JESS JUST READS

A BOOK REVIEW BLOG

Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

From the bestselling and Booker Prize winning author of Never Let Me Go and The Remains of the Day, a stunning new novel – his first since winning the Nobel Prize in Literature – that asks, what does it mean to love?

This is the story of Klara, an Artificial Friend with outstanding observational qualities, who, from her place in the store, watches carefully the behaviour of those who come in to browse, and of those who pass in the street outside. She remains hopeful a customer will soon choose her, but when the possibility emerges that her circumstances may change for ever, Klara is warned not to invest too much in the promises of humans.

A thrilling feat of world-building, a novel of exquisite tenderness and impeccable restraint, Klara and the Sun is a magnificent achievement, and an international literary event.

Kazuo Ishiguro’s eighth novel Klara and the Sun imagines a polluted world where wealthy parents can buy their children Artificial Friends, state-of-the-art androids that educate and accompany their child as they mature. Klara, our protagonist, may not be the most recent model, but she’s observant, intelligent, watchful and remarkable in her own right. Klara is purchased by the young but ailed Josie, whose parents fear may die from her illness like her sister did years earlier.

Despite being set in the future, I didn’t read this as dystopian or science fiction. Admittedly the setting and world-building is deliberately kept quite vague but also, I read this as a story of humanity and connection, set in an alternate world where circumstances are harder to overcome — society has been tainted by pollution and technology has proved superior.

“Still, there were other things we saw from the window — other kinds of emotions I didn’t at first understand — of which I did eventually find some versions in myself, even if they were perhaps like the shadows made across the floor by the ceiling lamps after the grid went down.”

Whilst the plot may appear a little quiet and simplistic, Kazuo’s writing is filled with human observation — insightful description of how humans act, think, move and behave. Themes of loneliness run underneath the novel, subtle but present. Stylistically, Kazuo’s writing is stripped and bare, but poetic and layered.

Kazuo also explores notions of class and importance in the novel. There are numerous references to children being ‘lifted’, and therefore of higher class in society. Being lifted is to be genetically edited, boosting intelligence and academic performance. It’s considered normal, and preferred. Josie’s mother lifted both her daughters, and then both children suffered from side effects. Josie’s older sister died, and it looks like Josie is going to die as well.

Josie’s neighbour Rick is not one of the lifted, and his status is remarked upon quite frequently in the novel. It brings his mother great anxiety and stress, and there’s a scene where a group of women are expressing their disagreement with his situation. Why didn’t his mother ‘lift’ him?

“I found strange for a while not only the lack of traffic and passers-by, but also the absence of other AFs. Of course, I hadn’t expected other AFs to be in the house, and I was in may ways pleased to be the only one, since I could focus my attention solely on Josie. But I realised how much I’d grown used to making observations and estimates in relation to those of other AFs around me, and here too was another adjustment I had to make.”

Some reviewers have criticised the narrative voice in the story, but whilst Klara is at times a bit robotic, her point of view offers a rather unique perspective on Josie’s life and family dynamic. Truthfully, I found this book engrossing and enriching.

“As I say, these were helpful lessons for me. Not only had I learned that ‘changes’ were part of Josie, and that I should be ready to accommodate them, I’d begun to understand also that this wasn’t a trait peculiar just to Josie; that people often felt the need to prepare a side of themselves to display to passers-by — as they might in a store window — and that such a display needn’t be taken so seriously once the moment had passed.”

A haunting but warming tale that I’d highly recommend, particularly for fans of literary fiction. I’ve struggled with a few of Kazuo’s previous works but Klara and the Sun is very accessible. I imagine seasoned teenage readers might also enjoy this.

Thank you to the publisher for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Klara and the Sun
Kazuo Ishiguro
March 2021
Allen & Unwin Book Publishers

The Electric Kingdom by David Arnold

A genre-smashing story of survival, hope and love amid a ravaged earth.

A deadly flu has swept the globe, leaving a shell of the world that once was. Among the survivors are eighteen-year-old Nico and her dog, who are on a journey devised by Nico’s father to find a mythical portal; a young artist named Kit, who knows almost nothing of the world outside the old abandoned cinema he was raised in; and the enigmatic Deliverer, who lives Life after Life in an attempt to put the world back together.

David Arnold’s post-apocalyptic YA novel The Electric Kingdom is an ambitious saga, a unique twist on the frequently-tackled scenario that is the near eradication of humanity. After a swarm of flies, as yet unbeatable, descend on Earth and wipe out most of the population, few remain alive. We meet a cast of characters determined to survive in a barren wasteland, a ravaged world full of danger.

Not your stereotypical fantasy novel about the end-of-the-world, although perhaps a little familiar during current times, The Electric Kingdom is written in third person and switches between three characters — eighteen-year-old Nico, twelve-year-old Kit and the mysterious and unnamed Deliverer, whose role in this story doesn’t become clear until the end.

Readers will find themselves enthralled in the journey until the final pages.

“The room was quiet, the brush of a hand in his hair. Kit debated whether to tell her what he really thought: that when he stood at the open window of his art classroom, held a breeze in his face, he had long ago resigned himself to the reality that he would never know where that breeze came from, or where it was going.”

David’s writing style is quite stripped and minimalistic, which is ironic considering this book is over 400 pages. Dialogue is taut and clipped, and it works. Prose is seamless, with short sentences. David only reveals information that is absolutely necessary, and readers will appreciate it.

There’s a strange sort of atmosphere to this book, like there’s something larger at play and you know you won’t understand it until the end. Characters mention deja vu, like they’ve been through these events before. There are moments of fear and tension, but there are also some really tender, sweet moments between characters. Moments where you get an insight into how their lives might’ve been if the flu never happened.

Above all else, The Electric Kingdom is about taking chances, pursuing risks, the endurance humanity and survival — it’s about how determined some people are to outlast any threats to their safety. The Electric Kingdom is not about how the world ended, it’s about the people left behind as they navigate through this new world.

“When the entirety of one’s universe is an old boarded-up farmhouse, there is no greater treasure than a dusty shoebox full of photographs. All smiles and kisses and travels and meticulously positioned foods on butcher blocks. Nico’s favourites were the ones from her parents’ honeymoon in Italy.”

Admittedly, the secondary cast of characters do blend together in the book. When Kit and Nico’s journeys become embroiled with others, and we meet multiple other characters of a similar age, it was hard to tell them apart. Their voices didn’t feel overly unique, and their experiences were quite similar. When some of them died, I didn’t feel much of an emotional response.

And some of the most heightened moments in the book – particularly the father and son with violent intentions – come incredibly late in the novel. I would’ve preferred if David brought forward some of the bigger moments in the novel so they didn’t all hit right at the end.

“Dead towns galore. Kit was amazed at just how many, small and tucked away. These days, he felt more breeze than human, floating in and through all these little towns, on the lookout for dreamers, Knowers of Things in open windows, observing their little worlds, wondering What (if anything) Lay Beyond.”

Recommended for teenage readers and young adults.

Thank you to the publisher for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

The Electric Kingdom
David Arnold
February 2021
Text Publishing

A Lovely and Terrible Thing by Chris Womersley

Around you the world is swirling. You pass through a submerged town, its steeples and trees barely visible through the thick water . . .

In the distance the wreck of the gunship HMS Elizabeth lolls on a sandbank. Oil slicks the canals of the capital and even now the old men still tell tales of mermen in the shallows . . .

A pool empty of water save for a brackish puddle and bones and hanks of fur on the floor – the remains of mice or possums that have tumbled in, lured perhaps by the moisture. Or perhaps by something else . . .

Chris Womersley’s A Lovely and Terrible Thing is a memorable collection of twenty short stories, each as vivid and original as the next.

It’s hard to try and capture a concurrent theme in this work, or even a message that runs within each story. They’re all very different. Whilst most of the short stories are written in first person, the protagonists of each story are all unique creations. Some you sympathise with, or grow to love. Others you forget about the second the story is over, because they’re not the most memorable aspect of the story — and weren’t intended to be.

Each story has the potential to linger in your mind, leave you thinking. And the beauty of a short story collection is not every story will resonate with every reader. Everything is open to interpretation.

“I’m watching Frank and something happens to him as he tells his story. Right in front of my eyes he seems to age. He sags in his seat. Earlier you could see the guy he might have been twenty years ago, before whatever happened to him happened, but now he resembles an old bunyip with a comb-over.”
THE VERY EDGE OF THINGS

My favourites from the collection include The House of Special Purpose, for it’s ominous, tense plot and the sense of dread that builds throughout; Growing Pain, for it’s fantastical, other-worldly feel, and how it follows a character at the cusp of her teen years, a seemingly domestic setting, but she’s going through something a reader cannot relate to; The Mare’s Nest, for the secrets it doesn’t reveal; The Deep End, for the build up, the tension, and the jaw-dropping, incredibly juicy ending; and Theories of Relativity, for establishing familial dynamic in so few words, for circling back to earlier moments in such little time, and for that haunting ending that I had to re-read just to believe it was real.

“After several minutes I became aware — by what precise means I couldn’t say — that we were being observed. There was a twitch in the bushes, followed by an intimation of snuffling. Again the sound of small bells. My father breathed heavily. His hand was warm and dry.”
THE MARE’S NEST

Traversing a number of different emotions from heartache to heartfelt, Chris’ short stories explore death, family, friendship, and expectation, among many other subjects — where our lives ended up, versus where we thought they were, how we process grief and explain that to others, how close we come to death, or perhaps others brush it, and we find ourselves fascinated by it. You could spend a long time dissecting these stories and still find things to love about Chris’ writing. What a marvellous, wise collection of work — highly recommended.

“In the short walk across the lawn I had run through a variety of scenarios, all of which involved me emerging victorious from whatever altercation I was about to engage in, but now I was here, in the thick of it, my resolve ran from me like water.”
THE OTHER SIDE OF SILENCE

Recommended for readers of short stories, or lovers of literary fiction. A quick read, and engrossing. Can easily be devoured in one sitting. A Lovely and Terrible Thing is filled with unpredictable characters and stories, and will leave you craving more.

Thank you to the publisher for sending me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

A Lovely and Terrible Thing
Chris Womersley
May 2019
Pan Macmillan Publishers

Tell Me Lies by J.P Pomare

Psychologist Margot Scott has a picture-perfect life: a nice house in the suburbs, a husband, two children and a successful career.

On a warm spring morning Margot approaches one of her clients on a busy train platform. He is looking down at his phone, with his duffel bag in hand as the train approaches. That’s when she slams into his back and he falls in front of the train.

Margot’s clients all lie to her, but one lie cost her family and freedom.

J.P Pomare’s Tell Me Lies is a fast-paced, high-intensity psychological thriller about a seemingly perfect psychologist, her shameful secret, and the client determined to ruin her life and expose her.

The story begins when someone deliberately sets fire to Margot’s house — what ensues is a series of deliberate attempts to unravel her life. The prose and dialogue is sleek and enticing, drawing the reader in with flawed characters, delectable mysteries and cloaked pasts, all bubbling to the surface.

The real strength of the story is plot, as it should be when writing in this genre. Readers will find themselves ripping through the chapters with eagerness, desperate to find out more. What is Margot hiding? What are her client’s hiding? With each new clue and twist in the story, the stakes rise higher and higher, threatening everything Margot has worked so hard to build.

“We’re all on the curb, one officer is talking to me, another is talking to Gabe. The children are nearby but they’ve separated us to gather statements. The window to my home office was smashed and fire fighters, I’m certain, will confirm the blaze started there. Someone threw something through the window and it set the house on fire.”

Tell Me Lies plays with structure to engage the reader. In the prologue, Margot approaches one of her clients on a Melbourne train station platform — we don’t know which client — where she deliberately pushes him onto the track, instantly killing him. Then, we’re thrust back one month to the start of the story.

Interwoven throughout the novel are media reports and interview transcripts between an unnamed prosecutor and Detective Simms, the man investigating the fire that destroyed Margot’s home. These structural elements are commonly found in thrillers and crime novels, but are a useful tactic. We’re able to find out important events within a short space of time, and interview transcripts allow us to get a glimpse into the future — we get a brief moment to try and uncover where our protagonist might end up.

“A knot appeared at his jaw, I could see a decision being made. Sparks of metal on metal behind his eyes as two opposing ideas clashed: he knew he couldn’t just wait it out, but he also knew he couldn’t risk me or anyone else getting hurt.”

Margot is an unstable character, that much is easy to spot from the outset. She’s intelligent and determined, but she’s also easily deceived. She thinks she’s sly — like sitting in a coffee shop for hours and thinking the barista won’t notice her — but she’s actually a little hopeless. She pesters the detective with her theories, to the point where she comes across as paranoid (even if her theories are right).

When she crosses ethical lines in her job, which happens a few times throughout the novel, she comes across as unlikeable, which I think might taint some readers’ opinions of her. She does get lost a little in the novel — we’re thrust into such a heavy plot, I never really felt like I grew to understand Margot. She felt a little underdeveloped for me, which made the twist at the end of the novel less impactful than perhaps intended.

“I’m engrossed, his story has taken me away from my own problems. Childhood trauma shapes so much of our adult biases; it forms the people we become. Cormac is reckless but brilliant. He’s resentful of wealth and the powers that be. I’m seeing a pattern emerging.”

Recommended for fans of crime, thriller and mystery novels. A great gift for a relative, that person in your family who rarely reads, but perhaps will read on holiday. A safe bet.

Thank you to the publisher for sending me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Tell Me Lies
J.P Pomare
December 2020
Hachette Book Publishers

A Girl Made of Air by Nydia Hetherington

This is the story of The Greatest Funambulist Who Ever Lived…

Born into a post-war circus family, our nameless star was unwanted and forgotten, abandoned in the shadows of the big top. Until the bright light of Serendipity Wilson threw her into focus.

Now an adult, haunted by an incident in which a child was lost from the circus, our narrator, a tightrope artiste, weaves together her spellbinding tales of circus legends, earthy magic and folklore, all in the hope of finding the child… But will her story be enough to bring the pair together again?

Poetic, literary fiction that transcends generations, Nydia Hetherington’s A Girl Made of Air will captivate and entice readers.

Told from the perspective of a nameless narrator — she’s only ever nicknamed Mouse — A Girl Made of Air is primarily set within a circus. Our female narrator is born into a famous circus family. Her mother is a beautiful, revered and coveted performer, but is scarred from the birth of her child. After giving birth to the narrator, she is mentally unable to connect with her and does very little in her role as mother. The narrator’s only connection with a blood relative is her father, who is kind and communicative, but not overly forthcoming or parental in his nature.

The narrator bonds with a red-haired funambulist named Serendipity Wilson, and the two form a strong friendship. Serendipity’s training allows the narrator to achieve levels of success and fame that would not have been possible otherwise.

“I’ve grown tall like my mother, limbs stretched and long, but I’m ungainly. I don’t know how to manage my body, which, at now eleven years old (or thereabouts), has outgrown me. My walk is clumsy, off-kilter; my hands great shovels that swing hopelessly about, propelled seemingly without my instruction by over-long arms.”

The book follows an interesting structure. It opens in present day 1983, where the protagonist is well-known for her performative success. She’s in the midst of an interview with a journalist from The New York Times, talking about her career but also her connection with the mysterious Serendipity Wilson. After the interview is cut short, the protagonist then writes down the story of her life to date — emanating the feel of a memoir or a long-form letter, told chronologically. Interwoven throughout the novel are mythical tales that Serendipity herself passed along to our main character.

A chronological retelling felt like the most suitable structure for this book, because it allowed the present-day-protagonist to reflect on her past as she was telling her story. Interspersed throughout moments of memories, the protagonist will offer readers glimpses of insight. The ‘voice’ is mature and intelligent, and her reflection and hindsight allows for an engaging and attentive read.

“There are several blank pages after this. It’s odd that I should have left the pages blank. Maybe it was a statement, something about life being empty; the sort of thing young people do. This isn’t how I remember things. The events happened exactly as they’re written, yet I cannot find myself in the words.”

A Girl Made of Air features a strong cast of characters, sometimes so vibrant and lively they feel crafted as cartoons — Fausto the Ringmaster, Manu, Marina, Big Gen, and of course, the notorious Serendipity Wilson, who always feels a little out of reach and never fully understood (not a bad thing).

Serendipity is by far the most intriguing of the secondary characters. We only ever interact with her through the protagonist’s memories, so there are definitely holes in her personality, her backstory, and her feelings towards the man character that we never fully understand.

For a time, Serendipity is like a mother figure for our protagonist — attentive and maternal. But she’s also free and spritely, and galavants around on her own to live her own fantastical adventures. There’s definitely an obsession that forms, from our protagonist. She meddles in Serendipity’s life in ways that have ramifications many years after.

“I sat for a moment on a colourful lion, stroked its chipped nose. From there I could see over the encampment. The big top — a round, blue-and-white-striped leviathan with pointed tip, topped off with a jolly yellow flag that called to passers-by as it flapped in the breeze — dominated everything.”

Our protagonist may be flawed, but she’s also a child for most of the book so the reader empathises for her. She was raised in less-than-ideal circumstances, with a distanced and reclusive mother who never really loved her. You warm to the protagonist very early on, and you keep reading to find out how her tale progresses.

A Girl Made of Air is quirky and unusual, but also dark and inviting. Mythical and magical, and reflective of an apology — a plea for redemption. A Girl Made of Air is recommended for all readers.

Thank you to the publisher for mailing me a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

A Girl Made of Air
Nydia Hetherington
September 2020
Hachette Book Publishers