Women’s Prize for Fiction Longlist 2018: the Debut Novelists

I’m still pretty amazed finding six of the longlisted novels for the Women’s Prize for Fiction are debuts. Six of sixteen. That’s a big chunk, nearly half.

I can do math!

These women are incredible, each one. I may normally quibble and grumble about first-time novelists snagging such a prestigious longlist nomination, but after reading more about them I’m not just impressed, I hate my own guts.

What have I been doing? SPOILER: Sure as hell not translating my life and experiences into award-nominated books.

Elif Batuman (American)

The Idiot, Penguin

 

Elife Batuman, photo: The Irish Times

 

Elif Batuman has been a staff writer for The New Yorker roughly eight years. The author of The Possessed: Adventures with Russian Books and the People Who Read Them, she’s won the Whiting Writer’s Award, Rona Jaffe Foundation Award and Terry Southern Prize for Humor. Earning her PhD in comparative lit from Stanford, she’s your classic underachiever.

I really want to hate her. But then, I remember I’m the one who’s opted to sit on my ass watching bad reality television instead of, I don’t know, writing?

In college I was one of two students in a Russian literature course, taught by an actual Russian. Yes, an actual Russian! I know, right? Funny thing, because of the low interest, she’d only agree to teach if I’d run her home after the evening class. The buses stopped relatively early, and she didn’t drive. Funny, at the time I didn’t think much about it, but why did she even schedule that time at all, if this was the case? Took me long enough, didn’t it.

We read and watched the film of The Overcoat and several other short stories, and explored Crime and Punishment in-depth. Hell, there were only two of us. There was no excuse not to cover everything in-depth. Those once a week trips to her house, I don’t even recall what we talked about. Books, I would presume. It’s just a weird footnote in my life.

I love Russian literature, and love that Batuman pays it homage in the titles of her books. I bought a copy, and covet her first book on the topic of one of my favorite literary nationalities.

We know it’ll be on my shelves, eventually. I mean, please.

Imogen Hermes Gowar  (British)

The Mermaid and Mrs. Hancock, Harvill Secker

 

Imogen Hermes Gowar, photo: thetimes.co.uk

 

Now this woman, she really makes me realize how I’ve frittered my life. An archaeology, anthropology and art history scholar, her writing inspired by artefacts earned her the 2013 Malcolm Bradbury Memorial Scholarship funding an MA in Creative Writing.

Writing about artefacts, freaking genius. As a kid, one of the things I dreamed of was being an archaeologist. I was nuts about the Egyptians, the Romans, Druids…  When I had the chance to actually visit Europe, it filled my heart to bursting. I was that nerdy kid taking notes on the bus.

Picked as a ‘MOST ANTICIPATED BOOK OF 2018’ by Vogue, Sunday Times, Observer, The Times, Sunday Mirror, Daily Express, BBC Arts, Red Magazine, Stylist, The Pool, Emerald Street, Independent, The Herald, Irish Times, Irish Tatler, The Journal and Irish Independent. ‘A brilliantly plotted story of mermaids, madams and intrigue in 1780s London and I wouldn’t be surprised to see it become the Essex Serpent of 2018’ – The Pool ‘Imogen Hermes Gowar is a soon-to-be literary star’ – Sunday Times THIS VOYAGE IS SPECIAL. IT WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING.
  • Amazon.com

 

It never occurred to me to approach fiction from the angle of a single, historical object, and how I love that premise. I wasn’t going to buy this book. Now I don’t see how I cannot. It reminds me of the nonfiction book The Bronte Cabinet by Deborah Lutz, a book about eight objects owned by the siblings. An absolutely fascinating book, one I cannot recommend too highly.

 

Jessie Greengrass  (British)

Sight, Harvill Secker

 

Jessie Greengrass, photo: theshortstory.com

 

A student of philosophy at Cambridge and London, Jessie Greengrass’s first collection of short stories, An Account of the Decline of the Great Auk, According to One Who Saw It, won two prizes, including the Somerset Maugham. That is colossal.

Sight is narrated by a nameless young woman who, pregnant with her second child, meditates on her mother’s death and its aftermath, her relationship with her psychoanalyst grandmother, and how difficult it was to decide to have her first baby. The narrative brushes back and forth in time, bringing unexpected connections to the surface.

 

A book about familial relationships is a harder sell for me. I’m not generally a fan of this sort of novel. Might Sight be an exception? Possibly, and I certainly esteem the author’s credentials. It’s on the second string of Women’s Fiction titles I’m considering buying.

A few more reviews may sway me one way or the other.

 

Gail Honeyman  (British)

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, HarperCollins

 

Gail Honeyman, photo: amazon.co.uk

 

I wasn’t able to find as much about Gail Honeyman, aside from the fact she’s a graduate of both Edinburgh and Glasgow Universities. Perhaps I could dig a bit deeper, but despite her Costa win I’m a bit hesitant to spend a lot of time.

That sounds more rude than I mean it to be. A tremendously popular writer of a universally loved book, Gail Honeyman will have a legion of fans. I don’t mean to disparage, just use my time wisely.

 

“If someone asks you how you are, you are meant to say FINE. You are not meant to say that you cried yourself to sleep last night because you hadn’t spoken to another person for two consecutive days. FINE is what you say.”
  • Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine

 

 

I disliked this book. Rather, I disliked the second half, after main character Eleanor made her about-face. I don’t like treacle-y endings. The first part  was so well-written. It had all the elements of a superbly dark story, then sold out. The first and last halves could have been from completely different books. It jarred, ending on an almost Bridget Jones note.

I half wonder if she didn’t originally write a much different book, but some misguided editor put it in her mind that it would sell better if it ended happily. She’s tremendously talented; the first half had me riveted. By the end, I was angry I’d wasted time on it.

No figs are given for popular opinion on Bluestalking. Moving on.

 

Fiona Mozley (British)

Elmet, Algonquin

 

Fiona Mozley, photo: thenational.ae

 

An employee in a bookshop, Fiona Mozley may be even more mysterious than Gail Honeyman. I found this on her website, and precious little else:

 

I grew up in York and later lived in London, Cambridge and Buenos Aires. I am now back in York, where I am writing a PhD thesis on the concept of decay in the later Middle Ages, as well as writing fiction.
I work part-time at The Little Apple Bookshop.

 

 

Little Apple Bookshop

 

An unassuming biography for a 29-year old woman who’s written a book both Booker shortlisted and on this longlist. A brilliant book, at that. I’ll let my review say the rest, but thus far it’s a favorite for the prize.

 

Sarah Schmidt (Australian)

 

 

See What I Have Done, Atlantic Monthly

 

Sarah Schmidt, photo: pinterest.co.uk

 

Sarah Schmidt is a reading and literacy librarian residing in Melbourne. She holds a B.A. in professional writing and editing, as well as an M.A. in creative writing. She’s also a history buff, judging from her dogged pursuit of all things Lizzie Borden, and resulting novel getting rave reviews.

 

On the morning of August 4, 1892, Lizzie Borden calls out to her maid: Someone’s killed Father. The brutal ax-murder of Andrew and Abby Borden in their home in Fall River, Massachusetts, leaves little evidence and many unanswered questions. While neighbors struggle to understand why anyone would want to harm the respected Bordens, those close to the family have a different tale to tell―of a father with an explosive temper; a spiteful stepmother; and two spinster sisters, with a bond even stronger than blood, desperate for their independence.
  • Amazon.com

 

I have this book on order, expecting its arrival within the next week or two. I ordered a used copy to save a few dollars, considering the considerable expenditure involved in buying so dratted many books at once.

I, too, find the Lizzie Borden case transfixing, and can’t imagine there was no child abuse involved. My own theory, aided by all but zero research but empathy based on my childhood experience, is she one day snapped under the strain. The rest is morbid history.

Can’t wait to get my hands on this one.

 

Will one of these first-timers beat out the rest for a Women’s Prize for Fiction win? I have to tell you, from the bit of investigation I’ve done I wouldn’t be shocked. I plan to take a closer look at the other writers; I just wanted a special post devoted to the relative newbies.

But what a crop of newbies.

 

 

Women’s Prize for Fiction 2018: It’s Early Yet

 

Welcome to the 2018 Women’s Prize for Fiction longlist, formerly Baileys Prize, formerly Orange Prize. Quite the crop this year, including six debut novels.

Six!

I’ve had the Longlist date on my calendar for weeks. I just got very busy and had no time to post before now.

 

 

I’ve read a grand total of one of the longlisted books, Gail Honeyman’s Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. Unlike the rest of the world, I’m not a huge fan. I own three others: Jennifer Egan’s Manhattan, Fiona Mozley’s Elmet and Jesmyn Ward’s Sing, Unburied, Sing. Had I the money, I’d buy them all. Not because I believe they’re all great, but to support this prize and female writers in general. I’d also like to stack and re-stack them, take photos of and with them, and gloat.

Mostly, gloat.

Eight authors are Brits, four American, one Australian, one Pakistani/British and two Indian. Diversity? Meh. Not so much.

 

I’ve checked Amazon re: availability. It’s astonishingly good, though not all can be had via my beloved Prime. Only one – Imogen Gowar’s The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock – is unavailable in the States. It’s on pre-order, expected to be published September 11.

That does me no damn good, does it.

 

Women’s Prize for Fiction 2018 Longlisted Authors
(first novels highlighted in red)

 

  • Nicola Barker, British, H(A)PPY, her 12th novel (William Heinemann)
  • Elif Batuman, American, The Idiot, her first novel (Jonathan Cape)
  • Joanna Cannon, British, Three Things About Elsie, her second novel (The Borough Press)
  • Charmaine Craig, American, Miss Burma, her second novel (Grove Press)
  • Jennifer Egan, American, Manhattan Beach, fifth novel (Corair)
  • Imogen Hermes Gowar, British, The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock, her first novel (Harvill Secker)
  • Jessie Greengrass, British, Sight, her first novel (John Murray)
  • Gail Honeyman, British, Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, her first novel (HarperCollins)
  • Meena Kandasamy, Indian, When I Hit You: Or, A Portrait of the Writer as a Young Wife, her second novel (Atlantic Books)
  • Fiona Mozley, British, Elmet, her first novel (JM Originals)
  • Arundhati Roy, Indian, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, her second novel (Hamish Hamilton)
  • Sarah Schmidt, Australian, See What I Have Done, her first novel (Tinder Press)
  • Rachel Seiffert, British, A Boy in Winter, her fourth novel (Virago)
  • Kamila Shamsie, Pakistani/British, Home Fire, her seventh novel (Bloomsbury Circus)
  • Kit de Waal, British, The Trick to Time, her second novel (Viking)
  • Jesmyn WardAmerican Sing, Unburied, Sing, third novel, (Boomsbury Circus)

 

Repeated from my Man Booker rants of the past, being a novice should grant a writer no special privilege. Any judging panel worried about offending the masses is going to pepper a longlist with several Redshirts (Star Trek reference), and what better way than neophyte authors. Some are there from merit, others as place fillers. I’ve already sniffed out a place filler or two, but I’ll keep my own counsel for now.

Conversely, past reputation should bring no assurance, either. Even the big writers stumble. But – and this is a big but – experience will out. A writer who’s been honing her craft 20 years is going to be more sophisticated and nuanced than a newbie. Again, unless she should stumble.

So. The 2018 list. I’ll yoink off Eleanor Oliphant first thing. Too popular, and the ending was a sell-out.

And then there were 15.

Longlisted books I’ll try to finish before the Shortlist is announced (April 23):

Jennifer Egan Manhattan Beach

Fiona Mozley Elmet

Jesmyn Ward Sing, Unburied, Sing

 

Second Tier Longlisted books I’ll finish if there’s still time before the Shortlist: *

Elif Batuman The Idiot

Sarah Schmidt See What I Have Done

* Books I’m buying because they sound like great reads, and to support the longlisted authors, not necessarily books I think will win the prize.

 

I won’t get serious about predictions until the Shortlist’s announced. I’m not familiar enough with lots of these writers. I’ll read more about them and their books, scan some reviews, and keep an ear to the ground.

As with the Man Bookers, I won’t let the fact I haven’t read all the books stop me from opining.

 

First up will be Elmet. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things. Once I’ve cleared off Ruby, my second read of The Ballad of Peckham Rye and A Clockwork Orange, it’s right on to Fiona Mozley.

So much to do. Back asap.

Merry Booksmas! Books I’m gifting to me this year.

Nice stack.

Let’s face it: no one knows which books I want at the holidays. Used to be I owned thousands and no one could tell what I didn’t already have. Now that my library’s so small, it’s what haven’t you already read...

Plus, I only exchange gifts with my kids, so there’s that. They figure I pick up anything I really want, anyway. Mostly, they’re right.

There were so, so many books I wanted to buy, but unfortunately there are annoying bills like rent and food to be paid. 2017 was not cheap, not that I’m saying I regret a penny. I just don’t have an awful lot of disposable income right now to feel comfortable splashing out.

But it’s Christmas, right?

Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses? Are there no new books to crack open and smell?

Oh, there are:

Elmet by Fiona Mozley

I didn’t pay much attention to this year’s Man Bookers. Usually I’m all over it like orange on Trump, but this year I was pre-occupied and hardly noticed the long or short lists. I’ll admit I was a bit surprised when I heard an American had won it for the second year in a row. But I won’t go into the politics of that and how irksome I find it. I’ve had enough politics this year to last me the rest of my life, thanks very much.

Elmet sounds delicious:

The family thought the little house they had made themselves in Elmet, a corner of Yorkshire, was theirs, that their peaceful, self-sufficient life was safe. Cathy and Daniel roamed the woods freely, occasionally visiting a local woman for some schooling, living outside all conventions. Their father built things and hunted, working with his hands; sometimes he would disappear, forced to do secret, brutal work for money, but to them he was a gentle protector.

The Power by Naomi Alderman

You have been taught that you are unclean, that you are not holy, that your body is impure and could never harbour the divine. You have been taught to despise everything you are and to long only to be a man. But you have been taught lies. ‘

– The Power

 

 

 

This year’s Baileys Women’s Prize winner has huge praise from Margaret Atwood emblazoned on the cover. Margaret. Atwood.

Oh please, like I wasn’t buying this one.

Incidentally, did you catch The Handmaid’s Tale on Hulu? I watched all but the last episode in Scotland; I’m pissed as hell I had to leave and missed the ending. I may have to subscribe for the free trial just to see that.

Mrs Osmond by John Banville

John Banville writes like an angel, and this book extends the story of Isabel Archer from Henry James’s The Portrait of a Lady. I may need to re-read Portrait, as well. Do I re-read it before, or after?

A quandary.

Read before, I may be too critical of Banville. After. Definitely after.

I don’t always get along with sequels and prequels and riffs on classic literature. But John Banville. Exceptions are made to all my rules.

Miss Jane by Brad Watson

The potency and implacable cruelty of nature, as well as its beauty, is a trademark of Watson’s fiction. In Miss Jane, the author brings to life a hard, unromantic past that is tinged with the sadness of unattainable loves, yet shot through with a transcendent beauty.

Yep.

Huuuuge buzz surrounded this novel, which doesn’t always mean much, but when it’s a proven writer like Brad Watson, it kinda does.

Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor

Several people said this novel should have taken the Booker Prize this year. Yeah, even when I’m not paying attention, I’m paying attention.

When it comes to books.

Midwinter in an English village. A teenage girl has gone missing. Everyone is called upon to join the search. The villagers fan out across the moors as the police set up roadblocks and a crowd of news reporters descends on what is usually a place of peace. Meanwhile, there is work that must still be done: cows milked, fences repaired, stone cut, pints poured, beds made, sermons written, a pantomime rehearsed.

As the seasons unfold and the search for the missing girl goes on, there are those who leave the village and those who are pulled back; those who come together and those who break apart. There are births and deaths; secrets kept and exposed; livelihoods made and lost; small kindnesses and unanticipated betrayals. An extraordinary novel of cumulative power and grace, Reservoir 13 explores the rhythms of the natural world and the repeated human gift for violence, unfolding over thirteen years as the aftershocks of a tragedy refuse to subside.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

Never read any Ng, but I follow her on Twitter and she’s very likable. She tweeted a lot as she was writing this book, enough that I started wondering why I’m following her if I haven’t read her books.

Let’s remedy that.

Mrs. Fletcher by Tom Perrotta

I had this book in my hand so many times at Barnes & Noble. I didn’t buy it previously for no other reason than I’m not buying a lot of books this year, especially expensive new ones. And especially not when I can go a-begging and get them for free.

I was in an indie bookshop, saw it sitting there, and thought oh, okay, what the hell. It’ll be a fast and probably fairly forgettable book, but entertaining nonetheless. Plus, I was helping out a local indie.

Win/win.

As I was posting this, I remembered one work of NF I’d wanted very badly and hadn’t managed to snag from the publisher. If Amazon’s still promising pre-Christmas delivery…

Well.

We’ll see.

I’m being very good to myself this year. I think I deserve it. But then, I think I do every year. Never let it be said I’ve hidden my preference for myself under a bushel. After all, if you don’t look out for yourself, no one else will.

True words.

I’m hoping to get off (be good) at least one more post before year’s end, on the topic of my 2018 plans. Mostly reading, but if I’m in the right mood I’ll talk about other stuff, too. Safest to stay with reading, but when am I ever safe.

Anyway. Get out there and buy yourselves some books! Chop, chop. Time’s a-wasting.