The Shepherd’s Life - James Rebanks (2015)

An evocative ode to landscape and life in the Lake District

The Lake District holds a place in the English imagination like no other. It is so ingrained on us that it hard to believe that a little over two hundred years ago, no one took time to explore the majesty of the scenery. It was considered dark, harsh and in contrast to the industrial revolution that was raging and unproductive. Only a combination of roads, rail, and wars on the continent that stopped the steady tourist flow to the Alps, brought the nation’s back yard to the masses.

And then there was Wordsworth. Seemingly, one man alone created a whole tourist industry of lookers, climbers, walkers and pleasure seekers. Today, a little over 43,000 residents play host to some 16 million visitors, bringing in a billion pounds of revenue a year. It has become the playground of the outdoor type, looking for Wordsworth, and Alfred Wainwright too. Arguably, even a new generation following Julia Bradbury following Wainwright following Wordsworth.

But then, as now, what is it like to live, work, and produce from the land? To know it outside of the summer season, when the snow lays thick and the fog envelops? That is where James Rebanks’ The Shepherd’s Life comes in, to reclaim the often forgotten people of the land. Initially James rose to prominence when he upgraded his mobile phone, and someone pointed out that with just 140 characters on Twitter and the ability to take pictures, he could share a little of his life, and the life of his flock, to the public. He became something of a minor celebrity.  

I have to disclose straight away that this sort of book, and its subject are right up my street. Or is that 'up my field'? I do National Trust working holidays so I can spend my spare time in meadows and besides rivers. I’m doing an online course in Ecology and Ecosystems to learn more about how man interacts with the land around him, and the inhabitants with each other. This book alone has taught me more about that than any other source yet. I was expecting to enjoy it before I began, but it still knocked my expectations in to a flat cap.

Free for the character limit restrictions of social media, James writes wonderfully well. He certainly has a way of describing the beauty of is life, while steadfastly not romanticising it, remaining true to its harshness and sheer hard work. And there is lots of muck about. Muck everywhere. To many, this will all seem like a foreign land. Seasons are seasons, not just markers to when to change from air-conditioning to radiators and back again. Cold kills. As the recent documentary on the BBC ‘Addicted to Sheep’ so eloquently put it, sheep largely exist only to see how quickly they can die. They get up, no matter how dark it is outside, and need feeding every day with fail, come sunshine or snow.

“Later I would understand that modern industrial communities are obsessed with the importance of ‘going somewhere’ and ‘doing something with your life’. The implication is an idea I have come to hate, that staying local and doing physical work doesn’t count for much.”

At the beginning, I did get a feeling that the author was carrying a bit of a grudge around with him, and the book could easily have slipped into a crusading tract telling us how we townies have got it so wrong about agricultural life. The introduction is a little abrasive, but it is also very funny. As you go on, you realise that James actually just wants to explain, with his humour intact, and show and tell about something that obviously means so much to him and his family. Something that is his family history for generations and deserves respect and admiration.

With this wonderful book, he deserves all the plaudits that come to him. For readers of natural history, biography of very real lives, or anyone that wants a beautifully written view of one corner of England that is just as valid as the rest of it. - Carl

The Times: The History of Britain’s Railways by Julian Holland (2015)

It is something of a cliché to say that every young boy wants to grow up to be a train driver. Of course, clichés are clichés because they usually contain more than a kernel of truth. My dad certainly would have loved to have spent his days shovelling coal into the firebox while England’s green and pleasant land went speeding by outside. He loves trains, and has from a very early age, cycling as a young man all day long to watch then speed by at every nearby station and bridge to showing of by naming every train and its number that happens to appear on tv or in a film.

Me, I actually wanted to be a fighter pilot when I was younger. But then I did watch Top Gun far too many times to be healthy. But as I get on, I think my Dad probably had the better idea. There is something permanent and real about the railways. There certainly is for me no better way to travel. Fast, but not hurried. An idlers choice of transportation. It’s all that staring at the countryside as it slides by.

Last Christmas I hit bullseye with Dad when I brought him a copy of The Times: Mapping The Railways. A brilliant book that charts the development of rail in Britain through some fantastic cartography. As a self-confessed map geek, I have to admit that I spent rather a lot of time with it myself before it got wrapped up.

The Times series of railway books, expertly written by Julian Holland, have become an invaluable resource on the subject, just as their atlases are the go-to choice. Certainly worth checking out is Exploring Britain’s Lost Railways, and Great Railway Journeys of the World.

Recently, I was very happy, and no doubt Dad will be, to see the arrival of The Times: The History of Britain’s Railways, a new title for 2015 which is just as visually impressive, detailed and superbly researched as ever by Julian. A hefty, in every sense, coffee table/reference book that certainly deserves a place in the home of any railway fan, from obsessive to casual admirer of steam and diesel.

If you are looking for a Christmas gift for a certain man in your life (let’s be honest, the railways tend to be an overwhelmingly man’s world), someone who is no happier than being in greasy overalls or researching Britain’s brilliant history in engineering and moulding the modern world, then I think your search is over. - Carl

The Blue Guitar - John Banville (2015)

Art, adultery and introspective thoughts speckle the pages in this rambling and poetic character piece from the winner of the 2005 Man Booker Prize.

Oliver Orme is a rakish sort of fellow. A somewhat celebrated artist who is now struggling to pick up a paintbrush, Orme instead spends his time stealing small objects from every place he visits. His current predicament, however, stems from stealing something far more precious - his best friend’s wife. Written in the form of a rambling and somewhat self-deprecating letter from Oliver himself, we are treated to a shaggy-dog story of baroque prose and artistic references as he attempts to lay low and explain himself.

The plot is as thin as a coathanger - but that’s entirely the point, as Banville uses that coathanger as a frame to hold up some beautiful sentences and deft characterisation. Filled with literary flourishes, you are pulled through the murky recesses of Orme’s mind as he looks at his failings, fears and dreams. There is a surreal feeling to much of the novel, as Orme tries to talk about anything other than the pressing matters ahead of him. Not content with physically running away from his wife and mistress, he also attempts to distract the reader with sentimental memories and off-the-cuff philosophical musings.

It’s a story about a man who barely lives in the here and now, describing his life as if observing and critiquing it in an art gallery. He is so detached that is comes as a great surprise when he finally sees his mistress as anything more than a symbol. Suddenly realising that she is in fact a woman, a real person, and not a sculpture throws him right off. He’s a conflicted guy, and we are also conflicted. He could be going through a midlife-crisis, or all his years of bad living could be catching up with him. Orme does have a sad backstory - not that it’s really used as an excuse - and Banville has really brought him to life.

This is a meandering novel that - to use a cliché - feels like an intricate painting. It’s a sublime and poetic read that will have you marvelling at the power of words and art. - Pete

Holy Cow - David Duchovny (2015)

A quirky and unusual children’s story for adults with a wry turn of phrase and a cast of neurotic animals.

To begin with, Elsie is a happy cow. She lives to eat, flirt with the bulls in the field next door and sneak into the farmer’s garden to watch the God Box (more commonly known as the TV) through the window. But one day she sees something that will change her life – a documentary about the meat industry that turns her stomach(s) inside out. She decides to make for India, in the hope that she might be revered and stay away from the butcher’s table. Along the way she picks up a pig who has decided to become a Jew and move to Israel in celebration of the “hands off” nature of the Kosher way of life, and a turkey who sees Turkey as being a promised land of his own.

The novel is charmingly (and somewhat naively) narrated by Elsie herself, in the guise of preparing her memoir for the big screen. It’s a funny wee story, of that there’s no doubt. It’s packed with cracking one-liners, bizarre cow-centric musings on humanity and strange situations. Elsie seems blessed with a knowledge of popular culture – she’s obviously done her research – and the pages are littered with enough film and television references to keep culture nerds like myself happy. It’s unlikely to convince anyone to become a vegetarian – but it seems like that was never really the plan anyway. It’s an amusing book that might just make you take a second look at the burger in front of you. - Pete

Early One Morning - Virginia Baily (2015)

It’s Rome, ‘43, the city is occupied by the Nazis and the dreaded SS are in town. They’re here to cleanse the ghettoes. Early in the morning Chiara, a reasonably light-weight resistance member, is summoned to help burn anti-fascist pamphlets before they’re found, and the authors shipped off to certain death. The SS trucks are parked up. Whole families climb aboard at gun point. Then she sees them.

A mother walks towards the trucks, and guards and guns, with her little boy. She meets Chiara’s gaze in the early morning light, and sees her opportunity. She brushes her son’s hand away from her. Then again. She never looks away from Chiara. Chiara leaps forwards, compelled by what, she doesn’t know. But she yells out for her ’nephew’ She cries out with such confidence that with barely a second thought, the SS guard takes the boy down from the truck and hands him over. She saved him. He will live. But at what cost? What kind of man will he become?

Far from being another war novel, after this thrilling prologue the story leaps ahead a generation, and when it does even the prose seems to grow up a bit. In the opening pages it’s a teenager, full of angst and pain and urgency; and so it should be. It’s here in this delicious prose, that Baily really distinguishes herself. There are many spectacular novels about the Second World War, there are equally as many gripping, heart-rending family dramas, as this novel soon becomes. But few such a pleasure to read for the smooth and sultry flow of the words off the page.

A generation later the older Chiara is beset by heart-break that, despite her Herculean efforts, she can barely hide. Daniele Levi, the boy she saved became a man, and disappeared. The memories of that angsty prose are revived by the appearance of his illegitimate child who has recently discovered who her real father was, and is now trying, much like Chiara, to find out what happened to him.

The narrative has a quality to it that should put the reader in mind of Leonardo Padura at his most laid-back. It tells this blindingly good story with unnerving ease, raising the pulse occasionally with no more effort than it should take to raise a glass of Chianti to your lips. Which is exactly what this novel should be enjoyed with. One book, one sitting, one bottle.  

Book reviews with serving suggestions. - Dan

Go Set A Watchman - Harper Lee (2015)

An interesting look at the seed behind To Kill a Mockingbird that blends memoir, a love story and the political history of the south into one novel.

It’s not often you get to peek inside the publishing industry and read a manuscript before major overhauling. The original scroll for On The Road, for example, is more rambling, explicit and lacking in punctuation than it’s fully published counterpart - but follows much of the same beats (no pun intended.) Go Set A Watchman is a whole other beast. The story is now a familiar one to anyone who has glimpsed at a newspaper in the last few months; a manuscript delivered in the mid-fifties had a spark of genius in it, an editor suggested to reframe and rewrite the whole thing, said re-written novel wins the Pulitzer prize, has a huge film made out of it and becomes beloved by millions. Years later, the original draft is found and published.

Although often billed as a sequel or a first draft, a more accurate description would be as a parent or companion piece, as it manages to be both. Not much of Watchman made it into Mockingbird other than the finely realised characters, some excellent prose and a subplot about a trial that would become a dramatic focal point. Indeed, even the outcome of the trial varies between the two books, as well as the children’s experiences of that day. This makes it a fresh read for even the biggest Mockingbird fan.

Scout, now going by Jean Louise, is returning to Maycomb after a prolonged absence. Delighted to be back, she throws herself headfirst into the town with her old friend and potential fiancé Henry. Torn between her independence and Henry’s insistent proposals, she remembers formative experiences she has had in the town, before uncovering some distasteful secrets about her own family.

These memoir-esque flashback scenes  are a great way to spend more time with Calpurnia and Jem, but Dill is not so present, as much of the flashbacks take place during term-time. Although providing back-story for Jean Louise and Henry, they can at times feel like a diversion, and a chance to tell what is probably a humorous and oft-recounted family tale. In some ways, the book feels like a series of great anecdotes that are held together by a politically charged narrative that allows Lee to make her feelings known, and speak out against the worrying aspects she was seeing in her old town as she visited her ailing father. Just like with Mockingbird, much of the book is based directly on her own life and experiences, and we see reality creeping in to Maycomb.

It’s often said that people get more right wing as they get older, and that certainly seems to be the case with Atticus Finch - at least on the surface. Atticus has often been seen as a perfect man, kind, fair and a poster boy for race relations. What Watchman does is strip away that childhood innocence and reveal a more 3D and flawed version of the man. As of Watchman, he is starting to socialise with unsavoury people, even going as far as to attend a racially-charged rally and holds awful pamphlets in with his stack of papers. This sends both the reader and Jean Louise reeling, and it’s only her intellectual uncle who can try to help us understand how a kind man could get involved in such an awful thing.

While To Kill A Mockingbird was a naive look at “the old south” and racial tensions from the viewpoint of a child, Go Set A Watchman tackles those problems straight on, during a massive period of change at the beginning of the social rights movement. It’s much more nuanced and complex than Mockingbird’s simple and universal approach - and as much about the state vs. government and the shadow of history as it is about racism and segregation. Although written over fifty years ago, those same worries that tormented Lee are rearing their head again today, as we see people once again picking up the Confederate Flag as a symbol of the past and then holding it aloft amidst the fallout of atrocities like the Charleston shooting.

If To Kill A Mockingbird is mostly a book about idealism and a loss of innocence, Go Set A Watchman is about disillusionment. Has the town and Atticus changed so much, or has she grown up and away? Will she walk away from them all, or help them find the right way into the new world?

There are some brilliant lines and vivid descriptions to latch on to - even in the third person Jean Louise’s wit and humour follows those familiar Scout-ish patterns and Lee’s prose is as lush and imaginative as ever. What also sets Watchman apart from Mockingbird is its continual evolution of Louise’s individuality and desire to be more than just a “southern lady.” While Scout was always a tomboy in Mockingbird, in Watchman we this manifesting in Jean Louise as a more constant struggle between her desires in life and society’s expectations to marry and make a home. Her attempts to sit through the banal baby and husband chatter at a “coffee” thrown in her honour are a highlight, as well as her spirited discussions with Henry about the future.

As a historical document, it’s a priceless behind the scenes look at the seed that will turn into a Pulitzer winning novel, and a young author flexing her literary muscles in an extended form for the first time. It’s sure to provide a lot for book groups to chew over, and fans of Mockingbird should not be put off by the tarnishing of their sacred idols. More Harper Lee can only be a good thing. - Pete

A Crown for Cold Silver - Alex Marshall (2015)

A fresh and biting fantasy novel with style and a sense of humour.

A Crown for Cold Silver had been sat on my shelf unread for a while. Every time I fancied something new to read my eyes would skip right over it in favour of something else. It hadn’t done anything wrong, mind – I knew nothing about the book or the author – I just fancied something else at the time. Something new. Something fresh. Why did I assume that A Crown for Cold Silver was neither new or fresh? I made the cardinal sin of judging a book by its cover.

There is no excuse. I work in a bookstore, I should know better and in fact advise people everyday who wrinkle their nose the second I put my hand on a book to trust me. I think part of the problem is that I could probably spot a fantasy book at one-hundred yards. Two-hundred, weather permitting, and looking at this book, that is all I saw. There is nothing wrong with the cover at all. It is slick, nicely presented and is quite overt about what it is offering, but it didn’t excite me. A quick look at the blurb confirmed my suspicions ‘..Banshee with a Blade.. warrior queen … set out for revenge …’. Yup. Read that. A thousand times already. So back on the shelf it would go whilst I re-read an old favourite or gave something else a go.

One day though, I had a day off work. On this day off, I started reading it. Maybe I was out of other books. Maybe I put my book prejudices aside? Who knows. All I know is that my day off started early. I slid the book off my shelf, determined to give it a go. ‘What do I have to lose?’ I asked myself. It turned out I had a day to lose. It started out so innocuously, and ended with me bleary eyed wondering why I had not read this book ten times already. A Crown for Cold Silver blew me away.

From start to finish it gripped me - engaging characters, witty dialogue and a thought provoking world ensured that I was left wanting more. To go into more detail; we are presented with the typical revenge storyline that appears quite often in a lot of fantasy writing. Nothing like a good ol’ bit of revenge with my hearty stew and tavern wench when reading fantasy, right? At first glance, it is easy to write the narrative off as being that simple. Whilst it does nod towards that classic trope, it takes it a step further as the story unfolds – more characters are introduced each with their own agenda, muddying the waters of what we assume to be true. By the end of the book, there is a definite enigma around the direction the series will go as Alex Marshall does a fantastic job of drawing you in, making you care about the fate of the characters and the world they inhabit.

One of the ways he makes you care is through humour. This book is funny. Hilariously funny. In a fantasy book, that can spell danger as it can almost take over the book and become a parody in and of itself, but when it is done right and isn’t farcical it works well. It has a lot in common with Steven Erikson’s epic Malazan series and Joe Abercrombie's First Law trilogy in that respect – the snappy dialogue and interactions between some of the characters left me grinning like a loon with the Battle of the Extended Pinky being a particular highlight.

There is of course more to the book than humour though. It has bite, and lots of it. The fight scenes are brutal and bloodthirsty as you would expect but they don’t detract or demean the characters at all – it isn’t gratuitous or over the top, merely a result of decisions and actions that are made by the characters. It doesn’t always come from expected sources either, which is another thing I liked about the book – the stereotypes you would come to expect in fantasy books didn’t really materialise, and I would go as far as to say that it pushed the boundaries in a lot of ways. In fact, it purposely diffuses the stereotypical revenge story early on with Zosia interacting with the lone survivor of an attack on a village that I will let you read yourself (and you should!).

It subtly ignores the importance and role of gender by including things like same sex rulers, bi-sexual main characters and equality between the men and women we come across – but the important thing is that it doesn’t feel forced, or like the author had a tick box with things to include. I think that is a testament to Alex Marshall’s skill as a writer, and was overly impressed as I initially thought this was a debut - it isn’t, Alex Marshall is a pseudonym ‘for an acclaimed author who has previously several novels in different genres’ according to the cover – but that does not detract from the ease with which the world and its structures are  portrayed and accepted.

If I were to be pushed for one reason you should read this book, it would have to be the characters. Each and every individual we hear from is interesting, well fleshed out and seems real, which is important in a not-so-real world. We need something to relate to. Whether it is Zosia’s loss, Sullen’s quest for answers or Ji-Hyeon rebelling against her prescribed fate I think there is something for everyone.

Now, that’s all positive but if I were forced to point out one potential flaw in the book, it is that it is felt very much like it was a platform for future books – whilst this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was just at times it meandered a little as it left seemingly important plot threads hanging whilst we checked in with someone else quite far away – which is perfectly understandable but can be a little frustrating, as we all have our favourites!

Overall, I cannot recommend A Crown of Cold Silver enough for any fan of fantasy. It has everything that you could ask for in a fantasy setting and is written in such a way that you can’t help but get caught up in it, and I have barely covered some of the more interesting aspects of it; there is so much more to see! If what you have read doesn’t make you want to read the book, fine I have done my best – but I feel like at the very least you should learn from my mistake. Don’t judge a book by its cover, you could be missing out on your new favourite book – I know I was! - Paul

We Are Pirates - Daniel Handler (2015)

A dark and witty novel about teenage alienation, strained relationships and the allure of the outlaw life.

Piracy used to conjure up visions of rabid men roaming the dark seas, festooned with tattoos and covered in facial hair. Now it’s more likely to bring up images of overweight young men sitting in basements in front of glowing computer screens. From Blackbeard to Neckbeard, if you will. Lemony Snicket author Daniel Handler throws the older, vicious idea of the roving corsair into the modern day in this strange look at teenage angst and the life of an outsider.

14-year-old Gwen is angry. Angry at her parents, angry at the world, and angry at her own dull life. Caught shoplifting in an attempt to relieve her boredom, she is sent to help out at a nursing home where she meets Errol, an elderly Navy vet who is suffering with Alzheimer’s. The two bond over obscure seafaring slang and soon decide to take to the San Francisco bay with a crew of rejects in an attempt to regain control over their lives. Although Gwen’s scheme feels like a fun romp to begin with, it isn’t long before things start to descend into violence, and there appears to be no going back. At the same time, Gwen’s father Phil is having a midlife crisis as he attempts to get his flagging media company some attention. He also thinks of himself as a rebel – although in a safe and commercially viable way. He’s sure his lame duck of an idea will be just the thing to reignite his career, and so he heads off to a big industry meetup with his new assistant in tow – via disastrous flights, ill-conceived affairs and painful networking events. But Gwen’s disappearance soon causes him to rethink his life.

Although most of his work is written for the teen market, this is certainly more of an adult novel. Phil’s sections have more in common with something like American Beauty than Pirates of the Caribbean as he struggles to come to terms with both the way his life is going, and the whereabouts of his daughter. What could be a silly and ridiculous concept is bolstered by unusual terms of phrase, a rich vein of irony and its darker edges. Gwen and her crew’s exploits on the sea are borderline psychotic – a more fantastical and palatable version of a school shooting, but just as disturbing.

Gwen and her swashbuckling colleagues are all outcasts in their own way, and Gwen and Errol’s slightly disjointed friendship forms the real core of the book. Phil’s tale of middle-class ennui may bookend it, but it’s Gwen’s angry and worrying railing against the world that both propels the novel and gives it heart. This is an unusual book that tries to buck expectations. It’s a family drama, a tale of childhood adventure, and a violent look at unrestrained adolescence – often all at the same time. Handler has a great way of writing, and even if the tone veers wildly it is frequently entertaining and always engaging. - Pete

Viper Wine - Hermione Eyre (2014)

A dense and elaborate historical novel about fading beauty, peppered with intriguing anachronisms.

Sir Kenelm Digby and Venetia Stanley were one of the most spoken-about couples of the 17th century. Sir Kenelm was a scientist, an alchemist and an adventurer, while his wife was known as the most beautiful woman at court. Copies of her portrait were passed about and her radiance was known for miles around, which has turned her from a witty young woman into a self-obsessed and beauty-hungry lady. Looking for ways to keep her beauty, Venetia starts to visit an apothecary who concocts a cure made from opium, pregnant horse urine, and, most importantly, snake venom. While initially successful, Venetia soon becomes addicted to not just the drink, but the very idea of cosmetic tampering, while Sir Kenelm drifts further and further away from his wife and into his own obsessions.

Like many historical novels dealing with a certain point in history, we meet a great number of famous faces, such as Ben Johnson in his twilight years. Unusually however, Viper Wine also features cameos from the modern day; as while most people concentrate on the here and now, Kenelm exists almost outside of it; acting like a satellite TV, picking up broadcasts from our decade. He hears mysterious cures from the future involving stem cells that he’d like to act upon, he quotes David Bowie to his sons, and he imagines himself being interviewed by Jonathan Ross and Jeremy Paxman. At one point, the author herself interjects to ask him about his life. This slightly anarchic and anachronistic approach is wonderfully jarring, and reinforces the differences between the two lovers. Venetia is obsessed with halting time and rewinding it to when she was beautiful; whereas Kenelm barely seems to care about the age he is living in. Small snippets of modern beauty cures litter the pages – some of which seemed so bizarre I had to double check. (Anna Friel of Pushing Daisies, for example, really has had blood from her arm injected into her wrinkles.) Most of the time these flights of fancy aren’t intrusive, just bubbling to the surface before fading out again, and neither do they stray too far into the unbelievable and risk upsetting the historical world Eyre has created. (No Monty Python-esque policemen rushing in to halt the proceedings or alien spaceships rescuing our heroine.)

Although it plays fast and loose with conjecture, fans of historical fiction will be in heaven here, as Eyre has brought to life the lives, worries and politics of the early 1600’s. It’s also a scathing look at modern beauty regimes, as the juxtaposition of useless (and possibly dangerous) treatments from the 1600’s and today reveals just how little has changed. Is putting poisonous lead on your skin really any different from injecting poisonous Botox into your face? It’s not going to be to everyone’s taste, but those that let it get under their skin will find much to love. -Pete

The First Bad Man - Miranda July (2015)

Filled with unsettling thoughts but ultimately life-affirming, this is a strange and quirky novel about love, delusions and dependency from a unique voice.

Miranda July is a defiantly ‘indie’ director. Her films are filled with odd juxtapositions and unusual dialogue, soundtracked by circuit-bent 80’s synths and filled with whimsical ideas. Following a unique collection of short stories, The First Bad Man is her debut novel, and one that lives up to her distinctive sensibilities.

Cheryl is a neurotic middle-aged woman who lives by herself. She lives a quiet and rigid life with everything in its right place, and tries to avoid doing anything as it leaves less of a footprint - but that’s just the tip of the iceberg.  She’s also in love with a board member at her job, believing that in past lives they had been lovers, while also feeling a psychic link with various babies. These quirks and eccentricities have built up to the point where anything small could disrupt everything. And then something does.

The daughter of a colleague turns up at her house looking for somewhere to stay, and immediately starts to turn everything upside down. Clee is an imposing houseguest, mean and messy with a sadistic streak; and she soon fills Cheryl’s house with rubbish. Terrified by her new roommate, Cheryl seeks somewhat useless advice from her New-Agey therapist, before turning to self-defence videos. Initially violent, their fights soon start to take on sexual overtones, and Cheryl finds a new obsession, and starts to truly live her life.

There are a lot of bizarre touches and situations. A box of snails arrives at the house and soon infests the house. Unusual Japanese customs are followed incessantly and seemingly without reason. Cheryl’s therapist pretends to be a receptionist for a few days a year as part of a strange sex game. It’s not for the faint of heart – Cheryl’s fantasies and delusions are sexually graphic and often violent which can make sections intentionally challenging and uncomfortable. But it’s not simply setting out to be provocative – there’s a poignancy to the proceedings, and Cheryl’s arc is powerful and surprising.

Cheryl is an unusual and finely crafted character. Unsure of what she really wants, she seems to drift from obsession to obsession, overthinking everything and indulging her own delusions. Unstable to begin with, she slowly grows into herself as she faces her fears and discovers love and motherhood.

It’s not often that you read something that feels genuinely original. This novel gave me that feeling. You can’t (and shouldn’t) predict anything - just settle into the novel and roll with it. It’s constantly engaging, often funny, frequently surreal and filled with a strange kind of warmth. It would be easy for people who haven’t read the book to write it off as a kooky vanity project – but dismissing it as such does it a huge disservice. This is a dazzling and unique novel that will probably end up being one of my most memorable books of 2015. - Pete

The Buried Giant - Kazuo Ishiguro (2015)

Kazuo Ishiguro reinvents himself again with this lyrical and moving novel about love, memories and society, all while skirting around the edge of fantasy.

I hardly need to say this, but a new Ishiguro novel is ahuge deal. It’s been over ten years since his last novel, with only a brilliantcollection of short stories in-between to tide us over. The Buried Giant is set some time after the death of the great King Arthur, in the midst of the dark ages, and this strange cultural gap allows him to play with reality and legend in a fluid way. There is a peace of sorts between the two previously warring nations of the Britons and the Saxons, but it seems like things are hanging on by a thread.

Axl and Beatrice are an older couple living in their small village. They aren’t particularly well respected, and aren’t even allowed a candle to light their way in the dark; while their son lives in a village a long journey away. A strange form of sickness lies over the land, causing people to forget their collective pasts, and even recent occurrences. Children who disappear are soon forgotten about, as they slip from the minds of their search parties who return to their well-worn habits with not a care in the world. Wanting to recapture something they know they have lost, Axl and Beatrice leave the village to undertake a journey to make sure their son is safe, to build a new life and help the memories they can just about glimpse to surface. Underneath all the woozy fog, an Arthurian legend starts to emerge, and who our heroes used to be starts to come into focus as they come across an elderly and erratic Sir Gawain; a strong Saxon warrior; and monks with possibly sinister motives.

It is typically understated, and written in a sparse and simple language. King Arthur is not the only fantasy epic that has infused this story, for there are also shades of Beowulf lurking, and even elements from famous Greek epics. There’s an eerie feel to much of it, the half remembered fragments surrounded by mythical beasts residing in a foggy, murky landscape. Guilt lies over the land, and everyone’s motives are hidden under the surface.

Axl and Beatrice are an endearing couple. They refer to each other with soft and repetitive terms of endearment, without a hint of patronisation. They both long to recover their past, even if a possible danger lies therein. They both see and interpret their memories in slightly different ways, and it might only be this fog of forgetfulness that keeps them (and the previously warring nations) at peace. One of the recurring elements is the quiet but sinister boatman who promises to take couples across to a better land – but only if they can pass his test and prove their true love. This test haunts the couple, as deep down they worry that their love might not be as strong as they hope - and this vulnerability becomes the heart of the novel, as they get closer to the truth about their society and lives.

To speak too much about the book would ruin the mood and the way the novel unfolds. It’s a slow and measured story, its word-of-mouth feel and stark setting perfectly conjuring a fresh but familiar world that fits in perfectly with both the aforementioned fantasy classics and his own works. It’s a fable and metaphor for our splintered and divided world at the same time as being a touching look at age, memory, guilt and love. I can only hope we don’t have to wait as long for his next novel. - Pete

Look Who's Back - Timur Vermes (2012, tr. 2014)

Mel Brooks famously said that “by using the medium of comedy, we can try to rob Hitler of his posthumous power and myths.” But what if someone could ride an ironic wave to the top? Timur Vermes Look Who’s Back imagines such a thing.

Making Hitler an object of fun is no new idea, as Chaplin’sfamous The Great Dictator took pointed shots at the man while he was still alive, and 1967 saw the aforementioned Mel Brooks’ seminal The Producers, which not only gave Hitler a daft platform but an impressive singing voice. The glorious Monty Python team wrote and performed a sketch where Hitler hides behind the pseudonym Mr Hilter, and comedian Richard Herring performed a set about his attempts to reclaim the iconic moustache for the people. Oliver Hirschbiegel’s film Downfall showed Hitler’s ranting amidst the collapse of his regime and the waning of his influence, winning acclaim for its sobering and realistic portrayal - but it wasn’t until an army of remixing pranksters on Youtube borrowed it that it gained a wider audience. Thanks to a simple substitution of subtitles, Hitler now appeared to be yelling about trivial and petty things like being banned from his Xbox account, failing to find Wally or bemoaning the break-up of bands like Oasis. So Look Who’s Back treads a familiar path, but with a new perspective – for this is one of the first high-profile satires of Hitler by a German author. The rarity of this, and its perceived provocative nature pushed it to the top spot on Germany’s charts for a considerable amount of time.

Look Who’s Back imagines a scenario where Hitler wakes up in a wasteland in 2011, with only a vague memory of his own death. At first he is bemused by the Germany he rediscovers, but soon finds things he can appreciate among the ideas he finds “objectionable.” Thinking he’s a hilarious method-acting comedian, a local TV station decides to put him on the air, seeing his offensive rants as ironic shtick. Soon he is making his way up the food chain and gathering influence, getting closer to the government he so wants to infiltrate.

It’s often very funny, as Hitler interacts with both sides of the political spectrum and they see him in very different ways. There is an element of miscommunication in conversations with his agent, as her insistence that “the Jews are no laughing matter” is taken as a grave affirmation of his beliefs. Liberals think it’s all in poor taste, while Neo-Nazi’s want to beat him up for supposedly insulting their Führer. Written in a frank first-person format, it almost feels like a bizarre-world sequel to Mein Kampf, filled with internal discussions and rambling thoughts. It’s also packed with one-liners of all sorts, from time-travelling observational humour to more risky Holocaust quips.

That said, you do get the feeling when reading Look Who’s Back that Vermes took a great deal of effort to reign himself in when writing it, and this probably comes from his German sense of restraint. Making light of Hitler is a difficult and fraught thing in a country painfully aware of its past, where Nazi symbols are banned, and salutes are a punishable offence. Had a British (or any other nationality than German) author tackled this theme, it would have been likely to generate offense on all fronts like 2014’s The Zone of Interest by Martin Amis. His dark concentration-camp novel was too “frivolous” and failed to find a publisher in Germany. This is a softened and more accessible form of satire.

It’s not entirely without bite though, and it has more on its mind than simply shocking the literary world. Like Jerzy Kosinski’s brilliant Being There (later a film starring Peter Sellers), Look Who’s Back works like a cautionary tale for our media-drenched world. Being There almost operates as an anti-Forrest Gump, with that film’s cheery and worry-free atmosphere flipped on its head, warning against people with empty thoughts and meaningless catchphrases. In that novel, a lowly gardener called Chase wanders his way into political power and influence as his simple gardening tips are seen as being clever metaphors on big issues like the economy. He has no knowledge of any of the topics people think he holds forth on, but this doesn’t stop people putting him on a pedestal. Hitler ascends to the top in much the same way in Look Who’s Back. People hear what he is saying but misinterpret the message. They laugh at him, and in doing so don’t notice the sharp teeth beneath his daft exterior. It feels peculiarly relevant to England’s current situation in particular, as our increasingly desperate media turns to polarising figures that make for easy news and fresh clickbait in an effort to lasso drifting consumers away from the many branching avenues the internet provides. But presenting certain far-right politicians as amusing beer-swilling caricatures can help to give them a platform for their hate speech. Comedians in fast cars make “ironic” jokes about race, sexuality and such forth and get passes because they were only “mucking about.” This makes the central idea of the novel such a worrying and conceivable situation.

All in all, this is an amusing novel with a clever conceit at its core. It’s edgy but not too offensive, funny but not too insensitive. There are lines in here that you won’t be able to stop yourself laughing at, and some you’ll feel a little bad about afterwards. Just dig in and Goebbel it up. - Pete 

Trigger Warning - Neil Gaiman (2015)

Neil Gaiman treats us to another assortment of strange and haunting stories in his third collection.

Neil has produced some of my favourite short story collections over the years. He always has a knack for giving the reader a wide selection of tales that vary in style, genre and mood while still retaining the hallmarks that make Gaiman, well, Gaiman. And this collection is no different. In his introduction, Gaiman claims these shorts are far too random and unconnected to form an effective collection - but I’d beg to disagree. Several small connections hide beneath the surface, as little threads spider about linking seemingly disparate stories together. More than one story deals with the power of memory, and a couple use the idea of people buried alive as a starting point. Even the seemingly offbeat tales share themes, feeling cohesive without risking repetition.

Most are well written and atmospheric ghost stories that are topped off with a twisting bait-and-switch punch-line. He’s also slipped in a couple of poems for good measure. There are charming and lyrical odes to Ray Bradbury and David Bowie in The Man Who Forgot Ray Bradbury and The Return of the Thin White Duke respectively, while the slightly claustrophobic Jerusalem looks at a bizarre and real affliction that can cause tourists to break out in a case of “the Prophets.” One of my favourites is the surreal and charmingly disjointed Orange which tells the story of alien possession, fake tans and sibling rivalry in the form of one sided replies to redacted questions. It’s hilarious, weird and unlike anything else in this book.

A Calendar of Tales is an interesting exercise, where Gaiman wrote a tiny nugget of a story for each month of the year in response to prompts from Twitter fans. There is a Sherlock Holmes story tucked away in the form of The Case of Death and Honey that will grab you in its strange and otherworldly grasp. It dispenses with the usual rational world that we are used to seeing in Conan-Doyle’s works and gives it a supernatural edge that works quite effectively as we follow the lives of an aging Holmes and an elderly Asian beekeeper.

Here is the point where some of you will turn away in disgust. I am here to make a confession: I stopped watching Doctor Who during the first series with Matt Smith, disappointed with the direction the show had begun to take during the last few years of David Tennant’s iteration. (I am bracing myself for the hisses and projectiles.) It had all got a bit predictable and seemed loaded with annoying catchphrases, the same old monsters and a goofy atmosphere. Luckily, the Doctor Who story that Gaiman presents here is fantastic. It’s tighter, sharper and more intriguing than the last batch of episodes I’ve watched, and manages to tone down the forced quirkiness that can surround the Doctor. The monsters themselves are the right side of creepy, flirting with the uncanny valley like Coraline's Other Parents, and the punch line is fitting and showcases the darker side of the Time Lord.

Of the four larger stories, two were released last year in deluxe formats. The Truth is a Cave in the Black Mountains is a gripping tale of greed and revenge set in the bleak and foreboding Scottish mountains. The edition released last year was a lavishly illustrated and produced affair, with art by Eddie Campbell that blurred the lines between graphic novel and short story. While I prefer the short story in its 2014 incarnation, there is no denying just how fabulous a tale this is - even stripped back to just the text as it is here. It’s a grim and portentous bit of mythmaking that is loaded with dread and a crushing feeling of inevitability. If you don’t already own the story, this is almost a reason in itself to pick up this anthology. The other is The Sleeper and the Spindle, also released in 2014, with illustrations by Chris Riddell that helped enhance its fairy tale credentials.

The final short in the collection is the longest, and probably the one that will grab the most attention, as it reintroduces us to Shadow; the mysterious protagonist of Gaiman’s masterwork American Gods. Shadow is slowly moving through the UK, and by Black Dog he has reached a quiet American Werewolf in London-esque village that hides secrets, a couple of old reunions and a dash of the supernatural. I don’t want to spoil this story in any way, so we shall just leave it at this: 1.) It’s a great tale. 3.) It’s wonderful to see Shadow again. 4.) I can’t wait to read more about his travels. 4.) Please can we have some more, Neil? - Pete

The Winter War - Philip Teir (2015)

The Winter War is a snapshot of a family unit in crisis, a peek behind the Ikea curtain and the idea of pristine Scandinavian life.

Max and Katriina Paul have been married for over thirty years and have settled into some semblance of a comfortable routine. Professor of sociology and one-time media darling on the subject of sex, Max, spends his evenings trawling forums looking for his name;  while his wife is entirely wrapped up in her work, filled with a fervent self-belief. Their daughters Helen and Eva couldn’t be more different; with Helen being quietly married with two children of her own, and Eva in-between careers, relationships and more besides.

The novel starts with a frozen pet, and then takes us back to the beginning to see how the family reached this breaking point. Strangely enough, a similar situation happened to me as a child involving a pet rabbit, a holiday, and an excruciating wait as it thawed out before we could bury it. I’d always thought I’d start a short film or story with this anecdote, but I guess that’s that nipped in the bud. CHEERS, PHILIP TEIR! (I’m just messing Philip.) From then on we see how each character’s insecurities come to the forefront as bad decisions are made, and they all start to pull apart. Max’s failure to commit to his writing leads him into temptation, Katriina’s job causes her to second-guess her life, Helen’s husband seems tired of her and is possibly dealing with his sexuality, and Eva’s life implodes hundreds of miles away in England.

Switching between the characters pulls us into their world - and it isn’t hard to sympathise with them all, even when they play off against each other. Stuck in their own ruts, whether it’s an ideological, sexual, creative or emotional furrow, they muddle along, living their own separate lives, only coming together for family occasions for an argument or a sulk. They aren’t wholly unlikable or so dysfunctional you wonder how they manage to be in the same room as each other - this isn’t a comedy of embarrassment, but a simmering look at tension underneath the surface within a seemingly average family unit. There are certainly shades of Franzen and Eugenides painted on this Scandinavian canvas, but it’s less bombastic, and doesn’t attempt to keep as many plates up in the air.

It’s not all grim family drama - it’s often infused with a dark humour that begins with the dead hamster and moves through other unlikely scenarios such as Max awkwardly performing tantric yoga, or the cultural minefield that is a tutorial with a pretentious art tutor and his conceptual-obsessed students.. Through Eva, the book manages to take a wry look at the art world and the Occupy movement as she studies in London and deals with the various chaotic lives she comes into contact with. Although seemingly the most fragile and adrift character, it’s a pleasure seeing her build herself up over the course of the book and ending up as one of the most fulfilled. These sections were the ones that resonated the most with me - but different people will likely align themselves with a different member of the family. This is a very good debut that manages to present a sardonic look at modern day Scandinavia with beautifully- drawn characters and an understated channel of humour that runs beneath the surface. - Pete

The Utopia Experiment - Dylan Evans (2015)

A compelling look at the desire to get away from it all, and how that worked out for one man who tried it.

Admit it. You have at some point in your life let your mind wander off in a quiet moment and dreamed of not just getting away from it all, but running away from it all permanently and telling everyone to go hang. Heading for the hills, the island or just the cabin in the woods. ‘It’ in this case being the bills, the job, the people, the politics. Or any combination of the above. You don’t need light bulbs, or the internet, or hot water, or bread that magically fails to go off for days on end, you say. Mere modern day fripperies. Anyway, come the much predicted collapse of our modern, western, oil-dependent civilisation they will all become rarer than hens teeth. You dream of sticking it to the man and creating Utopia in your own image.

Well, so did Dylan Evans, and dear reader it doesn’t end well. That's not a spoiler, as the book’s cover and first chapter reveal. In 2006 Evans asked himself, come the apocalypse, what will life be like on the other side, and would he be able to cope. Unlike us, he took the leap and actually left his job, founded the 'Utopia Experiment' of the book’s title and called on similar minded folk to join him in the highlands of Scotland for 18 months of living off the land, washing in rivers and using earth toilets. Oh, and sleeping in yurts. There is lots of stuff about yurts...

Utopia as a major concept in literature and modern culture, making its first notable appearance, and being named by, Thomas More’s ‘Utopia’ in 1516. Utopia is derived from the Greek words ou, not, and topos, place. That small fact is a big clue. By most measures, they don’t exist. Evans had certainly done his research. The text abounds with references and summaries of many utopian tracts and novels, from ’News from Nowhere’ by socialist utopian William Morris, to modern hippie bible ‘The Beach’ by Alex Garland. Credit to him, he waits a few chapters before mentioning Thoreau and ‘Walden’. The thing is, Henry David Thoreau didn’t really get away from that much, living only a mile from town, and still going for Sunday dinner with his mum. He was experimenting with living, he wasn’t preparing for the end of the world.

However much reading he had done beforehand, it didn’t help. He was comically inept at sticking to his self imposed rules. He and the residents often caved in and went to the supermarket. He moved his girlfriend, soon to be wife, and her daughter into a nearby cottage which he visited often. The lure of a hot shower is obviously strong, but when you sleep in your clothes, under two duvets and are still cold, I would be ready to call it a day too. People left the camp in the night without saying a word, the secular ideal rubbing up certain people and their ‘Great Spirit’ the wrong way. Some turned up, looked around and thought better of it, leaving straight away. Visiting friends try not to show too much disgust at the state of the sleeping arrangements. The dreaded Health and Safety bureaucracy seemingly didn’t recognise the end of the world as a reason forego planning permission. In one amusing and yet heartbreaking passage, Evans orders tonnes of wood from the Forestry Commission. He is financing this himself, after selling his house to fund the experiment, and cutting down trees himself soon seems well beyond his powers. What he forgets to ask anyone is how it will arrive. When it does, its an uncut pile of recently felled trees that is liable to flatten the camp should it get loose. He wants to cry. You want to cry for him. Within a year, Evans was depressed, detained under the Mental Health Act in a psychiatric hospital and divorced for a second time after his marriage collapsed.

As horrible as all this is, you can’t turn away. It is the literary equivalent of rubber-necking a road accident, and just as compelling. I sped through the book in hours, willing him on. There is a happy(ish) sort of conclusion, but ultimately the book stands as a warning to not dream too big in regard of the non-achievable utopia. Be happy with what you have. Count your blessings. Be grateful you live in the 21stC, because it's a hell of a lot better than the last 80-odd previous ones in human history. The end of the world may be coming (or probably, not just yet), but thats all the more reason to enjoy hot showers and flushing toilets now.

Just pray the oil holds out. - Carl

Check it out if you enjoyed:

- Walden by Henry David Thoreau

- The Last American Man by Elizabeth Gilbert

- The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac 

Elizabeth is Missing - Emma Healey (2014)

An unusual and unreliable narrator leads this moving and inventive novel about dementia, the past and old age.

Maud lives in a constant state of befuddlement. Undrunk cups of tea litter her halls; she navigates her way through life with little scraps of paper; she forgets what she’s doing sometimes; and her daughter seems permanently exasperated with her. At  82 years old and suffering with the beginning stages of dementia, she only has three real constants - that she could probably do with another slice of toast, that she’d quite like to know the best place to plant marrows, and that her best friend, Elizabeth is missing. No matter how often her daughter tells her not to worry, Maud just can’t shake the feeling that something terrible has happened to her, and that if she could just keep all the facts together she’d be able to work it all out.

Seeing as neither her family or the police are taking her seriously, Elizabeth attempts an investigation herself. While snooping around her friend’s house or on one of her many trips to the corner shop to buy peaches, she remembers life as a teenager and her sister Sukey’s own disappearance in the 1940’s.  The family always suspected her sister’s husband, a wheeling-dealing drunkard with unsavoury connections; but there are several other mysterious characters such as a mad umbrella-wielding old lady with a habit of foraging in bushes, a serial killer that Maud wrote letters to, and a lodger who isn’t who he seems to be.

The book is narrated in a serious of stream-of-consciousness chapters, loaded with circular conversations, peculiar conclusions and slow flashbacks that shed some light on her past. While her current thoughts are muddled, littered with forgotten phrases and dead ends, she lights up when remembering her youth. These sections are detailed and thorough, and she seems almost at home there; instead of the present day with its pierced grandchildren, scolding daughters and empty gaps in time.

It’s a brilliantly realised novel, written with a lot of care and attention to detail. It’s very sad at times, and the last half in particular is hard to get through - and I mean this in a good way. Maud’s general confusion, merged with musty memories and her slow descent into a blank oblivion can and will catch in your throat. Luckily, the novel is also infused with a steady stream of dark but warm humorous touches that manage to break through the dark clouds. Like another debut of 2014, Fiona McFarlane’s The Night Guest, this is a superb look at old age and memory in a unique framework, almost feeling like a strange blend of Memento, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time and Iris. - Pete

Station Eleven - Emily St. John Mandel (2013)

An evocative and thoughtful story about culture and nostalgia in a virus-ravaged world.

Kirsten is a young actor in a group known as the Travelling Symphony, a motley group of actors and musicians who travel the countryside from town to town presenting Shakespeare in horse-drawn carts.  Unusually though, this isn't a quaint seventeenth-century tale, but a thoughtful story about the state of the world following the outbreak of a virulent flu virus. Starting with actor Arthur Leander's heart attack on stage in a Toronto theatre, we hop around from the time before the outbreak and head up to twenty years afterwards, following Kirsten and the rest of the cast as they make their way in the world. Slowly, we see how these disparate people are connected, and how their intervening years have treated them.

On its travels through the overgrown country the Symphony comes across a small town they had previously visited, and are arrive to find it in the grips of a cult  led by a mysterious preacher. Sensing  a worrying mood they quickly leave town in search of missing members, their new destination a former airport home to something known as the Museum of Civilization. The prophet has no intention of letting them leave, and the resultant journey becomes a threatening one. Arthur Leander is the central thread that joins everybody, a lonely actor in his twilight years who we see through flashbacks. He's an estranged ex-husband to aspiring graphic novelist Miranda; a distant father to detached son Tyler; a reminder of a more sleazy time to ex-paparazzo and doctor in training Jeevan; an old friend to buttoned-down Clark; and a hero and an obsession to Kirsten as she pokes through abandoned houses looking for newspaper snippets.

It's a very enjoyable read, and Mandel deftly moves through time and space without making the book feel overcomplicated and cluttered. An interview with Kirsten in the fifteenth year after the disaster acts like a hallway, as her discussion opens doors to the other character's lives - and also poses some uncomfortable questions that are only revealed as the book draws to an end.

There are shades of Stephen King here, most notably in the ominous and cracked rhetoric of the oddly serene Preacher, while the setting bears some resemblance to the stunning tome that is The Stand. This is a very different book, however, as it doesn't really focus on a big showdown with the evil villain and his brainwashed compatriots. Instead it skirts around the edges, showing how people keep going in a world so sparse and changed. Unlike most post-apocalyptic novels, this isn't a book that focuses on the horror humanity wreaks on one another. Although we know terrible things have been done and are being done, this isn't mired in gloom like The Road, instead focusing more on memory, nostalgia and culture. It's about the feeling of looking back and losing something, whether it's the absence of technology in the world; or the weary, more personal feeling of having let something go that Arthur suffers from. And that's what makes this novel stand out in a world populated by Battle Royale and 28 Days Later knockoffs. - Pete

Tigerman - Nick Harkaway (2014)

A thoughtful and kinetic deconstruction of superhero motifs, filtered through the touching story of a veteran’s attempt to be a father.

Lester Ferris is a lonely and dutiful former soldier sent to the small volcanic island of Mancreu somewhere in the Arabian Sea to act as the British consul. Scarred by his tour in Afghanistan, he has been sent somewhere a little calmer, where his role will mostly consist of being friendly towards the locals, policing the area for petty crimes and turning a blind eye towards the ominous fleet of ships hanging around the harbour. For Mancreu is not an ordinary island. Left in a lawless limbo, its days are numbered thanks to years of chemical dumping and seismic activity have resulted in dangerous gases being released over the island. These ‘discharge clouds’ have caused horrific birth defects and strange illnesses, and so it has been decided that the island should be evacuated and then decontaminated with fire and destruction. In his time idling on the island, Lester has struck up a tentative friendship with a comic-book obsessed young boy. Unsure if he has any immediate family, Lester has tentatively begun to investigate his past, hoping to adopt him and offer him a life outside of the island.

The end of Mancreu is brought forward when a shoot-up in a coffee bar by a gang of armed guards leaves the owner dead, and it’s only through the quick thinking of Lester (and a custard tin) that he and the boy (whom he only knows as Robin) manage to make it out alive. Unable to do anything in an official capacity, Lester is persuaded by the boy to assume the guise of a superhero/demon in order to get some revenge on the perpetrators and thus, Tigerman is born. Blessed by an albino with supposed magical powers and loaded up with nonlethal weaponry borrowed from the embassy, Tigerman’s first mission reveals a secret drug lab and inadvertently turns him into a celebrity when the CCTV footage is leaked onto the internet. The last half of the novel is a James Bond-esque series of escalating events that are truly exciting, as Harkaway manages to evoke the fluid visual action of the darker side of DC comics, but just as gripping is his search for the boy’s identity and adulation.

Lester is a brilliant character, all pent-up-emotions and stoicism, while his teenage sidekick is an internet-slang spouting prodigy well versed in comic lore and the intricacies of technology. Their relationship is endearing and believable, and even as things get darker, Lester rises to the occasion. Although seemingly hapless, he’s actually very proficient, clear thinking, and sitting on a hidden reservoir of power. These and other superhero motifs pepper the text, and part of the fun is spotting the references Harkaway has laid out. His love for the medium shines through, and I particularly enjoyed spotting Grant Morrison’s works pop up. The latter half is wonderfully pulpy, and as the island starts to fall apart and the mastermind Bad Jack starts to reveal himself, Tigerman becomes more and more necessary to the wellbeing of the people Lester loves.

Harkaway is a brilliant writer, adept at turning a phrase and evoking a mood. It’s a slower, darker and more measured novel than the elaborate and breakneck Angelmaker, and that enables us to truly get to know and feel for this mismatched duo. It’s not just a loving deconstruction of superhero tropes or a tale about father-son relationships, but a story about the vacuum left after colonialism and the acts ordinary people can perform in extraordinary circumstances. It’s a novel about finding purpose in the world, and Lester’s transition from damaged sergeant to hero is wonderful and the ending will break your heart in the best kind of way. - Pete

Saga Book One (Issues 1-18) - Brian K. Vaughan, Fiona Staples (2014)

A wonderfully entertaining graphic novel that reads like a strange and heady blend of Romeo & Juliet and Star Wars.

Saga is an exciting, touching, and constantly amusing breath of fresh air that starts with a scatological birth scene and proceeds to expand exponentially from there, out into space and beyond, with a wink and a nod. Alana and Marko are two (literally) star-crossed lovers from rival warring races who have, against the odds, managed to fall in love and conceive a child. Now on the run from both governments and an array of talented and hostile bounty hunters, they must survive long enough to keep the family together in a world where magic requires the telling of secrets and disembowelled ghosts make great babysitters.

It’s surprisingly thoughtful and emotive for a comic that features such surreal visions as baby seals in overalls, huge Cyclops with horrifically distended testicles, a television-headed royal family and a spaceship grown from a plant. The main cast of characters are beautifully written, complete with hopes and flaws, disgruntled family members and secrets of their own. The antagonists are not cardboard cut-out villains, but characters you can empathise with; from the lovelorn and orphan-adopting bounty hunter The Will to father-to-be Prince Robot IV, who suffers from a form of post-traumatic stress disorder that causes his aforementioned facial screen to display pornography. They all have their own reasons for pursuing the couple, and you can understand their motivations, and even root for them to survive the things Vaughan puts them through.

The artwork is uniformly glorious. Some of the things Vaughan writes in his scripts would make most artists scratch their heads, but Staples not only realises them, but manages to make them work and ground them in some form of reality. The linework is superb, and there is a real texture and shape to her backgrounds. The facial expressions in particular need pointing out – from subtle twitches to raging shouting matches, Staples brings them to life.

I’d recommend this anyone who wants to read something fresh, inventive and thoughtful. It’s filled with humorous touches and manages to be both an epic sci-fi story and a heartfelt story about family struggles and love. It’s hard to sum up what makes it such a worthwhile comic without spoiling some of its impact. Just read the damn thing already. Lying Cat would not object. - Pete

Francis Plug, How To Be A Public Author - Paul Ewen (2014)

A hilarious and surreal glimpse into the world of the Man Booker prize, as seen through the eyes of a drunken fantasist.

Francis Plug is an aspiring author with a slightly worrying thought. He’s spotted writers being pulled out of their comfort zones and yanked out onto large stages, blinking and nervous. In order to prepare for his inevitable win, he’s decided to meet as many Man Booker winners as possible, distilling their wisdom into a primer for any novelist wanting to know how to deal with the public. Each author is given their own chapter; with Plug describing the surroundings, drinking as much as he can, giving a rundown on the authors’ work and then interacting with the thoroughly bemused novelist before muddling his way home.

It’s a constantly amusing book, filled with absurd conversations and off-the-wall descriptions that never feel forced or over “wacky.” He has a great turn of phrase, and his descriptions and blow-by-blow accounts always have a warped dash of reality to them. Some conversations with authors are more useful for Plug’s book than others – he usually becomes fixated by something small and insignificant and then ends up blowing it out of proportion when he finally comes into contact with the confused/impatient/horrified author on the other end.

Plug is a likeable character despite his pretentions and propensity for chaos, and as he visits authors we start to see how precarious his life is. Eschewing complimentary glasses of wine at functions in favour of swiping whole bottles, he’s a nuisance to event organisers and Man Booker winners alike. He works part time as a gardener, but as his drinking increases, his work does the opposite – and though he considers himself to be a novelist, he’s not actually written a single word down (other than copious notes in tiny handwriting.) He has a particularly fractious relationship with one of his employers, the rich banker Mr Stapleton, and it is this that drives the narrative and leads to a bizarre showdown of sorts.

Plug is a lonely man, desperate to be a part of the literary landscape he idolises, and you feel torn between sympathising with him and the poor people he terrorises. It’s a look at alcoholism and loneliness, but it’s also a drunken rumination on the current state of the novel in the 21st century, as he talks about the rise of impersonal ebooks and obtrusive supermarket stickering. In amongst the madness, he almost makes sense at times. I had a lot of fun reading this, and it’s hard to describe without ruining the feel of the novel. All I can say is that it’s one of my favourites from this year, and if a hard-drinking loner with a penchant for the surreal sounds like your kind of protagonist, I highly recommend that you pick it up. - Pete