Amal, the eight-year old daughter of a renowned Pakistani palaeontologist finds a strange fossilised bone while accompanying her grandfather. An occurrence that will define her life as we follow her over the course of the next 20 or so years.

Geometry of God is narrated from shifting points of views, that of the freethinking and progressive Amal who will become one of the first female Pakistani palaeontologists, overcoming many obstacles in a male dominated, very traditional environment. That of Mehwish, Amal's blind sister who because or despite of her handicap has a completely different and idiosyncratic outlook onto life; and that of Noman, a talented scientist who is attracted by the presence of Amal's grandfather Zahoor's. As the son of the party leader of the ultra-orthodox Party of Creation Noman is torn between both worlds, unable to free himself from the officially supported viewpoint on creation which contrasts starkly with Zahoor's non ideological point of view. Or in other words: The old controversy between creation and evolution.

Oppressive religious and political power over scientific research, the equally oppressive power of a strict traditional system, especially over women, are constant themes throughout Khan's novel. Is Amal an example for women's liberation? Perhaps. But she is careful, not disruptive but inclusive with the past, unlike her Westernised friend Zara whose drug fuelled life chases one trendy club after the other. Mehwish is resting in herself, very different from the restless Amal, her strength coming from inner life, her rich imagination beautifully described by Khan's use of Mehwish's idiosyncratic language. Three very different modern women who all react differently to current oppression.

Noman shows the destructive power of ideology when mixed with ruling power and its effect on the intelligent and sensitive young man, brought to a climax when Amal's grandfather is arrested for ideological reasons. The old man remaining truthful to his ideas and does not succumb to political pressure and ill treatment in prison.

"Geography first exists in the mind" as Amals states, clearly also applicable to political or traditional or other borders.

Beautifully written, funny and full of tension, Geometry of God not just gives great insights into Pakistan culture and thinking but at the same time achieves to be great entertainment and due to its playful language and vivid characters what you expect from a novel: A great read.

I have always viewed historical novels as bulky and probably heavy going but I must say that I was sad to turn the last page of Under Fishbone Clouds. The vastness of and the insightful subject matter, the lyrics that were employed words, a keen sense of observation, highly detailed narrative, powerful imagination let loose on a landscape of folklore all combined to make Sam Meekings a master storyteller with this debut.

Yuying's father arranges her marriage to Jinyi, one of their many servants, but it is within the arena of their love story, laced in Chinese culture, myths and folklores, conducted during post-war China and the Proletarian Cultural Revolution that Meekings used to narrate the breaking and subsequent making of a people. His observation that, "survival seems to demand a suspension of rationality" aptly captures the "stripping away of self" that was starkly apparent until "only the country and her mercies remained."

In the telling of this tale, the cheer vastness of China and her four thousands years of history sits heavily on your chest and the weight of a peoples' repression through which what was, was dissolved for what will be blurs your perception of what exactly was that 'will be.'

This is one of those books that tells you everything you wanted to know about its subject matter, plus a few things you didn't. The upshot is that even if you've never before heard the word "Carthage", you'll have no trouble getting into this non-ficton work which charts this culture from its Middle Eastern roots through its Spanish mining colonies, colossal showdown with Rome and eventual demise at the hands of said indefatigable Romans. Fact-packed and academically weighed, but somehow as easy to digest as a novel, whilst reading you will realize that a few things - albeit things you've previously remained blissfully ignorant of - do remain tantalizing shrouded in mystery. The reason for this is the rather thorough job the Romans did on the destruction front, virtually erasing the Carthaginians from history and vilifying the remnants.

The title takes its cue from a practice of Cato the Elder, who enterprisingly ended every speech with the words "Carthage Must Be Destroyed", a relentless campaign which finally bore fruit in a monumental genocide coupled with character assassination so complete as to leave traces in modern language: "Baal", for example, often a demon in Judeo-Christian religion, as well as countless fantasy novels, was simply Punic for "Lord", a title often granted as a prefix to Punic gods who were, in fact, remarkably similar to Greek and Roman ones; while "Hannibal", generally associated with horror, or at least wanton laying waste of the countryside, was really just the only Carthaginian general who ever managed to give the Romans a run for their money (one thing that becomes obvious from reading this book is how embarrassingly indifferent the Carthaginians were in all things martial). It's this twist - casting events as a somewhat cooked-up, ancient "clash of civilisations" - that sets the book apart, and imbues it with a very pressing modern relevance.

In addition, the author excels at putting one in the mindframe of the people involved, examining their motivations and experiences, and describing battles and political tactics in an engaging, personality-driven manner. As a bit of a bonus, while much misaligned by history, the Carthaginians had their own Dark Side (child sacrifice, routine crucifixion of unsuccessful generals, unceremonious pocketing of Spanish silver), which ups the already considerable drama. If you like history and/or political intrigue, you'll love this book.

On the dust jacket of this book there is a quote by Eileen Battersby, the Irish Times book reviewer, who proclaims Galgut a kindred spirit to the great South African writer J.M. Coetzee, and although she certainly is not the first person to do so, it is a natural reaction. Yet, of course, Galgut is not Coetzee. Although I have a soft spot for Galgut, and part of the reason for that is the similarity to Coetzee, they are worlds apart as to accomplishments, so far. Also, thus far, Galgut has stayed on in South Africa whereas Coetzee has abandoned his homeland. But don't get me wrong when I say abandoned I mean this in the most generous way of the word. Few people will be able to keep on living in modern South Africa with the rampant violence and crime that is everyday. Even those that have their whole soul invested in that country might have to leave as if the choice to stay has been taken away. And we who live outside that country probably will never fully understand. Nevertheless, Galgut has stayed on continuing a prolific literary career in its bosom and with the offering of this his latest book we have to be very grateful. This is a fantastic book.

The story is divided up into three parts, each which follows a man named Damon (like the author, and again something that Coetzee has a penchant for) on his travels through different parts of the world. In the first story we see him meet a stoic German fellow traveller. The two fast become friends, but as the situation develops the sexual tensions as well as differing attitudes to life and travelling rapidly becomes a growing gulf between them which can only end bad (very much in the vein of Highsmith). The second story is perhaps the weakest of the three but still very engrossing. Again we find Damon in the initial motion of solitary travel. But this changes as he meets up with a group of people (mainly from Europe) who have the audacity of belittling and criticising the African continent without really having any idea of what they are saying. An escape is found in the company of another smaller group of people who travel very differently and in which Damon finds another possible love interest. Nevertheless, life's prejudices again seem to stand in the way of this love. Finally in the third story Damon travels to India with a good friend of his who is experiencing sever mental health problems. To start with it seems a good idea; there'll be plenty of rest and relaxation, but things soon spiral out of control.

This is a deeply human book, deeply thought, deeply caring, and is evidence of that Galgut finally has come into him own after many books of serious promise of doing so which never fully delivered. Buy this book. You will want to read it again.

Growing up bilingually, the obvious advantages aside, poses its own problems: Problems linked to identity and culture, of belonging. I know a family who deliberately did not raise their children learning their mother's language as they were afraid for them to feel uprooted as that's how their mother had felt growing up abroad.

Language and the construction of identity through language are key to Liam Carson's memoir of a Belfast childhood. Starting with his grandparents' and parents' story, this small book starts in the 1920ies and brings the reader into the 90ies, including the time of the Troubles. His father, postman, language activist, story-teller, and teacher easily mixes both with the other Catholics on the Falls Road as well as with Protestants. Until the troubles start, it's a carefree childhood for the children, playing around the wastelands until one of their friends is shot.

Carson charters the process in which Irish becomes more and more ideologically charged with personal memories. At this point in time his mother who had brought up all children through Irish, refuses to speak anything but English; at the same time, the young Liam turns towards mainstream culture and thus more neutral grounds. Fascinated by science fiction and Punk music, before eventually leaving Belfast for Trinity College and still later for London, Carson traces the journey away from all ideological dead weight and physically from their Irish speaking community until ultimately returning and discovering Irish as his sanctuary, the emotional language. As he summarises the chasm between his father and himself: "Our cultures and worlds seemed oceans apart. I was thinking in English, he was dreaming in Irish".

The achievement of this memoir lies in the fact that it does not judge, does not get involved in political commentary or takes sides, but merely shows the effect the change in the political landscape has on the children and on society.

Call Mother a Lonely Field is an intimate memoir, linking a collection of loose memories, interwoven with Belfast's poignant history and personal history of a certainly unconventional and remarkable family. Carson's memoir is more than a memoir of a Belfast Catholic growing up during the Troubles but gives insights into the impact on identity language has.

Most people would want to be seen as altruistic because doing things for the benefit of others supposedly is enriching and rewarding and in a relationship? the act would be considered the ultimate show of love. Cowardice on the other hand is a different ball game as I do not really know of anybody that would want to be seen or known as a coward. Finally the question what makes man decide to seek redemption? is very beautifully applied.

All these and more were explored in Nigel Farndale's The Blasphemer but, to be able to bring out the nuances and thus set the proper tone to the understanding of this tome I will start with this notable saying in my place -that nbelede nyilu dike but it is the same nbelede kaeji ama dike- that the element of surprise transcends the abilities of the strong but it is also the same element of surprise that ratifies and affirms the strong. As humans we do not know how we will react when confronted suddenly by a circumstance that forces you to make an instant decision. At making this choice you are not presented with any time frame to weigh other options or even the pros and cons of the decision, rather it's snap snap! and then you are left with having to live with the outcome of that choice and action. The Blasphemer took the element of surprise as it's launching pad and living with the outcome of the choice the kernel of the story.

Dipping from the past to the present and vice versa, the story runs concurrently about the lives of Private William Kennedy of Shropshire fusiliers, Eleventh Battalion of WW1 and his great grandson, zoologist Daniel Kennedy, the first of the Kennedy heir that did not take up career in the army, at the chagrin of his father, Philip, a retired and decorated army surgeon. Daniel and his partner of ten years, Nancy, in a light plane on a trip to Galapagos island, where he intends to ask her to marry him, crashes into the sea and Daniel is left with the choice of what to do- save himself or Nancy. The same scenario was enacted three generations back where Private Kennedy's mettle was severely tested in the heat of the battle of Passchendaele. Other juicy bits running through the storyline like professor Wetherby's content as a Christian is a backdrop to contrast Daniels' atheistic one while the content of a terrorist-besieged London, I want believe, is to give readers the opportunity to reprise, most often than not, the preconceived conclusions we have about 'the others' in our midst.

I was particularly keen on reading The Blasphemer because being a Christian I wanted to see how atheists think, how they live their lives devoid of God and my conclusion, after the read, reaffirms the notion that being a child of God does not only consist of mentioning Him all the time or in daily church attendance rather, it is more in the ways we conduct the affairs of our lives. For instance the character Wetherby richly played out this idea and is also used to contrast that of Daniels' to tie in the notion that God chooses who He wants to bestow favors on extant in the belief that "His thoughts and ways are not like ours." All in all The Blasphemer is a good read that will awaken your philosophical thought processes.

The back of this book states that it was written in a period of extreme isolation, an entirely credible claim. You'd have to subject yourself to extreme isolation to create literary work on this level. The Three Fates actually achieves what so many others only attempt - to encapsulate the profound within the prosaic.

Three young women - we never learn their names - spend an afternoon together in the home of "the reliable one", acceptably married to an affluent manufacturer/weekend Tantric Buddhist, and enjoying the stable luxuries of this position. All related - two sisters and a cousin - they attempt throughout the course of the afternoon to formulate a plan to bring the father ("King Lear") of the sisters to visit. This is an epic enterprise, as the girls were taken, in circumstances of rather ambiguous consent, with their wealthy grandmother (often referred to as Lady Jackal) when she fled France at the end of the Vietnam War, and haven't seen King Lear since. This is the plot thread that pulls the story along, as the author dives into the minds of all the characters - Southpaw, the bitter amputee cousin; Gorgeous Gams, the vain telemarketer younger sibling; the matronly responsible older sibling; Theo, Gorgeous Gams' pie-in-the-sky boyfriend, King Lear, Lady Jackal, and the Wheezer, King Lear's gourmand friend, Catholic priest and martyr-without-faith.

Sliding effortlessly between points of view, time and place, in a manner reminiscent of Heinrich Boell, The Three Fates is not so much about the tragedy as the petty irony of life. Le absolutely flays her characters alive and then skewers them in broad daylight in a manner that is often grotesque, but also incredibly satisfying, while the historical perspective on Vietnam gives an added twist.

By constantly referring to objects and people, not by their names but their essential attributes, the work becomes more abstract, but more penetrating, all the more so because these words are being wielded by an author who is so obviously a master of the French language, and then translated by somone who frankly deserves a gold medal for their efforts. It can't have been easy. Definitely the most accomplished piece of literary work I've read all year by an enviably talented writer.

The growing popularity of this Chilean writer has led to a virtual explosion of new translations of his work to be published. Considering the relatively short life span of the author (1953-2003) Bolaño fans must be greatly appreciative of his productivity whilst here.

In Monsieur Pain the author brings us to Paris in the 1930s. Here, Bolaño moves his eponymous hero on a very Ulyssesean journey where nothing is what it seems. Monsieur Pain is a mesmerist who is asked to try to help the dying Peruvian poet Vallejo away from his seemingly closing destiny. Yet, Pain is constantly derailed by what can possibly be a malicious plot linked to Spanish jealousy of the Latin American poet's abilities, we are never quite sure. The streets are dark, the corners many and you might never really expect how it all will transpire.

Part of what makes Bolaño so interesting and popular is the freshness and continental twist that he brings to the Latin American foundation of Magical Realism. The language that he uses is made up of intricate imagery, and full of very few expected ways of a play with words and metaphors. Bolaño writes incredibly well-woven stories that are fast- paced jaunts which at times veer into slapstick yet simultaneously and equally produces delicate, beautiful, evocative, sensual word vistas that are delicious in every way. But it is also his street-smart type of writing that appeals so. He is never afraid of what could possibly not work. For example, a quite extensive part of this short novel is filled with an account that simultaneously describes a full-length film scene by scene during which the book's characters are trying to have a conversation with each other which only intermittently is linked to the development in the film which they are watching. And although this might sound slightly (or very) confusing Bolaño pulls it off with ease.
Nevertheless, with Monsieur Pain I do not feel that we find Bolaño in top form. Perhaps if he had decided to leave out the obituaries (he calls it the epilogue) at the end I would have been able to continue to believe in the fact that it is all about the journey and not the destination. Alas, that is not the manner in which he decided to end this novel, which left me a feeling of it have fallen rather flat from quite thrilling heights.

Now, that the property market has crashed and the obsession with house ownership has turned to the issues arising from the crash and the likes of ghost estate and negative equity are topic of every other current affairs or talk show, it is quite an interesting idea to write a novel where the house as a physical location plays a key role. Do we really link a house to a specific phase in our life? What impact does a house have on children and what role does it play for them?

The physical location of its main protagonists is core to Mary O'Donoghue's debut novel: the changing houses Eva, the protagonist, lives in with her parents, and her sister and brother.

Before the House Burns is a childhood memoir. We follow about ten years in the quite animated lives of an unorthodox family and their constant move from one house and city/village to the next in ever changing points of view, always narrated from the children's perspective, including that of the baby brother Benny.

It's not a happy or common childhood: we soon discover that this family is unconventional and poor but contented. The constant struggle for money and food remain central. Eva, the oldest, takes responsibility, not only for her younger siblings but later also for her parents. Moving through uncle and grandparents houses, poor rented accommodation around Galway and Clare, this memoir is captivating in its own way, mainly through beautiful labyrinthine sentences or the very realistic child's point of view. Most successful are the passages of the baby and later toddler and the way his senses develop while he discovers the world.

Although very young, the children are aware of their parents' constant struggle, but it's the development of the children to see through their parents' strategies to play down their difficulties where further aspects in the development of a child's conscience are shown. However tragic events mean that their lives change even more dramatically.

Don't expect a light-hearted, tragicomic memoir in the style of McCourt, O'Donoghue's style with its intricate language is more introspective.

A study on trauma and pain and their effects on a child? A showcase of what shapes a child's conscience? Perhaps. O'Donoghue's novel and her multifaceted narrative technique certainly trace the workings of memory, the physical stability a house provides plays a key role as the extension of the protective family-bubble.

Halo Life is a bold move that, hopefully, will impact positively on our respective efforts at living. Written by Jane Beatrice Ovbude who is based in the tranquil city of Tralee, Ireland, Halo Life, which the author said also translates to Glorious Life, is an anthology of Essays; Poetry; Lessons; Romance and ‘an how to’ in the form of Writing and Creativity, thrown in for good measures. This collection will not spur you into a spontaneous action to seek to right your ways, no, rather it will make you reflective, kind of re-directing your gaze inwards to search out those lubricant nuances, the in-built kernel of life that makes one see beauty in a deluge, and only then that ...

The collection started off with the Essays; Black man in Ireland, Black and White Skin both of which are aimed at reminding us that ones colour, gender, and status is not the purpose of our being and the complexities intrinsic in these nuggets are untangled therefrom. Discrimination, Understand the System, Education advocates that we seek knowledge that will bring clarity in our understanding of life issues. Boys and Girls reinforces that opposites ultimately complements and on that premise the author infers that tolerance and acceptance are the key. Class difference pits democracy against any other unsavoury type of government with Nigerian leadership, and the fallout nasty social issues, on centre stage. In the Lessons section the author uses Forgiveness, Love and Mistake, and Filling the Gap to explore the complexities of life.

This collection will grow on you, creeping in like rain on parched earth, melting the jaded heart and textually one can immediately glimpse the nostalgic tinge in the voice [looking back on what was] running through.

The collection in its multi subject matter, I want to think, is designed to gently nudge us towards its’ one goal; know your purpose in life and set forth, every other thing is a distraction. However, the make up of this compilation had me worried until the author set me right in this quote ‘there is nothing wrong in creating new style, your idea is as good as anyone else.’ So I believe that the style employed in this motley is a kick against established framework of writing styles as in who sets these standards anyway? Creativity should be allowed to flow and not be pigeon-holed into styles. Halo Life also sounded a bit preachy, leaning towards ‘Life Coaches’ than Poetry but, all in all, it is a commendable outing that is rich in advice aimed at reminding us to cultivate a positive outlook in life.

Somewhere in a nameless Egyptian city lives 26-year-old Teymour, recently returned from six years in “the West” where – in exchange for upkeep from his wealthy father – he has pretended to study chemical engineering, while in reality flinging himself headfirst into a hedonistic binge-athon. When finally ordered home for a reckoning, Teymour unabashedly shells out for a forged degree and, with infinite regret, leaves the heights of debauchery behind him.

Back in his detested hometown he quickly hooks up with childhood pals Medhat – who has stayed at home to marry a fallen woman beneath his station on a whim – and Imtaz – an extremely nearsighted one-time successful stage actor fallen from grace following an embarassing mid-performance misdemeanour. Together, they do what they have always done – not much, except party and attempt to find women to sleep with, preferably as young as possible. Any real job is viewed as a dangerous surrender to a life-sucking system of responsibility, so that the trio are not so much anarchists as particularly indolent nihilists, who have turned off, tuned in and dropped out to the fullest extent imaginable.

Such a mindset proves beyond the abilities of exiled police chief Hillali to grasp, and when local dignitaries begin to disappear he suspects the friends and their small circle of associates of plotting nothing short of violent revolution. Spying on them via the ill-suited Rezk achieves little except to amuse Teymour and Co., who are well aware of Hillali’s suspicions and have no intention of relieving them. Does this grave misunderstanding lead inevitably to a tension-riven, action-packed comedy of errors?

No, it doesn’t. This is an uncompromisingly literary work and Albert Cossery even won several high-profile awards proving his literary cred. Sadly, whatever talent led to such acclaim wasn’t much on display in A Splendid Conspiracy. The writing style that has been described elsewhere as “lucid” came across flat, while the main characters, professional dilettantes, obsessed with bagging juveniles and devoid of strong emotional attachments, are unsympathetic. The psychology behind virtually every piece of dialogue is explained in such detail as to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, and in fact frequently enters onto tedious details that one would normally be inclined to filter out in the interests of sanity-preservation.

It has its moments and its points but altogether a disappointing piece of work from someone so highly thought of. Not only no conspiracy, also no splendour.

Ismail is a dirty old man. Rosero’s chosen protagonist is unpleasant and dislikeable to start with as he openly and obviously spies on prepubescent girls as well as more mature creatures of the female sex. Nevertheless, gradually Ismail goes from being that lecherous old man that you would like to isolate from a community to a quite brave, if intermittently cantankerous, soul with just the same amount of weaknesses and ticks as anyone else.

Set in rural Colombia the fictional town, San José, is a town like any other. Character by character it is set alive. There are the neighbours the Brazilian (who might not actually be Brazilian) and his nakedly sunbathing wife Geraldina, their home-help/foster daughter young Gracielita, Chepe the bar/café owner, Otilia the embarrassed wife of Ismail, Heey the empanada seller, and so the town grows. It seems a fairly contended and happy little space was it not for the lurking and ominous shadow of the war which circles the town. Increasingly the town is bereaved of another member who, if not killed on the spot, is held for ransom somewhere in the bush. To start with, although very unpleasant, the circumstances seem manageable. However, once the targets come a bit closer to home the horror heightens, and then when Otilia disappears without a trace then there is no way back, at least not for Ismail. He begins an impossible journey through his little town in search of her, making us realise that she meant a lot more to him than his behaviours at the onset had suggested. Ismail goes from house to house witnessing a life increasingly impossible to live. Nevertheless, as he runs on empty, he also runs on the hope of having no news. Maybe, just maybe, there is a light somewhere in the catastrophe that surrounds them all.

The slieve notes offered by New Directions for this book clarifies that the war described is directly related to the drug problems of Colombia, and in some ways this perhaps explains the complete lack of rational that the war seemingly suffers from. The soldiers arrive always faceless, nameless and apparently not belonging to any particular side, they do the evil that they do, and then disappear into the same madness from which they came. Although it is perhaps hard to see much rational in war as a whole this book offers a well written, engaging and sympathetic rendition of the very human attempt at making sense of the nonsensical, of hoping against hope.

What does an outsider’s view bring to contemporary Irish poetry? How does immigration and the change of linguistic and physical landscape influence a poets’ writing? Or indeed do immigrant poets blend in with Irish poets?

The anthology is not a scientific study or a survey reflecting the current status quo of poetry in Ireland, it is rather a personal and eclectic collection of poets ‚writing from Ireland’. The editors don’t try to provide answers to these questions but leave it to the reader of Landing Places.

Each poet is represented with a short biographical intro and a photo, followed by two to five poems, with only a few exceptions all written in English. Many of the selected poets make reference to immigration, identity, and rootlessness as well as Ireland’s physical space; nature and environment are themes in the majority of represented poems.

With 66 poets from around the world, the majority US and UK born poets, none of the selected poems seems to have been ‘forced’ to fit the immigrant theme, quite the contrary, many poems have been influenced by emotions and experience linked to immigration but very few deal with the topic directly. Poets range from internationally well established to poets published for the first time making this collection very varied and colourful in tone. The editors have not grouped poems in any thematic or other order but simply alphabetically, leaving it to the reader to make his or her decision and often creating interesting tensions when juxtapposing completely different styles.

I certainly enjoyed this anthology, a rich collection reflecting the easily overlooked non-national perspective of Ireland’s vibrant poetic life. Maybe it is the fact that this anthology raises awareness for the talent and diversity amongst Ireland’s immigrant community that makes ‘Landing Places’ special? A snapshot of this multiplicity of voices and a great introduction to contemporary poets and equally enjoyable for browsing, the only downside being the overwhelming representation of US and UK poets. However, it would not have been a wise decision to favour diversity over quality and seek a representative from each country. The ‘immigrant poetry in Ireland’-tag certainly provides a good anchor, something temporary or in flux and flexible enough to be lifted, as indeed the cover suggests.

The burden of the migrant, it seems, is multi-faceted to include: the struggle to integrate into their new country; becoming economically viable and achieve financial stability; attain social relevance; retain firm hold on their home culture; and raise their children as desired. Having read a number of novels written on the travails of the migrant, these simple wants, one way or the other, always turn into nightmares, especially as regards the issue of raising their children. Joseph Han left Korea with a wife and two daughters to settle in Manhattan where he runs a dry-cleaning shop with his wife. Casey the eldest daughter, who has armed herself with economics degree from Princeton and a white boyfriend, proves the antithesis of what Joseph wants and in telling their story Min Jin Lee explores the core predicaments facing immigrants’ children as they struggle to establish themselves. Using credible characters, readers are treated to various social issues like class struggle, social status, distinctiveness, clash of values and ideals, stoic ambition and the ever present love, laid out in a simple language and evocative text.

What I like most about Free Food for Millionaires is the seamless and undulating way the author weaves the minutest of distinct Korean ways of doing things, their struggles and triumphs, into the multi- landscape of Americas’ New York.

If you could get past the size of the book and the nightmare that was pagination however, then you’ll find that there is joy in the pages of a well written story.

Tales by Moonlight is a series of three slim books by Nigerian author Olubunmi Salako meant to promote inter-culturalism and “reduce prejudice and racism in schools”. Aimed at 7-12 year olds, each volume contains several short stories based on traditional Nigerian fables and folktales, often with a pointed moral. These range from “Gogo the Spider”, explaining spiders as originating from a man punished for his greed and deceit, to “Oluronbi” the tale of a woman who pledges her daughter in return for success, and “The Foolish Tortoise”, who attempts to keep all wisdom to himself.

The parallels between these stories and their Western counterparts are striking with “Oluronbi” bearing a passing resemblance to “Rumpelstiltskin”, along with incorporating the practice of making offerings to trees, also a common ritual in pre-Christian Europe, while “Gogo the Spider”, contains the familiar never-emptying magic vessel. Other stories differ markedly with “The Warrior Twins” recording a traditional practice of viewing all twins as bearers of evil and exposing baby twins to die in a certain forest (although these particular twins are, of course, Moses-like, rescued from their fate).

While the stories are interesting to read, apart from the covers, the numerous illustrations are all black and white, which might be a slight drawback for kids, and are also quite poor in the first volume (although they improve markedly in Volumes II and III). The glossary at the back helpfully explains Western English vocabulary, as well as the odd word of African origins (e.g. cocoyam, Iroki tree).

All in all, the books are a great effort on the part of the commendable Ms. Salako – Ireland could certainly use more of this sort of thing – and they will undoubtedly be a valuable resource to educators around the country.

It is a house, and especially so a room, that Mawer sets to contain his latest story. This is not just any house, and the room, as you might have guessed by now, is not just any old room. No, this house rather than a building is a statement of hope for the future; which at the time of its conception (sometime before the Second World War) seems against all odds, and it cradles a very particular room made of glass which breathes space and light in such a manner as never previously experienced. It is a modernist dream, a concrete glimmering bubble floating over a Czech town.

The very well-off Landauer couple are on the lookout for the perfect space for their marital future to expand in. Enter famous architect von Abt who takes a shine to the woman, Liesel, and immediately decides that he can create her a perfect abode to live her perfect life in. Once up and ready the building is given life by the arrival of children as well as the hectic social appointments of the fashionable couple. However, an ominous cloud is hanging in the distance darkening the transient light reflected throughout the house. The initial shudders of what Hitler will turn Germany into moves subtly through the happy times shaking the confidence of the Jewish husband as well as the friends and family of the couple. Eventually the family decides to flee to America leaving the house vacant except for a creepy former driver and his sister.

First the house gets occupied by Nazis doing “scientific” racial research. Then it turns into a physiotherapy centre for child polio victims, and finally it is considered for a museum of modernist architecture. Throughout the changes the one constant is Hana, Liesel’s best friend and confidant, a strong bisexual woman with few scruples. Somehow she manages to get herself into almost anything that concerns the house through entering into relationships with some of the more prominent people that end up working there. The obsession with the house seems to be related to her deep love for Liesel. Nevertheless, this part of the story hardly gets a look-in as the book closes which is a bit odd; giving one the impression of that she simply was a convenient colourful character to hinge the larger story on. In fact this book is littered with bisexual women to such an extent that one begins to wonder why. This, along with some episodes of clunky language takes away from a book that in other ways is half decent, even if a very likely candidate for a Hollywood film.

An intertextual play with the reader by means of an unreliable narrator? Certainly an unusual novel, pushing the boundaries of traditional storytelling. I picked up Vila-Matas novel with a lot of curiosity, however did find it slow to get into the author’s play until enjoying the skilful twists and turns when the novel gains in speed after the first hundred pages. Just don’t expect a page turner, all action here is internal or literary.

A novel without plot, maybe playing with Musil’s ‘Man without qualities, one of the many texts Vila-Matas’ protagonist always returns to. ‘Montano’ tries something new, Vila-Matas creates his own universe, seen through the eyes of his unreliable protagonist, a failed literary critic who, while being unable to write anything original himself, can’t escape the labyrinthine memory of Europe’s literary heritage that seems to haunt him no matter how far he travels. Montano’s Malady is the term used by the protagonist to describe his literary illness or writer’s block, the un-mentionable.

The protagonist travels from Barcelona to Nantes, to Valparaiso, to the Azores, to Budapest but never escapes his cultural memory, indeed tries to ‘turn into the complete memory of the history of literature […] because man is just a machine for remembering and forgetting’. Similar to Proustian memory, everything outside the narrator’s head remains strangely vague.

Divided into several chapters, each one revealing another game the author has played with the reader in the previous chapter, ‘Montano’ is part diary, part philosophical reflection and critical comment on literature, mainly reflecting on authors like Kafka, Musil, Proust, Montaigne, Borges, and Cervantes. It takes a while for the playfulness to reveal itself. After this, the novel becomes a game with false hints, dead ends in terms of plot development and intertextuality - after a somewhat slow start I found this game rather enjoyable. Don’t expect any logical sequence or obvious action but surrender yourself to the author’s labyrinthine storytelling, exploring the mechanics of literary tradition.

As the protagonist reflects: ‘the reader who seeks finished novels […] does not deserve to be my reader’.

The last Patriarch, first published in 2008 in Spanish as L’ultim Patriarca by Planeta, Barcelona, won the 2008 prestigious Ramon Llull Prize. This translation by Peter Bush will be out in May 2010.

Mimoun Driouch is the last patriarch of the book title and, firmly believing that his destiny will not be realized working his parents’ land he migrates. From his daughters’ narration, we follow his birth in rural Morocco through his journey and subsequent life in urban Catalunya, Spain. In material terms, even though it took a long time, it can be said that he is better off than his forbears but that is as far as it goes. But in this move he unwittingly flings two cultures at war with each other: traditional vs. modern, with him and his family as the battlefield, each seeking to wreck the most havoc.

Mimoun’s sojourn in Spain is filled with frustrations as happens to most migrants but, in his case, with the added problem of drug and drink, his frustrations are tinged with paranoia and rage and this, he takes out on his family. The narrator, his favourite, amidst four other siblings, is the most affected, who constantly struggles with her identity, even as the two cultures she straddles tugs her into perplexity.

Over the years, as Mimoun gets older he seems to revert more and more to the culture he left behind and added to his already jaundiced and erratic behaviour, the resulting splintered lives of his family can only be imagined. Ultimately the daughter pushes for freedom which she wrests with such a resounding heart-breaking manner, and in the process, apparently, broke the cycle of Mimouns’ patriarchal role.

El Hachmi, in The Last Patriarch, artfully touches on the issue of the burden of the migrant where being the ‘other’, underlie their every effort; identity being foremost on the agenda, especially for the immigrant children who, not being old enough, straddle two cultures that buffet them ceaselessly and where, if not properly managed can lead to disastrous outcome as seen in the heart wrenching betrayal that occurred between father and daughter. Also the position of women within a patriarchal structure was brought to the fore thus opening a door through which we glimpse the realities of repression imbued in the culturally assigned gender roles of Muslim Moroccan society: In doing this, it attests to the fact that, in so far as freedom is a desirable state, repression of any kind will always be thwarted even if in a hidden and more sinister form.

This book broke my heart; the rawness of the imagery will seep into your bones refusing to let go, but it should be read because, though nobody has a blueprint to life’s events The Last Patriarch is an eye opener.

In this novel, set not in Blackrock, Ireland, but Black Rock, Tobago, the protagonist Celia grows up with her Aunt Tassi, two younger cousins and her Aunt’s second husband, Roman. She is, of course, both intelligent and beautiful – “You’re a bright girl, Celia. Just because you’re pretty, doesn’t mean you should forget about your studies,” her schoolteacher fawns. But when Roman’s harassment of her finally culminates in rape, Celia runs away to neighbouring Trinidad. Becoming ill on the journey, she is fortunate enough to run into William Shamiel, a young man who helps her find a job as a maid with his employer, a medical doctor named Emmanuel Rodriguez. The womanizing Rodriguez soon begins a not-so-covert affair with an acquiescent Celia, which contributes to his wife’s increasing mental imbalance.

Told from the candid child point of view, Black Rock is a rarity in its interesting depiction of life on a Carribean island, but while the setting is captivating, the plot is largely the same old story. Both juvenile sexual abuse and the husband-philandering-with-the-maid line have been pretty much done to death as literary themes and Black Rock doesn’t offer anything new to justify rehashing them yet again. The answers to such riveting questions as the identity of Celia’s real parents (another theme that’s been wrung dry) can be seen coming a mile off, and, as the icing on the cake, Celia confesses her affair to William while sitting in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary, who apparently has an obligatory cameo in every Irish book ever published whenever the protagonist feels a confessional mood coming on.

But while the storyline is a bit bland (although well-told), the landscape never is. It’s clear that the author knows what she is talking about, and Celia’s island home of the 1950’s comes across both as authentic and asphyxiatingly entrancing. This is where Black Rock really shines, and it’s worth picking up solely for its languid yet vivid description, which instantly transports the reader to another time and place.

This is a book where nothing jars – no one ever drops irritatingly out of character, no gaps surface in the plot to nag at your brain – and this makes for a smooth, entertaining read. The fact that it’s just a little too neat is more than made up for by the exotic and vivid setting which the author conveys with unusual power.

Magdalena Tulli is a contemporary Polish writer that, like many non-English writers on the margins of the literary landscape, only fairly recently has been translated into English. Tulli through her word knitting creates fantastically intricate fabrics which one almost can wear. At the same time as she is philosophical she is also emotional, which perhaps sounds like a contradiction but which becomes blatantly real when you are in her world. She turns and spins you around; I did get actual feelings of inebriation at points, and you have to be a very interested, careful and attentive reader to fully appreciate her work which perhaps leaves this sort of book of more of interest to writers than readers. But then again that depends upon how adventurous a reader you are.

Have you ever read a wave? Well, this is what this book is. It is a swelling of the sea of words, literally. In many ways it seems that the point of the book is not to function as literature as such but it is more like a deconstruction of what and how word art can mean. But not just that, it sets in motion everything that you are as a reader, a writer and a fictional character. The floors undulate and the lines between fiction and real life blur completely. Yet, this is not solely a cerebral gymnasium it is also a quite brilliantly tuned and executed piece of fiction, or prose if you will, even when the narrative keeps shifting. Every word is a layer which reveals connections to other words and meanings in tantalisingly new ways, and like a piece of modern installation art this one interacts with you in a very real and physical manner. There were many comparisons that I came to whilst reading this, such as, George Perec’s A Void; a full length novel written completely without a single e (for the similarity in exercise as such), Laurie Anderson’s art piece of the book which describes you in the act of reading it which in turn compels and eggs you on to finish what you have started, thus keeping you enthralled in, and possessed by, your own action (for the similarity in the allusion to, or description of, the act of reading and/or writing itself), as well as the film director David Cronenberg’s obsession with the fine lines between the fictional and the real. Nevertheless, Tulli is definitely her own animal and her world is something that you enter at your own peril.

Set in Italy in 1700, Monaldi & Sorti’s sequel to ‘Imprimatur’ is a baroque novel opulently meandering along the time preceding the Conclave leading to Clement XI becoming Pope and the intrigue around the Spanish Succession brought about by the demise of King Charles II of Spain. We follow the same Holmes/Watson duo we got to know in the first novel: The elderly but vain Abbot Melani, castrato singer and spy in the service of Louis XIV and his young assistant.

Together this unlikely couple spy on the congregation of cardinals, guests at Villa Spada for a cardinal’s nephew’s wedding, spy on each other, and follow shady underworld figures in their quest to obtain the Abbot’s writings on historical events, a book previously stolen from him and with the power to change the course of history should it fall into the wrong hands. While living through these adventures together, the apprentice and chronicler of events learns more about Louis XIV private life and the links between Italy, France, and Spain and the current political discourse of the time. There is a wealth of characters, all becoming clearly distinguishable under the writers’ skilful pen: Cardinals and bishops, servants at Villa Spada, beggars, criminals, catchpoles, seemingly crazy musicians, midwives and many more, covering a broad array of baroque life.

Melani as well as most other characters are real historic figures, brilliantly described and thoroughly researched. Monaldi & Sorti use the hunt for the stolen book as a foil to explore the historical context further, or in their words the ‘dark, unexplained points that seemed to be deviations from the course of history’. Following into Eco’s footsteps when it comes to constructing a historically sound thriller, the author couple question the events leading up to the Conclave and the Spanish Succession.

A historic thriller, packed with detail, vivid imagery of the intrigues among the curia while contrasting this to Rome’s underworld with a wealth of cultural and sociological background and the insiders’ view of the political landscape with its all competing powers in Europe; there are only rare instances when the baroque context is left for a more contemporary point of view.

However, whereas the historical detail questioned by the historian and musicologist authors in the first novel remained a lot more explosive and better integrated into the overall plot, the thesis underlying this thriller is a lot thinner. Nevertheless the wealth of detail and the multi-faceted character descriptions along with the narrative drive of the thriller make ‘Secretum’ a gripping read. The novel’s playfulness even transported into real life: the authors’ work is banned in Italy.

A successful loss adjustor in a City firm in London, Caro spends her days tallying injuries, losses and costs. But this line of work is merely a shield to protect her from re-visiting her past.

It happens that Caro has been unable to unhinge herself from traumatic events that marked her formative years, which have left her not knowing what she wants out of life. Rather, she allows herself to be ‘hovered’ into life’s events – education, employment, friendships and so on. And even when she finally faces up to things at the age of 36, she fails to factor in where it all began.

As a child, Caro, Estelle and Cormac were childhood friends, inseparable and enjoying an idyllic life together as long as she can remember – until this peace was disrupted by the rape and murder of Estelle at the age of 15. Not long afterwards Cormac left, found fame as a rock musician and never came back, leaving Caro to mourn the loss of both of her friends.Since then, every Saturday without fail she visit’s Estelle’s grave, and shares a seat with an old man Tom in the graveyard – a friendship that gives her a new perspective on her own situation.

In the words of her publisher Serpent’s Tail, Aifric Campbell’s second book “portrays the power of the past to stifle the present and explores the emotional restraints that shackle our ability to experience life”.

The essence of The Loss Adjustor is this elegiac, regretful quality in her telling the story of a protagonist who played a major part in her own unhappiness.The language of The Loss Adjustor is solemn – befitting of the subject matter of longing, loss and the power of liberation. Campbell proves a master in her application of words, with sublime narrative and thoughtful prose. But when it comes to the substance of her main character, it surprised me that Campbell doesn’t recognise the role of nurture versus nature in the formation of human personality and character, to create a better understanding of the kind of existence Caro leads.

The book brings to the fore the idea that our refusal or inability to let go is the underlying cause of unhappiness or discontent, which is rather unfortunate as such a mindset does not allow for options or alternatives to seeking real freedom.