JESS JUST READS

A BOOK REVIEW BLOG

Small Pleasures by Clare Chambers

Jean Swinney is a feature writer on a local paper, disappointed in love and – on the brink of forty – living a limited existence with her truculent mother: a small life from which there is no likelihood of escape.

When a young Swiss woman, Gretchen Tilbury, contacts the paper to claim that her daughter is the result of a virgin birth, it is down to Jean to discover whether she is a miracle or a fraud. But the more Jean investigates, the more her life becomes strangely (and not unpleasantly) intertwined with that of the Tilburys: Gretchen is now a friend, and her quirky and charming daughter Margaret a sort of surrogate child. And Jean doesn’t mean to fall in love with Gretchen’s husband, Howard, but Howard surprises her with his dry wit, his intelligence and his kindness – and when she does fall, she falls hard.

But he is married, and to her friend – who is also the subject of the story she is researching for the newspaper, a story that increasingly seems to be causing dark ripples across all their lives. And yet Jean cannot bring herself to discard the chance of finally having a taste of happiness…

But there will be a price to pay, and it will be unbearable.

Clare Chambers’ Small Pleasures is a tender and heartwarming novel about middle-age journalist Jean Swinney and young seamstress Gretchen, who claims her 10-year-old daughter was the result of a virgin birth.

Jean is assigned to report on Gretchen’s story and soon becomes heavily entangled within Gretchen’s family, not just because she’s determined to substantiate Gretchen’s story and prove that Margaret is indeed a miracle, but because Jeann forms a growing bond with Gretchen’s caring, compassionate but overlooked husband Howard.

Small Pleasures explores family, expectations and responsibility, but it’s also a really beautiful and budding love story.

“Spontaneous generosity was a new experience for Jean — until today such opportunities had seldom come her way and would probably have gone unnoticed. She and her mother exchanged small, practical gifts at Christmas, of course, but she was a stranger to more ambitious forms of giving.”

The prologue is intriguing, drawing in readers with the concept of a miracle. Small Pleasures weaves in elements of mystery to keep the readers engaged, and enthral them right up until the final chapter.

Small Pleasures presents itself as a quiet novel — something to be read and reflected upon, something that allows you to ponder the impact of companionship on a lonely soul. It is tender and meaningful.

Set in the London suburbs in the 1960s, Jean is a character to sympathise for. She’s nearing 40 and single, she lives with and cares for her ailing mother, and all hope is lost that she’ll find someone to settle down with. When she meets Gretchen, she soon finds a spot in the family and it feels like a sliver of happiness is opening itself up for Jeann.

“Since her last meeting with Gretchen at the hospital she had told herself to maintain a strictly professional distance, avoiding any overtures of friendship in case it clouded her judgement and made a potentially tricky conversation in the future even trickier.”

Clare’s writing is polished and seamless; sentences weave together like water. The dialogue is realistic and the pacing allows for an inviting read. Descriptions and imagery leap off the page — you can tell Claire has spent considerable time perfecting her craft.

Small Pleasures follows multiple genres — it feels literary from the writing style, but it also feels part mystery and part romance. You become invested in the supposed ‘virgin birth’ of Gretchen’s daughter, even though you know it’s medically impossible. You stay with the story because of the growing affection between Jean and Howard.

“The thought of her sister prompted, as always, a mixture of conflicting emotions, principally rancour and envy, but also powerful, protective love, and grief at the distance between them.”

Admittedly, I found the ending of Gretchen’s story to be a little predictable. The second we find out Gretchen was bedridden during her time at the facility, it seemed a little obvious. Whilst we don’t find out the whole truth until the end, it did feel a little too signposted.

I also felt the plot waned in the middle of the book — things slowed, events dragged, and I found myself counting the pages. It wasn’t until a certain someone reconnected with another someone and disrupted her family that the plot picked up again, and I was hooked again until the ending.

Charming and heartwarming, Small Pleasures is recommended for fans of literary fiction and family tales. Suitable for an adult readership.

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

Small Pleasures
Clare Chambers
July 2020
Hachette Book Publishers

The Spill by Imbi Neeme

In 1982, a car overturns on a remote West Australian road. Nobody is hurt, but the impact is felt for decades.

Nicole and Samantha Cooper both remember the summer day when their mother, Tina, lost control of their car – but not in quite the same way. It is only after Tina’s death, almost four decades later, that the sisters are forced to reckon with the repercussions of the crash. Nicole, after years of aimless drifting, has finally found love, and yet can’t quite commit. And Samantha is hiding something that might just tear apart the life she’s worked so hard to build for herself.

Winner of the 2019 Penguin Literary Prize, Imbi Neeme’s debut novel The Spill is an exploration of family, sisters, memories, and how the past can sometimes unconsciously define our futures.

We meet Nicole and Samantha after their mother — Tina — loses control of the car in remote Western Australia and their father is forced to come and pick them up. It is assumed that Tina was drunk, or at least had been drinking, when she lost control of the car. Nicole and Samantha’s parent split soon after, and the accident causes a noticeable ripple affect within the family.

The Spill toys with memory and past events very well. As readers would understand, people can’t always remember events from their past very clearly. Conversations get misquoted and events get distorted over time.

As we move between past and present and come to understand more about Nicole and Samantha’s adult lives, they often bicker or disagree over memories from their childhood. Was Tina actually drinking that day? Why were they on a remote West Australian road? Where were they going? Why did their parents split up?

“Samantha closed her eyes and tried not to think of her husband drinking wine back in the dining room, or of the wine itself. But after a few seconds, the sound of rapid gunfire on the television made her open her eyes again.”

Imbi has crafted an incredible cast of characters in The Spill, each one incredibly fleshed out and three-dimensional, with layers of complexity and depth.

Characterisation is a key part of the story, and it would be incredibly important from Imbi to capture these two sisters differently. The narrative moves between past and present, but it also shifts focus between the sisters. And over time, we come to understand just how different each of these women are.

Both of them blame Tina’s alcoholism for her death. They both had strained relationships with their mother, and only after her death do they start to fill in some of the gaps in Tina’s life.

“Given how many career drunks were in attendance at Tina’s wake, precious little alcohol was being served. All around our large front living room, people were nursing empty glasses, their eyes occasionally darting towards the kitchen.”

The biggest ‘relationship’ explored in the novel, is that of Nicole and Samantha. Sisterhood is a funny thing. There sometimes seems to be more hate than love, particularly during childhood and adolescence, and then there’s a time in your adult lives where you might be too different to ever feel like you fully understand the other.

In The Spill, sometimes it’s the thing left unsaid that speak volumes. Samantha harbours a secret she feels she can control on her own, and Nicole has evidently struggled in past relationships but is reluctant to open up.

The shift between past and present allows for a slow build-up, a well-structured release of tension as secrets start emerging and buried conflicts rise to the surface.

“Their eyes met briefly and then Samantha looked away. She didn’t know why she’d brought up that Christmas. She knew neither of them wanted to think of the fight they’d had and how she’d gone to Nicole’s without him.”

The Spill is an incredibly satisfying, engrossing read. A warm, moving portrait of family and sisterhood. There are moments of humour and lighthearted fun, but there are also moments of tenderness and heartbreak, events that force you to really take stock and reflect as a reader.

Recommended for fans of literary fiction, family sagas, and quality Australian literature.

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

The Spill
Imbi Neeme
June 2020
Penguin Random House Publishers

The Viennese Girl by Jenny Lecoat

In June 1940, the horror-struck inhabitants of Jersey watch as the German army unopposed takes possession of their island. Now only a short way from the English coast, the Germans plan their invasion.

Hedy Bercu, a young Jewish girl from Vienna who fled to the isolation and safety of Jersey two years earlier to escape the Nazis, finds herself once more trapped, but this time with no way of escape.

Hiding her racial status, Hedy is employed by the German authorities and secretly embarks on small acts of resistance. But most dangerously of all, she falls in love with German lieutenant Kurt Neumann — a relationship on which her life will soon depend.

The Viennese Girl by Jenny Lecoat is WWII literary fiction, inspired by the true story of a young Jewish girl who evaded capture on the island of Jersey.

The novel paints a clear picture of life under German rule — fear, control, lack of food and amenities, and dwindling populations. Hedy is an anxious and impulsive protagonist. She’s quick on her feet and she’s resourceful, but she also keeps herself at a distance. She’s scared and frightened — she’s a Jew living in German-occupied Jersey.

When she gets a job as a translator for the Germans, she must hide her status but she’s also determined to defy the reign and do what she can to rebel.

“Anton smiled, but Hedy saw there was nothing behind it. He looked distant, remote. Now that she thought about it, Anton had been in a strange mood since they’d met earlier that afternoon. The volume of her singing dropped a little, and she began slipping her friend sly looks.”

The Viennese Girl is heartbreaking at times, but it’s also filled with hope and courage. Hedy must hide who she is from her German employers, but she must also keep her wits as the war progresses and danger approaches. The threat of being exposed bubbles under the surface of each chapter, keeping the reader engrossed until the final page.

The novel is heavy on prose, most conversations told through description instead dialogue. Whilst this technique doesn’t always work, it’s quite effective in this novel. It allows for quick pace and heightened tension — this may be a short book but it packs a punch.

“No reason, no explanation. Hedy had rushed down to the bureau in the faint hope that they might offer some kind of strategy or information. But the registrar had merely scratched his head, shrugged and said that if the Germans wished to see her, she’d be advised to comply.”

The Viennese Girl is incredibly emotion, tugging on readers’ heartstrings and pulling them along for a really engaging story. Whilst the romance felt a little weak and underdeveloped, there are many other elements to this story that readers will love.

Friendship is dominant in the story. After a rocky start, Hedy and her best friend’s girlfriend Dorothea form a close bond over the course of the novel. Whilst Hedy can be brash and judgemental, Dorothea is full of optimism and encouragement. She is always quick to help Hedy, even when punishment could be brutal.

“Another brilliant smile and he was gone. Hedy turned and continued down the path out of the compound. Her legs seemed to swing weightlessly beneath her, and the lane swam unseen in front of her eyes.”

With vivid imagery, three-dimensional characters, and engrossing prose, The Viennese Girl is recommended for fans of literary fiction and historical fiction. The readership skews female.

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

The Viennese Girl
Jenny Lecoat
May 2020
Allen & Unwin Book Publishers

Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica

Working at the local processing plant, Marcos is in the business of slaughtering humans—though no one calls them that anymore. His wife has left him, his father is sinking into dementia, and Marcos tries not to think about how he makes a living. After all, it happened so quickly. First, it was reported that animals had been infected with a virus and their meat had become poisonous. Then governments initiated the Transition. Now, human meat—“special meat”—is legal. Marcos tries to stick to numbers, consignments, processing.

Then one day he’s given a gift: a specimen of the finest quality. He leaves her in his barn, tied up, a problem to be disposed of later. But she haunts Marcos. Her trembling body, her watchful, knowing eyes. Though he’s aware that any form of personal contact is forbidden on pain of death, little by little he starts to treat her like a human being. And soon, he becomes tortured by what has been lost—and what might still be saved.

Tender is the Flesh by Argentinian author Agustina Bazterrica is a dystopian horror novel set in a world where humans are being bred and harvested for food. Translated from Spanish by Sarah Moses, the novel explores what society would be like if animals couldn’t be eaten — a virus that is fatal to humans spreads through them all — and humans relied on cannibalism to survive.

This novel explores themes of consumption and greed, and how quickly we’re willing to sever our morals if it means feeling satiated. Tender is the Flesh explores a depressing response from humankind. The world is suffering, people are poor or hungry or neglected, but instead of helping others they do whatever they can to feel comfortable, happy, and content. And that’s to eat other humans.

Tender is the Flesh explores society’s priorities — what’s important to us? what would we fight for if animal meat was suddenly fatal? Would we adapt, and eat plant-based meals? Or would we kill others to continue our lifestyles?

The book is a short read — approx. 200 pages —and you feel ensnared in the story and intrigued by the plot progression. The intensity of this story is maintained throughout the entire novel; you can’t look away from what’s happening.

The setting is bleak. Marcos’ father is in a nursing home and requires a lot of care, he has a strained — and mostly forced — relationship with his insufferable sister, his son died from cot death, and he’s estranged from his wife. And his job is killing humans and preparing them to be eaten.

“He thinks this man is dangerous. Someone who wants to assassinate that badly is someone who’s unstable, who won’t take to the routine of killing, to the automatic and dispassionate act of slaughtering humans.”

Agustina must be commended on the pacing of the novel. The premise of the novel is intense and a little anxiety-inducing, and that never falters throughout the story.

The writing is spectacular. The prose is filled with imagery and metaphors that evoke a crystal clear story. The subject matter in the book may be filled with blood and horror, but the writing feels light, quick, and uplifting — a considerable irony.

There is a key stylistic element to this book that is worth noting — humans are not called humans or even people. They’re called ‘heads’ and they’re housed and transported in ways very similar to how cattle are treated today. Perhaps it’s to illustrate how de-sensitised we are to the killing of animals and how we don’t really take the time to think about what’s being killed and how they’re bred to be killed. And so when it’s humans, which should repulse or disgust the reader, the complete omission of the word ‘human’ or even ‘person’ clouds the image and makes the characters seem like the ‘meat’ we all know in the present.

“He explains that when the heads arrive, they’re given a spray wash and then examined. They need to fast, he adds, and are given a liquid diet to reduce intestinal content and lower the risk of contamination when they’re handled after slaughter.”

Tender is the Flesh delves deep into the meat industry, and how the killings occur. Trucks bring humans to Marcos’ factory, and it’s clear the poor and the marginalised have very little chance of surviving in this world. The rich have means to work and live without being eaten — the struggling do not.

There is an underlying political element to this book as well. The powerful decision-makers weave in and out of the story. They’re greedy, unfeeling, and treat the business of slaughtering humans as just that — business.

“El Gringo tells him that this female is a luxury, repeats that she’s got pure genes, as if he didn’t know it, and says that she’s from a consignment that’s been given almond-based feed for over a year now.”

At times, hard to stomach. Terrifying, gut-renching and chilling, Tender is the Flesh will entice and excite readers as much as it will repulse them. Recommended for adults, 18+

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

Tender is the Flesh
Agustina Bazterrica
April 2020
Allen & Unwin Publishers

The Salt Madonna by Catherine Noske

This is the story of a crime.
This is the story of a miracle.
There are two stories here.

Hannah Mulvey left her island home as a teenager. But her stubborn, defiant mother is dying, and now Hannah has returned to Chesil, taking up a teaching post at the tiny schoolhouse, doing what she can in the long days of this final year.

But though Hannah cannot pinpoint exactly when it begins, something threatens her small community. A girl disappears entirely from class. Odd reports and rumours reach her through her young charges. People mutter on street corners, the church bell tolls through the night and the island’s women gather at strange hours…And then the miracles begin.

A page-turning, thought-provoking portrayal of a remote community caught up in a collective moment of madness, of good intentions turned terribly awry. A blistering examination of truth and power, and how we might tell one from the other.

The Salt Madonna by Catherine Noske is literary fiction set on an imaginary island off the coast of Western Australia, following a small and ageing population as they start to believe a religious delusion that sets in motion a number of unfortunate consequences.

The strengths of this book lie in establishing that fanatical, overdramatic hype when a group of people convince themselves that something is bigger than it is. After young, 14-year-old Mary falls pregnant, the town believes it’s a religious blessing. They’ve fallen on tough times, and Mary is the answer. Tensions builds as residents clash, and poor Mary is caught in the middle of their hysteria and mania.

Protagonist Hannah returns home to the island to care for her ill mother, and whilst there are other character POVs throughout the book, Hannah’s perspective is the only one we know to be true. The others — particularly Mary’s POV — is actually just an exploration of what Hannah *thinks* happened. This method of storytelling allows for a multi-layered novel that will draw in readers of all ages.

“Dinner is uncomfortable, the three of them around the table, the television flickering on mute from the lounge. Mary’s father is propped up on one elbow, leaning over his plate, his fork in his free hand. He hasn’t showered yet. Mary can tell he would rather be in front of the TV.”

The writing is beautiful — evocative prose and imagery, a wonderful flow of lyrical sentences that I’m sure Catherine spent many months perfecting. However, the complex sentence structure and metaphorical language just meant I spent most of the novel convinced there was something I was missing. I could follow the plot, for sure, but I’m sure there was symbolism I was missing. Or metaphors, or just something *bigger* than my brain could comprehend.

Truthfully, the writing was difficult to get through. The book is overly descriptive, and it felt incredibly impenetrable. The vocabulary and sentence structure sometimes made it a chore to get through and by the end, I’m not sure I felt it was worth it. I think this says more about me as the reader than the book itself. Not every book is for every reader, and I just don’t think I’m the target audience.

“Thomas follows with everyone else as the parade winds up towards the church, but his eyes don’t leave Mary. For a moment, as he watches her, it is as if everyone else disappears. He is the only one there. The street is empty, it’s just him and her.”

The pacing is slow and the plot kind of uneventful. Nothing really happens and you find yourself going back and re-reading chapters because you think, wait that can’t be right? Something has to happen and I’m just missing it?

And then you re-read and realise, ah yes, this is one of those literary novels where it’s all about character and not as much about plot and so you spend most of the novel feeling just that little bit dumb and confused.

“She sneaks out in the end. It makes it more exciting. The summer evening means it isn’t dark but violet with dusk, an electric sort of half-light filled with shadows. She walks to the village through the grapevines rather than along the road and comes out at the pub.”

Worthy and lyrical. For fans of literary fiction; for readers who love atmospheric, multi-layered stories that aren’t too plot-driven. If you don’t dabble in literary novels, this isn’t the book for you. The writing style is not for everyone.

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

The Salt Madonna
Catherine Noske
March 2020
Pan Macmillan Publishers