‘Young Mungo’ by Douglas Stuart | Book Review

‘Fifteen years he had lived and breathed in Scotland, and he had never seen a glen, a loch, a forest, or a ruined castle.’

After reading Shuggie Bain, ‘Young Mungo’ felt like we were returning to the same housing estate and doing a tour around the flats to get cosy with the neighbours. We still have the alcoholic single mother and the three neglected siblings, Mungo being the youngest.

In saying that, after reading Shuggie Bain, I did instantly crave a follow-up with a teenage Shuggie. I’m not saying Mungo and Shuggie are one in the same character but it really feels that way.

‘Young Mungo’ also felt less linear than Shuggie Bain, and initially the time-hopping was a little disorientating and I questioned its purpose. We are taken back and forth between the ‘now’ and a camping trip Mungo is forced into with two creepy guys from AA, but it does all tie up in the end.

These are very teeny tiny squidgy little question marks that are buffered out of the way by the beautiful writing, the sense of place, the big fully rounded heart-breaking characters. This did not disappoint, though it is hard not to compare the two novels. On that note I would say that if you enjoyed ‘Shuggie Bain’ then chances are you will also enjoy Young Mungo, but it’s worth being cautious of the fact that ‘Young Mungo’ definitely treads a darker path; it is rife with violence and sexual assault.

There is still a humour to how people go on, their sayings and curses and philosophies on life. I found it interesting that Mungo’s violent brother Hamish is known as HaHa, and his dutiful oppressed sister has a nervous laughter that erupts even in tragedy.

Looking back, there was imagery of water and being submerged and things surfacing that we try to hide – for instance Mungo has a tick that makes his face twitch, so his emotions can be read no matter how hard he tries to mask them, his brother has to act tough, a leader, aggressive, but when he breaks out of that role, there is a softness hidden below.

‘None of the men could tell ye how they really felt, because if they did, they would weep, and this fuckin’ city is damp enough.‘

Mungo grapples with the weighty pressure of ‘being a man’ and what that means, the confusion around his emerging sexuality, whether he is readable to others, the danger that put him in, and then his blossoming relationship with a Catholic boy, James.

James Jamieson is like a glittering gem of innocence amidst the injustice and concrete. I enjoyed their relationship so so much, especially how Mungo becomes more comical and expressive in James’ company, no longer just defined by his role within his family. We see his true self emerge, and he has strength and empathy in equal measure. I could happily read a book just about these two, where they run off to the wilderness to forge a life together, playfight in the long grass, eat chips by the sea.

This novel definitely picks up speed from about half way, like you’ve climbed a hill and are rolling down towards a load of broken glass. You basically know (or presume) going in, that there can be no happiness in this world, only the fleeting sort like Mungo’s mum feels after a drink. But you can’t stop tumbling towards it all.

What really shone through for me was the way people (tried to) look after one another, the little gestures, the unconditional love. Nothing could ever stomp that down completely.

‘Paul’ by Daisy Lafarge | Book Review

‘I feel perfectly blank. Formless except for the shape I can make by curling around others’

I’ll start by saying I hated Paul – the character, not the book! I see Paul in so many interactions where I’ve been defined, objectified, spoken over, down to, or for.

‘Paul’ tells the story of young graduate Frances, who volunteers at a communal farm in the Pyrenees. The owner, Paul, is an older man, a seasoned traveller and anthropologist, in love with his own self-importance.

We know that Frances seems to be running away from a previous relationship with her lecturer, who she refers to as AB. But we are left hazy on the details until further on.

This book reads like a sunny day with an undercurrent of threat. We see the subtleties of gaslighting and manipulation, we see Frances lose her own voice to be defined by the men in her life.

At her next farm stay, further up the mountains, she meets a gay hippy lady who makes pottery. They walk and talk and she comments on Frances’ pliability. It becomes apparent that Frances seems to be quiet and conflict-avoidant, out of tune with her own needs. Of course this is all very convenient for Paul.

When she returns to him the following week, there are an increasing number of red flags, especially as Frances builds a clearer picture of his past through meeting his friends. Although the power dynamics in their relationship are subtle at first they become more visible. Frances is reduced to a voiceless receptacle and ego-boost at his side, his pet name for her being the French word for ‘little girl’. Paul is so completely out of sync and oblivious to her identity, and Frances in turn begins to feel she has no identity beyond his needs. ‘It’s as if Paul’s voice has muted the entire world’.

Frances becomes a character within his story rather than her own. We observe a disconnect between her interior and exterior, containing her discomfort but catching herself smiling. This really spoke to me and I do think that women are trained to be polite at all costs, and also out of survival instinct, divorced from our own authentic voice. I thought this was so well executed as we weren’t handed this on a plate, we see him slowly usurp her spirit and expression over time.

This is a slow dreamy warm read, like we’ve been mellowed by the heat. You can’t help but be entranced by the setting, as is Frances, whilst also squirming in the presence of Paul. We drift along quite slowly, as if we’re on a winding path in the altitudes, in a beautiful danger.

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Owls, shadows, lost wisdom. (A handful of favourites this year so far …)

“I prefer to speak in metaphor: That way, no logic can trap me, and no rule can bind me, and no fact can limit me or decide for me what’s possible” – Claire Oshetsky

I’m not sure what is is about women’s fiction where we see a real raw tug from the natural and instinctive, where a woman develops animalistic qualities, a fox, a dog, an owl. But this is something I would like to dive in to further.

It makes me think of Lars Von Trier’s ‘Antichrist’ where the female protagonist goes crazy-wild in the forest, visited by three messengers – a deer, a fox , and a crow. It also makes me think of what I’ve read about ancient goddess worship, the magical belly that is the ‘cauldron’, the mysterious link to nature and the moon.

In this vein, ‘Chouette’ by Claire Oshetsky was a real seeping out of dark nature and instinct, it felt like night-time, all shadowy and unconscious. I have a love of owls anyway, but I think what spoke to me about this book was the exploration of feeling somehow ‘other’ or outside, fundamentally unacceptable for simply being. The plot follows a woman who then gives birth to an owl who she loves unconditionally, but who makes others extremely uncomfortable.

I like that this book resisted a concrete interpretation, there was something loose and ungraspable about it, exactly how things are in the dark.

“In my mind are all the tides, their seasons, their ebbs and their flows”

‘Piranesi’ by Susanna Clarke is another book which uses metaphor and is open to interpretation. Set somewhere that isn’t earth, perhaps isn’t even strictly physical, we follow our protagonist as he tries to piece together the mystery of his existence and of the grand house he occupies.

For me it brought to life Plato’s world of ‘forms’. For Plato, there is a non-physical world that exists, and it contains the perfect idea (or the essence) of every physical object we see in our own world. The perfect chair, the perfect circle. Our world by contrast is full of imperfect copies. We can never draw an absolutely perfect circle. Plato believed that the world of forms is the place of pure knowledge, that you can only access via an internal journal, through the mind. Once you have visited this world, you will attain a kind of wisdom, but it will make you appear clumsy and foolish to others. This really came to mind when I thought of Piranesi, a lost soul, one step removed from the ‘real’ world.

I really enjoyed Piranesi, for something so metaphysical and out-there, the plot didn’t fail to grip either. It was a mystery, an adventure, and it really gets your adrenaline going near the end.

If, like me, you’re drawn to Arthurian fiction (I’m still trying to find a more less problematic ‘Mists of Avalon’), or historical fiction that explores pre-christian eras and other spiritual practices, then you might enjoy Signe Pike’s ‘Lost Queen’ series set in 6th century Scotland. I read ‘The Lost Queen’ last year, and ‘The Forgotten Kingdom this year and I felt so immersed in a mindset where nature and ‘wisdom-keepers’ or druids were valued. This series follows brother and sister Lailoken and Languoreth as they fight for the ‘old ways’ in whatever capacity they are able, Languoreth in her arranged marriage, and Lailoken as a wisdom keeper (possibly ‘Merlin’).

These are my stand out books so far this year, with a nod to ‘Sea of Tranquillity’ by Emily St. John Mandel (full review). I’d say that so far I’ve read some consistently good 3 and 4 stars books but I would definitely like to have some more five star experiences before the end of the year!

‘Sea of Tranquility’ by Emily St.John Mandel

‘The world is my representation’ – Schopenhauer

How do you feel about looking up at the sky? For me, when it’s clear and blue, it makes me feel a little uncomfortable, a sort of vertigo. I much prefer it to be overcast because then I feel enclosed as if there’s a ceiling, and I’m not going to just float away.

These feelings about the sky were drawn out of me reading this book, with its domed cities and moon colonies of the future. If you lived on the moon, would you prefer to look up at a simulation of a blue sky that mimic’s earth’s atmosphere, or would you be able to handle a constant view of the stars?

‘Sea of Tranquillity’ is set in a few different time lines, both past, present and far into the future. The characterisation is excellent but I don’t think I’m able to give much away about them without giving spoilers about the plot so, this is all you need to know. It’s all I knew when I went in to the book.

Aside from the habit of looking up at the sky now and then on my dog walks to check if the sky is ‘still working’ or is in fact a flickering simulation, I came away from this book knowing just how important it is to be able to explore big ideas but keep the tone tender, human. That’s just what it did, and as someone who wants to push their imagination but is a little daunted by the sci-fi genre, I really appreciated that.

The question of whether reality is a simulation is a theme in this novel, but it leads to a further question, if reality was a simulation would anything change, would you live any differently? And I think that’s the same point we come to in Philosophy when with the sceptics who question what we can know about the world. There is you, a mind, there is a world outside of you, but how do you check? How do you know your perceptions of it are accurate? How do you know it’s even there? Is it out very perception that creates reality? Is reality in our mind? The world is our representation. But ultimately, we have to just get on with things and believe in it all otherwise they simply wouldn’t function. I’m crossing the road, does that bus coming towards me really exist? …

One of the characters in ‘ Sea of Tranquility’ is a novelist on a book tour and she asks herself questions about how to best portray reality through fiction, does she have to deviate from reality just to make something more convincing? What’s interesting is that the book she writes does seem to preempt the future, which again shows someone as the creator of their reality in a sense.

I don’t think you have to have these particular ideas in mind as you read this novel either, the visuals and the characterisation are just stunning. This is just what it brought up in me. And I wonder if, as a reread, it would bring up different things each time. It feels like one of those photos within a photo within a photo etc etc etc

Thanks for reading.

‘Hysteria’ by Jessica Gross

Of course I was going to read a book centered around a protagonist who believes her bartender is Sigmund Freud! Also the title ‘Hysteria’ was a tell tale sign that this little novella was going to explore something of how women’s mental health is portrayed, or carries a loaded history of stigmatization and control.

The protagonist remains nameless, a teacher in her mid-twenties who engages in self-destructive behaviour outside of the classroom. Jessica Gross paints an uncomfortable picture of her alcohol-induced sexual encounters, which are often unfulfilling or generally awkward. Not to mentioned the strained parental relationships, and the constant worry her friends or house mate will discover her secrets.

Narrated in first person, this novel feels so up close and personal it’s like we’re peaking into someone’s diary. I think it would also be fair to say that reading these very explicit experiences, may be akin to what a therapist feels when they hear the honest details of someone’s life. We are giving nothing of ourselves whilst receiving another’s story, perhaps attempting to unearth patterns and trace her pain back to childhood.

‘Hysteria’ of course refers to the antiquated (and offensive) term once used to describe women’s mental health issues, initially stemming from the idea that the womb wandered around the body. Particularly in the 19th century the term was dangerous in encompassing any traits or ‘symptoms’ that stepped outside of the typical gender norms of the time. Often thought to be linked to sexual frustration, the treatment could involve the use of vibrators, or a forced hysterectomy, but it was also a very convenient diagnosis to get a troublesome woman put away in an asylum.

In ‘Hysteria’, the protagonist is certainly suffering from mental health issues. There are red flags in her dysfunctional behaviour and inconsistent relationships, and from the outside she may appear to be hyper sexual.

Coincidentally, (though Freud argued that there are no such things as coincidences), our narrator’s parents are both therapists by profession. However, they subscribe to a different approach and see Psychoanalysis as ‘old hat’.  

Whilst it is popular to ridicule Freud nowadays, it was Freud who came up with the very concept of there being unconscious drives ie an inaccessible part of ourselves that may work behind the scenes. His famous metaphor is that of an iceberg, illustrating that the conscious part of our self is like the ‘tip’ of the iceberg, whilst so much more remains hidden below.

The things that stay hidden usually do so because they are uncomfortable to face – they could be traits we dislike in ourselves, or memories that cause us shame or anxiety. In ‘Hysteria’, the narrator is often overcome with feelings of shame. “Shame engulfed me; I was reeking of it, as if I’d soiled myself […] I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear.”

Psychotherapy then, the approach practiced by Freud in ‘Hysteria’ is about allowing certain buried aspects to surface. Freud instructs the protagonist to lie on a settee, places his hands on her forehead and guides her through ‘free association’ in which she speaks freely and uninhibited about anything that came to mind. In this way, traumatic memories of denied intimacy with her parents came to the surface. I thought it was impressive to witness this journey and the resistance involved along the way.

If you like to read about flawed characters who make messy decisions this would be for you. Equally, if you like that blend of sexually explicit meets analytical. This is a small book but there is so much packed in there to make you think – it says a lot about familial relationships, childhood, healing, and trauma.

Burrowing in the dark. Pandemic reads 2021 thus far.

Know My Name – Chanel Miller | ★★★★★

The first thing I need to say is: I will miss her. Chanel’s voice is powerful, poetic, comforting, honest.

This memoir is about Chanel’s experience of being sexually assaulted by Broc Turner, whilst attending a frat party with her little sister. Spoken word poet and exceptional writer, Chanel details her experience of the justice system – the hypocrisy, feeling re-victimized, the revelation that she – as a victim- was the one on trial, the way newspapers included Broc’s swimming times and other credentials in articles about the assault.

This book shines a light on the way culture supports the perpetrator and questions the victim. She gives us a beautifully raw insight in to the nature of trauma and how everyone around her was affected by the incident.

She is warm and strong, she is encouraging through being honest rather than dressing anything up in a positive spin . Chanel knows that although this is hard-hitting and triggering material, victims will empathize with pain rather than platitudes. She says “This book does not have a happy ending. The happy part is there is no ending, because I’ll always find a way to keep going.” I can’t recommend this highly enough.

The Sight of You – Holly Miller | ★★★★

This was a little out of my comfort zone in a way because I’m used to DARK relationships, tense dynamics, drama, conflict. But this in fact was very close to romance.

There was … wait for it… a healthy loving relationship at the center of the story. I read this novel between Christmas and New Year, that snug timeless time and it felt right to read something where everyone is nice.

And I mean, EVERYONE is a genuinely NICE human being in this book. I wanted to be cynical, I tried to be, but I found I was soothed by it. Half wishing the world was that way, half believing that, it truly is. Either way, it was a world I was happy to return to!

The thing is though, I also found that the conversations all flowed perfectly, banter just rolled off the tongue with ease, people said the right things – eventually – and I didn’t quite buy all of that. Sometimes things are awkward and people make mistakes and people who are hurting hurt one another. This was like ‘Friends’ in that sense, fairly mellow.

ANYWAY, ‘The Sight of You’ tells the story of Callie and Joel (with alternating chapters in first person from each perspective), and their budding romance. Joel has prophetic dreams (both good and bad) about the people he loves and, after foreseeing a girlfriend cheating on him, has sworn off love. Callie, who he meets in a coffee shop, gradually gets him to drop his guard.

I enjoyed the nature theme to this book; Callie is interested in birds and works at a nature reserve, and both of them are dog-lovers. I had mixed feelings about the nature descriptions, sometimes feeling happily immersed but other times feeling it was overly romanticized and with too many mentions of how beautiful the stars were.

The interchanging chapters from Joel and Callie worked well. I warmed to both of them equally and really inhabited their perspective. I did thoroughly enjoy this book despite the occasional tiny moment of cringe; it was utterly readable and lovely.

Shuggie Bain – Douglas Stuart| ★★★★★

Woooah. Woah there. This was so good. So very good. I don’t know where to begin in piecing together a review after that utterly immersive experience.

The prose is fantastic, the dialogue and the Glaswegian slang is crude and hilarious.

Working class, queer and Scottish voices are not just given representation here, but literally living and breathing in the room with you. I felt like an extra member of their family, like I lived in their home, their world.

Set in Glasgow in the 80s and 90s, suffering the impact of Margaret Thatcher and the rise of poverty, we follow the tale of Shuggie, youngest sibling in the Bain household. Shuggie is the one with the most faith in his alcoholic mother Agnes, doting on her, and holding out hope to the end that she will get better.

Bullied and isolated for being ‘a wee puffy bastard’, we see Shuggie cope with the loss of all his family members as one by one, as they put distance between themselves and his mother. Whittled down to a co-dependent nightmare, Shuggie is neglected, left to go hungry, and witnesses levels of depravity no child should to see. Not only that but he is different to other boys – he prefers girl’s toys, he dresses smart, walks differently, talks eloquently. He doesn’t understand why he’s different and is simply wishes that both he and his mum could finally be like ‘normal’ people.

This will right be up your street if you were a fan of ‘Shameless,’ or like Ken Loach films. (In fact, I heard that Ken Loach sent Douglas Stuart a fan letter after reading his book). I love Shuggie, and I want a follow up because I’m not ready to let him go just yet. This book will always be very special to me.

The Push – Ashley Audrain| ★★★★

Finally, I recently finished this fabulous thriller by Ashley Audrain. This gave me ‘The Orphan’ vibes, as it follows the disconcerting behaviour of Blythe’s daughter Violet.

I found the characters to be insightful and psychologically complex. I enjoyed the mother-daughter tension as Violet grows up, but I also don’t want to give anything away as this is best gone into blind, to enjoy the mystery.

Blythe is alone in suspecting there is something wrong with her child, and we feel her despair as events continue to unfold around her. Striving to be the perfect mother to impress her partner and his family, whilst coming from a history of toxic mother-daughter relationships herself, Blythe is pretty powerless to tackle Violet’s behaviour head on.

There were moments where this book went back and forth in my estimations; I occasionally felt I wasn’t learning anything profound or gaining any new insights in to human nature but I was still thoroughly entertained, Blythe was very real to me, and it was riveting portrayal of a darker side of motherhood.

All in all I feel I’m getting much better at selecting the types of reads I’ll enjoy. Dark, psychological, a focus on family dynamics, a hint of something philosophic or thought-provoking. I have high hopes for reading this year but here’s a peep at the 20 TBR pile I set off with.

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Recent reads and heading into Autumn

After a string of ‘bad’ books (ie books I didn’t lose myself in), I’ve had some exceptional reads and I think I’m starting to make better choices, in life and in books. Ooh deep! There’s been a lot to handle during this pandemic: impending job loss, actual job loss, my fiance back in her home country and not knowing when we’ll see each other again. But day-to-day I’ve found structure with reading, working on my novel, and exercise, can you believe it! I’ve been following some amazing booktubers (I may do a booktube recommendation post in the future) and I’ve read so much more this year which has in turn impacted positively on my helped my writing. On to the books …

Well, after being disappointed by ‘Crudo’ by Olivia Laing, I picked up another book which you could say has some themes in common. ‘Fire Sermon’ explores also relationship dynamics, attachment, fidelity, regret. The protagonist, Maggie, is devoutly religious and has been married for 22 years but she finds a connection with another man. There’s a dual timeline, dipping back and forth throughout the protagonist’s history, as well as mixed media – showing letters between herself and her lover as well as counselling sessions. These are all solid indicators this should have be a ‘me’ book. I mean, it’s both analytical and centres around a forbidden love! But nope. I didn’t gel with it on an emotional level and ended up ditching it.

The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell was another miss for me. I picked this up when I was pet-sitting for a friend, and she had shelves full of books. This drew me in immediately with the Gothic atmosphere; Victorian era, misty countryside, a creepy old house. It felt like I was dipping my toe in to a bit Sarah Waters (that was my attempt at a joke), eg ‘Fingersmith’. The asylum setting with a question mark over whether the protagonist was really a murderess, also reminded me of Margaret Atwood’s ‘Alias Grace’. But, save yourself the trouble and read those

However, once the atmosphere was set, to me everything drove on towards resolving the mystery, which centered around these (not at all scary) wooden figures that moved around the house causing menace.

The characters were one dimensional. I wasn’t really rooting for anyone and couldn’t distinguish them apart much anyway. I read on to discover what happened, but the conclusion was vague and unsatisfying. I’m still not entirely sure what it meant and I’m waiting on my friend to read it too so I can get her perspective. I’m confused by the high ratings this book received and would suggest picking up ‘Alias Grace’ or a Sarah Waters book instead.

ON TO THE GOOD STUFF

Ah, ‘Boy Parts’ by Eliza Clark. So refreshing. This is the book to pick up if you haven’t been reading and want to be taken away in a mega whirlwind of weird! I’ve written a full post on this from a philosophical angle, but I want to say here how much I enjoyed it. First of all, the protagonist, Irina, has a northern voice, full of the gritty (yet charming!) attitude of the north. Brilliant. I don’t often laugh (or cry) when I’m reading but I genuinely had emotions with this book, mostly laughter despite how dark it is.

Irina is a photographer who reverses the male gaze, objectifying men in her photographs, dressing them in women’s clothing and fetish gear. Narcissistic and plain rude, I truly felt for some of the characters who were collateral damage in her career trajectory. It’s hard to even summarise this book, it’s unique and fearless, there are many references to film and literature, to class and gender norms. It’s witty and dry and horrific. Lots of drink, drugs, sex. My only question mark over this book comes from a slushy part of me who wants to see Irina drop her guard, and *feel* things. I basically want a sequel where she’s in therapy and we get to learn what attachment style she has!

So, also whilst pet-sitting I found my friend’s Flowers in the Attic series by Virginia Andrews. I’d been curious before, and saw the film a while back, but wanted to sample her writing style. I opened a couple of books at random points and they engaged me immediately. I mean, yes, they were melodramatic, but I loved the emotion, the focus on relationships and family dynamics. It felt personal in the way I’d been missing. ‘Flowers in the Attic’ is inspired by a true story, of a mother who takes her four children to reside in her parents’ mansion; she keeps them locked away in a room, waiting for her sickly father to pass so she can inherit his money. Many many secrets surface. Trigger warnings for abuse and incest which make it a problematic book, but still a surprising 5 star read for me.

Yesterday I finished ‘The Lost Queen’ by Signe Pike. The whole pandemic nightmare has definitely shifted my reading preferences. Aside from reading more, I’ve also been dipping back into fantasy and historical fiction. If you enjoyed ‘The Mists of Avalon’ and crave a pre-Christian era, or witchy/nature vibes, this is definitely the book. Thoroughly researched, it tells the coming of age story of Languoreth, twin sister to Lailoken, who is speculated to be Merlin. There’s a passionate love story involving the warrior, Pendragon, and the struggle Languoreth then faces when she is promised to another king. There’s also an excellent section at the back giving historical insights and sources, which I loved. I can’t wait for the next in this series, which I think is out soon (if now now).

Thanks for reading. 😉

A handful of books on mental health including C-PTSD and DID

I recently read a ‘Toxic Childhood Stress’ to review for Netgalley, so I thought along side this review I’d include a selection of other mental health books I’d recommend. I’m all about the impact of childhood on adulthood.

I’ve taught Psychology and studied counselling, and am always trying to gain new insights into mental health broadly, as well as my own. I’m fascinated by the very nature of a client-therapist relationship, the set up of a counselling space, the way interaction is so very different from say friendship or advice, and how the relationship itself can become charged or express underlying issues with attachment.

I’m also interested in how mental health is portrayed in the media. So below are a few selected books Iwanted to talk about, not an extensive list (there are others I could add!)

Toxic Childhood Stress by Dr Nadine Burke Harris

I’d say it depends what you want from a book of this nature, as its focus isn’t to offer practical guidance for an individual on their journey to overcoming trauma. Instead it breaks down the science of Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) and looks at it more as a wider societal issue.

I tend to read around topics of anxiety and trauma from a self-help perspective, and what I’ve found is that they’re often gentle in tone, in consideration of the audience, and what pace you may need to go at.

Toxic Childhood Stress, although more informative that self-help, was still warm in tone, interspersed with anecdotes, autobiographical sections and case studies. It begins with a case presented to Dr Nadine – a boy named Diego, whose physical growth has been stunted due to experiencing abuse. This prompts Nadine to explore further into the connection between ACEs and long-term physical health.

The science in this book is completely accessible and conversational. I found myself wanting to note take, I was introduced to new terminology but also a new perspective of mental health; Nadine urges us to think on the fact that ACE’s could be mitigated, and the ramifications of this are enormous. This book isn’t simply about explaining the science – which is does impeccably – but about appealing to us to try and transform the world. There is also a brilliant forward by Kerry Hudson (author of ‘Lowborn’) in which she commends the book. I also came away with a point she made – that it is not the symptoms of toxic stress that are necessarily the issue, but not knowing that they are symptoms.

Love’s Executioner by Irvin Yalom

This is an intriguing fly-on-the-wall insight into the world of therapy, with ten individual cases depicted in dialogue form. If you’re a fan of the HBO series ‘In Treatment’ with Gabriel Byrne, then this is like a readable true version. We get to know each client, the relationships Irvin forms with them, the truths they reveal step by step, the defenses, the evasion.

With each chapter being a different client, you can dip in and out depending on what happens to interest you, or which clients resonate with you.

It is a problematic book in that you’ll probably feel uneasy about the judgments Irvin makes. I closed the book at a part where he was internally fat shaming a female client. In saying that, I still found this book fascinating because it’s a very honest portrayal of the exchange between client and therapist, there’s something about that set-up that I find endlessly fascinating.  

Complex C-ptsd: From Surviving to Thriving by Pete Walker

Please read this! To me, this book evokes such a warm feeling, it’s like a book-cuddle. It’s a gentle mentor leading you through the information from a place of empathy. Pete has a wealth of knowledge and experience grained through treating people with childhood trauma, as well personal experience to draw on as a survivor himself. I go back to this book time and time again.

I love the title, because I think it shows that although you can become very good at surviving, this doesn’t mean it should be your standard. Pete provides practical strategies to help you deal with trauma, including how to ground. There’s a brilliant list which I refer to if ever I’m triggered.

I would highly recommend this to anyone who suffers from dissociation or has triggers or is close to someone who does.There’s also excerpts and other free resources available on his website: http://pete-walker.com/

The Dissociative Identity Disorder Source book by Deborah Bray Haddock

This is an incredibly well researched book on such a controversial and heavily stigmatised disorder.

Dissociative Identity Disorder (previously – and still falsely – known as multiple personality disorder) has fascinated me for some time. DID is a mental health condition caused by traumatic events during childhood. It is thought that when we are very young we have different states of being that eventually unify to form a cohesive identity, and that DID is caused by a disruption to this unification process, resulting in a self that is fragmented in to at least two alternate personalities or ‘alters’.

This disorder tends to be portrayed negatively and inaccurately in the media, through depictions of DID in horror films where there’s always an ‘evil’ or aggressive alter. DID is as common as Bipolar and Schizophrenia yet so deeply misunderstood, and I think for that reason it’s essential to get a good grounding in what it really entails. This book is loaded with information but in a way that introduces you if you have no prior knowledge – it explains the different roles alters may have, and addresses misconceptions.

While I’m here I’d like to recommend two excellent YouTube bloggers who talk about their own experience of DID, and work hard increase awareness and fight stigma. They introduce you to their different alters, share what it’s like to experience amnesia or to have alters of a different gender, discuss their diagnosis and journey, as well as problematic media representation. Both are insightful, well-researched and incredibly articulate:

• Multiplicity and Me
• The Entropy System

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Wear my painted face like a mummy case: some thoughts on objectification in Eliza Clarke’s ‘Boy Parts’

Meet the Northerner, toughie and beauty that is Irina. She looks like Pricilla Presley, has a mean streak, a sharp tongue, and she takes kinky photos of men in which they are submissive and feminized.

So down we fall – very willingly – down down down her rabbit hole of drug-induced mayhem, vomit and bleeding nipples. It’s a really grotty rabbit-hole, a bit like the loo scene in Train Spotting. I’m also smiling as I type that this book is utterly Northern, in the same way that my Southern friends tell me my compliments sound more like an insult. You will probably come away insulted. (I’ll get over the septum ring comment).

Irina is unapologetically rude and judgemental to all who orbit or crush on her, and she takes pleasure in torturing people socially like a game of cat and mouse. Whilst there’s no justification ‘like, morally’ for her treatment of others, it’s also clear that everyone in Irina’s life has some sort of an agenda. Her mother verbally obliterates her in every exchange like a jealous Snow-White-Stepmother. Various men exploit her sexually, ignore her wishes or lack of consent, never mind the amount of tit-leering she endures whilst she’s just trying to get on with her life. Her friends turn her into an idea in various ways, wanting to show her off, gain status or possess her; some even act out when this illusion is shattered.

For Irina, it’s like all social interaction is a power battle, from which she tries to come out on top (insert sexual sadist joke here). There are many forms of objectification she experiences; they simply aren’t as visible or honest as her sexualization of men from behind a lens. But – to bring in Existentialism here – we are all observing the world from behind our own lens, objectifying everything and everyone our eyes meet.  This is Sartre’s view of human relationships.

For Sartre, we gaze out at the world, at others, creating it, interpreting it, constructing it. When we’re in the presence of someone else though, we are forced to acknowledge that they are equally constructing us. That’s uncomfortable and can make us feel self-conscious, even embarrassed or ashamed. These aren’t feelings we’d have if we were on our own, he says. We squirm under another’s gaze. Look at the various reactions from Irina’s models.

It’s that we can’t completely know or control the way we’re being seen. We can give it a good go and try to influence it – in fact we go to great lengths to create an idea of ourselves for others, a way of being seen. Think of any social media profile. Sometimes the way we’re seen by others can give us a heightened sense of identity, as with Irina’s Instagram account and her doting followers. Note how she deletes the comments that threaten this image. Others can be our mirror, but we want to like the reflection.

Sartre makes the bleak point that all relationships end up reduced to sadomasochistic power battles. We can resist the other’s judgements and fight back with our own, or we willingly beautify and objectify ourselves so we can like what we see in their eyes. I feel like Irina does both. She’s highly critical of others but equally she shapeshifts, wearing pink frilly things to soften herself, or pretend-crying.

Some other images and ideas that came to mind as I read on are from a poem by Sylvia Plath called ‘In Plaster’. Plath uses the image of her body contained within a white plaster cast at hospital to describe a divided self – the true core of her hidden inside a hard shell. The outer self is perfect, clean, beautiful. The inner self, she names ‘old yellow’ and describes as ugly and hairy, but where the true genius comes from.

It’s clear that Irina has a real guard, and you don’t have sharp hedgehog prickles unless there’s a soft underbelly somewhere. We see these little leakages of dorky teenager, or someone who used to care before it all turned to stony indifference. She’s disarmed on a taxi ride to a party, it’s revealed that she was a self-harming teen, obsessed with Lord of the Rings.

Sylvia Plath’s poem reminds me of Irina in how they both wear this impenetrable, unbreakable ‘plaster cast’. Irina describes herself as concrete that’s gone hard. Much of this is tied up with physical appearance. The time Irina goes out without makeup, travelling to her tutor’s photo-shoot, she feels childlike and uncomfortable. She often stares into mirrors, saying ‘there she is’, even kissing her reflection. Equally, Plath describes her own appearance as a separate person almost painted over with makeup: ‘She could cover my mouth and eyes, cover me entirely/ And wear my painted face the way a mummy-case/ Wears the face of a pharaoh.’

Plath’s poem concludes with a fight for the right to exist. A plaster cast is there to hold you in place while you heal, but it has outserved its purpose. The outer shell has started to snuff her out, entomb her. You could argue that the darker, chaotic elements of Irina’s character that surface near the end are in fact the equivalent of ‘old yellow’ finally breaking free of her shell, but I’m really not sure. Which one won, outer or inner self?

Thanks for reading, and here’s some further reading if you want to explore deeper:

• ‘Advice on Love from Nietzsche and Sartre’ (The Paris Review)
• ‘In Plaster’ by Sylva Plath
• ‘The Silent Woman’ by Janet Malcolm
• ‘Being and Nothingness’ by John Paul Sartre

And finally, in honour of Irina, here’s a bad photo of my disgruntled Collie balancing ‘Boy Parts’ on his head.

Non-Conformists| July Reviews

The Great Alone – Kristin Hannah | ★★★

I’m new to Kristen Hannah and I’m aware this isn’t everyone’s favourite book of hers. I was drawn in by the plot though, I’m always there for families with alternative values, people living on the outside of society or going off-grid.

In The Great Alone, the Allbright family are trying to find a sense of ‘home’ but they’re trying to outrun their own issues. They move to Alaska and attempt to fit in to the community and way of life there, which is all about survival. They’re warned that ‘in Alaska you can make one mistake. The second mistake will kill you.’ It becomes evident though, that the main threat comes from inside the home rather than the harsh environment.

I related from the offset to Leni – a thirteen year old girl with restless parents who likes Lord of the Rings. Her father, Ernt, suffers from PTSD and her mother, Cora, is utterly devoted and somewhat consumed by their toxic relationship. Leni’s perspective, despite being so young, is pretty grounding in comparison.

The first half of the book really had me; I was enjoying seeing the family adapt and survive, to hunt for food to last them through the Winter and a slow burn friendship / love-interest which unfolded for Leni.

But then it seemed to gather too much momentum like … (excuse the analogy) an avalanche. Ernt suddenly turns from complicated guy to all out abusive prick. There’s a series of tragedies that happened so fast I didn’t really ‘feel’ them. I felt manipulated by plot turns and occasional slushy-ness and missed the pace and intrigue it had started off with. I would literally chop this book in half and just keep the first half.

The perfect soundtrack for this would be Eddie Veder’s ‘Into the Wild’ for obvious reasons. A follow on book if you enjoyed this would be ‘White Oleander’ by Janet Fitch, which also follows a strong young girl untangling herself from parental influence.

Earthlings – Sayaka Murata | ★★★★

All I could hear while I was reading this was Patti Smith singing in my ear ‘Outside of society, that’s where I want to be’. This book is in turns funny and deeply disturbing. It managed to contain every taboo under the sun and still be hilarious. In all seriousness though, trigger warnings for child abuse, violence, incest and cannibalism.

In Earthlings we follow the story of Natsuki, first as a lonely misfit child and then later as an adult making her way in the world. As a child she isn’t close to her family; her mother is verbally abusive and gives preferential treatment to her younger sister instead. Her real solace is visiting her cousin Yuu, and they form a close bond as children, even reenacting a marriage ceremony.

Natsuki is painfully naive which of course makes the hardships she endures all the more shocking, particularly when her school teacher abuses her. Perhaps as an act of wilful escapism she comes to believe she has been granted magical powers by a hedgehog teddy she bought from a bargain bin. These magical abilities are how she explains dissociative states where she floats out of her body or loses memory due to trauma.

When she confides in Yuu about her magic powers, Yuu admits in return that he believes he is an alien. This is really the seed for a way of equating feelings of alienation with a belief that they are genuinely aliens from another planet.

As quirky as it is, it’s also a critique of capitalism, sexism and gender roles. Natsuki compares society to a factory, viewing education and parenting as tools to brainwash people in to becoming obedient workers, and to coerce women into becoming manufacturers of babies. She deals with the pressure and repercussions of not living up to her role as a woman in society and ditching the whole template in order to find liberation.

Crudo – Olivia Laing | ★★★.5

Where to start in piecing this one together?! I sometimes loved this and other times it was a slog. Sometimes I was like this is so me and other times I just thought please shut up!
I was pleasantly surprised to be reading from the perspective of punk writer Kathy Acker, as I’d read ‘Blood and Guts in Highschool‘ way back.

Although Kathy Acker passed away in ’97, this is set in real time, so Brexit and Trump are also mentioned but from the imagined perspective of Kathy. It felt in part like reading someone’s journal or being talked at for hours on a train journey by a really intelligent but jaded woman.

Marriage and the apocalypse coincide, seemingly representative of one another. There are some great reflections on relationships and attachment, on being able to open yourself up to giving and receiving love. She expresses the fear of losing independence and simultaneously the yearning for some sense of permanence, which which comes through when she talks about how she loves getting tattoos because they stay forever.

The use of language was exceptional, and it had a real rhythm to it. I was lifted up on these waves from time to time, with a hard-hitting insight here, a line of poetry there. But it was more like a choppy sea for me of:- great – boring – what? – don’t get it – wow – lost – beautiful – couldn’t care less. Overall I’d struggle to say I really enjoyed reading this at all, or that I’d remember many of the details, though do I admire it.

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