Before starting Toshikazu Mawaguchi’s Before Your Memory Fades, I took a photo of it in a coffee shop. In fact, I specifically took the book (which I knew I was not gonna read straight away) to the coffee shop to take a photo. It’s a book about coffee shops what can I say.
I took my typical coffee cup and book flat-lay but it didn’t seem quite right. So, in the spur of the moment I took another photo. In this one, I took a picture of the book with the coffee shop’s inspirational neon wall art (I think you all instantly pictured the exact vibe of this cafe). This motivational (or cheesy is you’re no fun) quote was a sign in itself… and not just because it is literally a sign. Unbeknownst to be, this book would strike a cord and resonate with my life.
I should have expected the book to pack an emotional punch. I have previously read the first two books in this series. Both Before The Coffee Gets Cold and Tales from the Cafe were fantastic reads. I even felt inspired to write a review of Before the Coffee Gets Cold. And yet I was unprepared for the tears and gasps this book would produce.
‘he realised that no matter how difficult life seemed, it could be completely turned around by a single epiphany’
Kawaguchi is known for tugging at your heart strings. All three novels in this series are formed of episodic intertwining chapters that detail one persons choice to travel in time.
At Cafe Donna, someone can return to the past… if they follow a few rules. These rules which include being unable to change the past and you have to rerun before your coffee gets cold, puts off a lot of visitors. Yet the stories in all three focus on a couple of examples where people are so desperate to return to the past that they go back anyway.
The people who travel in time have specific goals in mind. Their determination is admirable, if at times concerning. The strength of emotion it takes to travel in time, corresponds to the strength of emotion this book generates.
As mentioned, this book was a sign to me. Sometimes you read a book at the exact perfect time in your life, and this is certainly one of them for me.
‘You must, absolutely must… become happy Ok? Can you promise me?’
At the moment, I am on a journey. And in this journey, I have to choose myself and I have to choose life. The book reminded me to do this by showing me various people realising the same thing. Both ‘The Daughter’ and ‘The Comedian’ centre around characters who intent not to return to the past. They want to travel to the past to achieve their final wish before they say goodbye to their lives in the present.
The stories may sound depressing, but they are far from it. Interwoven into each story is an endless stream of beautiful and gut wrenching quotes. In fact it might be the most quotable book I have ever read. You could very easily steal multiple lines of this book to provide an inspirational Instagram account with a years worth of content. I never do this but I found myself literally gasping out loud when reading this book. I couldn’t help highlighting this book, because the book highlighted many key concepts for me.
Before Your Memory Fades is the perfect emotional read. Fans of self help books, Matt Haig, TJ Kline’s latest two novels will love this book. Its genre might be nearly incomparable to them, but they pack the same punch. I highlight recommend everyone read this book. Unless you haven’t read the first two yet. In that case, I encourage you to grab a cup of coffee, get cosy in bed, and get absorbed into the world of Cafe Donna.
I cannot accurately translate the impact of this book. Something would be lost in translation. Just like you have to read the original text to understand it fully, you need to read Babel to truly capture R. F. Kuang’s message. This review is just a merely attempt to translate how impressionable this book is.
Babel follows Robin as he is removed from his homeland and gifted the opportunity to study translation at Oxford University by his father (although he is reluctant to define himself as such) Professor Lovell. My contradictory use of the words ‘removed’ and ‘gifted’, highlights the contradiction or complexity at the heart of the novel. Is Robin’s education a privilege or abuse? This is for Robin to decide once he gets introduced to the Hermes society a rebellious group intent on slowing down England’s colonial project by limited how much they can translate and steal from other cultures.
The magic in this novel is incredibly subtle. Only people who think and live in multiple languages can use silver because it requires you to masterfully translate a word so that it purposely excludes one of its meanings. The excluded meaning is then created as a spell. This might sound convoluted, but Kuang weaves it into her novel with such grace that it becomes an unquestioned element of the world’s reality. With Babel, Kuang has proven that she is the master of high fantasy and historical fantasy.
Previously, Kuang has only published The Poppy War trilogy (a grimdark epic fantasy based on 20th-Century Chinese history). This series was a phenomenal triumph of fantasy writing. From a critical perspective, even single instalment was awarded the Hugo Award. On a more personal and subjective note, this was the first adult fantasy series that fully drew me into the genre. I picked up The Poppy War on a whim and all of a sudden I was so emmersed in Rin’s journey on the road of self-destruction and personal vendettas that I had finished the entire trilogy in no time at all. I found it as unputdownable as all my favourite cheesy YA novels (don’t judge me but back in the day Sarah J. Mass was my shit), but actually good. Unlike a SJM novel, I would (and have) happily read Kuang’s writing in public. Kuang is a rare writer who is can successfully juggle every element of fantasy writing. Her novels are at once magical action-packed adventures and intense character-focused commentaries. This is still the case when she utilises a very different setting in Babel.
Similar to within The Poppy War, Kuang uses her fantastical elements to reflect events from history. In this case, instead of using fantasy to stand for reality, she entwines magic and reality so that reality is infused with magic and magic is infused with reality. Not only is the novel a Victorian novel that depicts this period’s colonialism, but it is also a fantasy where magic symbolises the colonial project. Consequently, Babel is one of the most intelligent novels I have ever read.
I read this book slowly and carefully to ensure I picked up on every single word and double meaning. Normally I hate footnotes in a novel. I think this might be the defining reason that I struggled to connect to Mark Z. Danielwski’s House of Leaves even though a complex ghost story based on Jaques Derrida appeals to me immensely (my masters dissertation focused on both this genre and this theorist). Yet here I was devouring the footnotes for extra definitions and historical references. They all added context to the narrative without disrupting it.
While Kuang does not engage with Derrida directly, I couldn’t help thinking about his theory of differance while reading Babel. The similarity between silver and differance struck out to me. Silver relies on a word carrying what is excluded from it and Derrida famously suggests that every word works because you relate it to what it is not. This has large implications for social groups. It also applies to how white Victorians are constantly defined by the colonial people they try to other. Not only does Kuang explore differences in meaning, she uses it to reflect differences of people. Within Babel people are the languages they speak. Because her characters are defined by the languages they master, Kuang effortlessly mirrors translation and colonialism. Victorian society does not just claim ownership of the languages they translate, they also control the people who speak them. Like silver, her characters become objects used by imperialism to support their project. This reveals how colonialism has never ended. I was confronted by the racism I am implicit in as a white person living in Britain. I cannot sit here and deny that colonialism has not supported me, when I am sitting here drinking Indian coffee and typing on a device that was made in China.
While I have now started to analyse the novel as if I’m sat in a seminar room, you do not have to enjoy education to take deeper meaning out of the novel. The friendships at the core of the novel will enrapture every reader. So far, my review has just focused on Robin, and this is my own self-confessed flaw. You cannot do Babel justice without discussing his band of confidants. Babel has rightfully been compared to Dark Academia novels. This was what appealed to me most about the novel. I unashamedly love the pretentiousness of a litany fiction novel set at a university involving death and murder (it literally combines all of my favourite things). The Babelers that Kuang’s narrative oscillates around are easily comparable to the the classics students in Donna Tartt’s The Secret History. But then again every intense and toxic friendship can be compared to this groundbreaking novel.
In Babel, Robin studies alongside the three other university outcasts in his year. He immediately forms a Ron and Harry like friendship with Ramy. And their duo later joins with two girls (Letty and Victoire) to form a beautiful quartet. It’s this dynamic that pulls you through each of the novels five sections. While Kuang (speaking at the novel’s launch event in Liverpool) stated that her five-act structure was designed to reflect 19th-Century Buildingsromans like Charles Dickens Oliver, her five act structure particularly charts this dynamic from origin to its untimely end. Fans of Kuang’s other work should not be surprised that this friendship is not smooth sailing. It is truly the quartet’s relationship that we watch come of age.
This does not mean that Robin does not go through a transformation throughout the novel. The young lonely boy we meet at the beginning is nothing like the self-destructive person he becomes. In fact, it is insane to think that they are the same person. How Kuang managed to depict such a journey in a 550 page novel is beyond me. What Kuang does best is writing a protagonist who looses their innocence due to the harsh reality of the world they live in and the people they encounter. Robin, like Rin, becomes a different person because the relationships in his life force him to adapt.
Kuang does not shy away from the harsh realities of the world, and this is balanced in both Robin’s journey and the novel’s ending. The novel, unsurprisingly has a grim ending. I will not go into details, but you will cry when reading this book. You will feel frustrated. You will feel agony. You will hate how realistic in it.
Yet all hope is not lost. Kuang balances devastation with hope. Babel somewhat has two endings (this will only make sense when you have read the novel). One details pain and one is about overcoming pain. This is the ending that really struck me. This second ending is about the possibility. So, I will end like Kuang does, with a sense of wonder at what the future might hold (specifically the future of her writing career).
Ironically, Conversations with Friends is a TV show that didn’t listen to its source material. I first read Conversations with Friends years ago, and it quickly became my favourite book. In fact, loving this book basically became my entire personality. I talked about this book excessively, I wrote my favourite blog post ever about it (hint, hint), and I instantly ordered and devoured Normal People the very same day. Yet, the Conversations with Friends TV show failed to live up to my expectations.
Firstly, it failed to draw me in. I was so excited to finally get round to watching the show, but when I watched the first episode I felt no compulsion to continue watching it. I actually found it a struggle to even get through the first episode. It could be that I was overly familiar with the story, but I don’t quite think that was the case. Sometimes it can be hard to watch something when you know the plot back to front, yet I found it easy to reread the novel just a year ago. Instead, I think it simply lacked the dynamism of the book and the instant chemistry of Normal People. It was clear from the beginning that this show was not going to be a repeat of the first Sally Rooney adaptions. People would not go around buying items of jewellery to be like one of the main characters, Instagram accounts would not be dedicated to the actresses’ hairstyles, and most certainly wasn’t going to be a massive hit. Instead, it was an okay TV show that people enjoyed but forgotten about in a couple of months (I am writing this review about a month or two after the show’s release and honestly I have no idea if it is even still relevant). I am writing this review not to be trendy, but to finally express my detailed thoughts. My friends are probably thankful I am no longer spamming their inboxes with my rambly thoughts.
The book centres around four characters who fail to effectively communicate, but the show failed to communicate this. Mainly, I think this was because the show simply didn’t include enough conversations. Don’t get me wrong, the book has a lot of sex scenes but because it is a novel the focus on the sex scenes is not on the sex itself but Francis’s thoughts. The scenes express the incomplete connection between Francis and Nick. Whereas, in the show, the sex scenes were nothing other than sex scenes. They didn’t go as far as to titillate the viewer, but they also didn’t add anything to the plot or the characters. I truly did not see the point of them, or why they were so long. It felt like they were trying to recapture the magic of Normal People. But in Normal People, the sex scenes coincided with romance, spiritual connection, and beautiful acting. In Normal People the sex scenes served a purpose. Sure there were a lot of them, but the inclusion of the sex scenes added to the show. Looking back, I can clearly remember Marianne asking Connel if he liked her during the middle of sex and it being this great awkward scene. I cannot do the same for Conversations with Friends, despite having watched it literally last month.
I think the show could have benefited from more dialogue. Obviously, the characters do not communicate properly, so it should include some withheld and obscured thoughts, but the characters do spend time together talking. They don’t just oscillate around each other in silence. ‘Character’s oscillating around each other in silence’ could easily be the tagline for the show. They never seem to directly interact. The book includes loads of scenes of the characters simply spending time together. Nick and Francis interact without sex. They drink and eat together. They chill on the couch. It is in these moments that the show was truly missing.
Yet, despite excluding lots of key character scenes, it also felt incredibly long. It might just be that the pacing was slightly weird (I definitely found the last couple of episodes more engaging than the rest), but the middle of the show dragged on and on for seemingly no reason. I don’t quite know how the show managed this. How can a twelve-episode show exclude so much of a three-hundred-page book and still feel drawn out?
The show also needed to include some backstory. One of my main complaints was that Bobbie and Francis do not feel like friends in the TV show. I know that their friendship is meant to be toxic at this moment, but they do actually care for each other. As a viewer, you need to understand that they are inseparable and have known each other for so long that they simply cannot exist without the other. Not to place too much emphasis on this, but one of the reasons their relationship felt strange was the decision to make Bobbi American. Not only was this baffling (I honestly have no idea why she was American), but it also meant that the viewer did not understand how deep-routed Francis and Bobbi’s relationship was. They felt like two people forced together by a university dorm room rather than two lifelong friends who evolved in relation to each other.
Don’t get me wrong there were elements of the show I did enjoy. I really loved the last episode. I found this really engaging and it at this point, I started to understand Francis. However, this should have come much earlier. When reading the book, you are obviously in Francis’s head so you are forced to see her and the show fails to convey this from the beginning. The viewer starts to understand her because of the sheer amount of time they have spent with her rather than because of any deliberate filmmaking techniques. A lot of my issues come down to the fact that it simply failed to adapt. It failed to reflect the tone and message of the book and also failed to adapt to a different form of media. TV is different from books (a fact that I shouldn’t need to state) and the show did not make the effort to convey Francis’s thoughts with this new medium in mind.
In fact, the only thing I think the show adapted well were the settings. Francis’s apartment and the university were almost exactly what I had pictured. You know a show wasn’t great when your favourite thing about it was the locations chosen.
There is a chance that this book is perfect… at least perfect for me. I’ve never had such a positive feeling about a book that I have preordered before (and certainly not one I had signed). I am so glad that this one delivered everything I wanted and more. This book will hold a special place in my book collection (and my heart) for years to come.
I have previously read three Emily St. John Mandel books, and this one is probably my favourite. I was first introduced to her writing when I picked up The Glass Hotel on a whim and I started off strong. I found myself immersed in the plot and in love with the atmosphere. (Irrelevant sidenote: since reading this novel, I have come to the conclusion that I love stories about hotels. This is super niche, but one of my favourite comfort shows is Schitt’s Creek, I could talk about The Shining for years and years, and The Grand Budapest Hotel is an unforgettable film with an even more unforgettable soundtrack – it is basically the only film score I will rave about.) It is therefore no surprise that while Station Eleven is everyone else’s favourite Mandel novel, The Glass Hotel was mine. Until I read The Sea of Tranquility, which truly changed the game… or rocked the boat.
However, The Sea of Tranquility is perhaps not a novel for everyone. It is designed for an Emily St. John Mandel reader. In this novel, she essentially creates her own extended universe. However, the Mandel-universe differs from others like the MCU. Unlike these films, her novel is not a desperate attempt to make as much money as possible. In fact, Mandel’s decision to her unite her novels might have made them less profitable. Even though it can be read on its own, I wouldn’t recommend reading it without having read at least The Glass Hotel, and maybe even Station Eleven too. To appreciate the full complexity of the novel, you need to immerse yourself in her writing.
The Sea of Tranquility is almost impossible to describe. It is a novel that initially appears to have no protagonist. It starts much like Cloud Atlas. It includes vignettes that later connect to a more recognisable plot. While none of her novels are chronological, this novel has even less of a familiar structure. Like her other novels, The Sea of Tranquility follows multiple threads across time. Yet, in her other novels, these strands are plaited together by repeating characters. At first, The Sea of Tranquility feels completely unconnected, her reader cannot decipher why Mandel is choosing to tell these stories. It reads more like a book of incomplete short stories than a novel.
However, around the halfway mark, Mandel finally ties her disparate stories together through Gaspery-Jacques Roberts. As a time-traveller tasked with exploring a weird artistic loophole he unites the novel. At this point, the book became impossible to put down. I ravished the end of the book. I lived the dream of basking in the sunshine while reading a perfect novel. The atmosphere was beautiful and well, tranquil.
‘This is the strange lesson of living in a pandemic: life can be tranquil in the face of death’
Emily St. john Mandel
This does not mean that I did not enjoy the beginning of the novel, don’t get me wrong I loved the entire thing. But understanding the connections between her sections transformed the book from a simple walk in the woods to a transcendent experience that needed to be captured.
Throughout the entire book, Mandel writes with her trademark luscious style. The entire book is just beautiful to read. It is incredibly quotable. Olive’s section includes the type of impactful ruminations you would expect from an author’s perspective. In this section, Mandel narrates the experiences of an author who wrote a pandemic novel going through an actual pandemic (I can only guess where she stumbled upon the inspiration for this narrative). Olive forces you to reflect on your own pandemic experience. But it is not all doom and gloom. Amidst, her reflections that ‘in any given crowd, serval people will be incredibly sick’, Mandel weaves in little comments that offer the reader a wave of irony and humour. You can’t help but laugh at her thoughts like ‘but obviously Marienbad was fiction’. The line between fiction and reality is blurred for Olive, just like Mandel blurs the lines between the narratives we are reading and the lives we are living. Its commentary on the pandemic would perhaps appeal to fans of Ali Smith. Like Smith, Mandel’s jibes skim the water like a pebble on the ocean.
Saying this, the most impactful lines definitely manifest once we have dived into the head of Gaspery-Jacques’s mind. Learning about his marital failures, his search for purpose, and his kindheartedness, makes an already resonant novel unforgettable.
It’s very rare for a book to make me cry, but this one did it. It has so many lines that will resonate with me through time. I truly don’t think I can forget this book or its language. It is literary fiction at its best. It makes you think by offering subtle images that can transfer into messages for life. By focusing on him, Mendel anchors the book on his experiences. Through her short chapters, Mandel forces her reader to think about existential questions… but in an inspiring way. After all, ‘a life lived in a simulation is still a life’.
I absolutely loved that it reminded me of some of my favourite sci-fi stories. It reminded me of the OA, Sense8, Cloud Atlas, This is How You Lose the Time War and much more. I often forget why I love sci-fi and this has proved that it is because of connection. Sci-fi can offer beautiful relationships and interconnected plots at the same time. It makes me want to read more sci-fi, dive back into those beloved stories, and reread this book immediately – while writing this review, I took a break to reserve the audiobook from my library. I can’t wait to dive back into the book and discover even more hidden paths and connections.
Words and Dragons 