Books

Noirwich Crime-Writing Festival: Killer Debuts

by Jim Gell

TW: fear, violence, animal abuse, trauma, lynching

The shadow of Noirwich, the annual crime-writing festival, descended upon the city of stories. From this darkness emerged three writers: Catriona Ward, Femi Kayode, and Greg Buchanan, connected by their shared experience as alumni of UEA’s writing programme. I caught their 11th September conversation with host Lee Randall.

Ward introduces her debut crime novel, The Last House on Needless Street, which features trauma after the disappearance of a child. When asked about a cat being one of the narrators, she said “it bends the genre a little bit; is it cosy because it has a cat in it, or is it more like magical realism?”

For anyone who isn’t familiar with the behaviours and tendencies of cats, they are anything but cosy, despite our perception of them as soft and cuddly. A killer is being used to narrate the story of another killer. What I find interesting about using the perspective of such a vicious animal is, much like human killers, the readers will not assume these violent tendencies until they are evident.

Buchanan’s novel about a forensic veterinarian investigating the discovery of the 16 horse heads is aptly named Sixteen Horses, and focuses on animal abuse. Like Ward, it also features non-human characters to relate the vulnerability animals face at our mercy. Forcing the reader to relate to systematically mistreated species blends this vulnerable fear with the guilt of knowing we are responsible. Within the realm of the novel, we are the victims; outside, we are the killers.

“There were no street lights, not this far from town. If you stood in the field that night, you would not be able to see anyone, even if they were standing right next to you, even if they were looking right at you. You wouldn’t see their grey-hooded gas mask, you wouldn’t see their tight rubber gloves.” These lines electrified my nerves with goosebumps; knowing you are seen without being able to see is pure vulnerability, and anyone who has been left in darkness can relate.

Kayode, the author of Lightseekers, writes about a different fear of the unknown, describing a public lynching of three students held in daylight. “Tearing flesh draws shortlived screams from tired lungs. The men fall but are swiftly pulled up and dragged through the streets to a place no-one picked out, but everyone seems to know.”

Buchanan exposes the fear in not knowing whether you are being watched, Kayode exposes the same fear on a societal scale. We find safety in mundanity, consistency, the comfort of knowing tomorrow will be like today. Kayode’s novel, based on a true story, shows how quickly groups who may be watching you with ill intent could hold a sudden and uncontested execution unbeknownst to you. It is interested in future studies, which tracks current trends and speculates how a desired or undesired future can be created, flashing a torch on the overt and covert systems which influence society and the horrors they create.

Photo: Unsplash

8 books

Reclaiming Women’s Narratives Through Fiction

By Aishanimeas

Historically, women in literature have been divided into the ‘hag’ or the ‘heroine’. It’s in the classics, but it’s still seen in more modern texts. That’s why reclamation of women’s tales is so important.

Individualised self-expression in women is seen as a trait of excess, and thus holds a very low place in the Canon. Even iconic feminist texts, such as Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, fall prey to this dichotomy, encouraging the trope of the ‘mad woman in the attic’. Jean Rhys’ Wide Sargasso Sea, published in 1966, broke away from this trope into a daring exploration of womanhood. Written as a prequel to Jane Eyre, it’s interesting to see the place alternative literature has in reclaiming women’s narratives. Carol Ann Duffy, in her anthology The World’s Wife, introspects into the femininity of women shunned by history, due to the larger figures of acclaimed men in their lives. Featuring the witch Circe from Greek mythology, to the supposed character of ‘Mrs Sisyphus’, the anthology characterises women as multifaceted individuals, often unjustly punished for their excesses of sexuality or perceived amorality.

The revision of women and their claim to their own narratives has also amassed a global outreach. Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni revisits Draupadi from the Indian epic The Mahabharata, in her book The Palace of Illusions. Like the fire she arose from, Divakaruni’s Draupadi is a woman of multiple passions. American novelist Madeline Miller furthered the story of Circe in the eponymous book. Born of gods who abandon her, and mortals who desire only her godliness, Circe makes a home for herself away from those who have wronged her. The witch who practices transfiguration takes on the role of a protagonist surviving against the odds dealt to her. Anne Hathaway, known to the world as Shakespeare’s wife, finds her individuality in Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet. The story of a grieving mother, she is not reduced to the role and instead takes on the role of a woman of the wilderness, misunderstood by some but with a sagacity to surpass it all.

The question then remains, is alternative literature the way for women, lost in the annals of history, to reclaim their status? Is fiction the way out for women whose narratives have been belittled, forgotten, or otherwise demonised?

What Do We Gain in Translation?

By Danny Hayeshomeas

“Isn’t it ironic that this module is essentially translated novels, when we’re studying English Literature” was something I overheard whilst leaving a lecture in my first year. Whilst obviously meant in jest, I was surprised someone had stated this so openly. Wasn’t all literature worthy of study, regardless of where it came from?

This is a comment however, which brings up questions. What is the purpose of translation in our reading patterns? The obvious answer is that it brings a seemingly limitless array of fiction for us. My home bookshelf has copies of The Iliad nestled next to Don Quixote and Anna Karenina (please don’t ask me if I have actually read them), allowing me to jump between time and place as easily as clicking my fingers. Being able to open a book and drop into a world unreflective of my own gives me the opportunity to see the world in ways which would be impossible if I stayed within the constraints of British authors. Translated works present an aspect of ‘sonder’the realisation that every person has a life as complex and unfathomable as your own.

The translated novel allows the reader to broaden their knowledge and see the many aspects of the literary world around them. Reading The Song of Achilles becomes more entertaining if I can place the experience alongside my understanding of The Iliad and the wider translated field it came from. With this in mind, I am more eager than ever to see where else translated works will take me.

Photo: Unsplash

9 Translated Texts

by Lily Boag

If you’re fascinated by all aspects of modern and traditional Japanese culture - from the bustling cities and picturesque countryside, the decadent cuisine and beautiful architecture, and the exuberant world of the performing arts to the quirky contemporary fashion scene – but you haven’t yet experienced the magnificent culture for yourself, these translated texts might be your ticket to Tokyo! 1. Before the Coffee gets Cold - Toshikazu Kawaguchi

Hidden in the alleys of Tokyo, a small café offers four strangers a unique opportunity to travel back in time, but they must return before the coffee gets cold. A novel of magical realism, fantasy, and time travel – what’s not to love? 2. I am a Cat - Soseki Natsume

It’s as simple as that. In this witty and whimsical classic Japanese novel, you’ll follow the adventures of a discontented stray kitten whose observations of humans functions as a social commentary on the foolish behaviours of the upper-middle-class during the Meiji era in Japan. 3. The Honjin Murders - Seishi Yokomizo

If you’re looking for something darker and edgier, why not try this Japanese award-winning locked-room murder mystery? A snowy isolated mansion, a newlywed couple brutally murdered - it’s the ultimate ‘whodunnit’.

Bonus: It’s not a translation, but like Natsume’s I am a Cat, it's a love letter to Japan and furry felines. Why not check out The Cat and the City by Nick Bradley (a UEA Creative Writing MA graduate) and once again explore the city of Tokyo through the eyes of a street cat?

The Fantastic Feeling of Found Family

by Louise Collins

People who know me know I’m a sucker for the found family trope. There’s so much comfort gleaned from it, and I know many of my friends feel the same. It’s beautiful, and heart-warming, but it can also be the start of wonderful conversations.

For those of you who don’t know what I mean by ‘found family’, it’s when a group of people become a family of choice. They’re mostly unrelated, and they come from different backgrounds, but find ways to bond and be there for each other. Found families happen in real life, obviously, and I’m sure many readers have their own families of choice, but there’s something special about the portrayal of them in fiction.

Found family is seen in any genre, but it’s most prominent in fantasy, or queer literature. In queer literature, the trope is often vital. It’s a reminder to the queer character that they’re not alone. This group of people of different gender or sexual identities, backgrounds, religions, etc, all come together to love and support each other, especially when no one else will. Think The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, which had a breathtakingly beautiful portrayal of found family. So many queer people find their families outside their flesh and blood, and Samra Habib summed it up beautifully in We Have Always Been Here, going so far as writing “To chosen families everywhere” as her dedication.

In fantasy, these families are born from loss or brutality. Six of Crows features a group of criminal outcasts. They often threaten each other with violence, but they’re family. Other big name fantasy series starring this trope include The Bone Season and A Court of Thorns and Roses. These families help each other talk about their trauma, and help deal with it. It brings discussions of PTSD and anxiety to the forefront, showing readers there’s nothing to be ashamed about. Found families are a glimmer of hope in the brutality of fantasy – where the fantastical world may be teeming with pain, poverty and war, there’s comfort brought to those in the thick of it all. They were once alone, but they’ve found their family who will fight to the death with them.

This trope is a reminder to everyone that they can talk about their pain, and they don’t have to go through anything alone. I know queer readers resonate with the trope, because they may have anxieties about their own family life. To them, it’s a reminder that if things go wrong, they can find a wonderful, accepting family elsewhere.