Seeing Double

Naomi on Naomi on Naomi

Photograph of Naomi Klein by Adrienne Grunwald.

Doppelganger – Naomi Klein (Allen Lane)

‘We are not, and never were, self-made. We are made, and unmade, by one another.’

For some time, people have confused the anti-capitalist, climate activist Naomi Klein with the (former?) feminist and conspiracy theorist Naomi Wolf. This wasn’t a huge issue for Klein until it was. Until Wolf’s brand of conspiracy became hurtful and harmful and Klein’s reputation was at stake. Until Klein saw herself disappearing – a sentiment most of us can appreciate – during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic when life was largely lived online and conspiracies rocketed. 

Klein explores the reasons she sees for Wolf’s transition to ‘diagonalist politics’ through which Wolf has aligned herself with people such as Steve Bannon, far-right commentator and Donald Trump’s former strategist. This becomes a doorway into wider issues: how the novelty and uncertainty of a worldwide pandemic allowed conspiracy theorists to exploit people’s fears; how everyone with an online profile has created their own doppelganger from whom Big Tech is harvesting data; the wellness industry and how it became wrapped up in the far-right, and autism as the trial-run for the anti-vaxxers.

Throughout these deep dives, Klein returns repeatedly to the idea of the doppelganger in literature and film. From Hans Christian Anderson and Charlie Chaplin to Carmen Maria Machado and Jordan Peele, landing firmly, although somewhat to her chagrin, on Philip Roth, Klein explores the portrayal of doubles, discussing their roles to illuminate our own doppelgangers and how we might handle them.

While all of this sounds like heavy going, there is humour integrated. As a fellow Naomi, I am grateful to Klein for including the correct pronunciation of our name:

In Montreal’s Jewish community, where I grew up, almost everyone pronounced it “Nye-oh-me,” with a flat “eye” on the first syllable that sounded whiny and dreary to my ears. No matter how many times I introduced myself as “Nay-oh-me,” it came back with the “Nyeeee-oh-me” drone.

“You gave me a name with a built-in whine,” I whined to my mother when I was in tenth grade.

She also discusses being confused for Naomi Campbell on multiple occasions, something that has also happened to me despite being neither a Londoner nor a supermodel. Klein initially attributed this to the name being ‘just uncommon enough that the first Naomi a person became aware of tended to imprint herself in their mind as a kind of universal Naomi’. A theory which falls flat to me as I confess to confusing Klein and Wolf myself, despite Campbell being the first and, for a long time, the only other Naomi whose existence I was aware of. 

Throughout the book, Klein questions herself, ‘other Naomi’ – as she refers to the version of Wolf she has to live with – having led her to this state. The core of this becomes an inquiry into whether or not changing the discourse changes the world. Particularly in a society where ‘monstrous clowns’ such as Trump and Boris Johnson have trivialised issues and even Greta Thunberg, who once gave rousing speeches, now replies ‘Blah blah blah’ to the deals and treaties announced by leaders who then take little to no action. 

What then is the point of reading this book? Whoever our doppelgangers, whether self-created or imposed upon us, Klein’s response is to tell us to return from the mirror world, stop building fortresses we think will keep us safe by keeping others out, and start joining collective action, discussing our differences and pushing for the changes that just might save us and the planet we live on. The point of the book is a call to arms. We can all spend hours online masquerading as our doppelgangers, reading and debating, but what action are we going to take in the physical world?

The copy of Doppelganger I read was my own purchase. 

Backlist Books of the Year

At the end of 2019, I challenged myself to read 100 books from my own shelves. What I meant by from my own shelves were the books that had been sitting there some time, often for years. I was fed up of not getting to books that I knew I wanted to read because there was always something shiny and new in front of me. The pandemic helped, of course; losing most of your work and being forced to stay at home will do that. I finished the 100 in early December. Here are the ones I really really loved.

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake – Aimee Bender (Windmill)

I thought this would be twee, I was so wrong. The story of a girl who realises she can taste people’s emotions; the story of her brother who begins to disappear. It’s about trauma and depression and it’s perfect.

The Western Wind – Samantha Harvey (Jonathan Cape)

A Brexit allegory disguised as a Medieval whodunnit. Utterly compelling.

Fleishman Is in Trouble – Taffy Brodesser-Akner (Wildfire)

A soon-to-be-ex-wife and mother disappears. A terrible soon-to-be-ex-husband who thinks he’s great has his story narrated by his ‘crazy’ friend. A piercing look at heterosexual marriage and a send-up of the Great American Novel. Longer review here.

Things we lost in the fire – Mariana Enriquez (translated by Megan McDowell) (Granta)

Dark, dark, dark stories. So haunting, so brilliant.

Exquisite Cadavers – Meena Kandasamy (Atlantic)

A Oulipo style novella showing how fiction can be created from life, but it isn’t the same thing. Longer review here.

Ongoingness: The End of a Diary – Sarah Manguso (Graywolf Press)

Manguso wrote a daily diary until she had her first child. This is full of ideas of letting go which are so brilliant I copied many of them on to Post-Its and stuck them above my desk. It’s published by Picador in the UK.

we are never meeting in real life – Samantha Irby (Faber)

Irby is my discovery of the year. Her essays are laugh-out-loud funny and entertaining but they are also about her life as a working class, disabled Black woman with a traumatic childhood. Revolutionary.

Heartburn – Nora Ephron (Virago)

Funny; good on cooking and marriage. Devastating final chapter.

Fingersmith – Sarah Waters (Virago)

Clever crime novel about class, the art of theft and pornography. Superb structure. A masterpiece.

The Chronology of Water – Lidia Yuknavitch (Canongate)

Yuknavitch’s non-chronological memoir about the fifteen lives she has lived. It’s about dying (metaphorically), swimming (literally and metaphorically) and living (literally). It fizzes.

Bear – Marian Engel (Pandora)

The headline is this is a book about a woman who has sex with a bear. It’s really about female autonomy. It’s being republished in the UK in 2021 by Daunt Books.

Magic for Beginners – Kelly Link (Harper Perennial)

Kelly Link is a genius. These stories are so rich in detail; she takes you from a situation that seems perfectly normal to a wild, subverted world that also seems perfectly normal. Incredible.

Parable of the Talents – Octavia E. Butler (Headline)

The novel that predicted a president who would aim to ‘Make America Great Again’. It’s as much the story of a mother / daughter relationship formed under significant trauma as it is the story of a country at war with itself. Longer review here.

Copies of The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Fleishman is in Trouble, Exquisite Cadavers, we are never meeting in real life, The Chronology of Water and Parable of the Talents were courtesy of the publishers as listed. All others are my own copies.

Books of the Year 2020

I’ve read more books this year than I’ve ever read in a year before. It’s been a very strange time, but these are the books published this year that have resonated with me.

This Mournable Body – Tsitsi Dangarembga (Faber)

Tambudzai’s life is not going how she expected. In her 30s, living in a hostel, unemployed, in a country that’s hostile, there are multiple structural barriers preventing her progress. An examination of a woman and a country. A masterpiece. Longer review here.

Love After Love – Ingrid Persaud (Faber)

A woman widowed from her abusive husband; her young son, and a gay man hiding his sexuality. Their bond asks the question what really makes a family? Betty, Solo and Mr Chetan have lived in my head since I read this in the first half of the year. Gorgeous. Longer review here.

So We Can Glow – Leesa Cross-Smith (Grand Central)

Cross-Smith’s latest short story collection celebrates women and girls. Their triumphs, their tribulations, their crushes, their loves, the way they support each other to rebuild themselves and their lives. The language and the characters fizz. Longer review here.

The Meaning of Mariah Carey – Mariah Carey with Michaela Angela Davis (Macmillan)

It shouldn’t really be a surprise that Carey’s memoir isn’t your average celebrity memoir. Open, honest and reflective, Carey looks at her traumatic childhood, her marriage to Tommy Mottola and her career. A fascinating insight into who she is and how she became one of the most successful singers in the world.

The Bass Rock – Evie Wyld (Jonathan Cape)

The story of three women, in three different time periods, lived in the shadow of the Bass Rock. They’re linked by what one of Wyld’s minor characters – the brilliant Maggie – describes as a serial killer: toxic masculinity. Maggie’s idea of a map showing places where women have been killed by men has haunted me all year, as has the final page of the novel. Longer review here.

Hamnet – Maggie O’Farrell (Tinder Press)

Named for Shakespeare’s son who died – probably of plague – and the play that was probably written about Shakespeare’s grief: Hamlet. Really though, this is the story of Agnes (Anne), Shakespeare’s wife. Beautiful and vividly told. O’Farrell’s well-deserved acclaim was long overdue. Longer review here.

Breasts and Eggs – Mieko Kawakami (translated by Sam Bett and David Boyd) (Picador)

A novel in two-parts exploring Natsuko’s sister’s desire for breast implants and then Natsuko’s questions around whether or not she wants a child. An examination of the expectations placed on women from a working class Japanese perspective with a bonus send-up of the literary industry. Longer review here.

In the Dream House – Carmen Maria Machado (Serpent’s Tail)

A ground-breaking memoir of an emotionally abusive, same-gender relationship. It questions notions of the canon through a range of devices and genres while delivering a devastating portrait of domestic abuse. Longer review here.

Postcolonial Love Poem – Natalie Diaz (Faber)

An investigation of the body as a site of trauma and of desire. Diaz connects the body to the land, the water (particularly rivers) and the air, showing how violation of the elements by white Americans has led to irreparable damage. This is also a celebration of queer love and language that elevates and transcends. Longer review here.

Bad Love – Maame Blue (Jacaranda Books)

19yo Ekuah has an on / off affair with up-and-coming musician Dee. Later she meets English teacher and spoken word night organiser Jay Stanley. The two men exert different pulls on her life, but Ekuah has to work out how she wants to live. I was rooting for her all the way. Longer review here.

Writers & Lovers – Lily King (Picador)

Casey’s in her 30s. Single, a waitress trying to write a novel, living in her brother’s friend’s shed, she meets two men: Silas is a teacher and a writer, but unreliable; Oscar is slightly older, an established writer, widowed with two young boys. Casey has to decide whether to accept or reject a conventional life. I wrote about her choices for the Pan Macmillan blog.

Nudibranch – Irenosen Okojie (Dialogue Books)

Okojie is the queen of stories that take you to unexpected places. Her latest collection is a wild ride of time-travelling silent monks; some unexpected zombies; a heart-eating goddess; mechanical boys, and an albino man who brings fountains to a small town in Mozambique. The incredible ‘Grace Jones’, about an impersonator and her past, deservedly won the 2020 AKO Cane Prize. Slightly longer review here.

Thanks to the publishers (as listed) for This Mournable Body, The Bass Rock, Hamnet, Breasts and Eggs, and Writers & Lovers. All other books are my own purchases.

Looking for Bono – Abidemi Sanusi #DiverseDecember #16

Baba, a middle-aged, unemployed man lives in Palemo, Lagos with his wife Munira. Palemo is a poor district with no fresh water. One morning, Baba, sitting in the auto repair shop opposite his home, sees a man on TV wearing ‘dark red glasses that make him look like a mosquito’. U2 frontman Bono is meeting the British Prime Minister before coming to Africa to campaign for healthcare access for all Africans. Baba thinks ‘Mosquito Man’ looks like someone who gets things done and believes he is the man to make Bono listen to the problem in Palemo. When his friends call the local radio station and tell them Baba’s plans, the radio station offers to help him meet Bono. Baba becomes an instant celebrity. Rather than solving his problems, however, this brings him to the attention of journalists and business people who want to use him for their own ends.

Munira also has an agenda. Desperate to be a Nollywood star, she has been used and abused by men from her secondary school teachers to her current landlord. She married Baba because he’d lied about being rich; he married her because of her impressive figure. The abuse coupled with the sense that she will never escape her situation has made Munira vicious. There is a sense though, that underneath her thick skin is a desire to do good and create positive change in the world.

Looking for Bono is a story about structural inequality. How the rich get richer and protect their own when things go wrong. How the poor are pawns for the media, as well as corporations and supposed charity organisations. Ultimately it asks if change is possible and, if so, what does that look like?

Looking for Bono is published by Jacaranda Books and is one of their Twenty in 2020 series. The copy I read was my own purchase.

Memorial Drive – Natasha Tretheway #DiverseDecember #15

When Natasha Tretheway was 19 her stepfather murdered her mother. Thirty years later Tretheway returned to the scene of the crime to begin to try to make sense of it and how it had shaped her life. 

When I left Atlanta, vowing never to return, I took with me what I had cultivated all those years: mute avoidance of my past, silence and willed amnesia buried deep in me like a root.

She begins with family life when she was young. Born to a Black mother and a white father, she soon became aware of racist reactions towards her family. She recounts the story her grandmother, who they lived with, told about the night the Ku Klux Klan burned a cross in their driveway because she allowed young white missionaries to stay in the house. 

After her parents break up, Tretheway’s mother meets a man named Joel. He looks after Tretheway while her mum is at work. 

Often I wonder whether the course of our lives would have been different had I told my mother, early on, the things she could not have known: the ways Joel had begun to torment me when she was not at home.

While events lead to an abject failure on the part of the authorities to protect Tretheway’s mother, Tretheway examines the role of memory and grief and how she composed her story and herself. It’s a devastating account of how Black women are erased both literally and metaphorically.

Memorial Drive is published by Bloomsbury Circus. The copy I read was my own purchase.

Earthlings – Sayaka Murata (translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori) #DiverseDecember #14

My town was a collection of nests, a factory for manufacturing babies. I was a tool for the town’s good, in two senses.

Firstly, I had to study hard to become a work tool.

Secondly, I had to be a good girl, so that I could become a reproductive organ for the town.

I would probably be a failure on both counts, I thought. 

Earthlings begins when Natsuki is eleven. She feels like an outsider in her immediate family, describing Piyyut the soft toy / magical alien from Planet Popinpobopia who has come to save the planet as her best friend. Natsuki is abused by a teacher at summer cram school but, when she tries to tell someone, no one believes her. However, when she is later discovered having sex with her cousin, she is punished. 

The novel then leaps forward to adulthood when Natsuki is thirty-one and married. The marriage is one of convenience – neither Natsuki nor her husband are interested in a sexual relationship – but, other than comments about starting a family, it allows them to escape scrutiny. Neither of them wants to become work tools or reproductive tools for ‘the Factory’. During a trip to the countryside, where Natsuki sees her cousin again for the first time since they had sex, her husband begins to think about disengaging from society and living an alternative lifestyle. It’s a decision that will allow events from the past to resurface and the lives of those involved to change dramatically.

Earthlings considers the effects of trauma and the damage done to people when society hides abusive behaviour and forces shame on the victims. It questions whether the society we’ve created is anything more than a production line. It is violent and shocking with one of the wildest endings I’ve ever read. Food for thought. 

Earthlings is published by Granta. Thanks to the publisher for the review copy. 

Postcolonial Love Poem – Natalie Diaz #DiverseDecember #13

If you are where you are, then where
are those who are not here? Not here.

from ‘Manhattan is a Lenape Word’

In Postcolonial Love Poem Natalie Diaz investigates the body as a site of trauma and of desire. She connects it to the land, the water (particularly rivers) and the air, showing how violation of the elements by white Americans has led to irreparable damage. That damage manifests as pollution of and violence towards the body and the mind. 

How can I translate – not in words but in belief – that a river is a 
body, as alive as you or I, that there can be no life without it?

from ‘The First Water Is the Body’

The poems about her brothers are heart-breaking; their power coming from the way in which Diaz uses magical imagery of animals and wounds to describe the pain of mental illness. 

Woven between these darker poems are threads of female desire and longing:

How can I tell you – the amber of her.
The body of honey – I took it in my hands.

from ‘Waist and Sway’

I could write something clever here about the way Diaz uses language, but the poems in this collection transcend the words and the techniques Diaz uses. I didn’t just read them, I felt their effect on my body. And that, surely, is the sign of incredible poetry. 

Postcolonial Love Poem is published by Faber. The copy I read is my own.

An Unkindness of Ghosts – Rivers Solomon #DiverseDecember #12

“You can’t see the big picture, only the petty, small, meaningless pleasures and pains of your tiny lives. Mating and drinking and carrying on no better than the draft horses who stubbornly refuse to work when they’ve got a sore ankle.” Lieutenant’s lips snarled. “We have a purpose. Matilda has a purpose. We are on God’s path, and we mustn’t stray. It has been centuries, and it will be centuries more. All we can do is live well. Live good, according to the Heavens’ will.”

Aster lives in the lowdecks of the HSS Matilda. For years the Lieutenant has had a vendetta against her, making her life difficult and, sometimes, the lives of people around her. Aster is smart, persistent and finds social cues difficult to read. She’s never explicitly described as autistic but there are several moments where the ways in which she deals with sensory overload are detailed. Like all of the people on lowdeck, Aster has a job. Which, for her, is working in the fields. However, she is also apprenticed to the Surgeon from whom she learns medical procedures to support those in the lowdecks. 

Aster’s mother killed herself when Aster was young. Her coded journals remain, detailing her work in the hub of the ship. When Aster’s friend Giselle manages to decode them, Aster believes they may reveal something new about her mother’s death and sets out to find out more.

An Unkindness of Ghosts is a fresh, gripping tale with a protagonist rarely seen in literature. Solomons incorporates characters who are gay, bisexual, asexual, use they/them pronouns, are working class, upper class, are Black female engineers and medics. If I was writing a strapline for it, it would be A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet meets Bong Joon Ho’s Snowpiercer written by a Black non-binary person. Solomons has a new novel publishing in 2021 and I’ll be front of the queue. 

An Unkindness of Ghosts is published by Akashic Books. The copy I read was my own purchase. 

It Takes Blood and Guts – Skin with Lucy O’Brien #DiverseDecember #10

It’s like I carry the weight of every black female-fronted band on my shoulders – if I mess up, they’re not letting anyone else in.

In the 90s, Skunk Anansie became one of the biggest rock bands in the world. Fronted by Skin, a queer Black British woman with a shaven head and a powerful voice, they stood out amongst the legions of Britpop acts and US grunge bands. In It Takes Blood and Guts, Skin covers the Brixton childhood, with three brothers and a largely absent father, that formed her. Her sexuality, her politics, her interest in art, music and fashion are all discussed in depth. How these shaped the band along with insights into what it’s like to tour the world, including the impact it has on wellbeing, relationships and friendships; the difference having a female manager makes, and the way the industry works creates an engaging and fascinating portrait of a pioneer. 

It Takes Blood and Guts is published by Simon & Schuster. The copy I read was my own purchase.

Seduce – Désirée Reynolds #DiverseDecember #8

Black women carry di worl between we legs an pan we shoulder, carry it an carry it.

On Church Island, a small mythical place in the Caribbean, Seduce is dead and mourners gather. Seduce was a complex woman. Her job as a Lampis – the women who cooked and served fish on the docks but made most of their money through sex work – set her at odds with many in the community. Religious, upstanding Hyacinth says Seduce was responsible for her husband leaving. Seduce’s daughter, Glory, wants to protect her in death but had a difficult relationship with her in life. Mikey, Seduce’s lover is devastated and defends her. 

The island is poised at a point of change. Tensions are evident in religious practises, the role of the island’s colonisers and the treatment of women. As secrets are revealed, the hypocrisy at the heart of the island’s people is exposed.

A polyphonic novel, each character – including Seduce – is given a chance to tell their part of the story. Reynolds creates a distinct voice for each person using the accent(s) and dialect of the island. It creates a lyrical tale in the oral tradition; at points it feels akin to a play. Seduce is an absorbing tale that questions the social, political and religious constructs that a society is built from and the consequences for those within it, whether or not they choose to play by the rules.

Seduce is published by Peepal Tree Press. The copy I read is my own purchase.