Book Reviews

Our reviews of the latest in literature

An unlikely alliance: Drayton and Mackenzie, by Alexander Starritt, reviewed

Alexander Starritt has form with satire. His 2017 debut The Beast skewered the modern tabloid press, drawing comparisons with Evelyn Waugh’s Scoop. For his third novel, Drayton and Mackenzie, he is back at it, mercilessly mocking everything from Oxbridge and management consultants to tech bros and new parents in a story that hinges on whether two unlikely friends can make a success of their tidal energy start-up. It’s more fun that it sounds. The narrative opens in the early 2000s with James Drayton – someone who gets his kicks by finishing his maths A-level exam in 20 minutes and who finds undergraduate life disappointingly basic. ‘He supposed he’d been naive

The enigma of Tiger Woods

The aim of this book is straightforward enough: a study of the Tiger Slam, the incredible 2000-01 season when Tiger Woods held the Masters, the US Open, the Open and the PGA championship all at the same time. It’s the Tiger Slam rather than the Grand Slam because purists will argue that technically (purists always argue ‘technically’) Woods did not win all four trophies in the same year: he took the British and US Opens and the PGA in 2000 and added the Masters in April 2001. Whatever. The fact remains that Woods is the only player ever to hold all four titles simultaneously. Given how transient form on the

The tragedy of a life not lived: Slanting Towards the Sea, by Lidija Hilje reviewed

‘He leaned in to kiss me. And when he did, something inside me reoriented itself, my world softly tipping into his direction, as if he himself were the sea.’ This is the story of Ivona and Vlaho, one that aches from the offset. The two fall in love as students against the backdrop of postwar Croatia, with the promise of their lives ahead of them. Ten years later, divorced yet longing for one another, they’ve kept up a delicate connection, despite Vlaho’s new partner. But when a fourth person enters their orbit, buried feelings resurface, threatening to unravel everything. Lidija Hilje’s Slanting Towards the Sea is ostensibly a love story.

Julie Burchill

Have the Gallaghers suffered from ‘naked classism’?

Though I’d never read any books about Oasis before this one, I’d have bet it would be impossible to write boringly about the band – for two reasons: namely Noel and Liam Gallagher. As the most entertaining men in music, the former could be talking to a goldfish and still end up riffing in an entirely fresh, witty and profound way, while the latter is probably the greatest natural clown since Buster Keaton. I’ll put my cards on the table and admit that I’ve got a chronic crush on Noel. When I interviewed him for the Sunday Times nearly ten years ago, the simpering, gushing and giggling on the tape

Whatever happened to Caroline Lane? A Margate mystery

Should you search for someone who has disappeared seemingly of their own volition? David Whitehouse, the author of novels that scooped the Betty Trask and Jerwood prizes and were shortlisted for the Gordon Burn and CWA Golden Dagger awards, happened upon a real-life mystery. Having his hair cut in Margate, he was told about a woman who had lived in the neighbourhood and vanished. The story came from a resident of the same block as the missing Caroline Lane. Whitehouse’s interest was piqued. This is the background to Saltwater Mansions, the name of the apartment block from which Lane, a feisty (even grumpy) middle-aged woman had seemingly evaporated with no

Adrift in the world: My Sister and Other Lovers, by Esther Freud, reviewed

Some people spend years squirming on a leather chaise longue before they come to understand, as Philip Larkin so pithily observed: ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad.’ Few go on to make peace with the sagacity delivered in his next line: ‘They may not mean to, but they do.’ In My Sister and Other Lovers, Esther Freud’s sequel to her autobiographical novel Hideous Kinky, sisters Lucy and Bea – who spent their early childhood trailing after their hippy mother through 1960s Morocco – slowly edge towards such catharsis. Before that, however, comes a lot more turbulence, and Freud – whose great-grandfather pioneered the couch method – is acutely

Olivia Potts

The importance of bread as a symbol of Ukrainian resistance

When Russia invaded Ukraine three years ago, the chef Olia Hercules lost the will to cook. With food so deeply connected to pleasure and to her Ukrainian roots, it somehow felt like an unbearable frivolity to be thinking about recipes while family members were under fire. ‘How,’ she asked, ‘can I cook while my brother is running with a gun in a forest defending Kyiv and my mum and dad are living under occupation?’ When her parents finally managed to leave the country and meet her in Italy, she began cooking again to welcome them. First she made borscht, following her mother’s recipe; then pasta. She could have just bought

Collateral damage: Vulture, by Phoebe Greenwood, reviewed

Sarah Byrne is covering her first war and, after a slow start, things are finally picking up. Sweating in her flak jacket and undersized helmet, the twentysomething British freelancer is aiming for a scoop. One of her contacts might be persuaded to arrange a visit to ‘terror tunnels’, the headquarters of a Palestinian network whose activities Israel cites as justification for bombing Gaza City. Fed up with ‘monkey journalism’, Sarah wants to move on from recycling press releases to proper reporting. At the same time, she keeps asking herself what she is doing here. Do these people dragging bodies from under the rubble of their houses need yet another ‘misery

A double loss: The Möbius Strip, by Catherine Lacey, reviewed

The Möbius Book has been variously described as ‘a hybrid work that is both fiction and non-fiction’ and a ‘memoir-cum-novel’. Catherine Lacey herself asserts that it is a work of non-fiction, but with a qualifying ‘however’. It comprises two narratives, first- and third-person, and is published to be flipped 180 degrees. Ali Smith’s How to be Both had a similar format, as did Mark Danielewski’s Only Revolutions. All three force the reader into making a choice and living with the consequences. This is not cosmetic, as The Möbius Book is about decisions and repercussions. Lacey writes in the aftermath of two break-ups: a romantic one with a man referred to

Sam Leith

M. John Harrison: The Course of the Heart

34 min listen

My guest this week is the writer M. John Harrison, who joins me to talk about the rerelease of his 1992 novel The Course of the Heart – a deeply strange and riddling story of grief, friendship, memory and occult magic. We talk about why this book is so personal to him, what he learned from Charles Williams and Arthur Machen, turning his back on science fiction/fantasy and returning to it – as well as how probably the most acclaimed of all his novels, Light, came about after Iain Banks told him he wasn’t having enough fun.

A meeting of misfits: Seascraper, by Benjamin Wood, reviewed

The sea, as you might expect, looms large in Benjamin Wood’s finely tuned novella Seascraper. Thomas Flett – one of the most touching protagonists I’ve encountered in recent years – is barely out of his teens, but he’s already battered by toil. His days are spent shanking – gathering shrimps on the beach – with only a horse and cart for company. The setting, gorgeously evoked, is Longferry, a grim coastal town in 1950s Britain. Tom himself appears as if he’s been transplanted from the 19th century. The sea, though, brings change, when hidebound past comes crashing against thrusting future. Tom has a stifling oedipal relationship with his mother, who

One of the boys: From Scenes Like These, by Gordon M. Williams, reviewed

Although Gordon M. Williams died as recently as 2017, his heyday was the Wilson/Heath era of the late 1960s and 1970s. During that time he managed to appear on the inaugural Booker shortlist, dash off a ten-day potboiler, The Siege of Trenchard’s Farm, that would be filmed by Sam Peckinpah, and continue to file a series of ghost-written newspaper columns for the England football captain Bobby Moore. As these accomplishments might suggest, Williams was the kind of writer whom the modern publishing world no longer seems to rate. Essentially, he was a literary jack-of-all-trades, alternating straightforward hackwork with more elevated material as the mood took him, and eventually abandoning fiction

From apprentice to master playwright: Shakespeare learns his craft

Pub quiz masters with a taste for William Shakespeare are spoiled for choice when it comes to red letter years. The playwright’s birth and death, the building and burning down of the Globe, and the publication of the First Folio (1564, 1616, 1599, 1613, 1623) are all dates that sit dustily in the corners of many of our brains, ready to be summoned when trivia duty calls. But 1576? Not so much. Shakespeare was 12, ink-stained and anonymous at grammar school in Stratford-upon-Avon. Which only goes to show that untrammelled bardolatry isn’t good for theatre history, because even while tweenager William was memorising his Latin vocab a turning point in

Charles I at his absolutist worst

Sometime after the Long Parliament met in November 1640, a seamstress living in London called Katherine Chidley decided that she didn’t much like the way that a man was telling her how to do her Puritanism. So, taking advantage of the recent collapse in traditional censorship controls, she published a pamphlet, The Justification of the Independant Churches of Christ (1641), which challenged the writings of Thomas Edwards, a preacher, heresiographer and polemical hardman of English Presbyterianism. Over the course of 80 tightly printed pages, Chidley contended that Edwards’s religious vision was an authoritarian and sexist misreading of God’s plans for his people. Churches could gather as and where they pleased;

Masculinity in crisis – portrayed by Michael Douglas

There isn’t another actor alive whom I’d rather watch than Michael Douglas. Just as Pauline Kael once said that the thought of Cary Grant makes us smile, so the thought of Michael Douglas makes me grin, smirk, nod, wink, cackle, cheer – and walk a little taller, too. Even his anti-heroes are heroic in their truth to self. From the sly, ophidian sneer of his washed-up money man in A Perfect Murder to the salty, satanic leer of his trigger-happy cop in Basic Instinct, Douglas has embraced self-destruction, stared down absurdity and made plain what Nietzsche meant when he said that man is either a ‘laughing stock or a painful

Who’s deceiving whom?: The Art of the Lie, by Laura Shepherd-Robinson, reviewed

In this age of lies and delusions, the trickster may seem to be a peculiarly modern creature, but he or she is almost as old as literature itself. Long before phishing or fake news, stories about cunning foxes, Loki, Anansi the Spider-Man and Odysseus brought delight; Puck, Tom Ripley and Sarah Waters’s fingersmith Sue Trinder are some of their descendants. Encountering such a figure is always a joy, and in Laura Shepherd-Robinson’s latest novel, The Art of a Lie, there are two. Hannah Cole is a shopkeeper in 18th-century London, struggling to keep her confectionary business open. Her husband Jonas has been murdered, and we soon learn that not only

Sam Leith

Karin Slaughter: We Are All Guilty Here

36 min listen

Sam Leith’s guest in this week’s Book Club podcast is one of the most popular living thriller writers. Karin Slaughter has made her native Georgia her fictional territory, and she joins Sam as she launches a new series set in a whole new county, with the book We Are All Guilty Here. They talk ‘planning versus pantsing’, what it means to write violence against women as a woman and how becoming the showrunner for television compares to the sovereignty of the novelist.

Could the giant panda be real?

Nathalia Holt’s book begins irresistibly. The year is 1928. Two sons of Theodore Roosevelt called Ted and Kermit – yes I know we’re thinking it’s a Wes Anderson movie – have smoothed a map out on the table in front of them. Let’s imagine the setting is a bit like the Explorers’ Club in New York, with exotic anthropological curios on the walls – poisoned spears and wooden shields – and globes the size of beach balls lit up from within. The land they are examining is mainly coloured in greens, browns and greys. But running across the map, like the stripes of a tiger, are irregular white blotches. Each

Highs and lows: The Boys, by Leo Robson, reviewed

The Boys, the entertaining debut novel by the literary critic Leo Robson, is set in Swiss Cottage during the 2012 London Olympics. Johnny Voghel is ‘methodically lying about’, home on leave from an admin job in the West Midlands and grieving both for his mother, who died the previous year, and – by extension – his father, who died when he was a child. A typical day is spent ‘smoking badly rolled cigarettes, watching the ring-fenced patches of grass suffer in the heat, nodding at passers-by, tweezing grey hairs from my nostrils and popping the spots on my chin’, before walking into the centre to gaze at the BT Tower