but for some reason didn’t pick this up when it was first sent to me. “When she is sixteen, Kit suffers a summer of sleeplessness that isn’t quite what it seems; her body lies in bed while she wanders through her family home, the streets of her run-down seaside town and into the houses of friends and strangers.” Bonus points for being set during summer.
Museum Visits by Éric Chevillard – My one selection in translation. This hybrid collection of short pieces might be deemed essays or stories. “This ensemble of comic miniatures compiles reflections on chairs, stairs, stones, goldfish, objects found, strangers observed, scenarios imagined, reasonable premises taken to absurd conclusions, and vice versa.”
Storm Pegs by Jen Hadfield – New in paperback. I knew I had to read a Shetland-set memoir, and had enjoyed Hadfield’s piece in the Antlers of Water anthology. “In prose as rich and magical as Shetland itself, Hadfield transports us to the islands as a local; introducing us to the remote and beautiful archipelago where she has made her home”.
The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese – Cutting for Stone is brilliant but I was daunted by the even greater heft of this follow-up. I hope I’ll find just the right time to sink into it. “Spanning the years 1900 to 1977,” set “on India’s Malabar Coast, and follows three generations of a family that suffers a peculiar affliction: in every generation, at least one person dies by drowning—and in Kerala, water is everywhere.”
Summer-themed books / four in a row on the Bingo card:
I’d be aiming to complete the second row with this quartet:


(Book set in a vacation destination)
Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter (40th birthday gift from my husband, purchased from Hungerford Bookshop) – “the story of an almost-love affair that begins on the Italian coast in 1962 and resurfaces fifty years later in Hollywood. From the lavish set of Cleopatra to the shabby revelry of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival to the backlots of contemporary Hollywood, this is a dazzling, yet deeply human roller coaster of a novel.”
(Book from a genre you rarely read)
Pet Sematary by Stephen King (Little Free Library) – I’ve only ever read King’s book on writing, which of course is not representative of his oeuvre. Sounds like this could be a good introduction to his horror work. Rural Maine + dead animals in the woods + grief theme. A chunky but lightweight paperback; I fancy it for my solo train ride home from Edinburgh.
(Book featuring ice cream or summer foods)
Ice Cream by Helen Dunmore (Community Furniture Project) – A short story collection, facing out because the spine is faded to illegibility rather than to show off the naked lady. I’ve enjoyed Dunmore’s stories before (Love of Fat Men). The plots are described as “ranging from … the death of a lighthouse keeper’s wife to the birth of babies from the Superstock catalogue.”
(Book published in summer)
The Stirrings by Catherine Taylor (Bookshop.org with Christmas gift token) – This was originally published in August 2023, and it’s also set mostly during two pivotal summers: “the scorching summer of 1976 – the last Catherine Taylor would spend with both her parents in their home in Sheffield” and “1989’s ‘Second Summer of Love’, a time of sexual awakening for Catherine, and the unforeseen consequences that followed it.”
Plus my one reread of the challenge:
Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver (Little Free Library) – “From her outpost in an isolated mountain cabin, Deanna Wolfe, a reclusive wildlife biologist, watches a den of coyotes that have recently migrated into the region. She is caught off-guard by a young hunter who invades her most private spaces and confounds her self-assured, solitary life.”
I have a number of other potential summery reads, too.

“Just because” books
At the start of the year, I pulled out two huge piles of books I had no particular excuse to read yet was keen to get to. My plan was to pick up one per week or so. Of course, I’ve not so much as opened one yet. Three of these are from that stack, with two more from my BIPOC shelf.

Kingdomtide by Rye Curtis (passed on by Laura T. – thank you!) – I’ve meant to read this for ages, plus it sounds like a good readalike for Heartwood. “The sole survivor of a plane crash, seventy-two-year-old Cloris Waldrip finds herself lost and alone in the unforgiving wilderness of Montana’s rugged Bitterroot Range … Intertwined with her story is Debra Lewis, a park ranger struggling with addiction, a recent divorce, and a new mission: to find and rescue Cloris.”
Salvation City by Sigrid Nunez (new from Amazon some years back) – I love Nunez and aim to read all of her books. This sounds very different from the four I know! “His family’s sole survivor after a flu pandemic …, Cole Vining is lucky to have found refuge with the evangelical Pastor Wyatt and his wife in a small town in southern Indiana. As the world outside has grown increasingly anarchic, Salvation City has been spared much of the devastation, and its residents have renewed their preparations for the Rapture.”
I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith (charity shop, possibly a decade ago?) – One I’ve always meant to read. My token classic for this challenge, though there are plenty more to choose from on the bookcase in the lounge, e.g. an Austen for Brona’s #ReadAusten25 challenge. “Through six turbulent months of 1934, 17-year-old Cassandra Mortmain keeps a journal, filling three notebooks with sharply funny yet poignant entries about her home, a ruined Suffolk castle, and her eccentric and penniless family.”
Names of the Women by Jeet Thayil (gift from my wish list several years ago) – A novella on the stack will be welcome; this is “about the women whose roles were suppressed, reduced or erased in the Gospels. … Together, the voices of the women dare us to reimagine the story of the New Testament in a way it has never before been told.”
Moving Mountains, ed. Louise Kenward (gift from my wish list last year) – “A first-of-its-kind anthology of nature writing by authors living with chronic illness and physical disability. Through 25 pieces, the writers … offer a vision of nature that encompasses the close up, the microscopic, and the vast.” It will be nice to have a book of short nature pieces on the go.
The above list is more fiction-heavy than usual for me, with a number of chunksters – but also four short fiction collections and a poetry collection to balance out the length. Inspired by Eleanor, I decided to ensure at least 25% were by authors of colour.
If I need to draw on back-ups, I have many more between my “just because” stack, my Women’s Prize nominees shelf, and the rest of my BIPOC authors area.
This happens to be my 1,500th blog post!!
What do you make of my lists? See any options that I should prioritize instead?
My Life in Book Titles from 2024
As usual for January, I’m in the middle of lots of books but hardly finishing anything, so consider this a placeholder until my Love Your Library and January releases posts later in the month. It’s a fun meme that goes around every year; I first spotted it on Annabel’s blog and Susan also took part. I’ve never had a go before but when I looked at the prompts I realized some books I read in 2024 have titles that work awfully well. Links are to my reviews.
In high school I was [one of the] Remarkably Bright Creatures (Shelby Van Pelt)
- People might be surprised by All the Beauty in the World (Patrick Bringley)

- I will never be A Spy in the House of Love (Anaïs Nin)
My fantasy job is To Be a Cat (Matt Haig)
- At the end of a long day, I need [a] Cocktail (Lisa Alward)

- I hate being [an] Exhibit (R.O. Kwon)
- Wish I had Various Miracles (Carol Shields)

- My family reunions are The Grief Cure (Cory Delistraty)
At a party you’d find me with Orphans of the Carnival (Carol Birch)
- I’ve never been to Jungle House (Julianne Pachico)
A happy day includes The Old Haunts (Allan Radcliffe)
- Motto I live by: I’m Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself (Glynnis MacNicol)

On my bucket list is A Bookshop of One’s Own (Jane Cholmeley)
- In my next life, I want to have A House Full of Daughters (Juliet Nicolson)
The End of the Year Book Tag
I’ve been feeling a little burnt out after Novellas in November, so when I spotted this on Laura’s blog I thought it might be just the thing to help me sort through my December reading plans while I wait to get my reviewing mojo back.
- Is there a book that you started that you still need to finish by the end of the year?
Yes … too many. Pictured are a dozen 2024 releases, a mixture of review copies and library books, that I still hope to get through. Some of them I’m a good way into; others I’ve barely started. (Not shown: All Fours by Miranda July, from NetGalley on my Kindle; and Nine Minds by Daniel Tammet, which I’ll be assessing for Foreword Reviews.)

- Do you have an autumnal book to transition to the end of the year?
Autumn is the hardest season for me to assign reads to. I’m already in winter mode, so it’s more likely that I’ll pick up one or a few of these wintry or Christmassy books.

-
Is there a release you are still waiting for?
Published last week and on my Kindle from Edelweiss: the poetry collection Constructing a Witch by Helen Ivory. Otherwise, it’s on to January and February releases for my paid reviewing gigs.
- Name three books you want to read by the end of the year.
From the stack above, I haven’t properly started Headshot by Rita Bullwinkel or opened Fire Exit by Morgan Talty, and I’m still hoping to read those two review copies in their entirety. I will also try to squeeze in at least one more McKitterick Prize novel entry.
But I also have up to five 2025 releases to read for paid reviews that would be due early in January.
Over the holidays, I fancy dipping into some lighter fiction, cosy and engaging creative nonfiction, and thought-provoking but readable science and theology stuff. Here are some options I pulled off of my bedside table shelves.



- Is there a book that could still shock you and become your favourite of the year?
Small Rain by Garth Greenwell and Dispersals by Jessica J. Lee are both very promising. I’m nearly 1/3 into the Greenwell (it’s my first time reading him) and I’m so impressed: this is patently autofiction about a medical crisis he had during the pandemic, but there is such clarity and granular detail that it feels absolutely true to the record yet soars above any memoir he might have written about the same events. He’s both back in the moment and understanding everything omnisciently. Greenwell has also written poetry, and I was reminded of the Wordsworth quote “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity.”
I’ve only read the first chapter of the Lee so far, but I’m a real fan of her hybrid nature memoirs and I think the metaphorical links between her life and plants will really work.
- Have you already started making reading plans for 2025?
So far I’ve read something like 11 books with 2025 publication dates, most of them for paid reviews. I will feature some of those soon. I’ve also compiled a list of my 20 Most Anticipated releases of 2025 and will post that early in January.
Apart from that, I expect it will be the usual pairs of contradictory goals: reading ahead (2025 stuff) versus catching up (backlist and my preposterous set-aside shelf); failing to resist review copies and library holds versus trying to read more from my own shelves; reading to challenges and themes versus preserving the freedom to pick up books as the whim takes me.
Speaking of themes, I fancy doing a deep dive into the senses, especially the sense of smell, which particularly intrigues me. (I’ll make it a trio with The Forgotten Sense: The New Science of Smell—and the Extraordinary Power of the Nose by Jonas Olofsson, which will be published on 7 January and is on order for me at the library.)
Thanks for Joining in with Novellas in November! #NovNov24 Statistics
Co-host Cathy and I are delighted that so many of you participated in Novellas in November again this year and helped us to celebrate the art of the short book. We had 46 participants and 173 posts covering more than 150 books.

In total, 16 friends of #NovNov reviewed our buddy read, Orbital by Samantha Harvey, which won the Booker Prize partway through the month.

Other books with multiple reviews included John Boyne’s recent novella series, The Party by Tessa Hadley, various by Claire Keegan, Astraea by Kate Kruimink, and Baron Bagge by Alexander Lernet-Holenia.
The link-up will remain open through Saturday 7 December if you would like to add in any belated reviews (I will certainly be doing so).
See you next November – but keep reading novellas and sharing the love all through the year!
Nonfiction November Book Pairings: Autistic Husbands & The Ocean
Liz is the host for this week’s Nonfiction November prompt. The idea is to choose a nonfiction book and pair it with a fiction title with which it has something in common.

I came up with these two based on my recent reading:
An Autistic Husband
The Rosie Effect by Graeme Simsion (also The Rosie Project and The Rosie Result)
&
Disconnected: Portrait of a Neurodiverse Marriage by Eleanor Vincent
Graeme Simsion’s Don Tillman trilogy tells the odd-couple story of an autistic professor and how he falls in love with and marries a wholly unsuitable neurotypical woman. He turns this situation into romantic comedy. For Eleanor Vincent, it wasn’t so funny. She met her third husband, computer scientist Lars (a pseudonym), through Zydeco dancing when she was in her sixties. Though aware that he could be unemotional and act strangely, she found him chivalrous and sweet. They dated for a time but he hurt and confused her by asking for his apartment keys back. After a five-year period she calls their “Interregnum,” the two got back together and married. Despite their years of friendship, she was completely unprepared for what living with him would be like. “At the age of seventy-one, I had married a stranger,” she writes.
It didn’t help that Covid hit partway through their four-year marriage, nor that they each received a cancer diagnosis (cervical vs. prostate). But the problems were more with their everyday differences in responses and processing. During their courtship, she ignored some bizarre things he did around her family: he bit her nine-year-old granddaughter as a warning of what would happen if she kept antagonizing their cat, and he put a gift bag over his head while they were at the dinner table with her siblings. These are a couple of the most egregious instances, but there are examples throughout of how Lars did things she didn’t understand. Through support groups and marriage counselling, she realized how well Lars had masked his autism when they were dating – and that he wasn’t willing to do the work required to make their marriage succeed. The book ends with them estranged but a divorce imminent.
If this were purely carping about a husband’s weirdness, it might have been tedious or depressing. But Vincent doesn’t blame Lars, and she incorporates so much else in this short memoir, including a number of topics that are of particular interest to me. There’s her PTSD from a traumatic upbringing, her parents’ identity as closeted gay people, the complications around her father’s death, the tragedy of her older daughter’s death, as well as the more everyday matters of being a working single parent, finding an affordable property in California’s Bay Area, and blending households.
Vincent crafts engaging scenes with solid recreated dialogue, and I especially liked the few meta chapters revealing “What I Left Out” – a memoir is always a shaped narrative, while life is messy; this shows both. She is also honest about her own failings and occasional bad behavior. I probably could have done with a little less detail on their sex life, however.
This had more relevance to me than expected. While my sister and I were clearing our mother’s belongings from the home she shared with her second husband for the 16 months between their wedding and her death, our stepsisters mentioned to us that they suspected their father was autistic. It was, as my sister said, a “lightbulb” moment, explaining so much about our respective parents’ relationship, and our interactions with him as well. My stepfather (who died just 10 months after my mother) was a dear man, but also maddening at times. A retired math professor, he was logical and flat of affect. Sometimes his humor was off-kilter and he made snap, unsentimental decisions that we couldn’t fathom. Had they gotten longer together, no doubt many of the issues Vincent experienced would have arisen. (Read via BookSirens)
[173 pages]

The Ocean
Playground by Richard Powers
&
Rachel Carson and the Power of Queer Love by Lida Maxwell
The Blue Machine by Helen Czerski
Under the Sea Wind by Rachel Carson
While I was less than enraptured with its artificial intelligence theme and narrative trickery, I loved the content about the splendour of the ocean in Richard Powers’s Booker Prize-longlisted Playground. Most of this comes via Evelyne Beaulieu, a charismatic French Canadian marine biologist (based in part on Sylvia Earle) who is on the first all-female submarine mission and is still diving in the South Pacific in her nineties. Powers explicitly references Rachel Carson’s The Sea Around Us. Between that and the revelation of Evelyne as a late-bloomer lesbian, I was reminded of Rachel Carson and the Power of Queer Love, a forthcoming novella-length academic study by Lida Maxwell that I have assessed for Foreword Reviews. Maxwell’s central argument is that Carson’s romantic love for a married woman, Dorothy Freeman, served as an awakening to wonder and connection and spurred her to write her greatest works.
After reading Playground, I decided to place a library hold on Blue Machine by Helen Czerski (winner of the Wainwright Writing on Conservation Prize this year), which Powers acknowledges as an inspiration that helped him to think bigger. I have also pulled my copy of Under the Sea Wind by Rachel Carson off the shelf as it’s high time I read more by her.
Previous book pairings posts: 2018 (Alzheimer’s, female friendship, drug addiction, Greenland and fine wine!) and 2023 (Hardy’s Wives, rituals and romcoms).
My Year in Novellas (#NovNov24)
Here at the start of the month, we’re inviting you to tell us about the novellas you’ve read since last November.
I have a special shelf of short books that I add to throughout the year. When at secondhand bookshops, charity shops, a Little Free Library, or the public library where I volunteer, I’m always thinking about my piles for November. But I do read novellas at other times of year, too. Forty-four of them between December 2023 and now, according to my Goodreads shelves (last year it was 46, so it seems like that’s par for the course). I often choose to review books of novella length for BookBrowse, Foreword and Shelf Awareness. I’ve read a real mixture, but predominantly literature in translation and autobiographical works.
My favourites of the ones I’ve already covered on the blog would probably be (nonfiction) Alphabetical Diaries by Sheila Heti and (fiction) Aimez-vous Brahms by Françoise Sagan. My proudest achievements are: reading the short graphic novel Broderies by Marjane Satrapi in the original French at our Parisian Airbnb in December; and managing two rereads: Heartburn by Nora Ephron and Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck.
Of the short books I haven’t already reviewed here, I’ve chosen two gems, one fiction and one nonfiction, to spotlight in this post:
Fiction
Clear by Carys Davies
Clear depicts the Highland Clearances in microcosm though the experiences of one man, Ivar, the last resident of a remote Scottish island between Shetland and Norway. As in a play, there is a limited setting and cast. John is a minister sent by the landowner to remove Ivar, but an accident soon after his arrival leaves him beholden to Ivar for food and care. Mary, John’s wife, is concerned and sets off on the long journey from the mainland to rescue him. Davies writes vivid scenes and brings the island’s scenery to life. Flashbacks fill in the personal and cultural history, often via objects. The Norn language is another point of interest. The deceptively simple prose captures both the slow building of emotion and the moments that change everything. It seemed the trio were on course for tragedy, yet they are offered the grace of a happier ending.
In my book club, opinions differed slightly as to the central relationship and the conclusion, but we agreed that it was beautifully done, with so much conveyed in the concise length. This received our highest rating ever, in fact. I’d read Davies’ West and not appreciated it as much, although looking back I can see that it was very similar: one or a few character(s) embarked on unusual and intense journey(s); a plucky female character; a heavy sense of threat; and an improbably happy ending. It was the ending that seemed to come out of nowhere and wasn’t in keeping with the tone of the rest of the novella that made me mark West down. Here I found the writing cinematic and particularly enjoyed Mary as a strong character who escaped spinsterhood but even in marriage blazes her own trail and is clever and creative enough to imagine a new living situation. And although the ending is sudden and surprising, it nevertheless seems to arise naturally from what we know of the characters’ emotional development – but also sent me scurrying back to check whether there had been hints. One of my books of the year for sure. ![]()
Nonfiction
A Termination by Honor Moore
Poet and memoirist Honor Moore’s A Termination is a fascinatingly discursive memoir that circles her 1969 abortion and contrasts societal mores across her lifetime.
During the spring in question, Moore was a 23-year-old drama school student. Her lover, L, was her professor. But she also had unwanted sex with a photographer. She did not know which man had impregnated her, but she did know she didn’t feel prepared to become a mother. She convinced a psychiatrist that doing so would destroy her mental health, and he referred her to an obstetrician for a hospital procedure. The termination was “my first autonomous decision,” Moore insists, a way of saying, “I want this life, not that life.”
Family and social factors put Moore’s experiences into perspective. The first doctor she saw refused Moore’s contraception request because she was unmarried. Her mother, however, bore nine children and declined to abort a pregnancy when advised to do so for medical reasons. Moore observes that she made her own decision almost 10 years before “the word choice replaced pro abortion.”
This concise work is composed of crystalline fragments. The stream of consciousness moves back and forth in time, incorporating occasional second- and third-person narration as well as highbrow art and literature references. Moore writes one scene as if it’s in a play and imagines alternative scenarios in which she has a son; though she is curious, she is not remorseful. The granular attention to women’s lives recalls Annie Ernaux, while the kaleidoscopic yet fluid approach is reminiscent of Sigrid Nunez’s work. It’s a stunning rendering of steps on her childfree path. ![]()
Reprinted with permission from Shelf Awareness.
I currently have four novellas underway and plan to start some more this weekend. I have plenty to choose from!
Everyone’s getting in on the act: there’s an article on ‘short and sweet books’ in the November/December issue of Bookmarks magazine, for which I’m an associate editor; Goodreads sent around their usual e-mail linking to a list of 100 books under 250 or 200 pages to help readers meet their 2024 goal. Or maybe you’d like to join in with Wafer Thin Books’ November buddy read, the Ugandan novella Waiting by Goretti Kyomuhendo (2007).


Why not share some recent favourite novellas with us in a post of your own?

Novellas in November 2024 Link-Up (#NovNov24)
Happy November! It’s the fifth year that Cathy of 746 Books and I have been co-hosting Novellas in November. We hope you’ll enjoy reading and reviewing one or more short books this month.

Maybe you’d like to start with a My Year in Novellas retrospective looking back at any novellas you have read since last November (I’ll post mine tomorrow), or you could join in with our Booker Prize-winning buddy read, Orbital by Samantha Harvey.

This post will be pinned to the top of my site all through the month. I’ll add in more link parties as necessary.
Keep in touch via Bluesky (@cathybrown746.bsky.social / @bookishbeck.bsky.social), Instagram (@cathy_746books / @bookishbeck), and X (@cathy746books / @bookishbeck) and do use the feature images plus our new hashtag, #NovNov24.
Have a look at all the posts that have gone up so far!
Novellas in November 2023: That’s a Wrap!
This was Cathy’s and my fourth year co-hosting Novellas in November. We’ve done our best to keep up with your posts, collected via four Inlinkz post parties. We had 52 bloggers take part this year, contributing a total of 175 posts. You can look back at them all here. See also Cathy’s wrap-up post.

Claire Keegan continued to get lots of love this year, and it was great to see people engaging with our weekly prompts and buddy reads, and cleverly combining challenges with German Lit Month, Nonfiction November and Beryl Bainbridge Reading Week. Other books highlighted more than once included Cheri by Jo Ann Beard, They by Kay Dick, Train Dreams by Denis Johnson and Two Lives by William Trevor.

We’d love to get your feedback about what worked well or less well this month…
- Did you like having the prompts? Or would you rather go back to themes?
- Was it good to have a choice of buddy reads? Or do you prefer having just one?
- Did Inlinkz work okay for hosting the link-up?

Thank you all for being so engaged with #NovNov23! We’ll see you back here next year.
#NovNov23 Week 4, “The Short and the Long of It”: W. Somerset Maugham & Jan Morris
Hard to believe, but it’s already the final full week of Novellas in November and we have had 109 posts so far! This week’s prompt is “The Short and the Long of It,” for which we encourage you to pair a novella with a nonfiction book or novel that deals with similar themes or topics. The book pairings week of Nonfiction November is always a favourite (my 2023 contribution is here), so think of this as an adjacent – and hopefully fun – project. I came up with two pairs: one fiction and one nonfiction. In the first case, the longer book led me to read a novella, and it was vice versa for the second.

W. Somerset Maugham
The House of Doors by Tan Twan Eng (2023)
&
Liza of Lambeth by W. Somerset Maugham (1897)
I wasn’t a huge fan of The Garden of Evening Mists, but as soon as I heard that Tan Twan Eng’s third novel was about W. Somerset Maugham, I was keen to read it. Maugham is a reliably readable author; his books are clearly classic literature but don’t pose the stylistic difficulties I now experience with Dickens, Trollope et al. And yet I know that Booker Prize followers who had neither heard of nor read Maugham have enjoyed this equally. I’m surprised it didn’t make it past the longlist stage, as I found it as revealing of a closeted gay writer’s life and times as The Master (shortlisted in 2004) but wider in scope and more rollicking because of its less familiar setting, true crime plot and female narration.
The main action is set in 1921, as “Willie” Somerset Maugham and his secretary, Gerald, widely known to be his lover, rest from their travels in China and the South Seas via a two-week stay with Robert and Lesley Hamlyn at Cassowary House in Penang, Malaysia. Robert and Willie are old friends, and all three men fought in the First World War. Willie’s marriage to Syrie Wellcome (her first husband was the pharmaceutical tycoon) is floundering and he faces financial ruin after a bad investment. He needs a good story that will sell and gets one when Lesley starts recounting to him the momentous events of 1910, including a crisis in her marriage, volunteering at the party office of Chinese pro-democracy revolutionary Dr Sun Yat Sen, and trying to save her friend Ethel Proudlock from a murder charge.

It’s clever how Tan weaves all of this into a Maugham-esque plot that alternates between omniscient third-person narration and Lesley’s own telling. The glimpses of expat life and Asia under colonial rule are intriguing, and the scene-setting and atmosphere are sumptuous – worthy of the Merchant Ivory treatment. I was left curious to read more by and about Maugham, such as Selina Hastings’ biography. (Public library) ![]()
But for now I picked up one of the leather-bound Maugham books I got for free a few years ago. Amusingly, the novella-length Liza of Lambeth is printed in the same volume with the travel book On a Chinese Screen, which Maugham had just released when he arrived in Penang.
{SPOILERS AHEAD}
This was Maugham’s debut novel and drew on his time as a medical intern in the slums of London. In tone and content it falls almost perfectly between Dickens and Hardy, because on the one hand Liza Kemp and her neighbours are cheerful paupers even though they work in factories, have too many children and live in cramped quarters; on the other hand, alcoholism and domestic violence are rife, and the wages of sexual sin are death. All seems light to start with: an all-village outing to picnic at Chingford; pub trips; and harmless wooing as Liza rebuffs sweet Tom in favour of a flirtation with married Jim Blakeston.
At the halfway point, I thought we were going full Tess of the d’Urbervilles – how is this not a rape scene?! Jim propositions her four times, ignoring her initial No and later quiet. “‘Liza, will yer?’ She still kept silence, looking away … Suddenly he shook himself, and closing his fist gave her a violent, swinging blow in the belly. ‘Come on,’ he said. And together they slid down into the darkness of the passage.” So starts their affair, which leads to Liza getting beaten up by Mrs Blakeston in the street and then dying of an infection after a miscarriage. The most awful character is Mrs Kemp, who spends the last few pages – while Liza is literally on her deathbed – complaining of her own hardships, congratulating herself on insuring her daughter’s life, and telling a blackly comic story about her husband’s corpse not fitting in his oak coffin and her and the undertaker having to jump on the lid to get it to close.
Liza isn’t entirely the stereotypical whore with the heart of gold, but she is a good-time girl (“They were delighted to have Liza among them, for where she was there was no dullness”) and I wonder if she could even have been a starting point for Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion. Maugham’s rendering of the cockney accent is over-the-top –
“‘An’ when I come aht,’ she went on, ‘’oo should I see just passin’ the ’orspital but this ’ere cove, an’ ’e says to me, ‘Wot cheer,’ says ’e, ‘I’m goin’ ter Vaux’all, come an’ walk a bit of the wy with us.’ ‘Arright,’ says I, ‘I don’t mind if I do.’”
– but his characters are less caricatured than Dickens’s. And, imagine, even then there was congestion in London:
“They drove along eastwards, and as the hour grew later the streets became more filled and the traffic greater. At last they got on the road to Chingford, and caught up numbers of other vehicles going in the same direction—donkey-shays, pony-carts, tradesmen’s carts, dog-carts, drags, brakes, every conceivable kind of wheeled thing, all filled with people”
In short, this was a minor and derivative-feeling work that I wouldn’t recommend to those new to Maugham. He hadn’t found his true style and subject matter yet. Luckily, there’s plenty of other novels to try. (Free mall bookshop) [159 pages] ![]()
Jan Morris
Conundrum by Jan Morris (1974)
&
Jan Morris: Life from Both Sides, A Biography by Paul Clements (2022)
Back in 2021, I reread and reviewed Conundrum during Novellas in November. It’s a short memoir that documents her spiritual journey towards her true identity – she was a trans pioneer and influential on my own understanding of gender. In his doorstopper of a biography, Paul Clements is careful to use female pronouns throughout, even when this is a little confusing (with Morris a choirboy, a soldier, an Oxford student, a father, and a member of the Times expedition that first summited Everest). I’m just over a quarter of the way through the book now. Morris left the Times before the age of 30, already the author of several successful travel books on the USA and the Middle East. I’ll have to report back via Love Your Library on what I think of this overall. At this point I feel like it’s a pretty workaday biography, comprehensive and drawing heavily on Morris’s own writings. The focus is on the work and the travels, as well as how the two interacted and influenced her life.


































