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An atheist’s complaint at the scant room made by the church for his personal commemoration of the dead
A Hundred Doors
God! I’m lighting candles again, still
The sentimental atheist, family
Names a kind of prayer or poem, my muse
Our Lady of a Hundred Doors.
Set a decade from now, this coming-of-age caper offers a child’s-eye view of family troubles in a ‘post-democracy’ USA
Gary Shteyngart is the observational standup of American letters, a puckish, playful Russian-born author who views the US through the eyes of an inquisitive tourist. The immigrant melting pot of New York is his stage; the intricate English language his prop. Shteyngart’s characters, typically lightly veiled alter egos, are always getting lost, tripping up and mangling basic social interactions. It’s the missed connections and short circuits that give his fictions their spark.
Shteyngart’s sixth novel is a lively, skittish Bildungsroman, shading towards darkness as it tracks the journey – literal, educational, emotional – of 10-year-old Vera Bradford-Shmulkin, an overanxious, over-watchful academic high achiever whose run of straight As has just been blighted by a B. “Being smart is one of the few things I have to be proud of,” laments Vera, who diligently maintains a “Things I Still Need to Know Diary” in which she makes note of difficult words and intriguing figures of speech. The girl is articulate and precocious, bent on self-improvement, and never mind the fact that she confuses “facile” with “futile” and “hollowed” with “hallowed” and is wont to wax lyrical about the “she-she” districts of Manhattan. Her vocabulary is almost – but crucially not quite – sufficient to give us the whole story and explain what it means.
We would like to hear about the books you’ve particularly enjoyed this month
As part of The Guardian’s “what we’re reading” series, we would like to hear about the books you’ve particularly enjoyed this month.
Have you read a book in recent weeks – fiction or non-fiction – that you’d recommend? Tell us all about it below.
A clear-eyed account of a difficult, complex man and his self-inflicted fall from grace
The last shah of Iran was a figure from Shakespearean tragedy: outwardly haughty and magnificent, inwardly insecure and indecisive, a Persian Richard II, self-regarding even in his own downfall. When he stood at the foot of his aircraft steps as he left Iran for the last time in January 1979, tears streaming down his cheeks and killer cancer working away inside him, surely even the stoniest heart must have felt some pity for this fallen autocrat?
Not so. The stony heart of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini contained only rage and a desire for vengeance towards the King of Kings (the Iranian monarch’s official designation). “This man has no place in Iran, and no place on Earth,” Khomeini told me in a chilling television interview before leaving Paris for Tehran. On the plane bringing him back from a 15-year exile a few days later to overthrow the shah’s regime, Khomeini muttered that he felt nothing – hichi – on returning home.
From to airlines to broadband, companies exploit cognitive biases to get us to part with money. Here’s how to fight back
Many nations already enshrine a right not to be defrauded, and even a right not to be deceived. If a company sells you a new medicine, falsely claiming that it prevents cancer, it can be punished. If a firm convinces you to buy a new smartphone, saying that it has state-of-the-art features when it doesn’t, it will have violated the law. But in the current era, many companies are taking our time and money not by defrauding or deceiving us, but by practising the dark art of manipulation.
They hide crucial terms in fine print. They automatically enrol you in a programme that costs money but does not benefit you at all. They make it easy for you to subscribe to a service, but extremely hard for you to cancel. They use “drip pricing”, by which they quote you an initial number, getting you to commit to the purchase, only to add a series of additional costs, knowing that once you’ve embarked on the process, you are likely just to say “yeah, whatever”. In its worst forms, manipulation is theft. It takes people’s resources and attention, and it does so without their consent.
After struggles with mental health and addiction, Max Wallis launched a poetry magazine – and it has transformed his life
One morning in February last year, I received an urgent call from the journalist Paul Burston, alerting me to alarming recent social media posts by a mutual friend, the poet and former model Max Wallis.
It seemed he had left his London flat in deep distress and was headed to a bridge. Our best guess was the Millennium footbridge by St Paul’s Cathedral. Then we heard that Max might have taken refuge inside the cathedral. While I scanned gaggles of tourists in the nave, he was intercepted and removed by ambulance. I was relieved to get a message later that evening that he was safe.
From the Women’s prize to the bestseller lists, authors are pushing the boundaries of how explicit the novel can be – and readers can’t get enough
When the judges awarded Yael van der Wouden’s brilliant debut, The Safekeep, the Women’s prize for fiction last month, they weren’t just garlanding a book that happens to have a few sexy scenes in it. They were responding to a work that engages with the current levels of literary excitement around sex and marries this with sweeping historical vistas and a distinctive sensibility. It was joined on the shortlist by Miranda July’s exuberant odyssey of midlife desire, All Fours, and Fundamentally by Nussaibah Younis, a smart, quickfire account of a young academic’s work for a UN deradicalisation programme, which juxtaposes the world of Middle Eastern religious politics with a closeup relish for female sexuality.
While younger generations, at least, have said in recent years that they want to see more platonic friendship and less sex on screen, reading appetites appear to be going in the other direction, with a huge boom in romance and “romantasy” – the romance-fantasy hybrid driven by TikTok and the success of authors such as Rebecca Yarros and Sarah J Maas. We all have strong, mixed feelings about sex, and the cultural landscape reflects the whole spectrum of kinks and hangups. But that means that we have all the more need for writers like Van der Wouden, July and Sally Rooney, who push the boundaries of how explicit the literary novel can be while also giving us new ways of imagining how desire works within lives today.
A picture of patience; first days at school; a cruise ship detective; a terrible storm; time travellers; rebels in love and more
Put Your Shoes On by Polly Dunbar, Walker, £12.99
Late for a party, Mummy really wants Josh to put his shoes on – but he’s too lost in his imagination to hear until she shouts. Featuring a child’s inner world vividly evoked by Dunbar’s own sons’ drawings, this tender, relatable picture book encourages patience and communication.
The Tour at School (Because You’re the New Kid!) by Katie Clapham, illustrated by Nadia Shireen, Walker, £12.99
This irrepressibly bouncy tour of all the school essentials (including toilets, emergency meeting tree and library with possibly more than a million books) humorously distils the scariness of starting school and the thrill of making a new friend.
The author on a brilliant biography of Buster Keaton, coming round to Joseph Conrad, and marathon training with Karl Ove Knausgård
My earliest reading memory
I used to regularly reread my bright green copy of the Guinness Book of Records. I can still clearly picture the woman with the longest fingernails in the world.
My favourite book growing up
I loved the world-building in Michelle Paver’s Wolf Brother series. Its stone age setting was different to anything I knew, but so easy to imagine being a part of.
A highly original book from the author of Goblinhood explores the art and work of translating fiction
Jen Calleja is used to making things happen for herself, by herself, despite the fact that collaboration is vital to all her endeavours: her work as a literary translator, rendering German prose and poetry into English; her life as a publisher, and co-founder with her friend Kat Storace of Praspar Press, which aims to bring Maltese literature to a wider audience; her own writing, which includes the novel Vehicle and the essay collection Goblinhood; and her other incarnation, as a member of the post-punk band Sauna Youth.
All of this takes a significant amount of energy and determination, but one of Fair’s central contentions is that it is all made far harder than it ought to be by, in effect, the covert acceptance of inequality and exclusion in the arts and literature. She recalls, for example, finally feeling that she has made it as a translator when she is invited to speak at the London Book Fair; years later, she returns to tell the audience that she has plenty of work, but only £30 in her bank account because so many of the organisations in the room are behind on paying her. “Out of the frying pan of grifting,” as she acidly notes, “into the fire of contempt”.
