Twist - Colum McCann (2025)

 

Rating: Excellent

Twist can be added to the list of narratives that use Joseph Conrad’s novella, Heart of Darkness (1899) as a template, which also includes Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) and Robert Silverberg’s novel, Downward to the Earth (1970). McCann actually directly references both Coppola and Conrad in the narrative, but it is the story of John Conway, a brooding and mysterious character who leads the crew of the Georges Lecointe, a ship dedicated to repairing the fibre-optic deep-sea cables that carry over 90% of the world’s internet traffic, that acts as the main reference point to Conrad’s novella. Anthony Fennell, a writer and journalist, who has his own array of damages and dysfunctions (alcoholism, familial estrangement), is tasked with buddying up to Conway and joining the repair crew as they embark on the difficult mission to fix broken cables off the coast of West Africa. Fennell is a compelling narrator, as he ponders his own broken life, the psychologically dark depths of Conway’s salty persona and the improbable world of cable repair, which takes heroic levels of skill and determination to achieve. That aspect of the novel, the technical details of the cables, their purpose and fragility, is fascinating and strangely compelling. McCann fully utilises the thematic and metaphorical links between the cables and the manner in which humans communicate. Conway is directly involved in keeping the cables functioning, the very cables which, ironically, carry all the dark and toxic gossip about his partner, Zenele, an actress who is starring in a controversial adaptation of Beckett’s classic absurdist play, Waiting for Godot (1953); yet Conway himself is a closed book, much to the frustration of Fennell, who aims to pry open all of his secrets and motivations.

McCann reveals himself as a great stylist, his prose is cinematic and, at times, profound and beautiful. Some readers may find his stylistic flourishes pretentious, but couched within the novel’s wider themes, McCann gets away with his sometimes unrelentingly vivid descriptive prose. As Twist progresses the tension is ratcheted up, Conway goes without sleep in order to find and repair the offending cables. Fennell roams the ship, observing and fretting about his life and his semi-estranged son. However, curiously, once the situation with Conway becomes that of a man gone AWOL, the novel loses some of that tension, to its slight detriment. As Fennell begins to find out more of Conway’s activities and whereabouts the writing becomes more like reportage. There’s a section in second person, which works quite well in allowing both Fennell and the reader to see the world through Conway’s eyes. Still, Conway’s ultimate motivations are opaque, leaving the reader guessing at his end game, although given the general thematic thrust of the novel, it’s surely not much a leap to understand the root causes of his disillusionment. At this stage Fennell becomes the more interesting character, even though Conway still dominates. Still, Twist is, overall, a satisfying and unique novel. It does encourage reflection regarding the current state the world finds itself in, in regard to the environment, the ills of the web and pressures brought to bear on individuals and cultures due to the web’s overwhelming sway over humanity. A great novel for book clubs, as it encourages discussion regarding both its themes and its prose. Most of my book clubbers' found Twist to be an intriguing and well written novel, and they can be harsh in their judgements, McCann, it seems, passed the book club test.

Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand - Samuel R. Delany (1984)

 

Rating: Admirable

Samuel R. Delany is unlike most other science fiction writers, not only is his densely descriptive writing style highly erudite, but his work is conceptually sophisticated and quite often oblique. His themes explore gender norms, sexuality, sociology and cultural mores, especially relating to social politics and government bureaucracy. Delany has more in common with Ursula Le Guin than the likes of most other science fiction authors, particularly from the era in which he produced the majority of his published work, the 1960’s, 1970’s and 1980’s. Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand takes place in a distant future in which humanity is spread across some 6000 planets. There are alien species, but only one shares humanity’s ability to harness faster than light travel, a xenophobic race known as XLv. Sounds simple enough, but Delany adds in two competing quasi-religious factions, the Family and the Sygn, both of which become only marginally understood as the novel progresses. One of the handful of main protagonists is Rat Korga, a gangly misfit who voluntarily undergoes a process called Radical Anxiety Termination, in which his brain is permanently altered to take away all mental suffering, but he effectively becomes a slave on a desert planet which is eventually destroyed in mysterious circumstances. The first section of the novel is taken up with his story, told in third person, until the narrative switches to first person, told from the perspective of the other principal protagonist, Marq Dyeth on the plant Velm.

The novel is an intense exercise in comprehensive and detailed world building in which the reader is totally thrown in the deep end. There’s very little in the way of background information regarding the Family or The Sygn, how humanity came to be spread across the stars, the nature of their space travel, but most significantly, the culture and society of Velm in which humans live alongside the Evelm, a reptilian species with a multitude of forms and social norms, including ‘dragons’ that live in the north of the planet. We get to know Marq Dyeth quite well, however her (Marq is actually a male, but it seems that everyone on the planet is referred to as a female, but at other times as a male, depending on sexual preferences…) interactions with her family and the Evelm are exceedingly complex. The array of cultural and societal norms is bewilderingly detailed and is explored comprehensibly throughout the latter half of the novel. It’s very easy to get lost and overwhelmed by such world building, as such it is both the novel’s strength and its weakness. The best way to approach Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand is to just go with it and enjoy some of the novel’s more manifest joys, such as the literary elements, like the poetry recited at a social gathering, from where the title of the novel is taken, or Rat Korga’s experience with information cubes that transfer their data directly into the brain (many of which are great literary epics that sound fascinating - of course Delany goes into them in detail). There’s also the dragon hunting undertaken by Rat Korga and Marq Dyeth on Velm, which is unlike any hunting practice that you could reasonably consider. Delany also explores an internet like technology called the General Information Service, which reminds you that the novel was written and published during the early years of the Cyberpunk genre.

Samuel R. Delany, contemplating being oblique

Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand demands a great deal from the reader, to the extent that it would simply be too frustrating for many readers; the XLv race is barely explored in the end, despite its obvious promise; there are just too many long detailed passages describing social customs and there's also the matter of confusing gender pronouns and a plot in which not much really happens in terms of action or typical plot devices that move the narrative forward in a dramatic fashion. Also, the novel was meant to be the first in a diptych, but the second novel, The Splendor and Misery of Bodies, of Cities has never been completed, meaning that there is a number of loose ends that are never resolved, as they were no-doubt going to be explored further in the second novel. Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand is fascinating, beautiful, frustrating and even maddening. I really don’t know whether I fully enjoyed it, but three weeks after finishing it I’m still thinking about it, so I’d say it’s worth reading, but be prepared to be both bewildered and challenged.

We Could Be...Bowie and His Heroes - Tom Hagler (2021)

 

Rating: Admirable

I find it hard to resist a good Bowie book and when We Could Be...was returned across the counter at my library I, predictably, took it home. Since Bowie died, now approaching ten years ago, there have been a multitude of Bowie books, all with their own angles in an attempt to get away from just a straight Bowie biography. This one collates an array of meetings that Bowie had with other significant people in the public sphere, in music, film, art, fashion and politics. It is arranged chronologically, starting with Absolute Beginner: 1947-1969 and ending with The Next Days: 2005-2016. For a hard-core Bowie fan like me the early years were the most interesting, for example I never knew that Bowie hung out with Brian Jones during the Rolling Stone's early years; that Bowie, as Davy Jones, was invited into Paul McCartney's home and they listened to an acetate of one of Bowie's songs; or that Ridley Scott directed the ad for 'Luv ice lollies' that featured Bowie in 1969. As the eras roll on the anecdotes become more familiar, although there are still many nuggets of unknown incidents to be found. The writing style is fairly informal, but good enough to carry the stories of Bowie's interesting meetings with other well known people. There's a smattering of photographs, most well known, among a few that are relatively unseen. Over all it is a handsome, well presented Bowie book.

Bowie and Visconti, circa 1979, getting their facts straight

Tony Visconti, Bowie's friend and significant producer throughout his career, is noted on the cover as being a 'consultant editor'. Apparently, as indicated in the introduction, Hagler managed to get an early draft to Visconti to read and he offered insights and corrections, saying that his input was based on what Bowie had told him directly. This does seem to give particular credence to the veracity of the stories, however, I was disappointed to note some oversights. I know it comes across as churlish to point out mistakes, but in a book like this it has the effect of the reader not being as trusting when it comes to some of the less well known encounters. Firstly, there's the account of the reasonably well known meeting in which Bowie mistook Doug Yule for Lou Reed when he attended a Velvet Underground gig in New York in 1971 (Reed had left the band by that stage). It's a humorous, and true story, however Hagler notes that it was supposedly John Cale who answered the stage door and let Bowie inside. John Cale had long left the band (in late 1968), with Doug Yule becoming his replacement. Cale was certainly not in a version of The Velvet Underground that didn't include Lou Reed. Strangely there is then no mention of Bowie meeting and hanging out with John Cale later in the book, in particular in New York, where he and Cale jammed together, something documented on some rather dodgy bootlegs. It's an odd oversight in the context of the thematic thrust of the book. Another error comes later, regarding Nagisa Oshima, who made the film Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence (1983); when shopping around for an actor to play a British POW he saw Bowie in an TV ad for Pepsi, also starring Tina Turner. Except unfortunately this ad didn't appear until 1987, when Bowie advertised Pepsi in a deal to help with the expenses of touring the Glass Spider Tour. I think the actual ad the director would have seen Bowie in was one he did in the early eighties for a brand of Japanese sake, which featured the amazing instrumental Crystal Japan (1980), but not Tina Turner. Finally, in the section covering the 1990s, Hagler notes that Bowie had written the song I'm Afraid of Americans (1995) with Trent Reznor, but the co-writer was Brian Eno. Reznor did a remix or two of the song, toured with Bowie and starred in the video, but there was no co-write. Now I feel really churlish! But, despite being a fine book, these oversights, as a hard core Bowie fan, mean that I question other stories that I've never encountered before, despite Visconti's involvement. Despite this the book is worth a read for Bowie fans overall, regardless of my nit-picking.

A Personal Epilogue

We Could Be... is all about Bowie encounters and what it was like for himself and the significant others he met throughout his life. As a fan I had my own encounter in 1987 in Sydney, where I attended four of the eight Glass Spider shows. I was hanging around the entertainment centre and walked past an area near the backstage. There was a cyclone fence running between the back of the centre and a multi-story car-park. A few people were hanging about and one told me that they knew that Bowie was going to arrive for a sound-check shortly. He did indeed, and the experience of meeting him was surreal. He stood about 30 centimetres away from me on the other side of the fence, wearing a black fedora hat and a suit. He signed a page from a book I'd managed to convince someone to rip out of a Bowie book they had with them (I had nothing with me). I can't remember what I said to him, nor what he said to me, but I remember that it evoked a feeling like you get from having a beer on an empty stomach. I also remember that he was friendly and polite, totally relaxed and his skin was so white that it was almost translucent. It was a thrill to meet him and still feels surreal today, like it happened in another realm, despite the physical evidence of the signed page hanging in a frame on my wall. A great experience - I was among those who met Bowie and I'll always treasure it. That day I also met Carlos Alomar, one of Bowie's great and important collaborators, having played guitar on countless Bowie classics. Now he was a dude, exuding lots of fun and enthusiasm as he jumped around in his black leather stage attire. A great day all round.

I Want Everything - Dominic Amerena (2025)

 

Rating: Excellent

I Want Everything is Dominic Amerena's debut novel, a five year effort, emerging after years of successfully publishing shorter works in various publications around the world. The novel concerns an unnamed protagonist, a would-be writer, struggling to actually get down to the business of writing and producing, in his dramatically uttered words, the ‘great Australian novel’. We first meet him as he’s leaving a Melbourne hospital, a place we find out later he is well acquainted with for reasons that are kept from the reader for quite a while, which ends up adding nicely to the narrative spice. He decides to venture down to the local swimming pool on the way home and spots an elderly woman whom he recognises as the great lost Australian cult author, Brenda Shales, who wrote two books in the 1970's, The Anchoress and The Widowers, before running into legal problems and then disappearing. Our unnamed protagonist weasels his way into Brenda’s life in order to extract her story in an effort to make his mark on the literary scene. Brenda Sales is a fabulous creation, apparently mostly based on Australian writers, Helen Garner and Elizabeth Jolley, she crackles with wily self-awareness and cynical cunning. Believing the protagonist to be her grandchild, Shales acquiesces to recounting both her life-story and the circumstance's that led to her cult literary notoriety. The sections that feature the stories of her past, mostly set in the 1960s and the 1970’s Whitlam era, are perhaps the best in the novel; fascinating and visceral, her life becomes vivid in the mind’s eye of the reader. She's cantankerous, difficult, but ultimately charms both the protagonist and the reader. 

I Want Everything is also a satire about writers, their struggles for inspiration, their hubris, and more seriously, the ethics surrounding writing. The main theme at play is literary fraud, principally the fraud the protagonist is attempting to perpetuate by passing himself off as someone else in order to insert himself into Brenda Shales’ story. But Amerena also explores the moral issues around how writers obtain inspiration for the material they need to feed on, like literary vampires, in order to produce their work. The protagonist’s partner, Ruth, a dedicated writer, is ruthless (no pun intended) when it comes to fuelling her drive to write, including withdrawing emotionally from the protagonist as the novel progresses. In one of the novel’s great scenes Ruth and the protagonist are at a dinner party with fellow writers, one of which reacts with jealous horror regarding Ruth’s recent essay publication and success, breaking glasses and even crying pathetically at the dinner-table at one stage. In terms of poking fun at writers’ egos, it is darkly humorous stuff, particularly when we find out that what Ruth has written is considered to be ‘mother-boarding’, which, in the context of the novel, is a term used to describe demonising your mother in writing. Amerena’s writing pops with confident verve, sometimes bordering on pretension, but he manages to get away with it by being fleet-footed in terms of pacing and sheer chutzpah. It also helps that the novel features a satisfying twist that makes you revise everything you’ve read and adds layers to the narrative you didn’t know were there. A book club read, one in which not everyone was enamoured with, however I thoroughly enjoyed this excellent debut and hope that there’s more to come in the future.

City - Clifford D. Simak (1952, complete edition - 1988)

 

Rating: Excellent

This 1988 edition of City (pictured above) contains a ninth tale, not included in earlier editions of this remarkable book, and an author's forward. Known as a 'fix-up' book, containing stories published separately between 1944-1951, it was then published in 1952 with interlinking tales that explain how the stories are fragments of a greater narrative. The ninth story, or Epilog, was first published separately in 1973. This edition begins with the rather sobering words: "City was written out of disillusion." Simak had lived through WWII and had despaired at its devastation. City is a rumination on what the future could hold for humanity, however Simak's visions of the future are unlike any other typical dystopias or utopias encountered in science fiction. The interlinked tales are woven together with brief extrapolations regarding their veracity and origins, how they came to be part of 'Doggish lore', for in City dogs are intelligent and can speak, having been given that capacity by the Webster family, who feature from the very first tale. Not only are there talking dogs, but there are also robots, in particular the servant robot, Jenkins, who features throughout the book. Robots, talking dogs and the future of humanity? You might consider that you'd know how the tales found in City will play out, but, once again, Simak produced work that defies typical science fiction tropes. Simak's writing is a curious blend of fable, fantasy, science fiction and folklore. It's a bit baggy and, indeed, shaggy, but is irrepressibly endearing because of these very tendencies.

Clifford D Simak, contemplating the future of humanity.

Within these tales humanity's future is marked by both stasis and expansion, some humans who have settled away from cities (as most of humanity end up doing, despite the title) find themselves becoming agoraphobic and in later stories many end up in virtual reality suspended animation. Some, whilst exploring a highly improbable conception of Jupiter, find escape into ecstasies of alien existence. Others are beginning humanity's exploration of the stars and disappear for good, others still become human mutant outliers, experts in logic, theory and their practical applications. Their impact on ants turns out to be significant, but no spoilers here. However it is the dogs that are at the heart of these tales, after all, they inherit the Earth and ponder the past via their Doggish fables of times long gone. They develop a sophisticated society over the eons, with the aid of the robots, the faithful servants of both humans and dogs. There's just enough weirdness and intrigue to keep the reader engaged, but Simak is careful not to reveal too much, keeping you wanting more. Probably my favourite parts of City involves the concept of 'cobblies', entities who live in other parallel worlds, with some of them slipping through to Earth, with unintended consequences. I'm surprised that City has never been made into a television series, or at least a movie, it would make an excellent visual narrative, but I could not find any mention of it ever being optioned in any way. Although eight of the nine stories here were written and published during WWII, they have aged well, perhaps because the notion that humanity is inherently fatally flawed is still persuasive. Also the concepts involved and the style in which they are presented are remarkably contemporary. Fortunately when I found my copy of City in a kooky second hand book store (Bella's Second Hand Book Store), I also bought six other Simak books, so I'm looking forward to more Simak thrills to come.

 

Two beautiful editions of City

There Are Rivers in the Sky - Elif Shafak (2024)

 

Rating: Excellent

Elif Shafak is a significant author, activist, academic and speaker on the world stage. Shafak is of Turkish descent and lives in exile from Turkey due to persecution over alleged charges of 'insulting Turkishness' and spurious accusations of plagiarism. There Are Rivers in the Sky is an epic and complex novel that ties together three seperate narrative strands; Arthur Smyth, a brilliant savant (based on real Victorian Assyriologist, George Smyth) who emerges from poverty during the Victoria era to unlock the mysteries of the Assyrian clay tablets, notably The Epic of Gilgamesh (2100-1200 BCE), a Yazidi girl called Narin and her family in 2014 and Zaleekhah Clarke, who lives in London circa 2018. It all begins, however, with one drop of water falling into the hair of Assyrian king, Ashurbanipal, which then goes on to cycle through the skies and water-ways of the world to later interact with all three main protagonists. It's heady stuff at times, with deep themes of symbolic connection weaving throughout the novel. Zaleekhah is a hydrologist at the crossroads of life and via her story we learn more about the ways of rivers and river systems, which often provide handy metaphors for human psychology. As with most novels that interweave multiple narrative strands, there's some that pale next to others that are more immediate, or much more interesting. Narin's story is initially slight, especially in comparison to Arthur's story, which is fascinating, vivid and compelling. Zaleekhah's story sits somewhere in-between, with her marital crisis dominating initially. Yet as the novel progresses Narin's story comes more to the fore and plays out under the menacing cloud of the emergence of ISIS and the multitude of crimes they committed in the name of righteous belief. It makes for powerful and tragic reading and becomes the focal point that ties together the other two strands.

 

Lamassu statues at Nineveh

Shafak's writing is sophisticated, erudite and complex, but it is also totally readable. Although thematically and symbolically dense the novel is generous with its ability to allow the reader to connect the narrative dots. Shafak has also created fully developed characters who connect with the reader; I found myself becoming anxious regarding Arthur's fate, such is the precariousness of his early life. As Arthur progresses, from the life of a street urchin, to work as an apprentice at publisher's Bradley and Even's, who end up publishing Charles Dickens (who turns up a couple of times, much to Arthur's amazement) and then to The British Museum, which houses the huge Lamassu statues from ancient Nineveh, to work at translating the masses of clay tablets from Assyria, to expeditions to the middle east, you are fully invested as a reader. As the novel progresses both Zaleekhah and Narin's stories become more realised, before entwining in both tragedy and hope. Along the way Shafak manages to explore inequality, colonisation, identity, religion, ethnicity and cultural memory that sits within those who are exiled from their homeland. There Are Rivers in the Sky has its flaws, notably it is perhaps overly long (a common flaw for modern literature, or is it?) and displays some bagginess within its pages, which are overflowing with maximalist thematic and informational overload. Still, such concerns are minor compared to the novel's shear scope, its audacity and the emotional impact of its denouement as the three narrative strands come together powerfully. There Are Rivers in the Sky is a perfect novel for book clubs, inviting analysis, discussion and appreciation. My three book clubs revelled in the novel's multifaceted themes and genuinely connected with many of the characters. Apparently, as revealed in an interview, Shafak is a metalhead and listens as she writes, which sounds like an intense way to create such a work of complexity and insight. She points out that metal is full of raw emotion, energy and even harmony, which could easily describe this remarkable novel. Totally recommended if you are after something thematically challenging to read.

A Lamassu at The British Museum

Einstein's Monsters - Martin Amis (1987)

 

Rating: Admirable

Martin Amis is not known for his short stories, with only two collections published in his lifetime, Einstein's Monsters and Heavy Water and Other Stories (1998), among some later omnibus publications of collected stories which included the two volumes and some other strays. Einstein’s Monsters was apparently put together when Amis realised that the short stories he had been writing were centred around the theme of nuclear weapons. Einstein's Monsters begins with an essay called Thinkability, in which Amis outlines the true horror of the threat of nuclear weapons and the annihilation they could potentially unleash. It makes for harrowing reading and despite being written and published during the height of the Cold War, the essay is still chillingly relevant. Amis bemoans the terrible irony of the need for nuclear weapons because of the existence of those very same nuclear weapons. After this short essay the first story, Bujak and the Strong force, Or God’s Dice, provides a very decent beginning, with a Polish protagonist whose strength is such that it metaphorically mirrors the strong nuclear force. It brings him a great deal of trouble, of course, and things don’t go well for his loved ones because of it. It’s a fine, if flawed tale. Insight at Flame Lake uses contrasting diary entries to tell the story of the impact of a schizophrenic boy on his host family. The boy’s father had worked with nuclear weapons before committing suicide. Ultimately it’s a rather heavy-handed allegory for the travails of having nuclear weapons around.

Martin Amis, contemplating Einstein's Monsters

The Time Disease is entertaining but doesn’t quite suit being shoehorned into a collection of nuclear themed stories. It’s futuristic in nature, featuring people who are terrified of time and its deleterious effects on aging, in this case they are aging in reverse. As with all of these stories it features enough of that trademark Amis erudite flair and biting wit to make it worth reading. The actual writing is quite brilliant, but the overall effect is diminished by the shape of the plot. The Little Puppy That Could continues in this fashion. Set in a post nuclear apocalyptic future, things are so bad that a huge, deformed malevolent dog is menacing the ill and deformed residents of a dilapidated village. Their ploy is to offer up weekly sacrifices. Meanwhile a little puppy (who doesn’t appear to be normal himself) with great persistence worms his way into the heart of a little girl. Most of the villagers are scared of the poor little puppy, due to the giant deformed canine that menaces them on a weekly basis. It’s a bit long and grotesque, but does create a nice amount of tension, particularly in the last third of the story. The story has classical mythological allusions within its twisted narrative, but it doesn’t provoke enough motivation to do the research to understand them, at least in my case. The final story, The Immortals, is one of the finer to be found within this slender collection. It recounts the life of an immortal as he traverses the gulfs of time that encompass the history of the planet. There are some great lines, included references to decades long recreational habits and how various epochs compared in terms of boredom and danger. Turns out that ultimately the future involves the imposition of nuclear warfare and the last of humanity in New Zealand who dream that they are indeed immortal. It’s clever all right, but other than its often-brilliant prose it doesn't work quite as well as you want it to. Based on Einstein’s Monster’s, Amis wasn’t really a natural short story writer and it is probably not a coincidence that he didn’t produce many throughout his otherwise brilliant career. This collection is vaguely disappointing, but even acknowledged geniuses have lapses and in the scheme of things these stories are still worth reading just to bask in the glory of Amis’s brilliant prose style.