This is Where the Serpent Lives - Daniyal Mueenuddin (2026)

 

Rating: Excellent

Daniyal Mueenuddin is a US born Pakistani author who has managed to produce a brilliant and seriously literary debut novel in This is Where the Serpent Lives. In part based on his own experiences, having moved back to Pakistan from the US to take over the family farm and as an individual who straddles both east and west; This is Where the Serpent Lives encompasses sixty years of Pakistani history (1955-2013) from the point of view of both the wealthy land-owning classes and the servant classes. Told via four interlinking sections, the novel begins in 1955 with ‘The Golden Child’ when the owner of a tea stall, Karim Khan, takes in orphan, Bayazid (mostly known as Yazid). Yazid goes on to be the significant and sympathetic character who provides a link throughout the novel's different sections. Yazid, humble and observant, goes from being a tea stall holder to chief driver for the Atar family, principally Hisham Atar and Shahnaz Atar, important characters who feature in the third and fourth sections. Although only some 343 pages long This is Where the Serpent Lives reads like a Russian epic, both stylistically and thematically. Critics have compared Mueenuddin to Chekhov, particularly due to the author’s vivid realism, unclear narrative resolutions and the complex relations between landowners and servants in feudal rural Pakistan. Simply put, This is Where the Serpent Lives is an extraordinary novel, full of complex characters and fascinating historical and cultural detail; one could say that it’s lapidary in its attention to detail. 

Spanning decades of Pakistani history during the post-war period when modernisation and Westernisation was making inroads into societies that had long entrenched social hierarchies, Mueenuddin creates a complex dramatisation of societal tensions, ambition, decadence and thwarted social mobility. Once we've been introduced to Yazid and his world, the second section, ‘Muscle’, acts as a scene-setting exploration of class, hierarchy, and engrained corruption via the young sophisticate, Rustom, a character who is thrown into the deep end when he returns from America to take over the family farm (the author has acknowledged the autobiographical nature of this section). This section introduces the Atars, who, along with their young servant, Saqib, then dominates the third and fourth sections, ‘The Clean Release and ‘This is Where the Serpent Lives’, which, as one would imagine, has well developed, but not cliched black and white biblical themes. When the attentive reader takes in the complex interrelationship between the wealthy and amoral Atars and the humble, but underhand Saqib, it is not clear just who is the serpent in question, although this is part of the point. Having never read any works by Pakistani authors, nor read any novels set in Pakistan, This is Where the Serpent Lives was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, especially Mueenuddin’s beautiful and precise prose, which at times was just exquisite in its jewel like clarity. As the novel comes symbolically full circle in its dénouement, one can only admire the novel’s brilliance and hope that Mueenuddin, already in his early sixties, can produce more novels of such a high standard. The book club attendees loved This is Where the Serpent Lives, awarding it high scores; I very nearly gave it a sublime rating, but it’s somewhere between excellent and sublime and would get four and a half if I used a numerical system.

 

The Ganymede Takeover - Philip K. Dick and Ray Nelson (1967)

 

Rating: Excellent

Some part of me that desired, no, actually needed a shot of paranoid weirdness that only Philip K. Dick can provide. This happens at least a couple of times a year. Fortunately, Dick was prolific, so there are still plenty of his novels I’m yet to read, despite being an avowed ‘Dickhead’ for decades. The Ganymede Takeover is one of the few novels that Dick collaborated on with another writer, in this case Ray Nelson, who was an interesting character in his own right, as an author, cartoonist and the inventor of the propeller beanie hat that went on to become emblematic of science fiction geekdom. Nelson and Dick were friends from childhood and it was after Nelson gave Dick his first LSD trip (I read somewhere that Dick didn’t have a particularly good time, no surprise there...) they decided to collaborate and apparently Dick rounded up some in-progress story fragments and they came up with The Ganymede Takeover. Set on a future Earth that has been invaded by reptilian worm creatures from, you guessed it, Jupiter's largest moon, Ganymede. The Ganymedian invaders are also aided by a ‘Creech’ slave race of ugly bipedal monsters. There’s only one area (a ‘bale’) left on Earth in Tennessee that resists the worms from Ganymede, where a ‘Neeg’ leader called Percy X leads a small army of black Americans. There’s also another rebel group called the ‘World Psychiatric Association' (of course) who end up collaborating with Percy X. This premise is merely the framework for hanging all of the typical Dickian tropes from, such as flying cars (ionocraft), telepaths (Percy X and Mekkis, one of the Ganymedian's), vidphones, androids, liberal drug taking and, of course, half deranged doctors who design weird brain warping machinery; everything you’d want from a Philip K. Dick novel basically.

P. K. Dick, staring down Ray Nelson

The Ganymede Takeover can be placed among Dick’s lesser novels, however it is a much better effort than many of his pulpy novels, which typically were knocked off under the influence of legal amphetamines to keep the money, and the amphetamines, coming in. It could very well have been the collaboration with Nelson that created a narrative that is more polished than the usual knock-off effort by Dick. It’s still a wild, schlocky ride though, particularly about half way through, when an epic battle begins between the Neegs and the Creech led Ganymedian army, involving a herd of gigantic African Aardvarks with “...evil, glittering eyes...” and "...tongues that lick ionocraft out of the sky...", causing the greedy and slovenly character of Gus Swenesgard (a typical Dick character, well and truly trapped within the maw of his flaws) to exclaim “Oh my god, not Aardvarks!!” It becomes unbelievably wilder from that point on, with a totally crazy battle involving all kinds of bizarre creatures that emerge straight from the fevered minds of Percy X and his assistant, who are using a machine stolen from the mentally unstable Doctor Balkani that can create very real shared hallucinations. The plot becomes a bit convoluted from that point on, but it is entertaining non-the-less and it was a totally enjoyable 157 pages of Dick freakiness. The Ganymede Takeover is not the place to start for Philip K. Dick initiates, but for established Dickheads it's lots of freaky fun of the kind you’d expect and, of course, need in your life.

The Year Everything Changed: 2001 - Phillipa McGuiness (2018)

 

Rating: Admirable

I bought The Year Everything Changed: 2001 believing that I knew what would be its main focus, but when I finally got around to reading it, it turned out to be quite different to my initial impression; mostly because the text provides quite a personal examination of the year 2001, which is totally fair enough. Phillipa McGuiness lost a baby that year, a tragedy that can’t help but be the lens through which she views the significant events of that year. Like her personal tragedy, that year’s major events are still playing out as we speak. After a fine introduction McGuinness divides the year into months and then advances systematically. There’s quite a bit of Australian content, which makes a change, but also makes sense, as McGuinness is an Australian publisher and author. There’s an examination of the muted celebrations of Australia’s Centenary of Federation, which, of all the events that occurred that year, I’d completely forgotten about. After reading about the unsuccessful attempts at whipping up some public enthusiasm, I’m not surprised. More significantly there are thorough examinations of the Howard government’s weaponisation of the Tampa Affair (‘children overboard’) as a means to demonise asylum seekers and immigrants in general into an election winning ploy that the Coalition used to their advantage for decades. There’s also the dot-com bubble and the emergence of early tech-bro dominance in the form of Google (founded in 1998, but really got going by 2001) and Apple, having launched the iPod in that year. McGuinness also muses over John Howard’s obsession with Don Bradman and the emergent revelations of widespread sexual abuse by Catholic priests. It's all pretty serious, but interesting, stuff.

The one event that overshadows everything else that happened in 2001 is, of course, the 9/11 terrorist attacks. It’s one of those events where everyone alive at the time can remember where they were and what they were doing. 9/11 is the THE major event of 2001 that echoes through the subsequent decades. McGuinness handles it well, her style sitting somewhere between formal and informal, mingling the personal with the factual and getting into the raw exposed nerves of the tragedy. In Australia, due to the events of 9/11, John Howard invoked the ANZUS treaty and went all in with the Bush administration’s determined efforts to root out the perpetrators in Afghanistan. One of the main impressions I went away with after reading The Year Everything Changed: 2001 is a strong reminder of just how reprehensible the Howard government was. The moral and ideological failings of the Howard era have been subsumed by the successive horrors of the Abbott, Turnbull and Morrison Coalition governments and the relative failings of the Rudd and Gillard Labor governments. The Year Everything Changed: 2001 provides a timely reminder that John Howard’s conservative neoliberal ideology helped create many of the problems that plague Australia now. Despite sometimes finding The Year Everything Changed: 2001 a bit dry, I did enjoy reading it and it can be seen as a successful attempt at examining that pivotal year from a unique perspective. 

Gravity Let Me Go - Trent Dalton (2025)

 

Rating: Mediocre

Trent Dalton novels have been a massive success in Australia right from the off, with his debut novel, Boy Swallows Universe (2018), being long listed for the Miles Franklin Award, and then made into a TV series in 2024. It sold oodles, as did his successive releases, such as Lola in the Mirror (2023) and, no doubt, Gravity Let Me Go, as we speak, right now. This novel is my first Dalton experience due to the book club voting overwhelming in favour of giving it a go. So, what is Gravity Let Me Go all about? Well, its many things, a crime narrative, an examination of the modern Australian male and all his failings, the nature of crime journalism; all spiced up with touches of magic realism, a narrative form that doesn’t crop up much these days. The novel follows Noah Cork, as he navigates not only the release of his new book about the unsolved murder of Tamsin Fellows that occurred in the very Brisbane suburb he lives in, the (fictional) Jubilee, but also a severe case of testicular pain, an unhappy wife, and the unending challenge of taking care of his two teenage daughters. It all seems a bit much, as does his attempt at leaving his suburb in the opening chapters, in which we meet many of the recurring characters, such as Ellis, an annoying retired neighbour and Jim, a cop who handily lives on Cork’s street, considering he’s a true crime writer. All the clues you need to solving what is really going on in the novel are presented to you as Cork is trying to leave Jubilee to attend what turns out to be a very entertainingly problematic interview and book launch (big hint - his testicles feature strongly...).

So, what’s Gravity Let Me Go like? About halfway through it occurred to me that the novel, particularly the first third, is akin to a hyperactive puppy that will not sit still, it is all over you and irritates the hell out of you. About halfway through things settle down a bit when the narrative becomes more crime focused; more like a murder mystery, rather than a manic ride through Cork's ADHD like brain. Noah Cork has been sent a note by a killer that led to him finding the body of Tamsin Fellows, which led him to obsessively write a true crime book that he hopes will solve all of his financial problems, but in doing so has laid bare the inherent problems in his life. However, Noah Cork is a hard protagonist to like, with his inner voice of endless musings about his problems and how he doesn’t really know how to solve them, which all becomes increasingly grating. Plot often takes a back seat, but when it doesn't the novel miraculously improves. There’s the previously mentioned smatterings of magical realism that include nods to The Wizard of Oz (1939), mainly involving his wife, Rita, who has also decided to become mute and could be the one writing ‘gravity let me go’ in the steam on the bathroom mirror. The teen children are well written characters, with Erin and Clem providing opportunities for some insight and wisdom from the mouths of babes, most of which Noah finds mystifying. With Gravity Let Me Go Dalton could have been onto something, with themes about obsession, responsibility and the moral ambiguities of using victims’ suffering as a means to make a living, but instead the incessant ockerisms, Cork’s manic thought spirals and a sneaky suspicion that Dalton is just trying way to hard to amuse and entertain spoils what could have been a deeper and more complex novel. It's a pity, as I suspect that he is a much better writer than the evidence of this novel suggests.

Lord of Thunder - Andre Norton (1962)

 

Rating: Admirable

Having recently moved house, which involved packing and unpacking dozens of boxes of books, I realised just how many unread books I have dating back decades. Time to read them then, and so I grabbed Lord of Thunder off one of my new book shelves. I've had this slight science fiction novel in my possession since the 1970s, perhaps since I was ten years old. Although I loved the cover, and still do (just look at it! It's a fantastic example of sleek minimalism), I remember trying to read it and realising that it was beyond my capabilities. By the time I noticed it again, in my twenties, I thought it beneath my capabilities, and so it lay dormant, saved only by its cover. What I didn't realise was that Lord of Thunder is a YA novel, before publishers realised that there was such a thing. What I also didn't realise it that Andre Norton was a woman, Alice Mary Norton, who used a male pen name in order to smooth her way in the male dominated world of science fiction. Alice Norton wrote both science fiction and fantasy, publishing at least a dozen different series, most notably the Witch World series, which began in the 1960s and was still going in the 1980s. Lord of Thunder is the sequel to The Beast Master (1959). Both novels feature Hosteen Storm, a 'Beast Master' hailing from Earth (Terra), who can telepathically communicate with an eagle called Baku and a big cat called Surra. Together they make a formidable team in this rather bracing adventure on the planet Arzor, populated by Norbie aliens and human settlers from Terra, apparently long since dead. 

Alice Mary Norton, cat master.

Lord of Thunder has a wild west type of vibe, with the Norbie tribes resembling American Indians, albeit with blue skin and horns. This is the kind of adventure oriented science fiction that was very attractive to teenagers back in the 60s and 70s. Hosteen is jarred out of his newly settled life when he is forced to mount a rescue operation into the searing hot landscape of the 'blue' region of the planet. Also the Norbie tribes are calling truces and heading into the blue region en masse, which alarms Hosteen, as he believes it could only mean war with the human settlers. Although it quickly became clear that Norton could turn out a great adventure narrative, with a nice pared back style that wastes no time, I was surprised at just how good Lord of Thunder turned out to be. Perhaps the nostalgia of reading a proper sci-fi adventure (I grew up reading the likes of Harry Harrison's Stainless Steel Rat novels...) made it that more pleasurable. The novel also features one of the great science fiction tropes, the ruins of a lost alien civilisation. Even better is that the ruins are underground and embedded in cave systems within mountains. Hosteen and his brother, Logan (who was living with one of the Norbie clans) become trapped within the ruins and have to find their way out. These sections are the best part of Lord of Thunder, full of tension and mystery and not overdone or melodramatic. Since reading the novel I discovered that Norton is still much admired within the fantasy community, and I can see why, she was a classy writer. However Lord of Thunder is not without its flaws, with the denouement coming across as rushed and a tad predictable, which weakens the overall impact of the plot. Despite this I really enjoyed the novel and am pleased that I held onto it for so long, which just proves that hoarding books is totally justifiable and worthwhile.

Just one of many alternate covers.

The Predicament - William Boyd (2025)

 

Rating: Admirable

William Boyd is another writer with a connection to David Bowie, having co-engineered an infamous art hoax when they were both on the board of Modern Painters journal. Boyd wrote and Bowie published a book, Nat Tate: An American Artist 1928-1960 (1998) about a lost American artist called Nat Tate. Launched on April Fools day, both Bowie and Gore Vidal read excerpts and fooled the world, for a while at least. Boyd's current literary excursion is the second part of a trilogy (the first being Gabriel's Moon, published in 2024), featuring travel writer and reluctant spy, Gabriel Dax. Set in 1963 Dax is again called into action by his MI6 handler, the seductive Faith Green, whom Gabriel is romantically drawn to, despite his best, but ultimately pathetic efforts. Dax is a quintessential charming Englishman, who's general befuddlement regarding his circumstances remains despite being drawn ever further into the world of cold war espionage. He's posing as a double agent to reel in (attractive) KGB female agents and then he's sent to Guatemala to gain intel on a popular left-wing leader. Of course it all goes pear-shaped, but at least he makes some progress on his travel book about famous rivers. Later, in West Berlin, he's liaising with another (attractive) agent, and, of course, Faith Green, to head off a potential assassination attempt on John F Kennedy during his famous visit to West Berlin. This part of the book is convincingly rendered, with period flourishes bringing some authenticity to proceedings. 

Bowie and Boyd, April Fools tricksters

Boyd is a self professed fan of Graham Greene and despite mentioning in an interview that he believes that he is not channelling the author, I couldn't help but think of Greene when reading The Predicament. Greene split his works into more serious literary fiction and what he called his 'entertainments', light and humorous excursions aimed at the everyday reader. The Predicament definitely has a light tone and although Boyd's writing is sophisticated and erudite, it is an easy read, with the narrative moving along with an engaging pace, and yes, it is entertaining. Dax is a relatable character, convincingly out of his depth, yet plucky in his resolve to rise to the various challenges in his path. He has a tendency for self reflection and therefore does moan a bit, but fortunately he does see a therapist, an (attractive) Dr Haas, which provides some insight into his character and also some humour. The main problem, for me anyway, was that there was little tension generated throughout, even when Dax's life was in danger. There's some spy thriller action tropes that play out that are very well written, but the overall light tone means that there doesn't seem to be that much at stake. Still, the plot is good enough and there are some great satirical scenes that are also homages to the spy genre; Dax is schooled in tailing suspects by an amiable agent, who takes Dax on a merry chase, whilst also pausing to eat at every available opportunity. Dax is also given a lesson in self defence by an old hand, which comes across as a playful James Bond moment, without any gadgets, just good old fashioned practical advice. This was a book club read and about half of the members were impressed and rated The Predicament highly, whilst some others were less impressed, citing Dax's tendency for having a good old moan and the lack of palpable tension. Still, a fine novel that serves a particular purpose - to engage and entertain, and there's nothing wrong with that. 

The Black Album - Hanif Kureishi (1995)

Rating: Excellent

I've long been aware of Hanif Kureishi due to his association with David Bowie and the music he made as the soundtrack to the BBC adaptation of Kureishi's Buddha of Suburbia (1990). I've long had that novel sitting on my shelves, but I spied The Black Album at the fantastic second hand bookstore, Bella's Books, the kind of second hand book store that is crammed with books and goes on forever. I decided to read The Black Album now rather than sit on it for ages, and I'm pleased that I did. Published during the thick of an upsurge in youth culture in the mid nineties, Kureishi captures the beginnings of that era (1989) and expands on it by exploring ethnic identity in multicultural Britain, and religious tensions, in particular the fatwa on Salman Rushdie due to the publication of The Satanic Verses (1988). College student, Shahid Hasan, meets Riaz Al-Hussain on the first page, thus begins Shahid's entanglement with the forces of radicalisation that causes the somewhat youthfully naive Shahid to confront the cultural and religious forces swirling around him. Shahid is a convincing and compelling character, who is also a budding writer, which allows Kureishi to explore the literary struggles and pretensions of his craft, perhaps inspired by his own experiences studying at Bromley College of Technology in the 1970s. Shahid falls into a romantic relationship with one of his teachers, the inspirational Deedee Osgood, an older woman going through her own transitions. Their adventures together include taking ecstasy at raves and sex fuelled nights together whilst avoiding her politically principled semi-estranged husband. 

Bowie and Kureishi circa early 1990's

Shahid's life trajectory collides with his involvement with Riaz and his band of followers, including the intense former drug addict, Chad, who pull him into situations that are diametrically opposite to those with Osgood. In-between them stands Shahid's brother, Chilli, who is buckling under the pressures of being caught between the pleasures on offer in London and the demands of family life, of which he's trying to escape; he's a deeply flawed, yet sympathetic character. Kureishi cleverly uses Chilli's and Shahid's double lives to explore the tensions between the temptations of secular life in the heart of the decadent West and the supposedly pious life of religious extremism. The two worlds end up clashing towards the end of the novel in spectacular fashion. The novel is rich in both action and discourse, with multiple themes intertwining. The Black Album is sophisticated literary fiction that engages both the brain and the emotions. On the evidence of this novel Kureishi is a superb writer, different to Rushdie, whom is name-checked throughout the novel, yet definitely up in the same literary category as the author who famously suffered under the threat of the fatwa. Kureishi unfortunately has his own torments, having become a tetraplegic from a fall in Rome in 2022.  Fortunately he is still producing work, via the memoir, Shattered (2024), and recently he appeared in the latest Bowie documentary The Final Act (2025). I'll be definitely reading more of his work, and god speed Hanif Kureishi, I wish you well.