The North London Review of Books
Summer 2020 Edition
Contents: Vita Rottenberg, Queenie p. 4-5 Aiyana Osbourne, I Don’t Want to Die Poor p. 6-7 Schuyler Daffey, Becoming p. 8-9 Yana Szerkowski, The Testaments p. 10-11 Izzy Lever, The Metamorphosis p. 12-13 Dr Roberts, Green and Prosperous Land p. 14-16
Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams Orion Publishing Group, 2019, 400pp, RRP: £8.99 (paperback) Queenie, the first novel by British author Candice Carty-Williams, is a uniquely modern and topical read. The novel deals with complex issues such as race, mental health, and the relationships the title character, Queenie, has with her family, colleagues, and dates. Queenie is firmly centred in South London, but the influences of Carty-William’s own Jamaican heritage infuse the book, informing Queenie’s experiences of being a young working-class black woman trying to find her way in the world. One of the most unique aspects of the Carty-William’s writing is the way in which she includes texts and emails, often allowing them to tell the story and enabling the readers to experience events in the same way as Queenie. Queenie’s voice is strong and distinctive, and she feels and acts like a multi-faceted real woman, with Carty-Williams creating a vibrant 3D character. Moreover, the other characters in the book, such as Queenie’s grandmother and her friends are written with depth and they all have a naturalistic sense of purpose, never falling into tropes. The narration never shies away from difficult topics, such as Queenie’s miscarriage and experiences with non-consensual sex, as well as the casual racism that she faces on a day-to-day basis. Many book lists that promote black authors have been published recently, in light of the murder of George Floyd and the institutional and systemic racism in our societies being foregrounded, and this book has been included in many. The honesty, as well as humour with which CartyWilliams writes, make this book especially worth reading in this context. One of the most poignant aspects of the novel is the way in which Carty-Williams portrays Queenie’s struggle with mental health problems, and the clarity in which these struggles are depicted. The nuanced examination of stigma surrounding therapy, especially in Jamaican culture, also makes the book an incredibly thoughtprovoking read. Moreover, Carty-Williams subverts the reader’s expectations, and one of the most interesting aspects of the novel is
how Queenie’s relationships with her friends are contrasted to those with the men she meets whilst online dating. These characters often subvert traditional expectations, and their actions challenge the readers to question what constitutes healthy relationships, as well as the nature of friendship. Queenie is a unique and refreshing read, full of the vigour and struggles of 21st Century life. The characters are well developed, and the book manages to deal with weighty subjects without ever being patronising or esoteric. This book deserves a place on everyone’s reading lists. Vita Rottenberg
I Don’t Want to Die Poor by Michael Arceneaux Atria Books, 2020, RRP: £8.99
Following on from his first book, entitled I Can't Date Jesus: Love, Sex, Family, Race, and Other Reasons I’ve Put My Faith in Beyoncé (2018), Michael Arceneaux’s second book, I Don’t Want to Die Poor (2020), expands on an essay for The New York Times in which he described his student loan debt.
In this collection of essays Michael Arceneaux explores how student loan debt has impacted all aspects of his life, ranging from his dating life to the manner in which he seeks medical care - or at times, is unable to. Arceneaux is able to use humour and wit while simultaneously “dismantling the perceptions people attach to certain things that don’t necessarily have value — at least not the kind of value that helps you survive much less thrive”, in order to address the incredibly prevalent problem many young adults face. One of the essays in the book is called ‘To Freedom,’ in which Arceneaux advocates in favour of student debt cancellation, and examines the racial inequalities and disadvantages that are magnified by socioeconomic factors such as college and student loan debts. I found this analysis of the racial wealth gap particularly interesting, as it is an extremely topical issue that has been addressed by many politicians such as Elizabeth Warren, whose initiative would wipe all student debt for 75% of US borrowers, and Bernie Sanders, who proposed to eliminate all student debt. Ultimately, I Don’t Want to Die Poor tackles the issue of how wealth and the economy are connected to systems, policy choices, and history in a manner which is at once engaging and humorous, yet still incredibly informative. This sentiment is evident in Vogue’s review in
which they called it “a piece of personal and cultural storytelling that is as fun as it is illuminating.� Aiyana Osbourne
Becoming by Michelle Obama
Viking Press, 2018, RRP: £17.56
As an avid fan of Michelle Obama, reading ‘Becoming’ was a matter of course. Despite autobiography being a genre that I read infrequently, to say the least, I was taken aback by the compelling prose, wit, and candour that Obama expresses so effortlessly. The autobiography details the course of her life; she divulges features of her childhood on the South Side of Chicago, followed by Princeton and law school, and her subsequent success as a corporate lawyer. Whilst she describes her journey to the White House and all that that entailed, Obama demonstrates that being First Lady was by no means the last, nor the greatest of her veritable litany of accomplishments. Perhaps most striking of all, however, is the grace and humility with which the former First Lady delivers her story. The reader is a confidante; the autobiography is overwhelmingly intimate—a feat few authors can aspire to. Refreshingly, politics does not form the backbone, nor really any part of the book, which is unsurprising given that Obama is frank about her dislike of the subject. Obama speaks about her role in campaigning and similar activities for her husband, but only ever in relation to her personal growth, as a mother and as a political figure—utilising the limelight as a way in which to empower others. Rather, she dwells on morality, race, gender, and what it means to be American. Her call for overcoming racism and prejudice is particularly relevant, with the racial turmoil engulfing the world at the unconscionable murder of George Floyd. Ever more so today, her message is that of hope and solidarity to all of humanity, and one that we must never forget.
The way in which Obama has unfailingly overcome stereotypes and prejudices is particularly inspiring: from her counsellor’s refusal to believe that she might gain a place at Princeton, to the way in which she was labelled an “angry black woman” by the media whilst campaigning in the 2008 election. Her refusal to become complacent is remarkable—the very fact that she has written a novel to inspire and educate the next generation, directly after doing precisely that for eight years, is testament to her iron will and resolve. She has left a legacy that champions good, one that will invariably stand the test of time. The central theme of the autobiography is that of personal development. Even the structure of the novel (Becoming me, Becoming us, Becoming more) is indicative of this; the first stage demonstrates Obama’s growth as an individual, both intellectually and emotionally, overcoming obstacles, defying stereotypes, and comprehending her position and experiences in life. The next refers to her relationship with her husband, her marriage, and her subsequent children. She dexterously expresses the pressures that women face today – among them that of striking a healthy balance between children and career, invoking a whole generation of women facing the same quandary. The final part enacts a sort of transcendence, from the personal to the far greater collective, that of an entire nation of which she is at the helm, and the expansion of her family’s story to encompass her country. Indeed, Obama is insistent throughout that we are greater as a whole, and that the petty divisions between red and blue and white and black are a hindrance to our growth as a society and as a people, a notion that is becoming ever more pertinent in an age of radicalising politics and unacceptable racial discrimination. Never does Obama label, or condescend, or belittle, or marginalise, or use the pronouns ‘us’ and ‘them’: something that we must all emulate in the future. If she were not one before, her autobiography establishes all the ways in which we should consider Michelle Obama a role model. Her story, is, to put it simply, inspiring and life-affirming to all of humanity. She highlights that growth is not finite; it is perpetual, and that our potential is boundless. She imbues in us the courage and ambition to strive as far as humanly possible, and further, and instructs us to be undeterred and fierce in all that we do. Altogether, this richly human recount details a fulfilling and exceptionally successful life, and is definitively an obsession-worthy read. Schuyler Daffey
The Testaments by Margaret Atwood
Chatto and Windus, 2019, RRP: £14.59
Having read Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale and being immediately entranced by her creation of Gilead, the dystopian state in the novel, it is no surprise that her recent publishing of The Testaments, a sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale, was of immediate fascination to me. The novel’s narrative moves between the perspective of three women: - Aunt Lydia, a familiar figure from ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’. - Agnes, Nicole’s half-sister and the adopted daughter of an affluent family in Gilead. - Nicole, Agnes’ half-sister and the grown narrator form of the Baby Nicole, a key symbol of the handmaid’s resistance organisation Mayday, from the novel’s prequel.
Akin to The Handmaid’s Tale, the novel takes place in Gilead, a totalitarian state established in the 21st Century in the United States, in which all women are under the control of men in the form of Commanders, regardless of whether they are Handmaid’s, Wives or Aunts. The structuring of this society is upheld in The Testaments, yet is set 15 years after the events of ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’. A particularly striking aspect of Atwood’s newest novel is the apparent absence of men, especially in contrast to the novel’s prequel, in which their being and purpose supported much of the novel’s foundation. Whilst the mention of men and the role of males in Gilead appears ever-present, The Testaments is most arguably characterised by the harm that women are able to cause one another in such a confined society, explored through the novel’s various perspectives. The Testaments is widely regarded as a social commentary on gender and power, with critics such as The Telegraph, who called the book
“addictive”. However, with the immense success of The Handmaid’s Tale, some such as The Independent have felt that “it doesn’t fully live up to The Handmaid’s Tale”, especially taking into account the hype leading up to the publishing of this novel.
Yana Szerkowki
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka Barnes and Nobles Classics, Translation by Donna Freed, RRP: £8.77 (hardcover)
The Metamorphosis – or Die Verwandlung in its original German – is arguably Franz Kafka’s most famous short story. Its opening line is among the most well-known, immediately introducing the somewhat obscure premise of the story: “As Gregor Samsa awoke from unsettling dreams one morning, he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin”. The story continues to explore Gregor’s new life as he goes from being the breadwinner of the family – working a job as a travelling salesman in order to provide for his parents and sister – to being a repulsive creature which his family initially cannot bare to look at. As time moves on, he finds himself losing regard for important structures of human life and he mentally and behaviorally evolves more and more into the “vermin” that he physically presents as. The first thing to note when reading this book is that it is, of course, in translation, and different editions can vary significantly as different translators try to relay the message of the original in a way that they see as most effective. One of the most contentious points in the translation of The Metamorphosis is in its opening line and the description of Gregor Samsa as an ‘ungeheures Ungeziefer’. The original translation of this is a ‘gigantic insect’, but it has also been translated as a cockroach, some sort of insect, a ‘monstrous vermin’ as it is in this translation, among various others. This range stems from the difficulty in translating the word ‘das Ungeziefer’, which is believed to translate literally to ‘unclean animal not suitable for sacrifice’ – which doesn’t exactly have a ring to it! Personally, I like this edition’s choice of word, as it is not too specific but still suggests a grotesque and repulsive animalistic quality to Gregor Samsa’s new form. I think the slight ambiguity is important, especially considering that when first publishing the book, Kafka didn’t want any images of the creature to be depicted on the book cover – clearly intending for it not to be an obvious image to be able to envisage.
There are so many alternative interpretations of The Metamorphosis, all of which are extremely interesting to consider while reading. Some see the short story as one of the last Marxist novels – depicting the life of someone who has had to sell themselves to tiresome work in order to provide for others and yet is dehumanized and made to feel worthless, thus criticizing the class structure of society and how it negatively impacts workers. Others see it as a Marxist novel for different reasons. There are some readers, however, who see it as an almost eerie prediction of Hitler’s Germany, where almost overnight someone who has worked to contribute to society and the economy is vilified and made to live like a filthy creature, shunned by the rest of society until they eventually cease to exist. In this reading, Gregor Samsa is representative of the Jewish race. However, regardless of the intricacies of multiple readings or the fine details of translation, The Metamorphosis is an excellent short story. In itself, it is quick to read and yet provides a fascinating storyline which is honestly captivating from the word go. Kafka’s intricate imagery and subtle choices make it even more exciting to read as there are always new things to notice, different interpretations to be made, and layers to be peeled back. So whether you just want an unusual short story to get started with reading over the summer, or you want something that will really make you think on multiple levels, I would definitely recommend The Metamorphosis.
Izzy Lever
Green and Prosperous Land by Dieter Helm William Collins, 2019, 346pp, RRP: £9.99 (paperback)
There is no shortage of books about nature in Britain. Recent years have seen a surge in publications celebrating Britain’s wildlife, diving into its history and folklore, exploring individuals’ connections to it (part of the gradual seep of life writing into almost every conceivable field (no pun intended)), and telling us how to secure its future. To take only a few of the better-known titles, the last decade and a half has seen Robert Macfarlane’s The Wild Places (2007), The Old Ways (2012), and Land Marks (2015), George Monbiot’s Feral (2013), Roger Deakin’s Wildwood (2007) and Notes from Walnut Tree Farm (2008), James Rebanks’ The Shepherd’s Life (2015), and Wilding (2018) by the impossibly serendipitously named Isabella Tree. Copious though these writings are, Deiter Helm offers something new. Whereas most recent writers on nature have been literary academics, naturalists, and famers, Helm is an economist—an economics fellow, in fact, of New College Oxford. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know about nature. He’s also an honorary vice-president of the Berkshire, Buckinghamshire, and Oxfordshire Wildlife Trust, and he writes as someone who clearly loves and knows about nature. But his expertise as an economist means that he’s inclined to think about nature not in terms of aesthetic beauty, the most effective ways of conserving particular species, or the emotional texture of country life, but in terms of quantifiable values, incentive structures, and the proper regulation of markets. Helm’s aim is to set out a vision of how the natural side of Britain could be improved—its rivers, farmland, uplands, coasts, and (confusingly, given his title) its towns and cities—and to explain how this could be achieved through changes to how we think about its value. In particular, he introduces the idea of natural capital, the value that natural things have because of the pleasure they provide us
with, the health benefits we experience from interacting with them, the money that can be made out of charging people for access to them, and so on. The idea is to roll all these different kinds of value into a single aggregate measure so that meaningful comparisons between can be made between the value of different places and different possible ways of managing them. More importantly, he believes, the development of a single aggregate measure will make it easier for costs and benefits which are not currently reflected in prices (what economists call ‘externalities’) to be incorporated, so that normal, cost-reducing and profit-maximising economic activity will be then be more environmentally friendly. The idea, in other words, is to establish an analytical framework which will facilitate the more effective regulation of markets involving natural things. An example may help to make this clear. At the minute, many farmers pollute waterways with pesticides and herbicides. They only risk being fined if these spills are severe. More normally, these unwanted substances pass into rivers and are then cleaned out by water companies and environmental bodies. This creates a loss of natural capital: rivers become unsafe for swimming; plants and animals die; businesses like fishing become unviable. To Helm, this is a ludicrous situation. If the cost of clearing up the pollution and of the health benefits and business activities that are lost as a result of it were factored into the price of the pollutants, he reasons, farmers would either use these substances more sparingly or would work much harder to contain their spread. Helm wants this approach rolled out across a wide range of different areas, from farming to outdoor recreation. In proposing this, he builds on work that he has conducted since 2012 as chair of the Natural Capital Committee—a government body tasked with mapping the future of environmental policy. In that role, he oversaw the publication of a 25 Year Environment Plan, and, to some extent, this book an explanation for the lay person of the reasoning behind that plan. But not everyone agrees with Helm’s approach. Indeed, as he admits, he has a surprising number of critics among environmentalists. Some, like many of those who support the charismatic protest organisation Extinction Rebellion and call for an end to capitalism, will flinch at the use of the word ‘capital’ in a book about nature. To them, the whole idea of viewing nature as a resource to be exploited by humans is part of the problem that needs to be overcome. From that perspective, Helm may not look radical enough. But Helm’s critics are also likely to include those with vested interests. Fishing, game shooting, and most of upland farming should, in Helm’s view, be
massively rolled back, a proposal which is likely to go down badly in fishing ports, on grouse moors and deer shoots, and in the uplands. Here, ironically, Helm is thought to be more radical than he should be. But as well as thinking about Helm’s views, one can also think about his book. For all his inspiring vision of a greener, cleaner future and his optimism that we can get there by creating the right incentive structures, the book itself is rather light. Indeed, given Helm’s background in economics, the ratio of optimistic descriptions of the song-bird-filled hedgerows of the future to footnotes, facts, case studies, figures, diagrams, and models is surprisingly high. Oddly, some recent books like Wilding, though narrative and personal in their approach, are quite as scientific as this one, drawing as they do on recent findings in ecology, conservation, and landscape history. In seeking to make his ideas accessible, Helm seems to have stooped too low. He is not an inspirational writer, and the technical know-how which is really his specialism is here held too much in reserve. A space remains, therefore, for a great, academically demanding book on the future of the environment in Britain. Dr G Roberts