Tag Archives: linked short stories

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!

#ShortStorySeptember, Meet #RIPXXI: Fremlin, M.R. James & Navarro

I can hardly believe it’s October; I still have a bunch of short stories to finish and review! I’m taking the opportunity to start on Readers Imbibing Peril with these three collections that crank up the suspense with their scenes of the unexplained.

Don’t Go to Sleep in the Dark by Celia Fremlin (1970)

(Faber reprint: 2024)

I wasn’t wild about Fremlin’s Uncle Paul, but these 13 stories were terrific. Nightmares sometimes become reality as children and women of a certain age face up to threats, whether concrete or imaginary. The twist endings can reassure or unsettle, but in either case they call into question the tenor of what’s gone before. Only three tales are in the first person, with the other 10 in an authoritative third person. The need to protect children is a recurring impulse, ageing is a frequent cause of angst, and there are a couple of instances of frightening bird imagery (a nod to du Maurier?). There are also tweaks of horror story tropes – the haunted house in “The Hated House” and “The Locked Room.” Visual and auditory clues ramp up the tension. I’ll highlight a couple of favourites: “The Quiet Game,” in which a mother’s mental illness has dangerous implications for her twins; and “The Baby-Sitter,” about a little girl who’s afraid of The Hen with Great Big Eyes and her child-minder, who’s lived out her own horrors as a European refugee. This one is a fine example of how Fremlin mixes the everyday with suggestions of the supernatural. (Little Free Library)

 

Ghost Stories of an Antiquary: A Graphic Collection of Short Stories by M.R. James, Volume I (2016)

(Adapted by Leah Moore and John Reppion)

(I reviewed Volume II in 2017.) Though all retold by the same duo, these four stories are each illustrated by a different artist. So although the setup and voice tends to be samey – a dignified man investigating strange happenings at a country house – the art style varies significantly While I didn’t care for the approach in the first two (“Canon Alberic’s Scrap-Book” – Marvel; “Lost Hearts” – Pixar), the others, “The Mezzotint” and “The Ash-tree,” made up for it. I liked the monochrome palette, gentlemen detecting vibe, and Wildean mark of a morphing image of the former. In the latter, a Gothic setting and a history of suppressing witchcraft pave the way for unnatural spectacles. James’s classic ghost stories have been hugely influential on the likes of Susan Hill. (I also wondered if Stephen King borrowed the girl in the bath from “Lost Hearts” for The Shining.) Still, my conclusion about the second volume stands for the whole project: the “problem with using the graphic form for … tales that center around nameless horror is that depicting [what is feared] saps it of its power.”

With thanks to SelfMadeHero for the free copy of The Compendium (Volumes I and II) for review.

 

Blood Is Dripping onto the Courtyard by Elvira Navarro (2025; 2026)

[Translated from the Spanish by Christina MacSweeney]

My introduction to Navarro, a Spanish author, reminded me most of Agustina Bazterrica’s 19 Claws and a Black Bird. These nine stories are full of derelict buildings, outsider characters, and traces of the uncanny. Seven are in the third person and two in first. A nice touch: two stories are linked in that they feature Almudena, who is studying in Paris. “The Fear of the City” is, we realize, the story she wrote about femicide, as mentioned, fittingly, in “The City of Fear.” “Idiotic Love” is narrated by a trans woman with an anal fissure and conjures a seedy world of nightclubs and sex shops. This was the longest story and not a pleasant one. There were just three standouts for me. In “The Washing Machine,” which contains the title line, a couple’s appliance keeps filling with blood for no reason. “The Animal Collector” is a tough one for animal lovers because of all the injuries and deaths, but the idea of a highway maintenance man assembling a makeshift zoo for his roadside rescues is alluring. Eventually, he becomes overwhelmed and compassion turns into a burden. In “A Small Bunch of Violets,” Mari chooses a new ornament for her father’s grave during a heat wave, but the flowers keep being displaced. There were too many so-so stories, though.

With thanks to Two Lines Press and publicist Nicolette Praça for the proof copy for review.

New to My TBR in #ShortStorySeptember

I’m still frantically trying to finish the multiple short story collections on my stack, but there’s always room for more on the TBR!

This month I discovered (and promptly ordered secondhand):

  • Arranged Marriage by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni (via Lisa of Hopewell’s Public Library of Life), a collection about the South Asian immigrant experience that I thought could be a good follow-up to Interpreter of Maladies
  • Alice by Judith Hermann (via Brona of This Reading Life), linked short stories that would also count towards German Literature Month in November

It’s been a while since I’ve read anything of Tom Cox’s, but I loved the description in Jan’s review (at What I Think About When I Think About Reading) of his new collection, Curious Events Lately Occurring in This Neighbourhood, as “a sketch show” with “a certain skewed perception, a certain willingness to embrace the surreal.” I’m also always partial to flash fiction, too, which this is at least in part.

 

I came across Roald Dahl’s short stories for grown-ups through Cathy’s review of Kiss, Kiss at 746 Books and will borrow his collected stories from the university library for next year’s challenge.

 

I am really enjoying a different spooky collection of Celia Fremlin’s at the moment, so I will have to source By Horror Haunted (reviewed by Helen at She Reads Novels).

 

Diana’s review of multiple collections by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky at Thoughts on Papyrus piqued my interest and I managed to find one story, “Quadraturin,” with the full text online to read another time.

 

Both Nancy Elin and Rose featured a selection of short stories by W. Somerset Maugham; Rose even said she thinks his stories are better than his novels, so I know I’ve got to read some. I have the volume Creatures of Circumstance, and can access others from the public library.

 

Last month I earned a £70 voucher for doing a Teams call about my reading and book-buying habits with a UX researcher at Awesomebooks.com (she didn’t know what she was in for!) – my favourite place to buy secondhand books online – and spent it at the weekend. I have two new copies on the way as part of that big order, one of which is a collection of uncanny stories that I’ve had in my sights ever since I first heard about it: The Good Eye by Jess Gibson, Margaret Atwood’s daughter. I will plan to read it as part of Margaret Atwood Reading Month in November.

Have you discovered any new stories or collections this month?

#ShortStorySeptember: Old Romantics by Maggie Armstrong (2024)

Linked short story collections are among my favourites: it’s so satisfying to spot connections between characters and storylines. It took me embarrassingly long to work out that these dozen Dublin-set stories are linked, and that they are likely to be autofiction. The penny finally dropped when I realised that the protagonist of multiple stories in a row had been named Margaret, while the autobiographical nature was clinched for me when I read the acknowledgements. Armstrong highlights various slivers of Margaret’s experience in third- and first-person narratives that initially seem to skip around in time but eventually settle into chronological order as she becomes a wife and mother.

The first seven stories are hilarious and awful at once, depicting a string of her narcissistic boyfriends. (“Number One” makes it clear who these immature, selfish, sometimes mentally ill young men are looking out for.) The title story is probably the best, recalling an ill-fated trip to the USA she took with Walls, who vacillated between pettiness and largesse. The fact that she gets an infected wound from stepping on an American flag cocktail stick [toothpick] is a sly symbol of how the trip reveals what’s gone wrong between them. In the second half of the book, she has an affair with Sergio, an Italian émigré with an ill wife and two daughters. “Trouble” proceeds week by week through her first pregnancy via headings (along with “Those Weeks,” “Any Given Week,” etc.); “Trouble Again” chronicles the second, which is complicated by marital problems and her father’s cancer.

Margaret’s (lack of) vocation is another thread. When she’s a young woman, her father gets her a corporate catering job. The building is overstaffed and she’s clearly superfluous, but she still manages one coup in her time. In “My Mistake,” Sergio gets her a first post-maternity leave job with his company that involves navigating bewildering computer systems and writing reports on information she doesn’t understand. All along, she’s been composing pieces about her life and trying to get them published. These stories are wry and well observed, documenting a woman’s shifting preoccupations and search for meaningful connection. This is Maggie Armstrong’s debut and it’s a promise of great things to come.

With thanks to Biblioasis for the free e-copy for review.

My Year in Short Stories (#ShortStorySeptember)

The Short Story September link-up is open (see my pinned post). At the start of the month, I’m inviting you to tell about the short stories you’ve already read this year, especially any that you’ve particularly enjoyed.

I don’t consider myself a great short story reader, so I was surprised to look back and find that I’ve already read 17 collections this year. I include in that four books that I consider to be linked short story collections, even though they were all published as novels rather than stories. (I’m sure Susan is right when she theorizes that this is about marketing – what’s expected to sell.) The best have been Brawler by Lauren Groff and Nightjar by Emily Ruskovich, which are actually quite similar.

Some other favourites were:

The Daffodil Days by Helen Bain: A slantwise biographical portrait of Sylvia Plath through her interactions in the last years of her life. The 16 chapters adopt the points-of-view of various secondary characters (e.g., Plath’s housekeeper, riding teacher, and brother), but the kernel of each is an encounter with Plath that illuminates her personality and state of mind. (Reviewed for Shelf Awareness)

 

Strange Weather in Tokyo by Hiromi Kawakami: Tsukiko is a lonely barfly in her late thirties when she bumps into a secondary school teacher again. She calls him “Sensei,” and they start meeting up for low-key adventures. Kawakami infuses the book with attention to the seasons’ changes and everyday sensual pleasures like food. A lovely, subtle romance.

 

Ladies, Ladies, Ladies by Kristen Zory King: A “chapbook” containing 18 flash stories. It’s remarkable how much is packed into a few pages: a voice, a character, a setting and situation, an incident, a salient backstory, and some kind of epiphany or resolution. Fifteen of the pieces focus on one named character. Each story is distinctive, with no words wasted.

 

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri: Lahiri won the Pulitzer for this debut. Her characters tend to be Indian or Bengali immigrants in New England. Relationship studies trade off with accounts of encounters with strangers across generations and/or cultures. Often, food is a reminder of home. An overall theme is denying or affirming common humanity.

 

Luna, Phoenix, Queen by Julie Orringer: In Orringer’s wonderful third novel, the secrets between two literature professors and the adoption of a remarkable dog fuel an absorbing story of love, memory, and connection beyond words. Chapters take on different characters’ perspectives. (Review forthcoming for Shelf Awareness)

 

The Typing Lady and Other Fictions by Ruth Ozeki: Ozeki is up to her usual auto/metafiction tricks here, blurring the lines between fact and fiction, life and death. Themes include memory, creativity, language, ageing and cross-generation connections. The stories are playful without being twee, and represent a real return to form.

 

I Am the Ghost Here by Kim Samek: The television producer’s inventive debut recalls Ed Park and George Saunders with its focus on the mixed blessing of technology. Her speculative short stories’ protagonists deal with grief or new motherhood, often while also struggling with their health. Samek sets up unusual situations with knock-out first lines. (Reviewed for BookBrowse)

 

The Blood Year Daughter by G.G. Silverman: A remarkable collection that mixes feminist horror and twisted fairy tales into potent concoctions. Women’s bodies are imperiled by sadistic men and acts of self-sacrifice. Blood is a symbol of desire or power. Motherhood and sisterhood are vital bonds. Among bleak storylines come flashes of morbid humor. (Reviewed for Foreword Reviews)

 

All by women!


And the rest:

(All but two by women!)

 

What are some of your recent favorite experiences with short fiction?

#ShortStorySeptember Reading Options

It’s a little over a week now until Short Story September begins. I’ve been gathering potential reads, mostly from my own shelves. I used to have a dedicated short story shelf, but earlier this year interfiled everything into an alphabetical fiction sequence. When I went hunting through to pick out the story collections, they were more numerous than I expected! I recreated a temporary short story shelf (below), but it ended up overflowing…

I also earmarked a few books I wouldn’t mind rereading (left-hand stack). In the few cases where I have more than one option by the same author, I’ve pulled out the extras (middle stack). And I have a couple that would do double duty for R.I.P. (right-hand stack), which technically starts in September, though I usually don’t feel like reading for that challenge until closer to Halloween.

Here’s a library pile I assembled last week, another R.I.P.-suitable read that I’m partway through, and two late additions from a secondhand book haul.

But wait, there’s more! Here are some of the options on my e-readers:

My overall aim will be to cover a variety of time periods and styles, as well as author nationalities and genders.

Particularly for the classics and longer Collected/Selected volumes (Barnes, de Maupassant, Forster, Frame, Lawrence, Mansfield, Maugham, Porter, Williamson), I will probably choose just one renowned story to review.

I wanted to get ahead, so I’m now stuck into six collections already!

Spy anything that you have read and can recommend?

What have you got lined up for next month?

20 Books of Summer, 12–13: Strange Weather in Tokyo (#WITMonth) & Mitz

Two terrific novellas I’m belatedly writing up today, one my first selection for Women in Translation month and the other a contribution to Virago’s “Summer of Sigrid.” Both:

Strange Weather in Tokyo by Hiromi Kawakami (2001; 2012)

[Translated from Japanese by Allison Markin Powell]

Tsukiko is a lonely barfly in her late thirties when she bumps into her secondary school Japanese teacher, Harutsuna Matsumoto, again. She calls him simply “Sensei,” and they start meeting up for low-key adventures: sharing tofu and saké at Satoru’s bar, marking annual holidays, and leaving the city to forage for mushrooms and visit his late wife’s island grave. Sensei quotes poetry and, ever the teacher, gently corrects his former pupil’s language. Tsukiko is an impassive young woman who never seemed to grow up (“I … still might not be considered a proper adult. … I just wasn’t able to ally myself with time”) and is prone to drinking too much, but finally starts to get a grip on her emotions thanks to this new connection.

Each chapter is discrete, building into a linked short story collection. The erratic (non)use of speech marks somehow didn’t bother me as it seems to suit Tsukiko’s slight disorientation. Kawakami infuses the book with attention to the seasons’ changes and everyday sensual pleasures like food. A drunk at the bar speaks for us readers when he asks the main characters, “You two, just what are you?” The nature of their bond is hard to pin down. Tsukiko is also courted by Kojima, a more age-appropriate boyfriend, but she feels nothing for him. Instead, a May–December relationship unfolds like cherry blossom, ever so gradually, from friendship into something deeper. Powell manages to fit some wordplay into her translation, as in this gently erotic passage:

At some point, sitting beside Sensei, I began to notice the heat that radiated from his body. Through his starched shirt, there came a sense of Sensei. A feeling of nostalgia. This sense of Sensei retained the shape of him. It was dignified, yet tender, like Sensei.

From the title and cover image, I might have expected the magic realism so common to Japanese literature, but this is something different: a lovely, subtle romance. It’s a reminder that it doesn’t have to be torrid passion to be true love. “Even a chance meeting is the result of a karmic connection,” as Sensei quotes. Susan (A life in books), whose review is excerpted in my paperback copy, is quite right. Kawakami was a great new discovery and I’ve got my eye on several more of her books: The Nakano Thrift Shop from the library and Record of a Night Too Brief and Far from Everywhere (forthcoming in February) on my e-reader. (Secondhand – Community Furniture Project, Newbury)

 

Mitz: The Marmoset of Bloomsbury by Sigrid Nunez (1998)

What a fun little book from Nunez’s back catalogue! On the one hand, a fictional mini-biography of the Woolfs by way of their pet marmoset might seem like a random choice of topic; on the other hand, you can see the seeds of her future autofiction in which human–animal connection is a starting point for wide-ranging meditations on life and death (a dog in The Friend; a parrot in The Vulnerables; and even, to a lesser extent, the cat in What Are You Going Through).

Mitz is a small monkey who induces strong, conflicting reactions: “You looked at her and thought, How grotesque. And the very next instant, How adorable. And then, How grotesque, again.” She takes a shine to Leonard on a visit the Woolfs pay to their friends the Rothschilds in 1934, and before long they’ve offered to take Mitz home to share their London and Sussex life, along with Pinka and Sally, the spaniels they had in succession. Mitz’s favourite spot thereafter was sat on Leonard’s shoulders, or napping on his feet. She accompanied the couple on their travels, too, so distracting people in Germany that Virginia would write in a letter that “the marmoset saved us from Hitler” (Leonard was Jewish). Visitors were less enamoured, thinking Mitz dirty and bad-tempered.

In any case, the creature was a lucky accessory to genius, and Nunez makes her our eyewitness to the composition of works such as Roger Fry and The Years:

From a distance, then, Mitz observed Virginia. And she saw how this mysterious activity that could bring such a flush to Virginia’s cheek could also have quite the opposite effect: Virginia was as white as her own writing paper. She scribbled and slashed; she muttered and she groaned and she cursed. She jumped up from the chair and wandered in circles about the room.

How much Mitz understands of ageing, death, and conflict, can never be known. These were tumultuous pre-war years, during which Virginia lost a nephew and fascism loomed large. Nunez sets personal cataclysms against international ones, imagining Mitz’s journey from a Brazilian forest, via a hellish ship, to the London junk shop where she was made to sit in a draughty window to drum up business. That she spent her last five years so loved and cosseted was a stroke of good fortune. Her death ends up feeling like a more general omen, as in the book’s final line: “It was Christmas Day, the last year of peace.”

I was reminded of the complications of keeping an exotic pet in My Animals and Other Family by Julia Blackburn, in which she buys Congo the bushbaby from Harrods (and there is also a family spaniel). As part of the backmatter of this reissue, a thank-you letter from Nigel Nicolson to Nunez and a 2019 afterword by Peter Cameron note the undeniable inspiration of Virginia Woolf’s Flush, a playful short biography of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s cocker spaniel (for whom Pinka, a gift from Vita Sackville-West, was a model). I fancied rereading Flush so have picked that up as one of my substitute Books of Summer and am enjoying discovering the connections between it and Mitz. More anon.

With thanks to Virago for the free copy for review, one of several matching reissues they sent me as part of their “Summer of Sigrid.”

#ReadingtheMeow2026, Part I: Chinese & Japanese Authors

I’m a couple of days late, but here we go. It’s my fourth time participating in the annual Reading the Meow challenge, hosted by Mallika of Literary Potpourri. Chinese and especially Japanese authors are famous for their literary love of cats. For my first post, I’m giving brief thoughts on a couple of Japanese novels – one of them a classic that may be responsible for the entire cat craze – and two examples of cute cat-themed manga.

 

I Am a Cat, Volume 1 by Natsume Sōseki (1905; 2025)

[Translated from Japanese by Nick Bradley]

Translator Nick Bradley makes a strong case for this as the “beginning [of] the Japanese cat book trend,” and I wondered if it was one of the earliest examples of the animal narrator, too. The unnamed feline antihero values brains over beauty: “Even though I am just a cat, I often like to philosophize. … Now, ladies and gentlemen, I have an admission to make. As far as cats go, I am no oil painting.” He’s lazy and fatalistic, contented to live out his days with the dyspeptic schoolteacher who has taken him in off the street. I’ll have to take Bradley’s word for it that this popular serialized novel (of which this is the first of three volumes) is a satire in which the cat is “a mirror to Japanese Meiji society at the time the novel was written.” The voice is amusingly lofty and snobbish, but I was uninterested in the story and set it aside at 35%, unsure whether to return to it in future. (Read via Edelweiss)

 

She and Her Cat by Makoto Shinkai and Naruki Nagakawa (2021; 2022)

[Translated from Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori]

Shinkai is an anime filmmaker and I think this originated in his manga. I could spot the enduring influence of Sōseki in the setup of strays interacting with fellow cats and dogs. Most of these linked short stories involve young women grappling with turbulent careers and uncertain romantic relationships. When cats show up in their lives, they offer uncomplicated friendship and reliable tenderness. Narration, whether first- or third-person, alternates between owner and cat in each. I started reading this against my better judgement, as from The Guest Cat onwards I’ve found Japanese cat books bland and twee. It’s the combination of a flat style, my unfamiliarity with the context, and (magic) realism, which has worked for me with Murakami but hardly anyone else. This was a half-hearted skim. (Little Free Library)

 

Cat manga, though: that’s the ticket!

Chi’s Sweet France by Kanata Konami; illus. Catherine Bouvier (2025; 2026)

[Translated from Japanese by Akiko Indei and Pierre Fernande]

I had read The Complete Chi’s Sweet Home, Part 4 and really not enjoyed it (see above), but because this is a series of shorts, and set in France, it was palatable. I thought about saving it for Paris in July but ended up reading it on my computer in one sitting last month. Chi’s family (a mom, a dad and a little boy) moves from Japan to Paris. She wants to go outside and join the French cats in prowling the rooftops, but the mother says it’s too dangerous. Only when they move out to the countryside from the Paris apartment can she go outside. I don’t love the simplistic drawing style – no noses, a triangle or trapezoid for the mouth – or the cutesy writing (e.g. “Chi’s territowy”). Still, reading this was a pleasant way to spend half an hour. (Read via Edelweiss)

 

Mobu’s Diary: Earning Your Paté by Kathy Lam (2022; 2026)

[Translated from Chinese by Cindy Ko and Kevin Wang]

We have a winner! This comic was delightful through and through, and I hope more adventures are to come. Mobu is a three-year-old, slightly neurotic calico. This noble kitty decides she wants to earn her keep (imagine that!) and scans feline-suitable job listings: yoga teacher, massage therapist, pest exterminator, tuna sales rep… When she sees an opening at a cat café, she knows it’s right for her. The only issue is that she doesn’t really like being petted, so she mostly naps on higher shelves. All the same, just by being herself – playful, sleepy, cute and rotund – and observing human behaviour, she manages to be truly helpful. She comforts a distressed student who’s freaking out about a bad grade. She also notices and sometimes intervenes when ‘friends’ are really competing, a couple is fighting, and a boss is trying to take advantage of a worker. Her fellow cats are equally well drawn, and their antics could easily inspire a whole series. (Read via Edelweiss) Forthcoming from Andrews McMeel Publishing on 22 September.

Bonus:

Kitten by Stacey Yu – Yu’s first novel is a peculiar, endearing fable about a young Chinese American woman who identifies with her boyfriend’s cat as she works to overcome codependency issues with him and her mother. On a beach vacation, James cooks for Katie and does all the driving. “I liked being with James because he made it easier for me to be alive,” she admits to herself. James’s family pet, Silver, is the first cat she has met. James found Silver on this beach a decade before, and the cat regularly swims in the ocean with her owners. Katie is “struck by the intensity of my affection for her”—somewhere between maternal instinct and envy of the cat’s comfort and security. Yu maintains the uncomfortable ambiguity of the central relationships as literal realities and psychological explanations coalesce. That Katie’s estranged mother’s nickname for her is “Kitten” connects the novel’s major elements.

Forthcoming from Sceptre (UK) on 30 July and Random House (USA) on August 4. (See my full review for Shelf Awareness.)


Coming up tomorrow: An anthology of cat-related letters and a couple of short memoirs about life with a beloved cat.

Three on a Theme (Valentine’s Day): “Love” Books by Amy Bloom, George Mackay Brown & Hilary Mantel

Every year I say it: I’m really not a Valentine’s Day person and yet it’s become a tradition to put together a themed post featuring one or more books with “Love” or “Heart” in the title. This is the tenth year in a row, in fact – after 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024 and 2025. As you might expect, none of the three below contains a straightforward love story. The relationships portrayed tend to be unequal, creepy or doomed, but the solid character work and use of setting and voice was enough to keep me engaged with all of the books.

 

Love Invents Us by Amy Bloom (1997)

I’ve found Bloom’s short stories more successful than her novels. This is something of a halfway house: linked short stories (one of which was previously published in Come to Me; another that gives the title line to her 2000 collection A Blind Man Can See How Much I Love You) about Elizabeth Taube. When we first meet her on Long Island in the 1960s, she’s a rebellious and sexually precocious Jewish girl; by the time we’ve journeyed through several decades of vignettes, she’s a flighty and psychologically scarred single mother. Stories of her Lolita-esque attractiveness to grown salesmen and teachers, her shoplifting, her casual work for elderly African American Mrs. Hill, and her great love for Horace, nicknamed Huddie, a Black basketball player, are in the first person. The longer second part – about the aftermath of her physical affair with Huddie and her ongoing emotional entanglement with her English teacher, Max Stone – is in the third person yet feels more honest. Liz seems like bad news for everyone she meets. Bloom shows us some of the reasons for what she does, but I still couldn’t absolve her protagonist. I’d also reverse the title: We Invent Love. Liz is responsible for irrevocably altering two lives besides her own based on what she needs to feel secure. This is very much Lorrie Moore territory, but Moore leaves less of a bitter taste. (Secondhand – Community Furniture Project)

 

A Calendar of Love and Other Stories by George Mackay Brown (1967)

The title story opens a collection steeped in the landscape and history of Orkney. Each month we check in with three characters: Jean, who lives with her ailing father at the pub they run; and her two very different suitors, pious Peter and drunken Thorfinn. When she gives birth in December, you have to page back to see that she had encounters with both men in March. Some are playful in this vein or resemble folk tales: a boy playing hooky from school, a distant cousin so hapless as to father three bairns in the same household, and a rundown of the grades of whisky available on the islands. Others with medieval time markers are overwhelmingly bleak, especially “Witch,” about a woman’s trial and execution – and one of two stories set out like a play for voices. I quite liked the flash fiction “The Seller of Silk Shirts,” about a young Sikh man who arrives on the islands, and “The Story of Jorfel Hayforks,” in which a Norwegian man sails to find the man who impregnated his sister and keeps losing a crewman at each stop through improbable accidents. This is an atmospheric book I would have liked to read on location, but few of the individual stories stand out. (Secondhand – Community Furniture Project, Newbury)

 

An Experiment in Love by Hilary Mantel (1995)

Mantel is best remembered for the Wolf Hall trilogy, but her early work includes a number of concise, sharp novels about growing up in the north of England. Carmel McBain attends a Catholic school in Manchester in the 1960s before leaving to study law at the University of London in 1970. In lockstep with her are a couple of friends, including Karina, who is of indeterminate Eastern European extraction and whose tragic Holocaust family history, added to her enduring poverty, always made her an object of pity for Carmel’s mother. But Karina as depicted by Carmel is haughty, even manipulative, and over the years their relationship swings between care and competition. As university students they live on the same corridor and have diverging experiences of schoolwork, romance, and food. “Now, I would not want you to think that this is a story about anorexia,” Carmel says early on, and indeed, she presents her condition as more like forgetting to eat. But then you recall tiny moments from her past when teachers and her mother shamed her for eating, and it’s clear a seed was sown. Carmel and her friends also deal with the results of the new-ish free love era. This is dark but funny, too, with Carmel likening roast parsnips to “ogres’ penises.” Further proof, along with Every Day Is Mother’s Day, that it’s well worth exploring authors’ back catalogue. (Public library)

 

Plus a DNF:

Unexpected Lessons in Love by Bernardine Bishop (2013): I loved Bishop’s The Street, and this posthumous novel initially drew me in with its medical detail (two friends who both had stoma operations) and the exploration of different forms of love – romantic, parental, grandparental – before starting to feel obvious (two adoptions, one historical and one recent), maudlin and overlong. With some skimming, I made it to page 120. (Secondhand – Awesomebooks.com)

 

Other relevant reading on the go:

I would have tried spinning this one into another thematic trio, but ran out of time…

A Rough Guide to the Heart by Pam Houston (1999): A mix of personal essays and short travel pieces. The material about her dysfunctional early family life, her chaotic dating, and her thrill-seeking adventures in the wilderness is reminiscent of the highly autobiographical Waltzing the Cat. Amusingly, this has a previous price label from Richard Booth’s Bookshop in Hay-on-Wye, where it was incorrectly classed as Romance Fiction – one could be excused the mistake based on the title and cover! (Secondhand – Community Furniture Project)

 

And three books about marriage…

  • The Honesty Box by Lucy Brazier – A pleasant year’s diary of rural living and adjusting to her husband’s new diagnosis of neurodivergence.
  • Strangers by Belle Burden – A high-profile memoir about her husband’s strange and marriage-ending behaviour (his affair was only part of it) during the 2020 lockdown.
  • Mrs. Bridge by Evan S. Connell – For Literary Wives Club in March. I’m in the early pages but it seems comparable to Richard Yates.

#NovNov25 and #GermanLitMonth: Kästner, Kehlmann & Kracht

Our trip to Germany in September whetted my appetite to read more German-language fiction, and November also being German Literature Month (hosted this year by Caroline of Beauty Is a Sleeping Cat and Tony of Tony’s Reading List) was a perfect excuse. K names only this year, please. (Perhaps next year I’ll make it S and finally get to those Sebald and Seethaler novels I have on the shelf.) These three works – a children’s classic, a set of linked short stories about the writer’s craft, and a mother–son spending spree – have coy metafictional touches, plus there’s a connection I wasn’t expecting between the Kehlmann and Kracht. All:

 

Emil and the Detectives by Erich Kästner (1929; 1931)

[Translated by Eileen Hall]

If only I’d realized this was set on a train to Berlin, I could have read it in the same situation! Instead, it was a random find while shelving in the children’s section of the library. Emil sets out on a slow train from Neustadt to stay with his aunt, grandmother and cousin in Berlin for a week’s holiday. His mother gives him £7 in an envelope he pins inside his coat for safekeeping. There are four adults in the carriage with him, but three get off early, leaving Emil alone with a man in a bowler hat. Much as he strives to stay awake, Emil drops off. No sooner has the train pulled into Berlin than he realizes the envelope is gone along with his fellow traveller. “There were four million people in Berlin at that moment, and not one of them cared what was happening to Emil Tischbein.” He’s sure he’ll have to chase the man in the bowler hat all by himself, but instead he enlists the help of a whole gang of boys, including Gustav who carries a motor-horn and poses as a bellhop, Professor with the glasses, and Little Tuesday who mans the phone lines. Together they get justice for Emil, deliver a wanted criminal to the police, and earn a hefty reward. This was a cute story and it was refreshing for children’s word to be taken seriously. There’s also the in-joke of the journalist who interviews Emil being Kästner. I’m sure as a kid I would have found this a thrilling adventure, but the cynical me of today deemed it unrealistic. (Public library) [153 pages]

 

Fame by Daniel Kehlmann (2009; 2010)

[Translated by Carol Brown Janeway]

I’ve been equally enchanted by Kehlmann’s historical fiction (Measuring the World) and contemporary metafiction (F is one of my all-time favourites) in the past. These nine linked stories feature writers and their characters, actors and their look-alikes, and are about how life translates into – or is sometimes transformed by – art. Ralf Tanner starts to feel like he doesn’t exist when his calls gets diverted to someone else’s phone and an impersonator is more convincing at playing him than he is himself. Leo Richter’s new girlfriend is curiously similar to his most famous character, Lara Gaspard, a doctor working for a medical charity. Crime writer Maria Rubinstein takes Leo’s place on a cultural exchange to Central Asia and gets stuck in a Kafka-esque situation without a visa. Leo’s fan and Ralf’s call recipient are subjects of their own stories. References to Miguel Auristos Blanco’s spiritual self-help books recur and he, too, eventually becomes a character. I liked the pointed little jokes about what writers have to put up with (“Do you know how often I’ve been asked today where I get my ideas from? Fourteen. And nine times whether I work in the morning or the afternoon,” Leo complains). Mostly, these stories struck me as clever yet had me wondering what the point was. My favourite was “Rosalie Goes Off to Die,” in which Leo’s character travels to Zurich for an assisted death but he the writer decides to interfere before she can get her last wish. (Secondhand – Awesomebooks.com) [206 pages – but fairly large print]

 

Eurotrash by Christian Kracht (2021; 2024)

[Translated by Daniel Bowles]

This was longlisted for the International Booker Prize and is the current Waterstones book of the month. The Swiss author’s seventh novel appears to be autofiction: the protagonist is named Christian Kracht and there are references to his previous works. Whether he actually went on a profligate road trip with his 80-year-old mother, who could say. I tend to think some details might be drawn from life – her physical and mental health struggles, her father’s Nazism, his father’s weird collections and sexual predilections – but brewed into a madcap maelstrom of a plot that sees the pair literally throwing away thousands of francs. Her fortune was gained through arms industry investment and she wants rid of it, so they hire private taxis and planes. If his mother has a whim to pick some edelweiss, off they go to find it. All the while she swigs vodka and swallows pills, and Christian changes her colostomy bags. I was wowed by individual lines (“This was the katabasis: the decline of the family expressed in the topography of her face”; “everything that does not rise into consciousness will return as fate”; “the glacial sun shone from above, unceasing and relentless, upon our little tableau vivant”) but was left chilly overall by the satire on the ultra-wealthy and those who seek to airbrush history. The fun connections: Like the Kehlmann, this involves arbitrary travel and happens to end in Africa. More than once, Kracht is confused for Kehlmann. (Little Free Library) [190 pages]

Spotted in my local Waterstones…