<![CDATA[Atticus - Book Reviews]]>

<![CDATA[Atticus - Book Reviews]]>Fri, 04 Sep 2026 14:32:58 +0000Weebly<![CDATA[Two books set in Berlin and one in NY]]>Sat, 07 Mar 2026 14:39:06 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/two-books-set-in-berlin-and-one-in-ny

Firstly Berlin Alexanderplatz by Alfred Döblin tells the story of Franz Biberkopf, a recently released criminal, and his futile attempts to go straight in 1920s Berlin, but the real core of the book is Berlin itself, with all the glamour, glitz and misery of the Weimar Republic. Doblin moved in that intellectual circle of communists, writers and artists that included Bertold Brecht, Thomas Mann and Joseph Roth. Although Berlin Alexanderplatz is sometimes compered to Ulysses or the writing of Kafka, I feel that it is closer to Brecht, although instead of being a play it is a sprawling modernistic novel which includes all the sights and sounds of the city; as well as news clippings of the day. Despite his criminal activities and violent outbursts the reader can't help feeling some sympathy for Biberkopf doomed by circumstances. Not central to the narrative, but always in the background is the inevitable rise of Fascism. Truly a modernist masterpiece.
Manhattan Transfer, by John Dos Passos, is another modernist tour de force about a city. This time however the narrative follows four characters in 1920s New York. Although the narrative is more cinematic and incudes characters from a wider range of backgrounds. the novelpossesses the same restless energy as Alexanderplatz and once again it is the city that is the central 'character'.
Read side by side the two books give a fascinating picture of life in two cities in the early years of the Twentieth Century as well as that of the development of the modern novel.
Alone in Berlin, by Hans Fallada, Set later than than the other two books, Alone in Berlin
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/jan/07/hans-fallada-alone-berlin-rereading
Hans Fallada was a very interesting character but I'll leave it to the above link to tell you more about the novel and man. it does far better than I could.

]]><![CDATA[A Mountain to the North, A Lake to the South, Paths to the West, A River to the East,]]>Fri, 31 Oct 2025 13:45:43 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-ponti-by-sharlene-teo-20182334313A novel by Nobel prize winner, 2025 Lazlo Krasznahorkai. The book concerns Prince Genji's search for a hidden garden in Kyoto. Broken into short passages it is easy to read, unlike some recent Nobel Prize winners, despite the lengthy and complex sentence structure. The book has been described is dreamlike and exquisite. I can understand why; the prose is delicate and detailed the spider's web hung with morning dew. At times, I was reminded of Borges. Although this is a novel; or perhaps we; should call it a novella, as it is only 130 pages long; and not a selection of short stories.]]><![CDATA[Book Review: Ponti, by Sharlene Teo (2018)]]>Thu, 07 Dec 2023 22:24:35 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-ponti-by-sharlene-teo-2018Sharlene Teo’s debut novel Ponti was critically acclaimed on release in 2018, winning the inaugural Deborah Rogers Writers’ Award and being nominated for a number of other literary prizes. It is set in Singapore (Teo is Singaporean, though based in the UK), and follows the lives of three women as their relationships become closely entangled. A fascinating and strange novel, it showcases a writer of talent and inventiveness as it evokes the suffocating world of teenage girlhood.

The three point-of-view characters are Szu, Circe, and Amisa. Szu is Amisa’s daughter, an outcast at her school, who befriends Circe due to their mutual social isolation. Circe becomes fascinated by Amisa, who starred in a series of cult horror films in the late 70s/early 80s as a demon called a Pontianak (hence the novel’s title, named after the first film in the series, Ponti!). The book alternates between three different time periods: Amisa growing up in the 1960s-1970s, Szu’s friendship with Circe in 2003, and Circe’s adulthood in 2020 as she reflects on her friendship with Szu after a remake of the Ponti films is announced.

The horror film angle was what initially piqued my interest in the novel, as well as the fact that it was set in Singapore, a place I’ve not often seen represented in fiction. The book takes on some of the character of a horror film, with an overbearing doom-laden feeling pervading the story. This reflects the inner lives of the characters, who are all unhappy for one reason or another, stuck in unsatisfying or frustrating lives. Occasional touches of surrealism cement the foreboding atmosphere.

Teenage characters are difficult to write convincingly, but Szu and Circe are a believable mix of naïve and worldly. Teo takes the brave step of making them not always likeable, in ways that are true to how teenagers behave, while still managing to hold the reader’s sympathies. In fact, most of the relationships in the book are dysfunctional, from Amisa taking her anger over her abortive film career out on Szu, to Circe’s unhealthy hero-worship of Amisa. Teo is interested in exploring the ways in which each of us are broken, and how that affects in turn the ways we relate to others.

The novel is well-written and very readable, and I found myself getting through it quickly. Teo employs a number of techniques to differentiate the characters’ voices, such as using shorter, plainer sentences with Szu, and more elaborate ones with Amisa, which helps each of them feel unique. She has a knack for vivid description and sharp use of imagery, making scenes that stick in the mind. One of the key moments of the story is set in a theme park, and the way she used the unreal, artificial atmosphere to enhance the characters’ emotions was for me a highlight.

Ponti is not always an easy book, and in places I found it quite confrontational, but that’s to it’s credit. It’s rare to see women portrayed with such deep flaws as these characters have. We see it with men all the time, but authors who write female characters carry the burden of always needing to make them lovely, kind, and unselfish if they want the reader’s sympathy. Teo shows no such inclination, and her three protagonists are as realistic and three-dimensional as it gets. While the book isn’t a masterpiece – she doesn’t quite manage to tie together all its various threads – it’s nevertheless an achievement, an intelligent and disquieting first novel that bodes well for whatever she writes next.

Review by Charlie Alcock

]]><![CDATA[Book Review: Elizabeth Finch, by Julian Barnes (2022)]]>Fri, 03 Nov 2023 07:41:25 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-elizabeth-finch-by-julian-barnes-2022Elizabeth Finch is not a book that everyone will like. I admit that seems a strange way to open a review that’s supposed to recommend a book, but I thought it was best to get that out of the way first. It’s wilfully resistant to interpretation, and freely abandons plot in favour of philosophical speculation, and digressions into history and religion. Readers who like clear narrative structure and all loose ends to be tied up by the end will find themselves frustrated by the book’s elusiveness and refusal to play by the rules. However, I think what Barnes is trying to here is very interesting, and I found myself throughout wanting to engage with whatever puzzle it was setting me.

The title character is a lecturer on an adult education course called ‘Culture and Civilisation’. She has highly unorthodox methods, challenging her students to think well outside of the box and teaching life lessons alongside her subject. Neil was long ago a student in her class, and she made an indelible impression on him. After her death, she bequeaths him her many notebooks, and he realises that she has one final task for him to complete.

An air of quiet sadness pervades the novels of Julian Barnes, and Elizabeth Finch is no different. Neil is disappointed with how little he has achieved in life, having been divorced twice and failed at an acting career. He ruminates on how he never lived up to the example set by Elizabeth, and sets himself to the task of sorting through her writings with the sense that it’s the last worthwhile thing he will do. It’s a deliberate choice on Barnes’ part to tell Elizabeth’s story through the eyes of someone with an ‘imperfect’ view of her, half-hero worship and half-unrequited lover.

A key symbolic figure in the book is the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate. This is so much so that the middle third of the book is entirely devoted to a short biography of him, written by Neil. He is someone that Elizabeth continually made reference to as part of her teaching, quoting poetry written about him and using his rule as a framework for the course. It’s hard not to read this as Elizabeth identifying with Julian, and Neil’s essay as actually being about her, but any conclusions are left up to the reader to draw. This open-endedness is one of the novel’s strengths, and it was refreshing to me to have an author be uninterested in making his point obvious, instead trusting in the reader’s intelligence and curiosity.

The latter portions of the book were my favourite, as we learnt more about Elizabeth while building to moments of emotional revelation. Barnes is a lovely writer, and it was a pleasure to read such evocative prose. By the end, I felt that a satisfying conclusion had been reached, even if not everything in the story had resolved. I got the sense that he had said what he needed to say, and ended when there was nothing more to tell.

Elizabeth Finch takes on many of the themes that occur throughout Barnes’ work, such as time, memory, the past, and the many ways we lack true understanding. Here, the way they were iterated were as original as they were frustrating. I don’t mind being frustrated by a book, though, as long as it’s for reasons the author intended. The feeling I got after reading was that, for better or for worse, this was exactly the book that Julian Barnes wanted to write, and that alone is worthy of respect.

Review by Charlie Alcock

]]><![CDATA[Book Review: Still Born, by Guadalupe Nettel (2020)]]>Fri, 27 Oct 2023 06:46:27 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-still-born-by-guadalupe-nettel-2020Guadalupe Nettel is a Mexican writer who has so far published four novels. Her latest is Still Born, which was shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2023. It’s an incredible work that examines themes of motherhood, disability, and the ethics surrounding childbirth. I’m not sure I’ve read another book that tackles these kinds of issues in the way it does, and with such detail and skill.

The plot follows two women, Alina and Laura, both of whom for various reasons have decided not to have children. Laura is so sure about this she has had her tubes tied, but when she tells Alina about her decision her friend tells her that she has in fact changed her mind and become pregnant. This has implications for both women, as complications in the pregnancy result in the prognosis that the child will not survive the birth.

Such weighty topics might imply a heavy and challenging read, and while some parts are certainly difficult to read, overall Nettel manages to make the book very readable. She achieves this in the matter-of-fact, unsentimental way she approaches her subject matter, keeping the tone grounded while being true to the emotions at the core of the story. This realism is one of the book’s main strengths, and enables Nettel to portray the complexities of motherhood in the way that she does.

What’s unique about Still Born is the non-judgemental way that Nettel portrays Alina and Laura. Alina is by no means a perfect mother, and Laura rejects motherhood completely, but neither of their decisions are given any moral dimension by the author. Rather, their choices are shown to be part of who they are as people, and their emotional responses to be complex and nuanced. This is in contrast to how society views motherhood, which often involves glorifying it and shaming mothers who don’t live up to the impossibly high standard set for them. While for many it can be a rewarding and joyful experience, it is often taboo to talk about the more difficult, ambivalent, or even negative feelings that result. It was refreshing to see this flipside of motherhood discussed in Still Born.

Alongside the main narrative, there is a sub-plot of Laura bonding with a neighbour and her son. Nettel draws parallels between the two plots, deepening the themes and showing different types of motherhood. Elsewhere she uses imagery to make her point, adding a poetic element to an otherwise realistic narrative. Altogether it adds up to a rich and textured portrait of the lives of two twenty-first century women.

Part of the story is based on a real event. A friend of Nettel’s had a child born with a neurological condition, with complications in the pregnancy that she replicated in the novel. Though the accompanying storylines are fiction, this friendship forms the heart of Still Born. The book is a testament to women whose experiences of motherhood don’t match up with the ideal, but who nevertheless make the best of their decisions. It’s a remarkable achievement.

Review by Charlie Alcock

]]><![CDATA[Book Review: A Fall of Moondust, by Arthur C. Clarke (1961)]]>Fri, 20 Oct 2023 15:35:10 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-a-fall-of-moondust-by-arthur-c-clarke-1961Arthur C. Clarke’s novels are often philosophical, exploring complex ideas through the lens of science fiction. A Fall of Moondust is somewhat different. Written several years before the moon landings, when huge seas of dust on the lunar surface were a real worry for scientists, it’s a straightforward man vs nature story, reminiscent of classic disaster movies like The Poseidon Adventure. What elevates it is Clark’s imagination and intelligence, bringing realism and depth to what could have been a hokey sci-fi romp.

Pat Harris is the captain of the cruiser ship Selene, a tourist vessel taking visitors out on the Sea of Thirst, a massive ocean of fine lunar dust. The dust behaves more like a liquid than a solid, and after a quake causes a collapse on the sea floor, the ship sinks 15 metres into the dust, trapping them out of sight and signal range. With a limited supply of oxygen, and facing dangers unknown, Pat has to figure out how to keep his crew and passengers alive long enough for them to be rescued.

A Fall of Moondust falls into the category of ‘hard’ sci-fi, the definition of which I outlined in this previous review. It’s a lesson in how to effectively tell a story while adhering to scientific principles. Clarke has not only thoroughly worked out the details of the situation, but puts them in service of the narrative, creating obstacles for the characters and upping the stakes when appropriate. He manages to have his cake and eat it: exploring future technology while never losing sight of the people at the heart of the story.

What’s great about the book is that it’s full of suspense. The odds of getting rescued are stacked against those aboard the Selene, and Clarke wrings every bit of tension out of the situation that he can. We quickly come to care about Pat and his passengers, so when the disaster happens we’re instantly invested. Clarke keeps up the pace by switching between the Selene and the point-of-view of the rescuers, giving us a full picture of what’s going on.

Alongside the action, there’s some beautiful descriptions of the moon’s surface that create an ethereal atmosphere. The setting in general is very well realised, immersing the reader in the world of space travel in the mid-21st century. There are tantalising glimpses of this future’s history, and how society functions now humans have expanded into space. It’s these small touches that keep the novel grounded and believable.

A Fall of Moondust is Arthur C. Clarke at his best. It’s a blockbuster sci-fi adventure that takes a simple premise and uses it to its fullest extent. The plot is gripping, the characters are likeable, and it presents an interesting and plausible future world. In contrast to a lot of modern sci-fi, it’s also optimistic about the future of humanity, showing people at their best: co-operating, solving problems, and looking out for each other. It’s a fine example of why Arthur C. Clarke is one of the masters of science fiction.

Review by Charlie Alcock

]]><![CDATA[Book Review: Meantime, by Frankie Boyle (2022)]]>Fri, 13 Oct 2023 15:18:53 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-meantime-by-frankie-boyle-2022Frankie Boyle is best known for his caustic and often controversial comedy. His debut novel, Meantime, is very much cut from the same cloth. A rambling murder mystery set in Glasgow just after the 2015 Scottish Independence referendum, it features a protagonist who is near-constantly high on Valium and many bleak but funny one-liners. It also delves into AI, simulation theory, and the history of colonialism, while achieving moments of genuine poignancy.

In 2015 Glasgow, Felix McAveety is an unemployed drug addict whose best friend Marina has just been murdered. Wanting to bring her killer to justice, and not trusting the police to do so, he recruits his unstable neighbour Donnie and crime novelist Jane Pickford to help him with the investigation. However, the case quickly spirals out of control as Felix uncovers secrets that certain powerful individuals don't want revealed, and any of them could be next.

Despite taking many tropes from classic noir, the book that Meantime reminded me of most was Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon. It also features an amateur detective, whose judgement is impaired by drug taking, investigating a case that turns out to be a sprawling conspiracy. Both also feature some state-of-the-nation commentary and have a satirical tone. Where Meantime falls down is in pacing and narrative control; as the novel goes on, Boyle struggles to maintain the momentum, and the plot becomes somewhat frayed at the edges.

However, given that the novel starts out strongly, and what he gets right elsewhere, I found this forgivable. Felix was a convincing character, and his grief over losing Marina was very believable. Donnie added an element of unpredictability that I enjoyed, and Jane Pickford was well-drawn, even if she mostly seemed to exist so there was a character capable of actually solving the case. I also liked how Boyle drew out moments of melancholy and poetry, showing a natural talent for description and a bruised soul beneath the cynicism.

What also won’t surprise fans of Boyle is that between the drug-fuelled antics and crime genre trappings, it’s sharply political. Boyle is a staunch left-winger and supporter of Scottish independence, using the novel to criticise both the British government’s treatment of Scotland and the lacklustre state of the Left in the modern day. This ranges from effective and clever to the didactic, particularly when the characters have long conversations where they espouse what reads as Boyle’s own opinions. Some tighter editing and more attention paid to structure would have prevented these from feeling repetitive.

Overall, though, I thought Meantime was a good debut novel. It makes sense that a stand-up comedian would turn their hand to writing, since both require a solid grasp of language and an understanding of narrative. I found the plot intriguing, I thought it had things to say, and it made me laugh. While it could have used some tidying up, there was enough going on to keep me reading. If Frankie Boyle decides to write another book, I’d be glad to give it a go.

Review by Charlie Alcock

]]><![CDATA[Book Review: Legends & Lattes, by Travis Baldree (2022)]]>Fri, 29 Sep 2023 15:52:44 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-legends-lattes-by-travis-baldree-2022Fantasy often deals with sprawling, epic narratives, stories about quests and magic and daring acts of heroism. Travis Baldree’s Legends & Lattes is not that. Despite being set in a Lord of the Rings/Dungeons and Dragons-style fantasy-verse, it’s deliberately small scale, with much lower stakes than the works that inspired it. It’s the story of an orc barbarian who decides to hang up her sword and open a coffee shop, and remarkably, that is quite literally that.

Viv is the orc in question, a battle-hardened warrior who develops a love for coffee when she stops at one of the dwarf-run establishments on one of her quests. Having secretly harboured a dream of opening one of her own, she quits her life of adventuring and buys a run-down shop in the city of Thune. She makes new friends, including Calamity, a hobgoblin carpenter, and Tandri, a kind-hearted succubus, who help her set up her new business. But trouble is brewing along with the coffee, as she draws the attention of a local crime boss and a former friend who is now out for revenge.

Legends & Lattes is part of the ‘cozy fantasy’ subgenre. This has gained popularity in recent years, along with cozy mystery and cozy science fiction, with Baldree’s book launching it into the mainstream. These ‘cozy’ versions of well-known genres focus on warmth, friendship, and community, giving the reader a feel-good experience that’s bolstered by familiar genre tropes. Legends & Lattes has this in spades, and by the end, you feel as though you’ve made some new friends yourself.

What I liked most about this book was how entirely it delivers on its promises. While there are a number of sub-plots, the majority of the drama is entirely based around whether or not Viv will succeed in opening a coffee shop. It’s a reminder of just how little is needed for a story to be compelling, as long as you give the reader a reason to care about what’s going on.

The characters are well-drawn and memorable, and Viv has enough complexity to be a compelling lead. Baldree’s obvious affection for them is endearing, and comes across in the detail and care he puts into their characterisation. His descriptions of the everyday workings of a coffee shop – sprinkled with fantasy twists – are impossible not to enjoy, and each mundane happening is given the weight of a significant plot twist. It’s a tribute to the small joys and simple pleasures of life, told with intelligence, humour, and heart.

As the days grow colder and the nights longer, many of us like to curl up with a blanket, a mug of hot chocolate and a good book. If that’s what you’re after, Legends & Lattes is the perfect read. It doesn’t shy away from the darker aspects of life, but it emphasis how friendship, care, and a good cup of coffee can help us tackle them. In a world where fear and uncertainty seem to grow by the day, there can be few more encouraging messages than that.

Review by Charlie Alcock

]]><![CDATA[Book Review: A House by the River, by Sid Smith (2003)]]>Fri, 22 Sep 2023 15:03:14 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-a-house-by-the-river-by-sid-smith-2003Sid Smith has so far written three novels about China, despite never having been there. A House by the River is his second, and the world it evokes is so convincing that by the end, it feels like you've taken a trip there yourself. A literary adventure story with touches of magical realism, A House by the River encompasses theology, linguistics, and history, in a lyrical and strange journey through an antique land.

Set at an unspecified point in the early 20th century, the book follows John and Grace Gerrard, two missionaries who are sent to a small fishing village on the coast of a large river. John quickly becomes absorbed in the village and its workings, while Grace struggles to acclimatise, her attempts to evangelise falling on deaf ears. However, after she comes up with a theory about the origins of the Mandarin language, the pair of them are targeted by the headman's soldiers, who sees her ideas as a threat to the imperial order.

By far the strongest aspect of the novel is the atmosphere and scene-setting. The fishing village and its population are vividly realised, this tiny corner of the world given weight and importance by the portrayal of the people who live there. You can feel their struggle to survive and the sadness that comes from their way of life slowly ebbing away. The arrival of John and Grace truly feels like a rupture, and the reader can sympathise with their hostility even if they don’t agree with their actions.

Indeed, where the reader’s sympathies ought to lie is a difficult question. John and Grace are naive but well-intentioned, sheltered by their childhoods in the Mission House, knowing little of the world outside. There is the sense that they don’t fully understand what they’re doing, spreading their faith because it’s what they know rather than what they want. The resistance by the villagers is understandable, but as their response grows more violent, it becomes harder to justify. It’s a complex and nuanced situation, and Smith does a good job of holding these tensions in balance, creating a moral greyness that feels true-to-life.

The writing is another highlight. Smith is an excellent stylist, poetic and precise in his use of language. There is an appealing calmness to his tone, giving the impression of careful consideration in choosing which words to set down on the page. It impressively makes it feels as though he’s an old hand at novel writing, despite this only being his second.

As the book approaches its final quarter, the momentum falters somewhat, and never quite manages to get back on track. The way it wraps itself up is a little too neat, feeling lacklustre and unsatisfying given what came before. However, there is still much to recommend in this meditation on what drives our beliefs – a strong sense of place, intriguing characters, and a delve into a little-known period of history. Sid Smith is a writer with a point of view and something to say, and I’m curious to try more of his work.

Review by Charlie Alcock

]]><![CDATA[Book Review: Earthlings, by Sayaka Murata (2018)]]>Fri, 15 Sep 2023 12:53:53 GMThttps://www.atticusbooks.co.uk/bookreviews/book-review-earthlings-by-sayaka-murata-2018Sayaka Murata’s Earthlings is a wild ride. Her previous novel, Convenience Store Woman, catapulted her to international success, but fans of that book will be surprised by her follow-up. It delves into fears about pregnancy, marriage, and sex, refusing to shy away from ugly and often violent truths. Some readers may be put off by the graphic content and themes of trauma and abuse, but anyone brave enough to venture into the mind of Sayaka Murata will be taken on a fascinating and compelling journey, with twists and turns you’d never expect in a million years.

The story follows Natsuki, a precocious eleven-year-old who believes herself to have magical powers. Feeling isolated from her family, she forms a strong bond with her cousin Yuu, who she meets up with on family holidays in the mountains. A traumatic event forces the two apart, and years later Natsuki is in her mid-thirties, living quietly in marriage of convenience to stop her family from pestering her. Seeking an escape from their humdrum existence, she and her husband take a trip to Natsuki’s childhood holiday home, where a reunion with Yuu will change their lives forever.

Murata’s novel is a response to the social pressure that many women feel to marry and have children, even if that’s not what they want. In an interview, she cited Hakuo Yanagisawa, former health minister of Japan, who said in 2007 that ‘women of child-bearing age should perform a public service by raising the country’s birth rate’. This is reflected in Natsuki’s attitude to the world around her; she describes society as ‘the factory’, and resists the pressure to become a ‘baby-making machine’.

The translation by Ginny Tapley Takemori is smooth and fluid, conveying the disconnectedness that Natsuki feels from the world around her. The character development is done deftly and feels natural, ensuring that when the action does take a turn into the horrific and surreal, it comes as a conclusion to a process, rather than existing for the shock factor alone. The tone throughout is darkly comic, the slight ironic distance making the most difficult-to-read scenes more bearable.

What I liked most about the book was its originality. The way Murata approaches her themes is unique, not just in terms of the content, but in the lack of compromise towards attitudes such as the former health minister’s. It was refreshing to read about a female protagonist who is steadfast in her lack of desire for marriage and children, instead of discovering that she secretly does want them after all. The book succeeds brilliantly in pointing out that the ways in which our society views women are bizarre and wrong.

Earthlings is bleak, funny, surprising, and emotional. Its cast of characters are a cracked mirror reflection of how we live now, exaggerated but ultimately believable. Sayaka Murata’s imagination and perspective make it a one-of-a-kind reading experience. It has much to say about gender, conformity, the need to belong, and the barriers we cross to cope and survive.

Review by Charlie Alcock

]]>