Mini book reviews
Since February 2017 I have been writing mini book reviews whenever I finish (or fail to finish) reading a book...
These reviews are hosted on iangouge.com - which used to be my ‘main’ internet presence but has now been superseded by Writing until the light goes out here on Substack. Hurrah! I still host my book reviews on the old site as well as links to individual web pages for my work (please check it out!).
Below are some of my more recent reviews going all the way back to September 25th, 2025. 20 reviews (and 1 non-review) in eight months. You won’t agree with all my assessments (why should you?) but please remember, in the words of Ernest Hemingway: “when you see anything of mine that you don’t like remember that I’m sincere in doing it and that I’m working toward something”.… Believe it or not, that quote’s from March 1925, just over 100 years ago.
Flesh - David Szalay
David Szalay’s Booker-winning novel Flesh is a brutal read; not in terms of the narrative – though it has its moments! – but in terms of its style: short staccato punchy and repetitive sentences which seem to strip the language down to its bare bones and remove any kind of lyricism at all. I can see why – in its difference – it would have appealed to the Booker judges.
There are passages later in the book – whole paragraphs indeed! – which one might regard as more conventionally descriptive or lyrical, passages where Szalay is more inside the main character’s head than describing the interaction between the characters.
The punchy stuff certainly draws you in (if it doesn’t repel you) and so you might find yourself motoring through the book. However – and there’s always a ‘but’ – I found the style too easy to read, I was almost able to skip over some lines assuming they would be irrelevant; and the excessive number of times characters say “Okay” made me want to reach in and punch them on the nose! That may be an accurate representation of how some people speak, but it doesn’t make for great literature.
I wouldn’t put you off reading it – I’ve read other novels by Szalay and enjoyed them – but a Booker winner? I’m not so sure.
The Chemistry of Tears - Peter Carey
It has been a while since I read any Peter Carey, and The Chemistry of Tears is as solid a piece of work as you would expect from a two-time Booker Prize winner. I’m happy to recommend it, though with a couple of caveats.
Firstly, I wondered if the main characters were, towards the end, edging dangerously close to caricature. You knew exactly how interactions between pairs of them were going to turn out. Maybe it was repetition which let it down. And secondly I felt as if there were unresolved things at the end: the fate of the original automaton and the boy whose present it was to be; the proposed x-ray (and what that might find); and whether Amanda was truly barking mad or just brilliant.
Having said all that, I’m going to add Carey to my ‘to read’ list: perhaps Bliss or Illywhacker.
Enduring Love - Ian McEwan
Let’s be honest, Enduring Love is a difficult read; not because of the way it’s written, but rather in the uncomfortable and challenging circumstance McEwan’s main character (MC) finds himself. Indeed, the situation is so disturbing – in the “I’m so glad that’s not me” sense – that I could only read it in short chunks.
All of which – if you think about it – goes to demonstrate just how well it’s written, especially as you begin to doubt the reliability of the first person narrator too. Ten out of ten.
However….I found the ending disappointing. Contrived, if I’m honest. First, in how the MC goes about resolving the core problem he’s been facing. And secondly, in how McEwan ties up two loose ends. For one – the relationship between the MC and his partner – the summary letter from her at the end seems so much tell rather than show it’s almost painful. And then, in order to resolve the other loose end, McEwan invents two entirely new characters in the final chapter in order to do so. Quite frankly unbelievable.
I’m a big fan of McEwan’s work, so I left the novel feeling disappointed – having been somewhat in awe by half-way through…
Between the Acts - Virginia Woolf [re-read]
Some novels travel better through time than others, I feel; and maybe it’s not surprising that Virginia Woolf’s work can struggle a little. Between the Acts is, I think, one such novel. The technical artistry and innovation is clearly there to see, but the novel suffers in terms of distance because of the world it portrays: the world of village pageants staged in the gardens of a grand house with Bentleys and Rolls Royce parked on the drive is, nowadays, ‘rarified’ to say the least.
But none of that should get in the way of what Woolf was trying to do and how she was endeavouring to do it: the fluid yet fragmented language, the variations in pace, the unspoken asides (almost ‘fourth wall’ breaking) etc.
In the twenty-first century perhaps one more for the purists… but still worth a read.
prisoner’s dilemma - Richard Powers
Although prisoner’s dilemma is an early Richard Powers novel (1988) it’s right up there: splendidly written; intricately constructed narrative; just enough tension – those big unanswered questions – which keep you going right to the end. And the characters – Pop and his clan – do indeed ‘pop’ off the pages.
There is a great deal to admire; the novel even treads on the boundary of that legendary landscape “I wish I’d written that”. If you like Powers and you’ve read his more recent stuff (like The Overstory) then I recommend you try out prisoner’s dilemma.
Jealousy - Alain Robbe-Grillet
Weird. Alain Robbe-Grillet’s Jealousy is seriously weird. Structurally so. It’s as if he has taken a 3 or 4 page short story, photocopied it multiple times, then cut the pages up between paragraphs before throwing them up in the air and then entering them into the ‘narrative’ however they fell.
Consequently there is a great deal of repetition, and the story flits between timeframes, episodes – often multiple times on the same page. It’s like trying to see the picture presented by a jigsaw – but while all the pieces are still in a mess in the box. Or the unsorted tiles on a mosaic. The responsibility is on the reader to piece together what actually happened – which is made all the more difficult because the third person who is clearly somewhere in the narrative never actually appears. And there is one climactic moment which we only see once and it isn’t at the climax of the story (as presented to us).
As you may gather, you’ll either love or hate this. I found it fascinating and intriguing. But did I like it? The jury’s out…
To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf [re-read]
The first time I read Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse was around forty-six years ago. I have just re-read it. Not only that, but I was reading from the self same book I purchased in 1980! Boy, are the pages yellowed and dry!
I had forgotten just how wonderful the novel was. It seemed to me as it Woolf was attempting to settle on something just out of reach, to describe the indescribable, and the way the narrative flits around and repeats itself is highly effective. Perhaps it’s also indicative of Woolf’s state of mind, fragile as she was. I can imagine her trying to describe something – especially emotion – and getting terribly frustrated with the impotence of words (just as Lily Briscoe is frustrated with her painting).
Isn’t it marvellous when you re-discover something? I’m not an avid re-reader, but I may just have to dip back into my Woolf collection…
The Rest of Our Lives - Ben Markovits
For me, Ben Markovits’ The Rest of Our Lives really only got going once the protagonist was started on his road trip. Everything that came before seemed slightly confusing, as if I was being given too much information, too much back story. My conclusion was to wonder whether the book actually started in the wrong place, and whether all that up-front material might have been more effectively delivered in structured flashbacks.
I say ‘structured’ flashbacks because, although there are passages akin to flashback, they sometimes felt as if the story/narrator was just meandering off a straight line – though maybe that’s what we do. But hey, that may be me being over-critical, after all, the book made it to the Booker shortlist – which is, at the moment, something I can only dream of!
The ending (no spoilers!) was impressive in its recognition of process and detail. I was left wondering how much was research and how much either first- or second-hand lived experience…
Marigold Mind Laundry - Jungeun Yun [unfinished; dreadful]
No review; it was that bad…
Sympathy Tower Tokyo - Rie Qudan
Bizarre. And confusing. Sympathy Tower Tokyo reads like a treatise on language and a personal philosophy shoehorned into a piece of fiction; the only issue – from my perspective at least – is that the narrative / story isn’t strong enough to do the heavy lifting. In that sense it failed to work as theory, philosophy, and novel.
Yet maybe context is the thing. In Rie Qudan’s native Japan – and within that culture – the book functions perfectly well. Indeed it must do because it has been lauded, won awards. I’m not sure where that leaves my assessment therefore; is it invalidated in some way? (Though I have to say I never have an issue of ‘failure’ with someone like Murakami.)
Maybe you can make up your own mind, but I wouldn’t rush out to buy it…
Her Body & Other Parties - Carmen Maria Machado
I rarely agree with blurb on the front cover of books – but in the case of Carmen Maria Machado’s Her Body & Other Parties I can only concur: “brilliantly inventive”.
This is a raw roller-coaster of a read which takes no prisoners. It shies away from nothing; indeed, Machado deliberately goes deep into her protagonists’ psyche, their traumas and experiences; she peels back layers of surface to expose what lies beneath. I’m not sure I have ever read anything quite like it.
Not a comfortable read – but a very good one.
Shakespeare - Judi Dench [non-fiction]
Part biography, part critique, part chat – there’s an awful lot to like about Judi Dench’s depiction of her career in Shakespeare’s plays. Laid out as conversations with her friend and fellow actor Brendan O’Hea, Dench takes us through all the Shakespearean roles she’s tackled, play-by-play. And we are rewarded with so much: an actor’s insight into their craft; an insider’s take on the Bard and the process of acting; snapshots of other actors she has worked alongside and directors she’s worked with.
But most of all we get a sense of her love of the plays and their language (even The Merchant of Venice, which she really dislikes), her wicked humour, her stunning memory of the texts, the fact that the Bard is soaked into her very being. And we also appreciate a life well lived – from someone who, I suspect, still can’t believe how lucky she has been.
If you get the chance, seek out her 2023 appearance on ‘The Graham Norton Show’ when she recites one of Shakespeare’s sonnets from memory. Spellbinding. (you can find the clip on YouTube)
If you like Shakespeare, this is a super read from surely one of the greats…
The Lantern of Lost Memories - Sanaka Hiiragi
There are three stories in Sanaka Hiiragi’s The Lantern of Lost Memories – and they are essentially the same. Yes, one of the protagonists changes in each story, but what happens to them (and thus the structure of the narrative) is pretty much identical. Once you’ve read the first story you find there is insufficient jeopardy in the remainder for the reader. At least that was my experience.
The other thing that struck me was that, with so much ‘soft fantasy’/magic realism coming out of Japan these days, the debt Japanese literature owes to Haruki Murakami is colossal. And let’s face it, Murakami is pretty much unbeatable.
playground - Richard Powers
I got lost at the beginning of playground – so lost, in fact, that I nearly gave up on the book. It didn’t matter that it was Richard Powers, I simply couldn’t get into the chopping confusion of the first few dozen pages. But I persevered and eventually it all came together and was worth the effort.
But… there’s always a ‘but’ isn’t there? It could have been shorter; the opening might have been more coherent; some of the confusion of ‘voice’ cleared up a little earlier.
And I hate blurb hyperbole. My edition has a quote from the Observer on the cover: “ascends to the plane of true, indisputable greatness”. Really. Very good certainly – as all Powers’ work is – but “greatness”? Not in the gift of the Observer, I’d suggest. Maybe only bestowed by time and future generations…
The Land in Winter - Andrew Miller
The challenge I had with Andrew Miller’s The Land in Winter was its pacing. Part One (c. 180 pages) seemed to dawdle along, and then in Part Two (possibly partly because of the short ‘chapters’) the novel really took off; it became a much more enjoyable read at that point. When I got to the end I couldn’t help but wonder if the 360-page novel wouldn’t have been better had it been 260 pages… (I confess, not an uncommon thought.)
The correlation between chapter or section lengths and pace is an interesting one. Part Two was almost a collection of inter-related pieces of flash fiction – which made them so much more engaging; you had to pay attention in order to keep up. Enjoyed this chunk of the book so much more.
This is the first Miller I’ve read. Will I read more? The jury’s out.
Dream of Fair to Middling Women - Samuel Beckett
I’m not ashamed to admit that some of the time I had little idea of what was really going on in Samuel Beckett’s Dream of Fair to Middling Women – nor that I failed to understand far too many of the words used in it… It’s an odd blend of Dubliners (1914), Ulysses (1922), Finnegan’s Wake (1924), and Beckett himself.
Written in 1932, the book failed to find a publisher (too ‘literary’? too ‘racy’?) until 1992 when it was published posthumously. His first ‘literary landmark’, it was the 26-year-old Beckett exploring both himself as a young man as well as flexing his literary muscles in the laying of foundations for what would come later.
Maybe it’s something of a Curate’s Egg now, but if you’re interested in Beckett it could be worth truffling out…
The Finkler Question - Howard Jacobson
If I had a problem with Howard Jacobson’s The Finkler Question it was this: it felt too interested in itself. That’s to say, it pursued what seemed to me a single thread over and over again, the characters’ primary purpose being to act as theoretical pegs that could be popped into various belief-shaped holes to see a) if they fit, and b) to arrive at a conclusion.
But this is, of course, unfair on the book. I like Jacobson’s writing very much, but perhaps in this case I simply couldn’t engage with the central topic i.e. what it means to be Jewish. (And to be fair, there is no compelling reason why I should be interested.) The characters are wonderfully interesting, and I think more could have been made of them outside the book’s main theme. Indeed I think we get a sense of this at the very end.
I got to the end feeling as if this was a missed opportunity for the characters involved – but then that’s probably because the central dilemma wasn’t as captivating for me as it clearly was for them.
The Many Lives of Heloise Starchild - John Ironmonger
It would be unfair – not to say inaccurate – to call John Ironmonger’s work ‘whimsy’; it is far from that. Perhaps ‘fable’ might be better. Yet there are times when the latter may stray dangerously close to the former, and there was a short period in the middle of The Many Lives of Heloise Starchild when I feared it had done so.
Perhaps this was due to the structure of the book at a certain point, or a kind of inevitability inherent in it where you knew what was coming. Or even the repetition of theme – necessary for the book’s very existence, or course!
Don’t get me wrong, I like Ironmonger’s work (ever since The Whale at the End of the World), and will certainly return to it again. If you haven’t already sone so, you should consider it…
Rare Singles - Benjamin Myers
Sometimes it’s perfectly fine to be able to predict – from very early on – how a story is going to turn out; and maybe it’s easier to do that when you’re convinced the ending will be a ‘happy’ one.
Benjamin Myers’ Rare Singles fits that bill: you can easily guess what’s going to happen to ‘Bucky’ Bronco, and that’s just fine. Perhaps the main reason you do so is that you’re rooting for him – and for Dinah his Scarborough guide, desperate for her to leave her drink-sodden git of a husband.
Isn’t it great when the ‘nice guys’ win?
Not all Myers’ work is so ‘amenable’; The Gallows Pole, for example, is entirely different gravy. Worth reading though….
The Voyage Home - Pat Barker
Bandwagons. I don’t like them. I’m not sure what the catalyst might have been – perhaps Madeline Miller’s Circe or Stephen Fry’s dreadful Mythos (both books I have long since gifted to charity shops) – but something opened the floodgates on retellings of Greek Mythology (mythology I like, by the way). And the covers of these books are all of the same ilk too. Bandwagons, like I said.
Because it was Pat Barker (and thinking of the ‘Regeneration’ trilogy) I was prepared to give The Voyage Home a chance. It’s a retelling, yes, but it’s well enough written to earn – and keep -its place on my bookshelves.
But at the end of the day, it’s just a story.
It occurs to me that – intellectually snobbish or not – that may be the issue I have with ‘genre fiction’, the idea that they’re ‘just’ stories. Of course Conrad or Austen or Woolf are telling stories too, but there is something ‘extra’ in them, something other, an additional mirror held up to the human condition. I had no sense of such a mirror in The Voyage Home. But that shouldn’t stop you from reading it – if you like stories…
Long Island - Colm Tóibín
When you start a review with “I like XYZ’s work” you know there’s a ‘but’ coming…
So. I like Colm Tóibín’s work, but Long Island was disappointing. Pretty much nothing happens, and what does is entirely predictable. And then when you get to the end you’re left hanging with three possible outcomes available to you. Sometimes this can work well, but in the case of Long Island it almost read as if Tóibín either hadn’t decided on which he preferred or couldn’t be bothered to write it out / work it out.
That’s massively unfair, I know, and yet this won’t stop me reading his work – I just won’t read anything else involving Eilis Lacey (should another volume appear).
[Writing until the light goes out is free to read because I would much rather you buy one of my books than I charge you for engaging with my site.]
Thanks for the reviews. I've read none but To a Lighthouse which was brilliant, and Playground, which I set aside about a third of the way in. The only book you reviewed that intrigues me is Machados, the rest sound like time-wastes, too much work for too little return. These days I'm looking for a rousing good tale, or characters that grip me, or writing that blows me away. Too much of the so-called literary reads today seem pretentious or self-indulgent or just plain boring.