April: the embodiment of life as a pendulum

#6: remontando

Whether these monthly reviews will be a permanent fixture remains to be seen, but I loved writing my March wrap-up (despite it taking an obscene amount of time, thanks to the covid brain fog), so I figured why not do an April one too. Read a lot of good stuff and did a lot of fun stuff and I’m really enjoying approaching life through an archival lens. As Annie Ernaux writes in Happening, ‘Maybe the true purpose of my life is for my body, my sensations and my thoughts to become writing, in other words, something intelligible and universal, causing my existence to merge into the lives and heads of other people.’ I also read two Annies (I seem to refer to her books simply by her name) in April – by 2025, I want to have read all of her works that have been translated to English; currently on eight out of 19 – and if there’s one writer from whom I draw bucketloads of inspiration, it’s her. Annie essay or bookstagram dedication is pending, what a woman.

So I mentioned the brain fog, in which I still occasionally find myself submerged; there are few things more humbling than catching covid(-19!!) in 2024 but alas, I was put in my place at the end of March. Though I didn’t test every day, I had it for around 12 days – I was positive on day 11 and negative on what would’ve been day 13, so logic would imply… anyway, I got to celebrate Eid which was both gratifying and exhausting, and since then life’s been non-stop but pretty damn sweet (this is the part where I kindly ask you to say/do whatever your beliefs dictate to avoid giving somebody evil eye i.e. say mashaAllah, Thank you love you x).

Starting the month with the big C and ending it singing my heart out at an Íñigo Quintero concert (almost squealed when I got the invite, but I was on a bus so had to compress my excitement into a toothy grin) was the comeback I so desperately needed – and deserved, might I add. One of my top artists of last year down, four to go (pero, lamentablemente, vivo en el lugar equivocado. Alguien llévame de aquí, estoy suplicando). Since testing negative, life’s been full of lovely stuff and wonderful people who fill my cup and I truly feel a level of fulfilment that I never would’ve dreamed of reaching, even as recently as a few months ago. I think it’s the frontal lobe development that 25 has afforded me, but this isn’t a personal growth piece – though there is an essay on the notion of ‘coming-of-age’ in the works. That being said, there are so many pieces in the works but my brain is a tangled mess of half-formed ideas and sifting through them for anything concrete and substantial, in the throes of covid recovery, is more trying than I anticipated. Bear with.

viva galicia x

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Despite its hectic nature, I did somehow manage to read seven books last month – two were five-star reads (love that for me) and there were only two that I didn’t really vibe with. In chronological order, here are reviews for them all:

~Western Lane by Chetna Maroo

I read this for four reasons: it was longlisted for the Women’s Prize, it was promoted quoting a Sally Rooney review, it was <200 pages and it was 99p on Apple Books. Over a month has passed since reading it and I’m still not entirely sure how I truly feel. My scepticism began when I read the synopsis – the protagonist is an eleven-year-old squash aficionada… and the plot is heavily centred around the fact. For many, that will likely come off as frustrating, but the power of this one lies in everything happening on the periphery – a striking exploration of the dynamics of a family grieving its matriarch.

It was a quiet and unassuming read but made me feel a lot, which is ultimately my benchmark for literature done right. Bonus points for the family being British-Gujarati, which is half of my identity – even though they were of a different faith, there were cultural nuances that felt familiar in a way I’ve never before experienced while reading; clearly, I need to read more! The accuracy of the Indian dad portrayal and the father/daughter relationship(s), my goodness. Though grief is the focal point (alongside the squash), Maroo masterfully weaves in commentary on community, the immigrant experience, postcolonial identity (my weakness) and the fallout of the Partition, as well as a more generic foray into family dynamics with the aforementioned cultural nuance.

This definitely isn’t a book for everyone, if you prefer a plot-heavy read, I’d say skip. However, if you like character studies and explorations of family and identity, this is a worthy read.

~Talking at Night by Claire Daverley

Ah, where to begin. High hopes and disappointment would be the short-form review.

Usually, miscommunication is one of my biggest literary turn-offs but this was one book in which I actually got it – to a certain degree. It was everything else that I couldn’t get on board with, particularly in the ‘after,’ once the protagonists reached adulthood. The adolescent pining and yearning and the intensity of first love were all so well written, but as a grown-ass woman there was absolutely no excuse for Rosie and her awful, self-centred, thoughtless decision making. The gag is that none of it even benefited her; if you’re going to be selfish, at least do it right?

Despite being a will they/won’t they, by the end I couldn’t have cared less. The two of them need therapy, separately, and lifelong no-contact. In my humble opinion.

~A Frozen Woman by Annie Ernaux

At first, I had no idea this was autofiction rather than memoir, but where is the line drawn between the two? I don’t think a distinct one exists. A really profound thought about this occurred to me at 4am the night after I finished, but it was in the middle of a fitful sleep and I forgot to dictate it in my notes app, so it’s lost to the void. It was an Annie, so I loved it. Obviously.

~The Possession by Annie Ernaux

One of the aforementioned five-star reads. I have a blanket rule that I don’t rate non-fiction but this was flawless. A portrait of jealousy and infatuation with the signature rawness that she does so well, unsentimental without shedding any of the depth of emotion. How does she do it? My favourite Annie to date.

~Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke

Profound musings on life and writing as both an occupation and an extension of self – one that I’ll definitely come back to over the years.

~This Is How You Remember It by Catherine Prasifka

I’ve already reviewed this in full over on Instagram, which you can read here. Without a doubt the best book I’ve read so far this year and will almost certainly be in my top three, come December. If you’ve been enjoying the girlhood essays and discourse on being chronically online, this is for you.

~Old Enough by Haley Jakobson

This was one of those books that promised a lot but delivered very little. In the nicest way possible, I feel like I would’ve enjoyed this a little more if I’d read it at 17/18: it had the juvenile YA/NA feeling, but not one that caters to a universal audience. In the same vein as Greta and Valdin, 95% of the characters are queer and messy, but that’s where the similarities end. The way queerness was broached was extremely overzealous in a way that made the characters seem like caricatures of themselves, although the conversations around gender did feel relevant. The prose was unimaginative, with much more telling than showing.

What I did appreciate was the exploration of trauma, and the way the past permeates the present when things are left unsaid and unaddressed. I’ve rarely seen rape and sexual assault in contemporary fiction approached with the care and sensitivity they should be, validating the experience of the survivor without any external bias, so credit where it’s due. Please be mindful and gentle with yourself if you do decide to read it, because despite how infantile it felt at times, it can be very triggering.

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Other highlights: Verve blogger mixer, met Naoise Dolan – author events at indies are SO much better than ones at bigger chain stores, we actually got to sit and have a conversation after the formal part and I’ve said it time and time again but there are few writers whose craft I admire the way I do hers. Went to the screening of Caleb Azumah Nelson’s short film, Pray; he is indeed as talented a director as he is a writer and photographer. His ability as an artist, through whichever medium, to capture the minute details and express even the most inarticulable sentiments and emotions is truly awe-inspiring. The screening was followed by him in conversation with his sister and I could listen to him speak forever, just such a cool, wholesome, intelligent man. Also lots more casual socialising; old and new friends; reconnecting after years/months/weeks; meeting new people (had another BookBar meet-cute, third! spaces! are! essential!). Covid drained my cup and left it for dead, but everything that’s followed has filled it right back up – I am beyond grateful that my life is filled with people who are joy and comfort personified.

started writing in Spanish again!

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That’s it from me for now, please let me know how you feel about these monthly round ups below. I have always written for myself, but it’d be nice to know what you like reading too :)

Until next time x