December Reads
Womanhood, deception and the second generation migration experience
Welcome to Martha’s Monthly, December edition. And Happy New Year to all 212 of you!!! I hope you all had a wonderful December, whether you celebrated Christmas or not.
December was not as fruitful as I hoped it would be for reading. And this was not because I was busy being festive for my birthday or Christmas. No, it was because I caught covid. So for 2 ½ weeks I felt absolutely awful and could not pick up a book. So that was shit. Obviously. Nevertheless I loved *almost* every book I read last month, ending the reading year on a high! It included lots of beautiful literary fiction, a wonderful collection of Indigenous short stories, my first translated book from Finnish and some mystery and crime which are not my usual reading genres.
So here are my December reads in my buy, borrow and bust format. For those who are new, buy, borrow, bust is my recommendation key. Buy = I immensely enjoyed and heavily recommend. Borrow = I think this book is still worth a read and I’m glad I read it. Bust = I wouldn’t recommend this book from my own reading experience.
‘Land of Snow and Ashes’ by Petra Rautiainen. This is a story of silenced histories and dark secrets in the land of the midnight sun. Set in Finnish Lapland in 1947, our protagonist Inkeri arrives in remote Enontekiö. She is said to be there on a journalistic assignment, coming to report on the rebuilding of Lapland and the ongoing attempt to integrate the remaining members of the Sámi culture into Finnish society. But it is soon revealed her real motivation is much more personal. This is where her husband was last seen before he disappeared during the war. Her secret investigation is met with silence and hostility as this small community refuses to let her in.
As the years go by and Inkeri embeds herself more into life in Enontekiö, she discovers why the town does not want to discuss the past. The narrative unfolds between two timelines; Enontekiö in 1947 and Inari in 1944. 1 As the traces of disturbing crimes from the war slowly emerge from the pristine landscape of snow and ice, we are also learning about who Inkeri’s husband might be and why he has disappeared. ‘Land of Snow and Ashes’ tells an incredibly gripping and emotive story about an aspect of World War Two we hardly know anything about; the crimes committed against the Sámi people.
For some historical context; the history of Enontekiö can be traced back to the Stone Age. Enontekiö is within the Arctic Circle and close to the border of Sweden and Norway. The Sámi are the Indigenous people of the Arctic. Attempts at integration started in the 17th century with the introduction of Catholicism and education in order to forcibly settle the Sámi. In the 20th Century the Norwegian Authorities put the Sámi culture under pressure as they tried to make the Norwegian language and culture universal. This attempted erasure took place from 1900 to 1940.
In World War Two, the Sámi who had no concept over national sovereignty, became entrapped in the conflict. Destruction from the Lapland War from 1944-45 in Northern Finland and Northern Norway destroyed all existing houses and visible traces of Sámi Culture. The Nazi’s committed many atrocities towards the Sámi during the war. All of these historical events are touched on throughout the book with chilling undertones. Characters such as the child Bigga-Marja represent the impacts of these developments, with a dual Finnish and Sámi name. She has witnessed both the genocide perpetrated by the Nazi’s and the Finnish governments attempts to integrate the Sámi with help from scientists.
‘Intercultural communication - how different cultures and individuals face one another - are the main themes of my novels’ - Petra Rautiainen on her writing
The ‘Land of Snow and Ashes’ is an eerie and gripping story as the mysterious plot unfolds in an unnerving manner. As Inkeri learns more about who the individuals left in Enontekiö are, we learn more about the role her husband played in the war. We are fed small clues throughout the story, but they do not begin to connect together until later in the story. This dual timeline crescendo means the revelations come together thick and fast towards the end of the novel. In an elegant slight of hand, tying together these two timelines, we as the reader finish the book knowing revelations that Inkeri does not. This was such an incredible historical novel where I learnt so much.
The ‘Land of Snow and Ashes’ is an absolutely beautifully written thriller that keeps you fiercely turning the page in order to find out the truth. I was utterly captivated by this read, finding it completely addictive and harrowing. The story is like the landscape; cold and stark. But amidst the story, just like the landscape, there is beauty and light, which is forced to exist among the realities of what happened. Rautiainen has another novel coming soon and I will be the first to try and get my hands on the translation of that. I unequivocally recommend ‘Land of Snow and Ashes’ and would call it a total buy. I loved this book so much, it is the best World War book I have ever read. It reminded me slightly of ‘The Half Life of Valery K’ by Natasha Pulley which I read earlier this year. And while I did enjoy that, ‘The Land of Snow and Ashes’ is infinitely better in every way.
‘The Transmigration of Bodies’ by Yuri Herrera. This cinematic novella tells an alternative story based on the violent crime that pervades contemporary Mexico. A plague has brought death and panic to an dangerous and urban unnamed city in Mexico. While the city locks down, two feuding crime families with blood on their hands need our protagonist to make peace. He is known as ‘The Redeemer’. The Redeemer has been summoned by a local crime boss, aka The Dolphin, to arrange a hostage exchange of bodies. The Redeemer ventures out into the city’s underbelly while the rest of the population stays inside.
This is a tight post apocalyptic noir with a lot of guts. Drawing on the violence of the drug wars in Mexico and Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Herrera plunges the reader into a dark world alongside The Redeemer as he navigates a society fraught with cruelty. It felt incredibly eerie to be reading a book written in 2013 that could have been written about 2020, discussing a pandemic response that we are all too familiar with. The city is on lockdown, everyone is to wear masks and the streets are mostly deserted. This operates as a stark contrast to the activities that the Redeemer and his fellow sinners are getting up to. The Redeemer wonders why everyone has so easily accepted this new normal when the government has no clue what should be done. This could be interpreted to allude to the government's response to Mexico’s drug wars. The Transmigration of Bodies is a drama about the respect owed to dead bodies, which is a metaphor for when so little can be done for the living. 2 Despite this book being written in 2013, the same unrest continues over a decade later in Mexico.
The writing is poetic and full of dark humour. It reads like a Shakespearean tragedy, dystopian fiction and crime novel all packed into 100 pages. While it is an impressive genre blend at times, at others I wished for a longer and more detailed story. It felt experimental, which I appreciated, but I simultaneously wanted more. I wanted to know the history of the crime families hating each other, how they got to where they were and more about the young victims. It felt like the characterisation of the Redeemer had so much potential that wasn’t quite being fulfilled. He was layered and demonstrated a strong moral compass, despite being an established hit man. Just as we were starting to get to know him, the book was finished. Because of this I wouldn’t overly recommend this book so I’d call it a borrow. It was my first introduction to Herrera’s work and for that I am grateful as I am interested in reading more. His debut ‘Signs Preceding The End of The World’ is raved about so I will be trying that next.
‘Lākīrīboto’ by Ayòdélé Ólofintúadé is a queer, feminist revenge thriller about the fates of a sprawling family in Lagos, where murder, betrayal and witchcraft collide. When her wealthy grandmother dies, Moremi’s fate falls to her uncle, the tyrannical head of the family Olori Ebithe. With no immediate living family remaining, Moremi is sent by Olori to work as a housemaid in Lagos. Similarly, after another family death, Kudirat is accused of bringing misfortune to her family, and is also sent to live as a maid in the same house. The girls are lied to and told they are off to receive a prestigious education in Lagos. Upon arriving, Moremi and Kudirat find out that the big city is not as glittery and glamorous as they thought it would be. And that they are to scrub floors and fold laundry for the long suffering Tola and her abusive doctor husband refuses to treat her incredibly evident postpartum depression and bipolar disorder. Together, with the help of Moremi’s queer wealthy aunt Morieba, the four women wrestle back control of their lives as the patriarchal traditions that govern the family push back against their freedoms.
The foreword to the novel describes what the term ‘Lākīrīboto’ means. It describes how in Yoruba, language is not gendered. The use of ‘Lākīrīboto’ as a specific, non-gendered descriptor of sexual behaviour can be applied to any person of any gender who does not have sex with people who identify as men. Ólofintúadé discusses how long before queer theorists started entertaining the idea of sexual behaviour as different from gender identity, the Yoruba had made this distinction. Lākīrīboto is also a descriptor of trans or intersex people. Ólofintúadé says ‘Lākīrīboto is wild and will not bow her head in shame. Lākīrīboto is the perfect descriptor of all the women in this story, because they are queer as fuck’. Lākīrīboto tells the story of what it means to be a woman in Nigeria. What it means to defy the society you have been brought into and challenge the long standing traditions which lay in place to punish you. What it means to explore your gender and sexuality in Nigeria; to be a woman in the world of religiously abusive men.
In all the ways ‘The Transmigration of Bodies’ failed to satisfy me in the crime genre, Lākīrīboto absolutely delivered. Mixing family saga, gangs and a queer coming-of-age story, this book is a staggeringly original novel about Nigeria’s queer and feminist communities. It is a wonderfully layered story, with six points of views that flow seamlessly, which is no easy feat. All the characters were extremely well developed and nuanced. The genre bending was magnificent and all the women in the novel were incredibly likeable, using their wits and companionship to carve out a space for themselves in a patriarchy set to abuse, pity and discard them. I couldn’t put it down as I was completely compelled to find out how these women were going to secure their freedoms from the overbearing cruel men in their lives. It was really beautiful to read a modern book with Yoruba infused so prominently. Ólofintúadé seamlessly explores mental health interwoven with explorations of old magic and spirituality. This is a wonderful representation of the conflict that can come to a head between religion, tradition and the rising of mental health awareness, especially within women; how these women are forcibly discarded and often called witches.
The narrative lacked a concrete ending for some of the characters, but nevertheless I loved the way the story unfurled. Lākīrīboto felt very heroes and villains as we are desperate for Olori’s downfall and rooting for Morieba to save the women. I would absolutely recommend it and call it a buy. It was a really fun and gripping read. I want to read ‘Swallow; Efunsetan Anuwuran’ by them now, a queer historical fiction set in early 19th century Nigeria, as I am really enamoured with Ólofintúadé’s storytelling ability.
‘December Breeze’ by Marvel Moreno. Originally published in 1985, this 2022 English translation of ‘December Breeze’ breathes new life into this masterful novel exploring womanhood, class and tradition in 1950s Colombia. From her home in Paris, our protagonist Lina recalls the story of three Colombian women; Dora, Catalina and Beatriz, who are all friends of the narrator. These women live in the small seaside town of Barranquilla in Colombia. Upper class parties, the country club and nightly strolls along the promenade serve as backdrop for Moreno’s stories concerning women from the upper class, their fraught relationships with men, and their search for identity and freedom during the 1950s and early 1960s. Out of Lina’s obsessive recounting of the past, she reveals a profound and shockingly violent picture of Colombian society.
The novel is split into three parts, a part for each woman. The stories of Dora, Catalina and Beatriz differ in specifics but are linked by circumstance and womanhood. Each woman is subjected to differing but equally punishing romantic and familial relationships with men which are set to ruin them in various, but equally devastating, ways. ‘December Breeze’ is an exploration of womanhood under patriarchal conservative and classist society. Lina relays the advice dispensed by the chorus of older women within the family, her aunts and grandmother, who have all seen the harm of generations of men gone before. This is very much a story about women and the men who desire, oppress and try to subjugate them, with varying levels of success. Each woman’s story is told with elaborate attention to her history and lineage and those of the men who wreak havoc into their lives. Each woman does what is told and expected of her within this 1950s society, and each woman ends up on the brink of insanity at the hands of the men in their lives. There is an extensive interlocking web of family connections within the city, making the story read like an epic family saga. It is masterful.
‘December Breeze’ is a bold, feminist novel. It is filled with examples of the double standards used to judge men and women in Barranquilla’s society and the hypocrisy that enables this injustice. This incredibly dense but equally rich and profound story presents a breathtaking cultural analysis on the lives of women in a conservative region of Colombia. It is a funny, poetic and deeply political expose of the city’s sexual violence, misogyny, classism and racism in sharp and unrelenting detail. It reads like a feminist bible. Every woman is written with great depth, nuance and warmth. Meeting each character as a spunky, warm and intelligent girl, it feels unfeasible they will grow up to have such harrowing endings. Moreno operates to demonstrate that no matter the character of a girl, or women, under a religious and conservative patriarchy she will only live a life of oppression, violence and limitation.
‘If Darwin was not mistaken and a process of natural selection did in fact exist, it seemed only right to conclude that the men currently living has descended from those whose violence or cruelty - now defects, then virtues - had allowed them to conveniently massacre their rivals, passing on a gene pool that was capable of sowing the healthiest disgust in women’
There is a exuberance in Moreno’s writing, even when the content is violent and oppressive. The story is full of fluid and poignant commentary on equality and the patriarchy;
‘Nature gave them [women] the strength they needed to keep the species alive despite the devastation wreaked by men’s madness, but it also gave them the weakness that had enslaved them to men. So, femininity had to be disowned in the beginning and then won back later, fighting with the masculine parameters and emerging victorious, like a reward that could be possessed without humiliation or servitude, turning an asset earned at the moment of birth into something deliberately lost and then regained in complete lucidity.’
‘December Breeze’ was not a fast read but a very pleasurable one. With sentences the length of pages, it requires a lot of focus and concentration. But you are rewarded with a rich and sprawling world. I would absolutely recommend this book and call it a buy. I have been thinking about it a lot since I finished it. It is rare I reread books, but I think this may be one I will have to. Moreno was friends with Gabriel García Márquez, so if you like his work, I think you would like this.
‘Recital of the Dark Verses’ by Luis Felipe Fabre. Inspired by the real life events of the theft of Saint John of the Cross’s body, ‘Recital of the Dark Verses’ retells the story of the men who were in charge of the secret task of transferring the body. In August 1592, a bailiff and his two assistants at the monastery of Úbeda were to transport the Saint to his final resting place in Segovia. When they exhume him, they find him as fresh as he was the day he died. Thus commences a series of adventures and misfortunes as the men try to transport the Saint’s body across Spain in secret; but they encounter several hurdles along the way.
This book is structured around the verses of the Saint’s poetry from three of his most prominent poems; ‘On a Dark Night’, ‘Love’s Living Flame’ and the ‘Spiritual Canticle’. The Saint’s body was requested to be moved due to the huge numbers of people his death attracted. Upon moving him, the people of Úbeda were deeply unhappy and sent a representative to bring his body back to his initial resting place. Eventually in a compromise, Saint John of the Cross’ body was amputated; so Úbeda would receive one arm and one leg, and other parts of his body would stay in Segovia. Despite being structured around 16th century poetry, the author creates a comedy with charismatic and playful prose about the true story of the theft of the body of Saint John of the Cross.
Now, me and this book had a hard time getting on. I actually read it twice just to check. Granted, this is what I was trying to read when I had covid so that could be partly to blame. I had high expectations for this unique translated historical retelling of the fight over a Saint’s body. And it just didn’t click for me. At parts I was really engrossed and honestly laughing at some of the prose. Then at others I struggled to understand what was going on and despite the re-reads, I was still none the wiser. My affinity with this story waned and because of this I would not in good conscience recommend it. I’d have to call ‘Recital of the Dark Verses’ a bust for now. I say for now because I am willing to try and read it again when I don’t have covid. And perhaps that will deliver a less delirious reading experience.
‘Small Worlds’ by Caleb Azumah Nelson. I read Nelson’s debut ‘Open Water’ in 2021 and fell absolutely head over heels in love with his writing. So when his second book ‘Small Worlds’ was published this year, I was desperate to read it. ‘Small Worlds’ is a story about fathers and sons, of expectation and disappointment. We follow our protagonist, Stephen, a Ghanaian Londoner and budding musician, through his late adolescence and what it is like to be a young black man in search for identity. Stephen has cultivated a home and community centred around his faith, love for music and dancing. But when he leaves college and is forced to reckon with his dreams not being able to become a reality, Stephen is thrust into a desolate landscape by ageing, society and by his father. As Stephen’s father begins to speak of shame and sacrifice and what it means to be a man, Stephen struggles to find space for himself. With prose stretching over the course of three summers in Stephen’s life, ‘Small Worlds’ is an expansive novel about the worlds we build for ourselves.
Nelson is such a poetic and tender writer, he never fails to make me cry. Words struggle to describe the rawness of ‘Small Worlds’ and the exploration of how we find pleasure and joy in the simplicity of our own small worlds. And how sometimes this isn’t enough for us. From love and loss, friendship, the Black experience in Western society and mental health struggles, Nelson deftly weaves these themes together to create a wonderfully beautiful and heartbreaking story. With a host of colourful Ghanian characters throughout the story, Stephen is surrounded in London by those from his home. It begs the question of how do we find and identify within what we call home? It is an honest and raw mediation on the first and second generation migration experience.
‘Mum always says my Ga has come home in a suitcase, like I’m a visitor in my own language’
Every word he writes feels like a glittery and poetic song. Intergenerational trauma is characterised by the estrangement of fathers and sons, coming from paternal disappointment and rejection following the sacrifices that come with migration. The novel feels like a gentle and yet urgent exploration of black masculinity, especially within the UK. There is a continual shift in register from a young and gentle love story, to one of racism, the race riots of 2011 and the murder of Mark Duggan (which if you’re not from the UK is an infamous case). His writing is musically and culturally rich, transporting you entirely into the perspective of the protagonist.
‘Small Worlds’ pulses with rhythm and emotion that transcend the pages, Caleb Azumah Nelson is pure talent. I would absolutely recommend this book and call it a buy. If you are a music fan you will enjoy the extensive references Nelson makes to various songs and albums. Between the two I would say ‘Open Water’ is my favourite. But that is not to say ‘Small Worlds’ is any less brilliant. Both are incredibly touching meditations on what it means to be young, black and British. I have never read the climax and commitment of love described as beautifully as Caleb does.
‘Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare’ by Megan Kamalei Kakimoto. And my final read of 2023 (!) was this wonderful Indigenous short story collection. ‘Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare’ is a sensational debut short story collection that follows a cast of mixed native Hawaiian and Japanese women through a contemporary landscape rife with inherited wisdom and the ghosts of colonisation. It reads like a love letter to both Hawaiian identity and mythology, and a searing dispatch from an occupied territory threatening to erupt with violent secrets. It is full of superstition, desires and fears about womanhood and motherhood.
It is rare to read a short story collection where every story is as good as the next, and yet this is the case for Every Drop. These stories explore the fetishisation of indigenous and native women within the porn industry, a women’s fraught relationship with her pregnant body, the commodification of western beauty standards and the struggle for identity between dual nationalities. Kakimoto talks about the mythical idealisation of Hawaii, and how this flattening of Hawaii removes the islands of their colour and culture. The collection also depicts the vibrant Hawaiian mythological figures such as the Night Marchers - the spirits of ancient Hawaiian warriors who are now fierce protectors of the island's sacred lands.
Kakimoto explores the ethics of writing for an audience outside her native community. The short story ‘Aiko, The Writer’ reads like auto-fiction, exploring the insecurity that comes with excavating and commodifying a culture for consumption. Asking what is for sale here? In an interview with the Guardian, Kakimoto confirms this by saying;
‘I risked criticism from my own people and incomprehension by outsiders, but I was determined to write down the myths that were woven into my childhood’
‘Yet I am also aware of how this desire for Indigenous stories is at war with the impulse to keep our stories protected, to honour their sacredness, to tell them authentically and truthfully, regardless of outside readers’ comprehension. A tall order and one that, for years, paralysed my writing.’
The stories are feminine, tortured and seamless. In the story ‘Some Things I Know About Elvis’ Kakimoto explores the over tourism of Hawaii through Elvis’ affinity with the island, drawing hundreds and thousands of Elvis impersonators there. Through this Kakimoto is touching on the continual cultural appropriation and sacred sites of Hawaii being destroyed. ‘Every Drop Is A Man’s Nightmare’ is a beautiful compilation of Hawaiian culture and traditions and the horrors and wonders of the feminine experience. As well as the never ending struggle for agency and control of their own stories.
This collection of stories is a wonderful amalgamation of ancestral myth, femininity and the problems that face Hawaiian culture and society today. The stories are magnetic, magical and horrifying. I would absolutely recommend this short story collection and call it a buy. Incredibly engaging and stunningly impactful. I enjoyed every single one.
And that concludes my December Reads! My favourite books of the month were Land of Snow and Ashes and December Breeze.
My first read for 2024 is ‘The Colony’ by Audrey Magee. Set in 1979 on an unnamed island of Ireland’s Atlantic coast where traditional life and language are receding into extinction. My wonderful friend (hi Georgia) gifted me this book for my birthday and I am very much looking forward to reading it. She thinks I’ll love it - lets see how well she knows me.
Let me know your thoughts:
What did you read and enjoy in December?
Have you read any of these books? If you have, let me know what you thought of them.
Do you have any reading aspirations for 2024? More translated fiction? From certain countries? More non-fiction? More books written by Indigenous authors? I’d love to know so I can try and help you. (I will share my own reading aspirations for 2024 in my next post)
I will be bringing in a new feature to my newsletter this year which will (hopefully) be very helpful to me, and you, to read more translated fiction. I will launch it alongside my Favourite Books of 2023 post which will be in your inbox next week.
That's all from me for today. Thank you so much for being here, I appreciate you all so very much! Here’s to a well read 2024 if nothing else.
Happy Reading! Love Martha
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Of all these I’ve only heard of Small Worlds. I’d love to know where you find new books to read, it’s so diverse. Land of Ash and Snow sounds amazing, even for someone who is picky about historical fiction!! Looking forward to whatever 2024 has in store for you Martha!!
Brilliant and inspiring as always!! ✨ Should one read open water or small worlds first?