Book recommendations: September.

Fiction: Disclaimer, Renee Knight (2015)

This book contains theme of sexual assault.

Straplined with, “Imagine if the next thriller you opened was all about you,” Renee Knight’s novel promises a meta-literary allure. I was intrigued by this book, but it sat on my bookshelf ever since it was recommended on a podcast over a year ago. Perhaps the threat of the strapline led me to hold on for as long as possible to the juicy sense of suspense it created in my mind.

The novel centres around its protagonist, Catherine, who mysteriously finds a new book in her house, a book which she soon realises is a retelling of her own life. The narrative alternates between both past and present, the third-person narration of Catherine’s life, and a mysterious first-person male narrator. This temporal and subjective fluidity lends to the novel's genre and style, leaving the reader trying to connect the dots between both gaps in time, and gaps in narration.

I have always found first-person narration naturally more emotionally compelling, so Knight’s experimentation with narrative voice threw this into a distorted light for me. I instinctively came to feel closer to this initially unnamed male antagonist through the proximity created by his first-person narrative voice, even as Catherine was undoubtedly the novel’s main protagonist. Knight thus evokes a questioning of the power of storytelling. Who has the power to tell their own story? How can the conventions of the written word distort the subjectivity of lived existence?

With a dramatic and satisfying twist, this novel explores the weight of women’s voices in a patriarchal society which maintains power by overriding certain narratives, and privileging others. Knight critiques how conflicting narratives are reconciled; the reader experiences this mystery novel’s account of Catherine’s “darkest secret,” before she is allowed to recount it herself. By initially stripping Catherine of the power of telling her own story, Knight alludes to the way that women’s voices are often obscured and discredited by narratives which favour the dominant.

As the narrative develops, readers become increasingly aware of the biased gaze exerted by different types of storytelling, and the power dynamics which blur the lines between fact and fiction. Can a truly neutral biography ever exist? Through this acute awareness of gaze and bias, Knight demonstrates how experience, image and word are intimately, yet complexly, bound up.

This book is perfect if you are looking for a thrilling page-turner, but one which also confronts relevant social issues, and explores the nuances of storytelling. Knight has succeeded in constructing a narrative which is in equal parts gripping and thought-provoking.

Non-fiction: How Do We Know We’re Doing it Right? Pandora Sykes (2020)

Although I read this back in August, I couldn’t go without mentioning it on here. As half of my favourite podcast, The High Low, I have looked up to Pandora as a writer and journalist for the past few years. Coincidentally, her essay collection was released on my birthday this year, and I spent a rainy Cornwall day lapping it up.

In this collection, Pandora covers many aspects of modern life with excellent attention to detail and in an enlighteningly perceptive writing style. What I liked most about this collection was its ability to analyse many aspects of modern life which are commonly taken for granted. As I, alongside many others, found in lockdown, having the chance to pause and analyse aspects of our busy lives allowed some the opportunity to gesture towards reconstructing it for the better. Sykes' writing exemplifies this perfectly.

One of my favourite points of analysis was a chapter entitled “Little Pieces Everywhere.” In this chapter, Sykes analyses how contemporary women battle conflicting demands on their identities and lived existence. She argues that women’s identities are frequently both fragmented and flattened. Fragmentation “happens when a woman feels forced by the expectations placed upon her in a patriarchal society to publicly reject parts of herself, in order to become more manageable or appealing” (76). This resonated with me, as I’m sure it would with a vast array of women. Fragmentation puts demands upon us which require that our personal identity becomes easier to digest under the gaze of misogyny. If I wish to be considered sexy (whenever I may choose to be), must I give up outward projections of my intelligence? Can the two not coexist? As an example, I saw only the other day that someone on Twitter was outraged because a woman who had a degree from a prestigious university also owned an OnlyFans account, as if the possession of one invalidates the other. This is just one example, but fragmentation operates in a myriad of ways.

Sykes expands, “a woman’s flattening happens when one of those fragmented parts absorbs the rest of her identity” (76). This also operates widely, and contributes to the reduction of women to stereotypical tropes, which can be based on race, sexuality, sexual habits, child-bearing (or the choice not to), physical appearance, the list goes on. I admire Sykes’ ability to put so clearly everyday issues such as this, which are simultaneously so complex and universal.

Other topics explored in this collection include the internet, fashion, work, emotional sensitivity in the modern world, and the quest for authenticity, among others. The topics are covered in such a way that they are both universal in their appeal, and highly specific in their analysis. Sykes writes with a lucidity which makes some of her more nuanced ideas easy to digest. I dog-eared many pages and quoted extracts to anyone who would listen, something which, for me, marks a highly recommendable read.