As usual, when something is slightly comedic, I find it completely deflates the fiction, with few exceptions. The tone of the voice here really bugged me, perhaps exasperated by narration? Had it been filtered through my mind, perhaps it would be more compelling.

I was pleasantly surprised by the kindness it is concerned with as a young woman attempts an alternate trajectory than what the well intentioned around her try to set her on, though. Yet even some of this interactions with men, despite the better-than-average treatment of women for a classic, are still problematic, consent-wise. And while this is a sigh of the times, reading is an empathy exercise, yes? and so spending your time populating the problematic in your mind, influencing your own thoughts and emotions, is an inevitability. There is reading through the uncomfortable when it is instructive for your own person, and there is just simply being uncomfortable, which this is, with a particular dynamic between our main and a certain main.

Though much lauded, I found not so much here as I expected. I suspect a lot of it has to do with a synchronicity with the voice, which I never developed, unfortunately. Not a bad read, of course. But as I rate everything by expectations, 3 being meeting expectations and 4 exceeding them, this is a solid 3. I’m quite at peace asking classics to live up to their labels. Plenty do.

This book was really interesting. Not all of it worked, but I’d prefer that it make the attempt than stick with something more conventional.

We follow Holly Sykes from 1984 to 2043, only the first and last chapters are from her point of view. The first chapter, in many ways, is actually really quite impressive. The voice here is my favourite. Young and Irish and full of vinegar, Holly has a fight with her mam about a boy not worth fighting about, as teenagers are want to do. When she concocts a wild fantasy about the two of them running away to London, or anywhere far away, really, she ends up running right into him with her best friend, which sends her into a teenage angst spiral that leads her to run away from home.

Only, that’s not what the story, nor her own story, is actually about. But it’s also exactly about that.

There is a through line of the paranormal happening as well. Holly meets people who are akin to her, somewhat, in that she can hear voices. They range from scary to odd, just like her brother Jacob, who hasn’t been the same since recovering from an illness a few years back.

Holly’s life, however, ends up never being quite what she wanted or expected or aims for. We learn this as the book jumps forward in time across ages. And we see Holly from the eyes of a supporting cast of characters that are actually quite disparate.

This actually worked really well for me, surprisingly. Characterizing and learning of her life as though she were the sun being orbited by these people, and with a mystery nugget tucked away regarding a family event that occurs that precipitates the jumping forward in time in the first chapter. We don’t really know why Holly is important. Or if she actually is.

There is a meta level component to this that other Mitchell books I’ve read so far do not (or was aware of at the time, anyway). I’ve read Cloud Atlas and The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet which, by the way, should be read before this book because there’s some pretty big spoilers in this one regarding the plot. In this meta level plot, though, we know more is going on with Holly, and the entire oeuvre of Mitchell’s books, presumably.

I enjoyed this a lot more than I expected to, despite the less deftly handled paranormal components to this meta story that directly affects Holly, and which she influences. To what degree, I won’t give away. Thankfully I read plenty of cyberpunk and sci-fi, so the creation of new words and their repurposing for setting is something I roll with, even if some of them probably could have been more intuitive and less dumb sounding.

The meta interwoven with spots of Holly throughout her life as she becomes older and comes into her own, worked well. We see her contrasted nicely with her teenage years and there is a through line with Hugo Lamb’s choice, I won’t say what that choice is, that harkens back to Cloud Atlas really nicely. I really like Mitchell’s way of slipping into new and old characters, and underlining sort-of emotions and movements clearly important to him, as they reoccur. In particular: Love.

In the end, Holly’s story kind of feels nicely wrapped up, but also like it’s setting something up. Maybe Slade House has some things to say about these characters yet? Either way, I was mostly satisfied.

But there were a few things that didn’t work for me. One of them was the overlong chapter dedicated to the writer. Who wasn’t very likeable, though that came along by the end, somewhat. I felt like that chapter could have been truncated, but what’s more is, I don’t think a few questions were actually answered that were raised there? Why did the ending happened, who was that person and the contours of their plan wasn’t ever gone into, was it? There’s also a bit of hand waving with the supernatural happens with plot holes, plot beats, and I’m not sure the soft worldbuilding technique did it any favours.

That said, everything else felt good. The questions raised at the start were particularly fun, when revealed. And the battle at the chapel, because of the way it was written—being that it was hard to describe—did some fun things with my brain. For me that whole sequence looked like a weird animated pastel, very much like the opening to Scott Free Productions movies. Where there’s a man who changes into bird. That whole chapter kept me up late at night as it was just exciting to read and picture in my head. And again, that first chapter really flew by and set up so much payoff without the reader really catching on to how much what happens influences Holly and others lives.

Also, learning the additional meta stuff about Thousand Autumns, also quite neat and made me think a lot about how the meta stuff could tie into other books and characters. The detriments seem small, compared to the high points I had with this. Will continue on to Slade House next. I’m on a mission to read all of his books now that I have all of them, including Utopia Avenue!

“Then there is the other secret. There isn't any symbolysm [sic]. The sea is the sea. The old man is an old man. The boy is a boy and the fish is a fish. The shark are all sharks no better and no worse. All the symbolism that people say is shit. What goes beyond is what you see beyond when you know.”

Sure felt like that reading it too. I feel like many Hemingway fans love him so much they read into it a lot more than is there, where laymen might come in and see just the bones and never more, really. That’s where I land: It’s a perfectly serviceable construction and not much else, imo.

Agh. I love this so much. It isn’t a surprise, given how I feel about her previous novels, but I actually do think this innovates on the previous two to a more refined sense of style. I’ll get to that.

This go around we follow 4 characters, mostly from two perspectives: Eileen and Alice, best friends since about college. Alice is intelligent and learned and an extremely successful and working novelist. Eileen works at a literary magazine that does not make a profit and is funded by grants; she works as an editor, she barely gets by, and she is in a flat share. Both (I believe?) are 29.

The impetus for the story occurs when Alice gets out of a mental health establishment and moves to a small town, 3 hours for Dublin, in order to vacation. This episode, as well as her leaving, spins their lives like a top that certainly feels like it will eventually fall, if not stabilized somehow.

In this instability, Alice meets Felix on Tinder, an impromptu date and how the narrative sets off. Eileen, however, turns to Simon—the third of the group of long term friends (as well as Alice). And this causes them to re-examine their lives as they collide into each other and confront a tumultuous past.

Felix, on the other hand is like none of them. He seems to treat everyone and everything, more-or-less, like a game. Which puts his life and his interactions in a binary state of winning or losing. Alice, in contrast, has herself wound tight as a snare. She won’t be possessed and wields her intellectualism and false state of disillusionment with love and affection like a dagger when her hackles are raised.

As with Normal People, there is a through line of class stratification forming the underlining basis of personhood. Alice, though now rich, didn’t grow up so, and was shy and reclusive, friendless—except for Eileen—was and is thrust into parasocial relationships with her success; something she wasn’t socialized for and puts additional strain on her, even as other throughlines of anxiety manifest in other characters: The climate crisis, capitalism and its commodification of all things, including the art and sense of self Alice put into her work, massive global inequality and inequities, which only annunciate the pressure and guilt Alice feels for her success.

The book somewhat has a plot, though not traditional or put in the forefront whatsoever. Mostly, it’s focused on a central tension between Simon, Alice, and Eileen and their meeting again, coming to a sense of resolution.

But where this book really comes alive is in capturing the nuances of every interaction between the characters. It is deft at characterization through the peripheral. Environment and gesticulations unnoticed by one person are picked up with earnest curiosity of the narrator. The headspace is limited and depends entirely on the kind of interaction. The more intimate it is, the more we don’t have to infer. We see people move their hair and touch arms and try and express themselves as best they can.

We mostly see what they don’t see. There are endless gaps of knowledge they miss out and we are privy to; miscommunications abound; history intercedes.

As painful as it is to watch sometimes, they are undeniably beautiful in their attempts. It also shows the nourishment we give and receive between others when we make such attempts ourselves. People are messy, but to not try to connect is not even an option, as we see. Not speaking and changing your orbit so you no longer see the people in your life, is as much as communication and causes as much effect as the opposite.

And these moments we don’t feel the gravity of, too often, end up building our character and our morality and memories. These building blocks are the cornerstones of our being. They’re far more complex and nuanced than we imagine them to be. But we aren’t socialized, typically, to really communicate properly. Every character has their own defence mechanism and stumbling block; a spectre at every would be feast.

And what’s more is even in the structure of the book you can be let into those moments. As people come together and have an interaction—as their headspace merges and intimacy grows—they share the same actual physical space on the page. When they are separate and “not on the same page”, the paragraphs are more traditional and read quite differently. Walls of text become meaty elements to consume that are endlessly fascinating because they indicate intimacy and communication between the people. I think that’s a lovely way to telegraph to the reader where each character is at, cognitively.

The dialect is also masterful. No quotations whatsoever, unless needed in a larger paragraph or reference. There’s are dropped words and inflections. It’s impossible to not read it with an Irish accent at times, for certain characters (Felix). It’s not something you have to chew through and process, it’s as quick and easy as normal formatting.

All of this comes together to create a fitting homage to The Attempt. A finger pointed at treasuring the simple interactions of every day life, and how varied and different intimacy can manifest and be expressed. And how, really, the mundane is the bones of our lives. We ought to show more deference and time to them.

A heartwarming and inclusive middle grade read about two kids, best friends, navigating their school lives while being ostracized for not performing their gender. Also a witch lives in town, Snap’s family is haunted by a one-eyed monster. When Snap looks for her missing dog at the witch’s place in the woods assumptions about people begin to be interrogated; a trend which continues throughout.

Quite enjoyed it. Quick read. The visual style works really well sometimes, at a particularly autumnal park, for instance. But generally left me feeling like it was fine. It becomes a bit gonzo as it goes on in the supernatural front and I felt that was a mixed bag for me. But it has more than enough heart to keep anyone coming back. Very enjoyable.

What a luxurious experience compared to my last read, The Kind Worth Killing, which I thought didn’t work at any level. Picking this up next was absolutely perfect.

The interiority of our nameless bride and narrator is wonderfully rendered with excellent prose. A world wind chance meeting, rapid courtship, and bride entering what feels reminiscent like a Bluebeards Bride scenario. She is then harangued and tormented by the precedes of Rebecca in her new home, as well as her housekeeper, who attended her from a very early age. And all the while the gothic mystery of what happened to Rebecca additionally hangs over the household.

This is dripping with atmosphere and somehow makes the gaslighting and emotional abuse of a woman feel both tense and horrific, while also making her viewpoint absolutely riveting reading just from her actual voice coming through the prose. It is her story and she’s telling it from the future, which puts a spin on things, for me. So much could happen even after the end based on what we know of them.

Because it’s her viewpoint her husband reflects her portrait back at her and she is constantly analyzing, often coming to the wrong conclusions, about how her husband thinks and feels about her and his late wife. Then, the further tormenting by the housekeeper stokes her fears and further drives her into a corner.

The character arcs are very interesting to me, too. Rebecca receives one, though long dead. As does our narrator. Initially she is quite cowed and falls to pieces at every problem but she slowly begins to straighten her spine and come into herself. The fact that she, at an old age is writing the story allows for her to be very wise and knowing and sharp and observant, while also embodying the qualities of the young very well. It feels like a true accounting because of the revelations, but it also keeps an interesting blind spot.

Her husband, we can reasonably assume is most likely not a good person; especially by the end. But she still sees him from a rose coloured view, which suggests things about their future. But also embodies the time period and youth and young love and the kind of intimacies that bind, nothing to do with the physical whatsoever. I found the plot reveals to be engaging and fun and well executed. Her reaction, especially from the lens of a young bride, quite believable.

As with Rebecca herself,similarly she felt well realized. Some components cooperated between widower and housekeeper and others, some we also can surmise have been painted or coloured by our young, now (presumably) old, narrator. Every character is fractal and that’s what makes them interesting. As with every element in the book there is an anticipation to know more about absolutely everything. It’s wonderfully handled. Even the end had me at the edge of my seat, despite guessing the twists and turns on the round I was then rounding, it’s a wonderful experience just being on it and getting there in such a vehicle as is this book.

And at the end we don’t really know everything about any of the characters, probably least of all our narrator. But I’m also shamelessly simultaneously curious and questioning of everything first person. How much can be trusted. We couldn’t finger our new bride, though things occur that would put any number of people in prison. Why is it being told now? Who benefits from such a story. The meta aspects are interesting long after it ends, and I always appreciate that.

Otherwise, it’s just gothic suspense at its best. Horror? Not so much, I think. But the atmosphere, the characters, the plot, and the stark nature of who people are, or how we perceive them to be, is all here and I doubt done any better. Absolutely loved it.

I can see why this would be some peoples favourite novel in the series, but before I ever joined Goodreads most of what I read was murder mysteries. If you’ve seen my little diatribe about The Silent Patient, you’ll know I consider the very first thing a first person narration does is introduce the number one suspect. In my opinion, the most successful of the genre, for me, of course, I don’t mean this as an empirical judgement, is ones with limited third person or multiple points of view. First person almost always, unless the actual detective, feels like a gimmick to disguise the murder. It’s a fun one, for some people, evidently, but not for me, unfortunately.

That said, it’s still far better executed than The Silent Patient and it has its fun in other places, especially when you suspect the narrator all along. But I found I also just do not like Poirot. Or the style of the all-knowing all-wise male detective with a big swinging… mind. The motive is also really essential, for me. The reason has to be as interesting as the crime and the mystery, and simple blackmail just ain’t it. Give me detectives that have to work as a team, unique strengths, probably trauma they’re processing. Scandinavian noir has ruined me for these novels—though I still own and will get to Death in the Nile. I suspect that death will be my last of this particular brand of the genre.

Eiji Miyake, 19, travels to Tokyo in the hopes of tracking down his biological father. What follows is a hyper surrealistic literary fiction, sci-fi, fantasy pastiche as his imagination bleeds into his reality while he unwillingly is pulled into an underworld both like and unlike what you might expect.

In an acknowledgement of Murakami’s Norwegian Wood (and others) Tokyo has yakuza and guns and KGB assassins and perfect necked women and hyper realistic VR games, Eiji is deflowered by some hyper sexual “nymphettes” when contrivances conspire to get him laid; but, yet (and thankfully) Number9 also diverges from being an outright imitation of, well, anything. It’s got coming-of-age-tropes and Japanese tropes typically seen in western narratives about Japanese culture—while not falling into the pitfalls most western writers fall into with orientalism—it, again, feels like a this weird pastiche where I couldn’t actually tell if Mitchell is authentic to a Japanese person’s, though foreign of Tokyo itself, viewpoint.

What begins as day dreams and video games begin to enmesh themselves into the overall narrative. There is no demarcation for this, it just slowly happens. One thing it almost always does with these digressions though, is keep the plot as a source of grounding, which helps a lot, I found. The genre and visual motifs and characterization ocellated but you can tell what is the trappings and what is, at least probably, actually occurring.

It has interesting things to say about a “normal” life experience. Arguably any fish-out-of-water experience can be an adventure and who cares what is in the strictest sense “real”. Dreams and fiction have equal sway over defining a persons character, and so this literary jazz ensues. This is a vehicle of story that is being explored and used to characterize the protagonist as much as the actual events and his past.

What’s more is we know Eiji, from the very start on his trip to Tokyo, is running from something at home. Some experience or event is happening or has already happened and he simply cannot come to grips with it. His mind spiralling out into all these forms of media consumption that form our default perspective feels thematically cogent. He does everything he can except to realize certain truths in his life—until he has to stop and come to grip with it.

This was my first novel of Mitchell’s I’ve butted heads against, voice wise. I hated the 19 year old naivety and powerlessness of Eiji; but ultimately think that it was written quite well. If I was rating just my enjoyment of the prose, I would give it 2/5 stars. The nice thing about this novel, though, is just how easily it is to view it from a meta perspective and craft-work one. It is hard not to marvel at such a well constructed piece, and the voice fits the character work. As such, it somehow ended up being not a big deal that the prose were a trudge for me. I didn’t like the tone and Eiji as a person much, but there is great diction and sentence construction and specificity and verbiage—all things I love.

By the end I appreciated it perhaps even more than usual for having other elements to propel me through this wild experience.

At the meta-level of Mitchell’s novels, The Bone Clocks (spoilers if you haven’t read it, don’t read*) there’s a chapter that feels like it could be the perspective of a horologist that is out-of-body. But there’s so many fantasy and sci-fi elements it’s actually hard to say if this is so. Otherwise, there’s also a book that makes an appearance, another coming-of-age book I can’t remember the name of properly, but also non-consequential; merely an east egg, so far as I can tell. However, this book took a heavy cognitive load to consume and so I have a nagging doubt I could have missed things from other Mitchell novels that were present. Time will tell~

I thought this was great! Very fun, without being super tropey. Well rendered and complex identities in characters and setting. An interesting plot with good pacing. Not “merely” a retelling, but it’s own thing that makes it far more prescient. Great timing for tonal shifts. Interesting world and world building. I was pleasantly surprised and will check out the sequel (out soon).

While the third issue hampers it a bit with the large big battle against a big bag that is ineffective—something I am _so_ tired of—the plot is fairly refreshing and a misdirected McMuffin only augments this. Granted, I do not read these comics, so all of it was new to me, and perhaps elements of this are played out from the various lines they stem from. Coming at it fresh, though, I can say it’s a great onboarding collection. Great art, something larger communicates about stories. I think it’s asking a bit much to have it land a more cerebral point, and the ending was a mixed bag, especially not knowing the characters pretty much whatever, ‘till now. Still. Better than expected.