If you don’t read Dark Lies the Island then you’ll be missing out on a definitive lesson in the art of short story telling then this is it. This collection will illuminate you.

*****

And so rather reluctantly I’ve come to the end of my journey through Kevin Barry’s new short story collection, Dark Lies the Island (Jonathan Cape), and it’s time to offer up my afterthoughts. If you’ve been following my journey through this collection then I’m sure it’ll come as little surprise to any of you to hear that I loved it.

I said in my forethoughts that although I was excited to be heading into Dark Lies the Island, I was little anxious because I feared, having built such a passion for the short fiction of Kevin Barry over the past couple of years, that my expectations may have been set too high. Fact is, I needn’t have worried because Dark Lies the Island is magnificent. It’s easily as good as Barry’s debut collection There Are Little Kingdoms (The Stinging Fly Press), and in some respects it’s even better.

Before I go on to tell you a little more about my overall impression of Dark Lies the Island, I’d like to present to you a rundown of all of my individual reviews of each story in the collection, with links to each review and ratings. I’ve also provided a brief quote from each individual review, to save you from having to leave this page (I know, I’m all heart and kind consideration ):

• Across the Rooftops – “I loved this story’s subtlety, because it’s more about delicate body language than anything else. I also loved the story’s rooftop setting. Aside from anything else, it made everything feel all the more intimate.” – Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars
• Wifey Redux – “I loved, loved, loved loved, loved this story. If you’re a Dad (like me), and you have a teenage daughter (like me – I have 2), then this story will really resonate with you.” – Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
• Fjord of Killary – “Through reading so many of Kevin Barry’s stories I’ve come to learn that he does two things extraordinarily well – characters and dialogue. Both of these ‘super powers’ are clearly evident in this story. It’s an absolute triumph.” – Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
• A Cruelty – “I adore this story even if it is a little sad overall, and my affection for Donie is such that one would think it were a real person who I knew personally. What a most gifted storyteller Barry is.” – Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
• Beer Trip to Llandudno – “Pacy and energy-filled, ‘Beer Trip to Llandudno’ is one of these stories that warms the heart (with its subject matter), and tickles the soul (through its humour). Classic Kevin Barry. “ – Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
• Ernestine and Kit – “Penned with plump descriptions and laced with lashings of humour, ‘Ernestine and Kit’ brings a new and dark activity to the pool of senior pastimes. Brilliant!” – Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
• The Mainland Campaign – “To be honest [this story] didn’t grab me to the same extent as some of Barry’s others have. There are moments of magic (the eclectic flavour of Camden Town is captured beautifully), but overall I found The Mainland Campaign to be a bit flat.” – Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
• Wistful England – “I rather enjoyed this story. It has something of the melancholic mood of a Chekhov tale to it, and as always it’s exquisitely penned.” – Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars
• Doctor Sot – “I can’t even begin to describe just how charming I found this story to be. The character of Doctor Sot is warm and endearing (oddly, made all the more so by his mild drunkenness) and his gentlemanly charisma just beams off the page.” – Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
• The Girls and the Dogs – “Barry is renowned for penning manic, drunken-fuelled tales, and The Girls and the Dogs is a prime example. Completely original for all the right reasons this story is madder than a box of frogs and throughly entertaining.” – Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
• White Hitachi – “This is an hilarious tale about two brothers who have little choice but to live on the wrong side of the law. It’s got brilliant characters, there are plenty of laughs, and it’s all held together with razor-sharp dialogue.” – Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
• Dark Lies the Island – “Barry paints a sense of loneliness and vulnerability in the story’s self-harming main character to such an extraordinary depth that he shows in the space of one short story, just how deftly he can turn his pen to the darker and more affecting side of fiction writing.” – Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
• Berlin Arkonaplatz – My Lesbian Summer – “This story is full of sexually depraved characters – Bohemian deviants who seek to shock – but despite being crammed with so many strong personalities it didn’t really appeal to me all that much.” – Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

Five star magnificence
You’ll have noticed perhaps that I rated three of the stories in this collection a perfect five, and I do so for good reason. Fjord of Killary is as perfect a short story as I’ve ever read. It’s very much a signature story for Kevin Barry because it embodies all of the qualities and quirks that make him the renowned storyteller that he is. A Cruelty is to be celebrated for its tenderness, as Barry dispenses almost totally with the hilarity, preferring instead to pull at the reader’s heart strings with a tale that’s as emotional as it is charming. And then the humour comes crashing back – albeit in a dark way – in Ernestine and Kit which is a spectacularly entertaining tale about two pensioners who have a very sinister hobby.

And that’s not forget the four stories that were a mere half a mark away from perfect. Wifey Redux which looks at an issue close to every father of a teenage daughter, Doctor Sot in which the reader gets to spend an extraordinary day in the company of a small town alcoholic doctor, and Barry’s brilliant Sunday Times EFG Private Bank Short Story Award winning story, Beer Trip to Llandudno. All demonstrate just how incredibly adept Barry is as a short story writer.

The stories that didn’t click
Although Barry’s descriptions of Camden Town in The Mainland Campaign are exquisite – he captures the ambiance and ethos of the place brilliantly – I found the story to be blander than perhaps a tale about an IRA terrorist should be. Wistful England while totally infusing the mood of melancholy that Barry so clearly wanted to achieve with this story, just felt like it plodded along. And Berlin Arkonaplatz – My Lesbian Summer? Well, I just found it to be plain weird, and not in a good way.

What’s surprising about all three of the stories I didn’t click with in this collection, is that they’re all, for the most part, set outside of Ireland. Sure, the protagonists in these stories are all Irish, but there’s no glow and warmth of Emerald Isle in any of these stories, and perhaps it’s because Barry is so spectacular (not to mention habitual) in capturing his native land in his prose, that these stories feel somewhat lacking. That said, Barry’s masterpiece Beer Trip to Llandudno features a bunch of Liverpudlians in Wales, which is about as un-Irish as it gets, so maybe I’m just waffling. I do however, just get the overall feeling that Dark Lies the Island as a whole, doesn’t feel as Irish as Barry’s first collection. And whether this is a bad thing or not I’m not quite sure.

Barry’s a Romantic at heart
I’ve discussed my favourite stories in this collection, and the ones which I didn’t connect with quite so well, but before I bring these afterthoughts to a close I want to give specific praise to the titular story of this collection, Dark Lies The Island. This is an incredibly powerful tale about a young girl who is alone and desolate and fighting the demons of self-harming. Now, we all know by now just how brilliant Barry is at writing about the drunken brawls and the hilarity inherent in the marginal characters who populate his stories, but in Dark Lies the Island (the story not the collection, should you be getting confused) Barry shows a certain maturity and depth that I’ve never seen before in his short stories. The sense of anxiety and foreboding in this story is palpable, and it’s made all the more atmospheric through Barry’s extraordinary use of environment and weather. There’s a real Romanticism about Dark Lies the Island, and it’s a joy to engage with it (as an aside you might want to read this piece posted by Kevin Barry on The Stinging Fly website. It clearly demonstrates the more romantique side of Kevin Barry).

A short story collection to treasure
So I think I’ve said all I can say about this collection, and I leave you in the hope that during the course of these afterthoughts (and my individual reviews of the collection) I’ve said enough to convince you to rush out and buy a copy of Dark Lies the Island, because just like There Are Little Kingdoms, this is a story collection worth treasuring. During the course of my campaigning to promote the glory of short stories I come across many people who regularly turn their nose up. They consider short stories to be the most inferior form of literature; a form which has no depth, point or entertainment value. To these people I would eagerly thrust a copy of this collection into their hands, because more than many other short story collections, Dark Lies the Island stands as a perfect example of why the short story is the most glorious of literary forms, and why Kevin Barry is one of the most fresh and exciting short story writers alive on our planet today. Mr. Barry, I salute you!

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Jonathan Cape | 5th April 2012 | £12.99 | PAPERBACK | 199 PP | ISBN: 9780224090582

:: What others have said about Dark Lies the Island::

• “[Kevin Barry's] fluid style escorts the reader through a world that is funny, tragic, relentless, endearing and, well, very similar to this one. His profound understanding of western society is married to dialect-heavy prose to produce a startlingly unique voice.” – Henry Krempels, The Sunday Observer.
• “This is exuberant, risk-taking, exhilarating prose. Don’t be put off by its idiosyncrasies; revel in them. Barry’s reputation is growing by the year, and deservedly so. And unless he’s got a Special Bonus edition of Dark Lies The Island stashed away in the Irish midlands, I don’t think I’ll read a better collection this year.” - Valerie O’Riordan, Bookmunch.
• “Throughout, Barry’s language is intense, precise, given to delightful swerves and with pitch perfect dialogue. Unexpected joy is always close: threat is always closer in these superlative stories.” – The Scotsman.

*****

I may have penned my forethoughts post for Various Authors (The Fiction Desk) close to a year ago now, but don’t let my slow pace in reading through this anthology reflect any unwillingness to read it. My snail’s pace simply comes from me trying to juggle too many balls at the same time. Finally however I have got to the end of Various Authors, and I’m ready to offer up my afterthoughts.

Realising a dream
Just over a year ago Rob Redman was a simple lit reviewer like me, but he harboured a desire to not only write about short fiction, but to become a major source in bringing fresh new stories to the masses. He came up with the idea of publishing a quarterly anthology of new short fiction – titles can be bought individually or as part of a subscription deal – and Various Authors is the realisation of Rob’s dream – the first quarterly anthology to be published under The Fiction Desk brand (at the time of writing, another two anthologies have been published (All These Little Words and The Maginot Line).

Blown away
I’ll say from the outset that the quality of the stories in Various Authors blew me away. I wasn’t quite prepared for the level of reading enjoyment that I got from the anthology, simply because I thought it would take time for this new venture to get up to speed, but it’s clear that The Fiction Desk have set out to impress, and with Various Authors they seem to have succeeded.

Before I go on to speak about this anthology as a whole, I’d like to give you a summary of my individual reviews for each story in Various Authors, together with links to each individual review:

• Two Buses Away by Lynsey May – “I found this opener [to the collection] to be somewhat mundane and largely uneventful. But hold on, isn’t the mood of the average trip to the parent’s house for lunch on a Sunday pretty much like that for most people i.e. mundane and largely uneventful? Absolutely, so May has done a great job in capturing the mood perfectly.” Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
• How to Fall in Love with an Air Hostess by Harvey Marcus – “a thoroughly entertaining story, and it’s one in my reading experience, that’s wholly unique. Good job, that man!” Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars
• Crannock House by Ben Lyle – “The real triumph of this story isn’t solely based on the success of one character. Rather, it’s Lyle’s sublime treatment of the relationship between one lonely schoolboy and an equally lonely academic that really puts the icing on the cake.” Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
• Rex by Jon Wallace – “If the rest of Wallace’s stories are as inventive and as humourous as this one, then I swear I’m going to keel over and die. I’ve not laughed so hard while reading a story for a long time.” Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
• The Puzzle by Alex Cameron – “I read primarily in order to moved emotionally, and this story certainly hit the mark in that respect.” Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
• Dave’s Tough Luck by Matthew Licht – “I like the pace of Matthew Licht’s prose. It skips along with speed and a sense of urgency, which is perfect for a story that’s themed around such an energetic activity [drumming].” Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars
• Assassination Scene by Jason Atkinson – “[This] is one of these tales where not a great deal happens. That said, it captures a precise moment in a person’s life when a key spark is (hopefully) ignited….and in this story Jason manages splendidly, to shine a spotlight on one man’s minor victory.” Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars
• Celia and Harold by Patrick Whittaker – “A surreal and nonsensical story this may be, but it’s a joy to read. It feels like a Kelly Link meets Blake Butler meets Alex Burrett kind of tale, and it’s just as entertaining.” Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
• All I Want by Charles Lambert – “What I like most about All I Want is the sizzling undercurrent of lust and passion which runs through the story. It’s something that lingers without really comes to the surface. As such the overall mood of the story is subtle but tense at the same time. Very clever writing indeed.” Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
• A Covering of Leaves by Danny Rhodes – “From [a] seed Rhodes has built a story that feels so ‘in memoriam’, not only to the lost souls of a fictional train crash, but to the victims of any disaster that has happened in the real world. The story and the feelings it arouses is quietly magnificent.” Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
• Sometimes the Only Way Out is In by Ben Cheetham – “One is inclined to think that Cheetham must have transgressed to his boyhood state when writing this story because he really does get into the mind of a ten-year-old. This is longest story of the collection by far, and it’s definitely one of the best in terms of readability and enjoyment.” Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
• Nativity by Adrian Stumpp – “I can’t ever remember reading a story on the fears of impending fatherhood, so this is a new one on me. And I think that author Stumpp has treated the subject brilliantly, raising all of the fears and the upheavals that impending fatherhood brings with it.” Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Consistently high standard of story
So that’s a rundown of my individual reviews for each of the stories in Various Authors and you may have noticed how consistently high my individual ratings are. This is rare because in a work that contains stories from so many different authors, it’s difficult to maintain consistency. Such is the varied and fickle nature of most reader’s taste that they will enjoy some stories more than others, and significantly so. It’s almost impossible to produce an anthology where every story is a hit for the reader (the Bristol Short Story Prize anthologies are an exception because the stories in their anthologies – up to this point – remain consistently brilliant throughout), yet The Fiction Desk seem to have succeeded.

Sure, I may not have bestowed a single five-star-rating on any of the stories in this anthology which may make it look inferior, but many have 4 and 4.5 ratings, with the lowest scoring story still coming out with an not too shabby rating of 3 (and in retrospect I may have underscored that one by at least a 1/2 mark). That dear reader, is impressive.

Best of the bunch
So, onto a brief mention of my absolute favourite stories in this anthology. First off I was thoroughly entertained by Jon Wallace’s ludicrous tale, Rex. The story’s like a bizarre sketch from Monty Python, and it’s just as ‘laugh out loud’ hilarious.

Tears of another kind rolled down my face when I read Cheetham’s story, Sometimes the Only Way Out is In by. Ultimately it’s a tragic tale, but I love how profoundly the author gets into the mind of a ten-year-old boy. Although the main character in this one doesn’t have autism (only naivety) it reminds me in part of Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. I loved that novel for its intimacy and power, and I loved this story in much the same way.

It was back to the surreal and wacky with Patrick Whittaker’s Celia and Harold, which is another story in Various Authors that I enjoyed purely for its entertainment value. Whittaker has a vivid imagination, and his tale brought some lighter relief and balance to the more serious stories in this collection.

With variety comes enrichment and freedom
As for my impressions on the anthology as a whole? Well there is no tying theme and so the stories in Various Authors are wide-ranging and eclectic – a mix of serious and of humourous tales – but I consider this to be a good thing. With variety comes enrichment and a certain sense of freedom, and in Various Authors the stories take the reader from different themes and situations and to different locations around the planet. One minute the reader finds oneself on a bus whizzing around the Glasgow suburbs (Two Buses Away by Lynsey May), and the next, he/she is reclining on the shores of Lake Garda with a glass of vino in hand (All I Want by Charles Lambert). No sooner does one share in the anguish of man who is trapped inside his lifeless body in a nursing home (The Puzzle by Alex Cameron), before one is whisked off to gather ‘tips’ on how to date an air hostess (How to Fall in Love with an Air Hostess by Harvey Marcus). Sure I like the framework of a themed anthology, but I also enjoy story anthologies such as this one where one doesn’t know what the next story may bring or where in the world it’s going to take one.

Keen eye for rooting out quality short fiction
So all in all then I’m really impressed with this debut anthology from this new publisher. It couldn’t have been easy deciding to launch a new publishing venture in this current economic climate however strong the desire, but it looks as though The Fiction Desk not only have a strong vision for success, but they also have a keen eye for rooting out quality short fiction. If the standard of story remains as consistently high as this one in subsequent quarterly anthologies, then short story connoisseurs will be ensured of a reliable new source from which they will be able to feed their passion.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

The Fiction Desk | 18th April 2011 | £9.99 | PAPERBACK | 192 PP | ISBN: 9780956784308

:: What others have said about Various Authors::

• “I was encouraged enough by what I read in Various Authors to tune in for the next instalment.” – Pauline Masurel, The Short Review
• “A mixed bag. A few of the pieces I found a little underdeveloped or lightweight; several others were very polished and moving.” – Valerie O’ Riordan, Bookmunch
• “This first volume of Various Authors was an absolute delight to navigate, and I eagerly anticipate the second.” – Renee Beauregard Lute, The Review Review

*Bounce* *Bounce* *Bounce* *Bounce* *Bounce* Why am I bouncing? Because I’m excited. Why am I excited? Because sitting in front of me is Irish short fiction legend Kevin Barry’s latest short story collection, Dark Lies the Island (Jonathan Cape), and methinks that’s reason enough to be banging my head on the ceiling.

Regulars of RobAroundBooks and my ‘followers’ on Twitter will of course know how much I bang on about Kevin Barry, so you’ll all know the reason for my restless excitement. But for the rest of you here’s a quick history:

I first came across Kevin Barry during the summer of 2010 when I set about reading something of his 2007 debut collection, There Are Little Kingdoms (Stinging Fly Press), in preparation for an event he was attending at EdBookFest, with Simon Van Booy. Having never read Barry up to that point, I’ll admit that I was mainly going to that event for Van Booy, but it turned out that the event was made 100% better by the presence of Kevin Barry.

Van Booy captivated me in that event as I thought he would, but the moment I heard Barry read I knew there was something special about him. He electrified the audience with an energetic and colourful reading and it was clear that he lives for telling stories. You can read my report on that 2010 event HERE)

I’ve since seen Barry perform two more times since that 2010 event, and both times he’s held me with the same grip; holding me on the spot with the power of his storytelling. Kevin Barry is theatrical and passionate, and he was born to perform.

Of course we’re not really interested here in Barry’s performance on the stage, are we? As good as his eventing may be we’re far more concerned with talking about short stories. However, I believe that both are intrinsically linked. How can one bring a story so colourfully to life in real life if the story itself is grey and bland? Impossible of course, and since immersing myself in his short fiction I’ve come to realise that Barry’s stories are as enriched and as colourful as the man himself. His stories always read as though they are being performed – with pace and with rhythm – and truth be told I’ve yet to come across a bad one. I won’t bore you with the details though, just head on over and read my afterthoughts on There are Little Kingdoms, where you’ll find many of my opinions on the short stories of Kevin Barry.

Now, are you beginning to see why I might be just a little excited about Kevin Barry’s latest short story collection? *grins* Before I go on and bounce some more though, I’d like to share the cover blurb for Dark Lies the Island:

A kiss that just won’t happen. A disco at the end of the world. A teenage goth on a terror mission. And OAP kiddie-snatchers, and Scouse real-ale enthusiasts, and occult weirdness in the backwoods…

Dark Lies the Island is a collection of unpredictable stories about love and cruelty, crimes, desperation, and hope from the man Irvine Welsh has described as ‘the most arresting and original writer to emerge from these islands in years’. Every page is shot through with the riotous humour, sympathy and blistering language that mark Kevin Barry as a pure entertainer and a unique teller of tales.

That’s the blurb for Dark Lies the Island and I’ll say that I found nothing surprising in that. Barry’s stories are eclectic to say the least, and he populates them with the most intriguing of marginal characters (usually Irish), and in the most glorious of settings (usually Ireland). He’s a master of humour and of dialogue, and of place and of character, and it seems to me that this collection is more of the same, which is absolutely no bad thing.

As excited as I am, I’ve got admit that I’m also somewhat anxious heading in to Dark Lies the Island, because I’m worried that I may have set my expectations too high. That said, I’m somewhat calmed knowing that Barry’s Sunday Times EFG Private Bank Short Story Award winning story Beer Trip to Llandudno is included (you can read my review of that story HERE), because I already know what a spectacular story this is, and if the other 12 stories in the collection only measure up to being half as good then I know I’m not going to be disappointed.

Normally in a forethoughts post this is the point when I’d tell you something about the author, but as I’ve already written a ton of stuff about Kevin Barry on RobAroundBooks already, I should probably point you to that. Perhaps the best place to head over to first is my forethoughts post for There Are Little Kingdoms, where there’s a short bio on Barry, and a handful of related links. You may also like to check in on my EdBookFest diary entries from last year (HERE and HERE) where I talk manically about meeting the man (and his wife, as it happens ). More recently, Barry of course won the Sunday Times EFG Private Bank Short Story Award, and HERE I discuss Barry’s potential for wining the prize. Finally, the morning after the night before, and HERE the Booktrust’s Nikesh Shukla interviews Kevin Barry on his most deserving win. Right, that should be enough to keep you busy for now.

So enough talking, it’s time to dive in to Dark Lies the Island, and let it be known that I intend to review the book in the same way that I review all short story collections/ anthologies ie. story-by-story before returning with my final afterthoughts on the collection as a whole. Below you will see the contents of Dark Lies the Island, and as I progress I’ll link to the individual reviews.

****

:: Contents of Dark Lies the Island ::
(links lead to individual reviews of each story, when posted)

• Across the Rooftops
• Wifey Redux
• Fjord of Killary
• A Cruelty
• Beer Trip to Llandudno
• Ernestine and Kit
• The Mainland Campaign
• Wistful England
• Doctor Sot
• The Girls and the Dogs
• White Hitachi
• Dark Lies the Island
• Berlin Arkonaplatz – My Lesbian Summer

Jonathan Cape | 5th April 2012 | £12.99 | PAPERBACK | 199 PP | ISBN: 9780224090582

A note about forethoughts
‘Forethoughts’ offer an insight into what my initial thoughts and impressions of a book are before I begin reading it. Informal, and largely written as a stream-of-consciousness exercise in a single sitting, my ‘forethoughts’ capture an important stage of the reading experience for me – the anticipatory period before the book is first opened, when my excitement is piqued for the reading experience which lies ahead.

Blissfully ignorant my ‘forethoughts’ may well be, but when combined with my eventual ‘afterthoughts’, the result is a unique and comprehensive record of a very personal literary ‘journey’ through a particular book; a literary journey which will hopefully be of some value to other readers.

*****

I think I made it quite clear in my forethoughts just how excited I was about reading the latest novel of Niccolò Ammaniti to hit the UK, so much so that I ended that forethoughts post by saying that I feared that I may have set my expectations a little too high. I needn’t have worried because Me and You (Canongate Books) turned out to be everything that I hoped it would be, and more.

Ammaniti’s ‘trademark’ themes present themselves
Dark and moderately disturbing, this latest offering from Ammaniti has crammed within its slender 160 pages, much more than you might expect. All of the recognisable themes that have made Ammaniti the stand out writer that he is, are present. There’s the oddball characters who find themselves in situations that they have difficulty coping with. There’s the coming-of-age theme in which a teenager on the cusp of adulthood is played around with. And there’s also the omnipresent present ‘shock factor’, which raises its head throughout the novel, before reaching fruition in the closing sentences, when a lasting imprint is stamped forcibly on the reader.

The story itself (minor spoilers)
The story itself centres around fourteen-year-old Lorenzo who suffers from some form of autism. His condition makes him socially inept, and in his short life he has managed to distance himself from all but his closest family members.

At primary school Lorenzo’s condition first shows itself in the form of angry and violent outbursts. His emotions boil over when picked upon by others, and knowing this was an unacceptable way to act, he learns to cope by keeping himself as separate from his classmates as much as possible, while trying not to stand out too much.

The situation changes for Lorenzo when he heads off to high school and he realises that he can’t, as he has done up until that point, simply fade into the background. ‘The predators have evolved’ as he puts it, and ‘they move around in herds singling out those who are different’. Taking inspiration from a documentary where insects mimic other insects in order to survive, Lorenzo begins to dress and act like his peers in order to fit in. The tactic works, but as he maintains this persona and becomes more like his peers, he yearns to spend time with them, especially when he overhears a group talking of their plans to go skiing in the Dolomites.

Lorenzo believes he is no different from this group (‘They too were flies pretending to be wasps,’ he says), and despite never being invited, Lorenzo rushes home to tell his Mum that he’s been asked to join the skiing group.

Given the fact that he’s a loner and he’s never been invited to anything, Lorenzo’s mum is understandably delighted, not to mention emotional. Lorenzo realises that he can’t go back on his lie and tell his Mum the truth, so he concocts a plan to hole up in the cellar of the luxury apartment block that he lives in, so he can keep up the pretence to his parents that he’s away on the ski trip.

All seems to go well. Lorenzo with his analytical way of thinking has really thought this one through, but what he doesn’t plan for is an unexpected visitor, and it’s a visitor who has personal traits that will conflict greatly with Lorenzo’s sensivitives.

Quirky characters
Being so short a novel, there’s little more I can reveal without going into spoiler territory, but I will tell you something of the characters to be found in Me and You. Ammaniti is renowned for populating his novels with colourful and quirky characters, and there are plenty to be found in Me and You too. From the socially inept Lorenzo, to his rebellious half-sister Olivia – who provides much of the novel’s shock factor – quirky personalities are abound in this novel. One of my absolute favourites is the underplayed caretaker of the luxury apartments, the ‘Silver Monkey’. He spends much of his time lethargically sweeping the courtyard while fighting off sleepiness; a condition imbued in him following an apartment break-in when gypsies sprayed him with anaesthetic.

The translator succeeds
The biggest fear I had going into this novel – and it was one I expressed most strongly in my forethoughts – was one regarding ‘voice’. With a change in English translator from Ammaniti’s previous novels, I was worried that Kylee Doust would give a completely different voice to Ammaniti, from that of Jonathan Hunt. I’m happy to say that my fears were completely unfounded. Doust has given the English reader of Ammaniti as flawless and as faithful a translation as anything rendered by his previous translator. If anything, Doust has actually sharpened up Ammaniti’s translated prose a little, and that’s something I would never have thought possible.

Summing up
In bringing these afterthoughts to a close, I’ve got to say that I’m delighted with this latest offering from Niccolò Ammaniti. He explores his themes to a depth that one would not expect in a novel of such short length, and no theme more so than that of personal relationship. He has thrilled and entertained me to the same level that he has with all of his novels thus far, and I have no hestitation in recommending Me and You to anyone. For the newcomer to Niccolò Ammaniti, Me and You stands as a fine ‘quick bite’ testament to what this hugely talented author is capable of. I’d even go as far as recommending this novel to anyone who is put off by translated fiction. In the space of a lowly 160 pages, Niccolò Ammaniti shows that foreign fiction can be enjoyable, readable and completely engaging. I await more from this literary genius, with great impatience.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

:: *What others have said about Me and You::

• “This is a powerful novel, which asks us to consider the relationships we have with our own siblings and the memories of our own adolescence” – Emilia Ippolito, The Independent.
• “beautifully captures that time on the cusp of adulthood when our childish view of the world is changed forever” – Kimbofo, Reading Matters.
• “I fail to see where Ammaniti adds anything new to the all-too familiar teen-boy coming of age narrative” – Carley Parsons, Three Percent

*So as not to influence my own impressions, these review summaries are gathered after my review has been written.

Canongate Books | 2nd February 2012 | £10.00 | HARDBACK | 160 PP | ISBN: 9780857861979

It’s not every day that I’ll leapfrog a new arrival to the top of my review pile (especially while I’m reading as a shadow judge for this year’s Independent Foreign Fiction Prize), but then again it’s not every day that a new translated novel comes along from the hugely talented Italian author, Niccolò Ammaniti. Be warned, I may get a little overexcited in this forethoughts post .

Me and You (originally published in Italian under the title, Io e te) is the latest novel from Ammaniti to arrive in the UK, courtesy of the wonderful Canongate Books who have brought all of Ammaniti’s novels to the English language (I’m indebted to them ). It’s been three long years since the publication of his previous English translation, The Crossroads (you can read my rather sparkling 2009 review of it, HERE), and so a new publication from Ammaniti has been a long time in coming.

The first thing that I notice about Me and You is how thin it is. Two out of three of Niccolò Ammaniti’s previous novels have all weighed in at over 400 pages, yet this latest offering only amounts to a measly 160 pages. I’m not particularly concerned about this however, because I know that this author is capable of packing a very big punch into a small amount of space. He did so with one of my all-time contemporary favourites – I’m Not Scared, which itself is only slightly longer at 250 pages.

So I’m expecting a big punch from Me and You. partly because I know the kind of novel that Ammaniti writes, but also because the cover blurb suggests it:

Hiding out in his parents’ cellar, Lorenzo is about to discover what dark secrets lurk beneath the surface of his respectable Italian family.

Me and You is a compulsive and deeply affecting account of how an alliance between two outsiders blows open one family’s secrets.

Ammaniti’s latest masterpiece is a breathtaking tale of shame, acceptance and wanting to be loved.

Short and sweet the synopsis may be, but it’s also highly revealing. If you’ve read Ammaniti’s I’m Not Scared then you will no doubt be reminded of it instantly. I’m Not Scared follows the story of a boy who discovers a shocking secret which changes his life forever. You and Me looks to be on a very similar theme. This no bad thing because Ammaniti is the master of ‘shocking discoveries’ and their affecting repercussions as he is with the coming-of-age/loss of innocence theme. So I’m delighted to discover that he’s sticking to this winning formula, and not going down a completely different, and perhaps less compelling route. I’m expecting You and Me to be as dank and as dark as the cellar I’m imagining, in which Lorenzo makes his discovery.

Speaking about Ammaniti at this time is like remembering a long lost friend. I was blown away by this writer early in 2009 when The Crossroads was published (I even got the opportunity to speak to him, albeit virtually), not least because in the time leading up to that novel’s publication I hungrily feasted on Ammaniti’s two other novels – Steal You Away, and the aforementioned I’m Not Scared. I consider this to have been one of the most incredible reading experiences I’ve had and mainly because Ammaniti’s writing excited me so much. His engaging storytelling is full of high drama and shock and it’s difficult to pull oneself away from the page. At that time I had found everything that I had been looking for in a contemporary translated author, and as a consequence he was added then to my list of all-time favourite writers, which is quite an achievement given that most of the writers on my all-time favourites list are classic authors.

After the Ammaniti reading frenzy I moved on, and I guess I forgot about him again. That is until a couple of weeks ago when I discovered, by chance, that Canongate were publishing this new Ammaniti translation. All the love and passion for the Italian literary maestro came rushing back to me instantly, and I sit here now with the book in front of me, barely able to compose this forethoughts post, because all I want to do is to read the book.

So I think you can see just how excited I am about reading Me and You, but I worry a little that I may from the outset be setting my expectations far too far. Thing is, I can’t help it. Ammaniti has never let me down with his storytelling so far, and I don’t expect him to now. There is however, a tiny niggle in my head.

It would be easy to say that it’s the novel’s short length that’s causing the niggle in my head, but I’ve already said that Ammaniti can pack a big punch in a small space, and I expect that punch to come in this novel. No, the niggle comes from noticing that Canongate (or is Ammaniti himself?) have employed the services of a new translator in Kylee Doust for this book. I should be quick to add that I’m not suggesting that Doust is in any way a bad translator (she’s hardly likely to be given that she’s not only studied Italian literature and linguistics at La Trobe Univbersity, Melbourne but she’s also lived in Italy since 1998), it’s just that all of Ammaniti’s previous novels have been translated by the hugely competent Jonathan Hunt, who’s translations I adore, and I fear that this change of translator will create a difference voice for Ammaniti, and that it’s going to be a voice that I don’t like.

The proof of the pudding is in the eating of course, and it would be very short-sighted of me to discount a novel just because of a change of translator. This isn’t something that I would ever do anyway – especially when it comes to Niccolò Ammaniti – and who knows, Doust might just makes Ammaniti sound even better. I’m hopeful.

Well, I’ve held off on reading Me and You for long enough while writing these forethoughts, and it’s time to get stuck in. I know via my fellow reviewing friend, Kimbofo that Me and You is not a long read (around a couple of hours), so aside from not interrupting my Independent Foreign Fiction reading too much, I should be back pretty sharpish to offer my final opinion on Ammaniti’s latest offering. And I promise you from the outset dear reader, that although I may be starstruck, my opinion is never blinded.

Meantime, I’d love to hear from you if you’ve read anything from Niccolò Ammaniti and been as equally affected. Please drop your comments below. Ciao for now.

Canongate Books | 2nd February 2012 | £10.00 | HARDBACK | 160 PP | ISBN: 9780857861979

A note about forethoughts
‘Forethoughts’ offer an insight into what my initial thoughts and impressions of a book are before I begin reading it. Informal, and largely written as a stream-of-consciousness exercise in a single sitting, my ‘forethoughts’ capture an important stage of the reading experience for me – the anticipatory period before the book is first opened, when my excitement is piqued for the reading experience which lies ahead.

Blissfully ignorant my ‘forethoughts’ may well be, but when combined with my eventual ‘afterthoughts’, the result is a unique and comprehensive record of a very personal literary ‘journey’ through a particular book; a literary journey which will hopefully be of some value to other readers.

*****

The biggest fear I had while penning my forethoughts for this novel, was that Amos Oz’s 2012 Independent Foreign Fiction Prize longlister, Scenes from Village Life (Chatto & Windus) would end up being far too abstract and too puzzling to be enjoyable. It turns out that I was spot on. Scenes from Village Life is somewhat abstract and puzzling (on occassion), but thankfully it’s a heck of a lot more pleasurable (and rewarding), than I expected it to be.

Not really about village life in comptemporary Israel
If one is looking for a straightforward insight into village life in comptemporary Israel, then this isn’t the book to be looking at. Scenes from Village Life does give something of an impression of a nestled desert village, and of its local culture, but this is a novel that runs way deeper, because it’s not about village life per se, it’s more about the characters who inhabit the village (Tel Ilan), and the effects of that village on the inhabitants themselves. More importantly it explores the feelings of loss and longing that haunt the characters who live in Tel Ilan, and how these feelings direct behaviour and inner thoughts as desire drives to seek that which is missed and missing.

Echos of Chekhov
Oz states that Scenes from Village Life originated, like much of his fiction does, from a dream. He wanted to not only write about the village that he saw in his dream, but to also explore the themes of loss, longing and eternal searching.

Consequently, each of the stories in this linterlocking novel contains characters who are at a loss for whatever reason. Oz paints every one of these characters beautifully, and with a depth reaching sublime proportions. There is something wonderfully Chekohovian in the way in which Amos Oz presents his characters, and in the way in which he tells his stories.

In one of my favourite tales, Relations, Dr. Gili Steiner is seeking her nephew Gideon, who is scheduled to stay with her for a while in the village, following illness. He doesn’t arrive on the bus from Tel Aviv and as she wanders around the village considering the possibilites for his absence, Gili begins reflecting on her past relationship with her nephew. It becomes clear that Gili has a real longing for Gideon, and that it’s not just the loss of her nephew that troubles her, but the potential loss of the close relationship that she has with him, too. Does the nephew turn up in the end? Well, I hope that I’m not giving too much away by telling you that the story closes without conclusion, or at least any conclusion in respect to missing teenager’s whereabouts.

Another favourite story is Strangers, in which seventeen-year-old teenager, Kobi Erza (he’s the son of the village grocer, Victor) is trying to figure out the best way to let the village postmistress and librarian Ada Dvash know, that he has a crush on her. Not surprisingly, as is the case with most teenagers in this situation, Kobi outwardly projects his feelings through his behaviour and body language, and Ada – a divorced thirty-year-old – knows fine well, without him saying anything, that the young man has strong feelings for her. Kobi doesn’t know this though and his biggest fear is that she will pity him more than see his advances as a declaration of love. This is not what he wants. As he says himself:

The distance from pity to love was like the distance from the moon reflected in a puddle to the moon itself

It’s quite the predicament to be in, for both of them, and it all leads to an unforgetable climax, which is filled with regret and loss.

No real ending
What quickly becomes apparent when reading Scenes of Village Life – and what might have already become apparent to you in reading these afterthoughts – is that none of the interlocking stories, with the possible exception of one or two, ever reach a conclusion. However, this is no bad thing. Why should every story logically run from A to B and be rounded off with a neatly tied ending? What better way to impress the sense of loss and longing upon a reader, than to allow those feelings to linger, without conclusion?

And Scenes from Village Life certainly does impress a sense of loss and longing on the reader. I always like to feel something on a deeper level whenever I partake in serious literature, and reading Scenes from Village Life I felt as though I really did. And while I can’t interpret all of the allegory and hidden message that may have been entrenched in this novel, I came away with an undeniable feeling of melancholy and empathy for each of the characters, while at the same time experiencing no real sense of closure with regards to anything. These are hugely powerful emotions to come away with when reading a novel of course, and it takes a truly gifted writer to be able to embed those emotions.

A collection of short stories?
Although Scenes from Village Life will be seen by some as being a short story collection, I’d definately say that it’s much more than this. Amos Oz calls this a ‘novel in short stories’ and I tend to agree with the description. The way in which characters intertwine from story to story, makes Scenes from Village Life feel a lot more like a composite whole than most short story collections do. And what’s more, a true understanding of the novel’s major themes can only really be gained from reading the book as a whole. Much would be lost if the reader were to only ‘dip in’ to this book, as one often does when reading a short story collection.

Not as political as one might think
Given Oz’s fervour for political writing, one would be forgiven for thinking that Scenes from a Village Life would be soaked with political message, yet I didn’t feel that it was. Aside from a subtle nod in stories such as Heirs (issues over land ownership), Digging (animosity shown towards an Arab lodger), and Singing (brief mention of the Air Force bombing enemy targets), there is surprisingly little political reference, with the focus remaining mainly on the theme of personal loss and longing, and the eternal search for it.

Breathtaking translation
Fans of foreign fiction do not need me to tell them of the value of a good translation. A foreign novel will often succeed or fail on the quality of its translation, and if the translator has not managed to attune him/herself to the author’s voice or been able to render into a target language an exact interpretation of what the author is trying to say, then the novel at best will turn out to be totally unlike the original, or at worst a most painful and awkward thing to read.

Oz himself says that Hebrew is a ‘very unique musical instrument’ (he likens it to Elizabethan English), and as such it’s impossible to translate. That said, it looks as though Nicholas de Lange has managed to pull off the impossible in Oz’s eyes, and given the English reader a novel which reads as beautifully and as poetically as I’d imagine the original in the vernacular to be.

Something pretty special
In conclusion then I’d have say that Scenes from Village Life is something pretty special. It’s definitely deserving of its Independent Foreign Fiction Prize longlist place, and after reading Scenes from Village Life it’s clear that one is in the presence of a literary master, not least because the writing is of such immense quality.

I will reiterate that I don’t think that Scenes from Village Life is a novel that everyone will enjoy, and those who don’t like short stories or ambiguous endings would be wise to steer clear. For everyone else though – dive in, this book is a real treat, and a rare one at that. There are not that many books out there that have the power to make a reader return in their mind to reflect on a book, but this is one of them. And even as I type these closing comments I still hear the village of Tel Ilan and its occupants calling to me. I can see that it’s going to be a long time before I forget this place.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

:: What others have said about Scenes from Village Life::

• “[Scenes from Village Life] soon lures you in, like taking a walk in a new neighborhood which appears entirely unremarkable until you begin to scratch at its surface” – Mark Staniforth, Eleutherophobia **IFF Shadow Judge**
• “Scenes From Village Life is a brief collection, but its brevity is a testament to its force. You will not soon forget it.” – Claire Messud, New York Times.
• “Scenes From Village Life packs a kind of nauseating punch, as if you’d been smacked hard in the solar plexus and then sent for a ride on a roller coaster.” – Carolyn See, Washington Post
• “Even when the eighth and final piece wrenches us suddenly from Tel Ilan into a scene set in a primitive, possibly post-apocalyptic society, Oz’s respect for human mystery stays with us and richly rewards our attention.” – Dan Vitale, Three Percent

Chatto and Windus | 14th July 2011 | £12.00 | HARDBACK | 272 PP | ISBN: 9780701185503

This book is being read as part of my involvement in 2012 with the ‘shadow jury’ for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize. To find out more about this, and the judging panel that I’m involved with, please visit my ‘Shadowing the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize’ post.

And so I take a first tentative step into this year’s Independent Foreign Fiction Prize as a ‘shadow judge’, by reading one of the shortest books on the longlist, Scenes from Village Life by Amos Oz (Chatto & Windus; translated from the Hebrew by Nicholas de Lange).

Given the international prominence of Amos Oz (he’s officially the most translated Israeli author), one would be forgiven for thinking that he has been on the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize longlist before, but this is in fact the first time that a work of his has been selected.

Despite being thrilled at the prospect of reading Scenes from Village Life, I do have slight reservations, but I’ll share these later. I’d like to open these forethoughts if I may, with a rundown on the cover blurb:

Amos Oz’s new fiction presents a surreal and unsettling portrait of a village in Israel. A picture of the community takes shape across seven stories, in which a group of characters appear and return. Every villager is searching for something, yet in this almost dreamlike world nothing is certain, nothing is resolved.

An old man grumbles to his daughter about the unexplained digging and banging he hears under the house at night. A stranger turns up at a man’s door, to persuade him that they must get rid of his ageing mother in order to sell the house. A man goes to his neighbours for regular evenings of music and old pioneer songs, but is overwhelmingly drawn to the tragic heart of the house.

Behind each episode is another, hidden story – a glimpse of what goes on beneath the surface of everyday existence. The book concludes with an eighth story, shocking and strange, from another place and a distant time. In beautifully simple, poetic language, Amos Oz peers into the darkness of our lives in this powerful, hypnotic work.

Not surprisingly, given my love for short fiction, what appeals to me from the outset is the fact that Scenes From a Village is described as a series of eight interlocking short stories (Oz himself describes it as a ‘novel in stories’). It’s not the first time that such a format has found its way onto the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize longlist (springing immediately to mind is Jenny Erpenbeck’s magnificent Visitation (Portobello Books), and Pietro Grossi’s testosterone-oozing Fists (Pushkin Press)), and generally I prefer these shorter works to the bigger tome-like novels which inevitably pop up every year (there are two significant doorstoppers on the longlist this year – Haruki Murakami’s 1Q84 (Harvill Secker) and Peter Nadas’ Parallel Stories (Jonathan Cape)), so I’ll always be more naturally drawn t works like this.

I must say however, that when adjectives such as ‘surreal’ and ‘dreamlike’ are used in a jacket synopsis, I become a little wary (and even more so when they’re linked to Amos Oz), because I often find that a book described as such, usually ends up being a little puzzling and abstract, at best. And of what I’ve picked up on the ‘grapevine’ so far, I’m led to believe that this work of fiction is a highly political one – as much of Oz’s work is – and quite frankly this scares me because I do find heavily political fiction to be something of a drag.

So going into Scenes from Village Life I guess I’m split between excitement and trepidation, which if I’m honest is the mood I normally find myself in when I’m about to begin a new book, especially from an author whose work I’ve never really read much of before. However it turns out I can only hope that Scenes from Village Life is exactly as its title suggests i.e. a novel in which village life is explored, in contemporary Israel. The blurb kind of hints at this, so fingers crossed.

So what of this titan writer from the Middle East? Well, Amos Oz was born Amos Klausner, in Jerusalem in 1939 (he changed his surname to Oz – meaning ‘strength’ – when he began publishing his books), to a family of scholars who had emigrated from Russia in the 1920s. He went on to study philosophy and literature at Hebrew University in Jerusalem, before serving as a reserve soldier (as most Israeli Jews do of course) with the Israeli Defense Forces. He has seen action both in the 1967 Six-Day War, and the 1973 Yom Kippur War.

Married to his wife Nily since 1960, the couple have two daughters and a son, and have lived for the past 26 years in the small city of Arad, which is located on the edge of the Negev Desert, 69 miles south of Jerusalem.

Obsessively ordered in every respect (in his life, in his writing and in his appearance), Oz is a strong Zionist, and his beliefs on this are often reflected in his political writing. Oz is also recognised – by some more than others – as a dedicated peace activist. He is founder of the Peace Now organisation.

Regarded as one of Israel’s most prominent intellectuals, Oz has to date published 18 works of fiction, and over 450 articles and essays. He has also picked up a myriad of prestigious awards during his career, including the Prix Femina, the Prix Méditerranée Étranger (for this very novel), the Israel Prize and the Frankfurt Peace Prize.

All said and done, I think we can safely declare that Amos Oz is the ‘David Beckham’ of the Israeli literary scene (albeit with more intellect, and less flash ).

Nicholas de Lange is the eminent translator of Scenes from Village Life. A professor at the University of Cambridge, De Lange has not only translated many works from the Hebrew language – including those of Amos Oz – but has also himself published and edited several works on the subject of Judaism. In 2007 he was awarded the prestigious Risa Domb/Porjes Prize for Hebrew-English Translation, for his work on Oz’s autobiographical novel, A Tale of Love and Darkness (Vintage). This gives me great hope that Scenes from Village Life has been rendered into English as perfectly as it can be (Oz declares Hebrew to be a language so poetic that it’s impossible to translated into another), and even more so when I think of how well Oz can speak English too.

That’s all I have to say for now so it’s on with the reading. As I’ve said above I’m really looking forward to this one, but I’m worried that it’s going to be a bit stuffy and/or abstract in its meaning. I’ll be back to let you know as soon as. Meantime, if you want to know more about Amos Oz, then check out the links below.

Chatto and Windus | 14th July 2011 | £12.00 | HARDBACK | 272 PP | ISBN: 9780701185503

Learn more about Amos Oz:

This book is being read as part of my involvement in 2012 with the ‘shadow jury’ for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize. To find out more about this, and the judging panel that I’m involved with, please visit my ‘Shadowing the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize’ post.

A note about forethoughts
‘Forethoughts’ offer an insight into what my initial thoughts and impressions of a book are before I begin reading it. Informal, and largely written as a stream-of-consciousness exercise in a single sitting, my ‘forethoughts’ capture an important stage of the reading experience for me – the anticipatory period before the book is first opened, when my excitement is piqued for the reading experience which lies ahead.

Blissfully ignorant my ‘forethoughts’ may well be, but when combined with my eventual ‘afterthoughts’, the result is a unique and comprehensive record of a very personal literary ‘journey’ through a particular book; a literary journey which will hopefully be of some value to other readers.

I’ll begin by saying that this really is an exciting publication for lovers of Jon McGregor’s short fiction. The man is renowned for the short stories that he’s published in various places, but this is the first time that a Jon McGregor collection has been brought together. True, some of these collected stories have been published elsewhere, including the two excellent stories that put him on the BBC National Short Story Award stories – If It Keeps On Raining (shortlisted 2010) and Wires (shortlisted 2011) – but to the best of my knowledge most of the collection is original and previously unpublished. What theme is the collection on, if any? Let’s have a look at the cover blurb:

A man builds a tree house by a river, in anticipation of the coming flood. A sugar-beet crashes through a young woman’s windscreen. A boy sets fire to a barn. A pair of itinerant labourers sit by a lake, talking about shovels and sex, while fighter-planes fly low overhead and prepare for war.

These aren’t the sort of things you imagine happening to someone like you. But sometimes they do.

Set in the flat and threatened fenland landscape, where the sky is dominant and the sea lurks just behind the horizon, these delicate, dangerous, and sometimes deeply funny stories tell of things buried and unearthed, of familiar places made strange, and of lives where much is hidden, much is at risk, and tender moments are hard-won.

So that’s blurb, and I think it gives a good indication of what this collection is all about. Primarily, the theme seems to be about dramatic events affecting mundane and largely uneventful lives – the kind of events that people don’t imagine happening to them, as the blurb says . Don’t you just love it when normal everyday characters are going about their normal everyday routines when BANG, something happens, and the metaphorical apple cart spills all over the road? Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.

What interests me more though is the setting for all of the stories in This Isn’t The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You – the fenlands, that naturally marshy region to be found in eastern England. McGregor has said previously that ‘place’ is very important to him in his fiction (he talks about it during this video interview), and so I wonder why he has specifically chosen this area as a location for this collection of short stories? I won’t know for sure until I read the book of course, but at this stage I’m guessing it’s either something to do with the fenlands being largely featureless and bland, which would give McGregor more of a blank ‘stage’ on which to amplify dramatic events, or it may have something to do with the fragility of the area, which would compliment and accentuate the fragility of the people who find themselves in unusual circumstances in McGregor’s stories. Whatever the reason it’s an intriguing one, and I’ll be searching for clues while I’m reading.

So what about the man himself? Well, Jon McGregor was born in Bermuda in 1976. He grew up in Norfolk, and currently lives in Nottingham with his wife and two children. He’s had three novels published to date, If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, So Many Ways to Begin and Even the Dogs (all published by Bloomsbury), with the first being longlisted for the Man Book Prize. McGregor’s debut novel also won him the Betty Trask Prize and the Somerset Maugham Award in 2003.

Given the level of McGregor’s literary successes thus far (although he always seem to just miss out on the top prizes), I find it remarkable that he hasn’t any formal academic qualifications in writing (he does hold a BSc in Media Technology & Production from the University of Bradford). No biggie because lots of writers don’t have formal qualifications in the craft, but I just find impressive for someone who writes so well to have had no formal training. He certainly gives hope to all those budding writers who don’t want to contemplate taking the university route.

So I guess that’s all I have to say about Jon McGregor and his new short story collection for now, and it’s on with the job of working my way through the 30 stories on offer. I’ll proceed as I always do, reading each story individually and reviewing it, before returning with my final afterthoughts on the collection as a whole. I made a pledge in my last short story collection forethoughts post that I would be dramatically speeding up my journey through these collections, and I aim to stick to that. So hopefully, it’ll only be a few days before I come back with my final review on This Isn’t The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You. I’m in for a thrilling journey I think, and you can keep up with my progress at any time by coming back to these forethoughts, and following the links that I will create below as I post a review of each story. Following the contents below, there are also some links which you may find useful if you want to find out more a little more about Jon McGregor.

****

:: Contents of This Isn’t The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You ::
(links lead to individual reviews of each story, when posted)

• That Colour
• In Winter The Sky
• She Was Looking For This Coat
• Looking Up Vagina
• Keeping Watch Over The Sheep
• Airshow
• We Were Just Driving Around
• If It Keeps On Raining
• Fleeing Complexity
• Vessel
• Which Reminded Her, Later
• The Chicken And The Egg
• New York
• French Tea
• Close
• We Wave And Call
• Supplementary Notes To The Testimony
• Thoughtful
• The Singing
• Wires
• What Happened To Mr Davison
• Years Of This, Now
• The Remains
• The Cleaning
• The Last Ditch
• Dig A Hole
• I Remember There Was A Hill
• Song
• I’LL Buy You A Shovel
• Memorial Stone

Bloomsbury | 02 February 2012 | £14.99 | HARDBACK | 272 PP | ISBN: 9781408809266

Find out more about Jon McGregor:

A note about forethoughts
‘Forethoughts’ offer an insight into what my initial thoughts and impressions of a book are before I begin reading it. Informal, and largely written as a stream-of-consciousness exercise in a single sitting, my ‘forethoughts’ capture an important stage of the reading experience for me – the anticipatory period before the book is first opened, when my excitement is piqued for the reading experience which lies ahead.

Blissfully ignorant my ‘forethoughts’ may well be, but when combined with my eventual ‘afterthoughts’, the result is a unique and comprehensive record of a very personal literary ‘journey’ through a particular book; a literary journey which will hopefully be of some value to other readers.

First off, why am I so excited about reading this particular collection from debut author, Macleod? Well, mainly because I’ve heard so many good things about it. Light Lifting may be new to the UK, but in Canada where where this author hails from, Light Lifting has been on bookshop shelves since September 2010 (HERE’S a video from the launch), and since then it has created quite a stir around literary circles. Not only was Light Lifting shortlisted for the 2010 Scotiabank Giller Prize the day after its publication, but last year it was also shortlisted for the prestigious Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award. The collection also took the Margaret and John Savage First Book Award at last year’s Atlantic Book Awards, while also standing a finalist in the Commonwealth Writers Prize. Even ignoring all of the glowing literary reviews – and of these there are many – this collection has built up a lot of prestige over the past year, and I don’t think there are too many short story fans out there who wouldn’t be excited (or at the very least intrigued), to read this one.

Let’s go look at the cover blurb:

Light Lifting, Alexander Macleod’s long-awaited first collection of short fiction, offers us a suite of darkly urban and unflinching elegies. These are elemental stories of work and its bonds, of tragedy and tragedy barely averted, but also of beauty, love and fragile understanding.

That’s the blurb – short and sweet but suitably intriguing I think. The mention of the stories being ‘elemental’ and themed around ‘tragedy’ and ‘work and its bonds’ is particularly interesting, especially when juxtaposed against ‘beauty’ and ‘love’, because it sounds as though these may well be the kinds of story that one can’t quite get out of the head once finished. I’m a huge fan of ‘stick in the head’ tales, and I remember reading somewhere (I can’t remember where exactly – probably because my brain is full of ‘stick in the head’ tales ) that all of the stories in this collection are wholly memorable, and in a truthful, biting, gritty kind of way. And that’s absolutely my cup of tea.

And if that wasn’t encouragement enough for me, the great Irish novelist Colm Tóibín declares that the stories in this collection ‘offer a real pleasure which comes from the sense of life and emotional honesty in them’ which really piques interest, especially when factoring in Anne Enright’s comment that Alexander MacLeod illuminates every page of this collection, with his ‘belief in people and the power of story’. Marketing blurb I know, but marketing blurb that comes from two literary giants.

What is perhaps espcially interesting about Light Lifting however, is that it’s a culmination of over 15 years of work. This is not to say that it has taken MacLeod fifteen years to write the collection from start to finish, rather the stories in it span 15 years of writing. I think it’s safe to suggest therefore, that there’s nothing unconsidered or last minute about the seven stories included in this collection, and that Macleod has had plenty of time to put a spit and polish on every one of them.

So what of Alexander MacLeod himself? Well, for starters he comes from good literary stock. His father is the noted short story writer and novelist, Alistair MacLeod, who amongst other things won the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award in 2001 for his 1999 novel, No Great Mischief.

Alexander himself was born in Inverness, Cape Breton and raised in Windsor, Ontario. He holds degrees from University of Windsor, the University of Notre Dame, and McGill. He is married with three young children and is currently an associate professor of English at St. Mary’s University, Halifax, Nova Scotia. This is clearly a man who eat, sleeps and drinks literature, and he has done so for a long time.

Additionally, MacLeod used to be a serious distance runner and I know one of his stories – the first, Miracle Mile which I’ve had a sneak read of already (Wow, but more on that later) – is about the life of the competitive distance runner. Macleod admits that there are elements of himself in all of his stories, so I’m expecting this collection to be as intriguing in an autobiographical sense as it is in a fictional. Given the time span during which the stories have been created I’m looking forward to seeking out the signs of Macleod blossoming, both as a person and as a writer.

So Light Lifting really does look to have the makings of one extraordinary short story collection (the cover is basic and unassuming too which is always a promising thing i.e. it doesn’t need bells and whistles to sell it), hence my thrill at the thought of reading it. The fact that the collection has gained so much recognition before coming to the UK is exciting enough, but adding in all of the other things – MacLeod’s ancestry, his love for literature, the timespan covering the creation of these stories, the comments from prominent authors etc. – I don’t think I’ve been as eager to dive into a short story collection for a long time (I lie because I get excited over most short story collections, but I’m doing so for dramatic effect ).

So, how am I going to proceed with my reading of Light Lifting? Well, the same way as I always do with short story collections/anthologies i.e. read and review each individual story before returning with a final afterthoughts post for the collection as a whole. I’m noted for being rather leisurely when it comes to the speed in which I read short story collections, but this is something I really want and need to improve on. So rather than posting my final afterthoughts on this collection in a few weeks time, I hope to return in a few days to let you know how I got on. Meantime, you track my progress through this collection, below. Oh and and if you want to know little more about Alexander MacLeod, then scroll past the contents list for Light Lifting, where there’s a few links that will hopefully enlighten you.

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:: Contents of Light Lifting ::
(links lead to individual reviews of each story, when posted)

• Miracle Mile
• Wonder About Parents
• Light Lifting
• Adult Beginner I
• The Loop
• Good Kids
• The Number Three

Jonathan Cape | 02 February 2012 | £15.99 | HARDBACK | 211 PP | ISBN: 9780224093941

Find out more about Alexander MacLeod:

A note about forethoughts
‘Forethoughts’ offer an insight into what my initial thoughts and impressions of a book are before I begin reading it. Informal, and largely written as a stream-of-consciousness exercise in a single sitting, my ‘forethoughts’ capture an important stage of the reading experience for me – the anticipatory period before the book is first opened, when my excitement is piqued for the reading experience which lies ahead.

Blissfully ignorant my ‘forethoughts’ may well be, but when combined with my eventual ‘afterthoughts’, the result is a unique and comprehensive record of a very personal literary ‘journey’ through a particular book; a literary journey which will hopefully be of some value to other readers.

Even before I begin reading Accabadora by Michela Murgia (MacLehose Press; translated by Silvester Mazzarella), I know I hold something special in my hand. In its native Italy, the novel has won six – count them: 1,2,3,4,5,6 – literary awards (including the prestigious Campiello Prize), so to ignore a book with such glowing accolades would be idiotic (people do though, as lovers of translated fiction know fine well). Actually, given that it has such a striking cover (designed by Monica Reyes. She seems to have used a simple patterned fabric but to great effect), Accabadora is impossible to ignore even without knowing that it’s a multiple prize winner. This is one which will definitely stand out on the bookshop shelves, you can be sure of that.

Let’s move on then to look at the cover blurb, which may, as we all know, contain mild spoilers:

When the once-beautiful Bonaria Urrai adopts Maria, the unloved fourth child of a widow, she tries to shield the girl from the truth about her role as an accabadora, an angel of mercy, who acts as a midwife to the dying. The rural community fear and revere her in equal measure, but they understand that just as only a woman can bring life into the world, only a woman should take it away.

Moved by the pleas of a young man crippled in an accident, she breaks her golden rule of familial consent, and in the recriminations that follow, Maria rejects Tzia Bonaria and flees Sardinia for Turin. Adrift in the big city, she strives to find love and acceptance, but her efforts are overshadowed by the creeping knowledge of a debt unpaid, of family ties that have nothing to do with blood, and of a destiny that must one day be hers.

A powerful and yet delicate novel set in the 1950s rural Sardinia, written in a rich, limpid prose that perfectly captures the hidden ties between life, love and death.

First impressions based on the blurb? Powerful stuff, about a girl who is obviously troubled deep down. The big part that ‘family’ seems to play in Accabadora (as with many Italian novels) is intriguing. We all know how deep running family feuds can get, and I’ve a feeling that this one might well get right down to the core, especially when taking the mother’s ‘profession’ into consideration. If the family feud does reach the depths I expect it to, then Accabadora is, I think, going be one heck of a ‘rollercoaster’ novel.

Know what else I love the sound of? That this novel is set in a rural location in 1950s Sardinia. I know little of the history of the island during this period, so it’ll be nice to find out a little more. The fact that the novel is also partly set in the bustling city of Turin is of further interest. Aside from offering a striking contrast to rural Sardinia, it’ll hopefully teach me something about 1950s Turin too, because I know nothing about that either (and who says that fiction doesn’t educate, eh? ).

Of course most interesting of all is this theme of the accabadora. Apparently, these traditional ‘angels of death’ actually existed on the island of Sardinia up to as late as the 1970s, and they were brutal in their profession (Judith Schalansky missed a trick here, didn’t she?). The aged accabadora would enter the home of somebody dying – swathed in black; face covered – and clinically dispatch the poor person, not only with precision but more often than not using a cudgel, specially crafted from a tree branch. Wonder what these things may look like? Then wonder no more, because for your delight and delectation ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been able to track down a video (in Italian, sorry) which shows this tool of the accabadora (from about the 1min mark), in all of its gruesome glory (thanks to Andrew Collins):

As for the author, Michela Murgia, well this is my first time reading her – perhaps not surprising given that this is her debut in English – and I know surprisingly little about her aside from knowing that she was born in Cabras, Sardinia in 1972 and that she has worked as a religious studies teacher, a timeshare saleswoman and an administrator in a power plant. However, the fact that she has come along with a novel which has picked up six literary awards in Italy, speaks volumes. There must be something hugely competent about her, and I look forward to finding out exactly what, for myself.

The translator, Silvester Mazzarella is also new to me. The Canterbury-based multilingual translator seems more than up to the task however, having learned English from his mother, Italian from his father, and Swedish while teaching at the University of Helsinki. I look forward to tasting the fruits of his labour, so to speak.

So for now that’s all I can say I guess, and I’m left to the task of diving in to Accabadora. Weighing in at just a little over 200 pages it shouldn’t take me too long to tick this one off. So I should be back real soon – certainly before the book’s official publication date of October 27th – to let you know what I thought of it. For now stay safe, and be wary of any old ladies dressed in black who may come a-knockin’ on your door .

MacLehose Press | 27th October 2011 | £12.00 | HARDBACK | 208 PP | ISBN: 9780857050458

A note about forethoughts
‘Forethoughts’ offer an insight into what my initial thoughts and impressions of a book are before I begin reading it. Informal, and largely written as a stream-of-consciousness exercise in a single sitting, my ‘forethoughts’ capture an important stage of the reading experience for me – the anticipatory period before the book is first opened, when my excitement is piqued for the reading experience which lies ahead.

Blissfully ignorant my ‘forethoughts’ may well be, but when combined with my eventual ‘afterthoughts’, the result is a unique and comprehensive record of a very personal literary ‘journey’ through a particular book; a literary journey which will hopefully be of some value to other readers.