The Lit List’s top 10 books to get lost in
My name is Rachel Soo Thow and I’m the creator of The Lit List (@thelitlist__) on Instagram. I’m a Beauty Development Executive by day and a book enthusiast and freelance artist by night. For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved reading; from pouring over graphic novels in the school library to digesting every book in the Goosebumps series to spending hours on end divulging the latest in contemporary fiction today. The obsession will truly be with me to the grave. Thrifting books is where I’ve sourced the majority of books that sit on my shelves and that have featured on my feed – I believe in the circular process of books wholeheartedly and believe that the tangibility of each page is what makes these personal selections so special. You’ll find me researching where the next Book Fair or Book Sale will pop up and despite the hour long drives, I’ll be there. The books featured here in my Top Ten are books that I have gravitated toward for their ability to exhibit resonance — an extension of my resistance, my lived experiences and my love for all things that seem to put me in a dreamlike state. From political issues, to thoughts on love to character development, each of these novels seems to tick the boxes. Even through one’s past and present, the telling of stories and the power of literature continues to be an enigma- these imagined memories are openly transcribed upon pages that are inspired by both fantasies and fears. An embodied act that allows for the birth of words to sit sparingly on our shelves, waiting to be discovered one day at a time.
What My Mother And I Don’t Talk About edited by Michele Filgate
This collection from fifteen essayists is gut-wrenching and remarkable. From the very first page, I was hooked- editor Michele Filgate explores ways of connecting to her own mother through cooking and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation and familiarity for what was to come. Growing up in a semi-traditional Asian family, ‘love’ isn’t usually a word expressed out loud and emotions aren’t usually displayed on the daily. It’s a culture that you could say is historically and predominantly collectivistic in its approach- any notion of emotion separate to the ‘masses’ is often de-emphasized and recognized as deviating too far from the norm. Having been born here in New Zealand as opposed to Malaysia like my relatives, both myself and my sister have had to juggle this sense of being stuck between a Westernised culture and a collective one that engages in social comparisons with family and traditions. Therefore, the very action and verbal expressions of love, have always been traditionally shown through food; memories of arriving home from school to a smorgasbord of hot steaming food under lace food covers and rice cooker filled with rice to the right temperature, is no different to what I experience today popping over to the parentals for a visit. This novel seeks to challenge what remains unsaid from the depths of childhood; from Melissa Febos to Carmen Maria Machado’s decision to not be a mother to the heartbreaking story of Nayomi Munaweera’s mother stuck in a badly arranged marriage and having an undiagnosed mental illness on top of that- the narratives are truly raw, dynamic and vulnerable.
What I Loved by Siri Hustvedt
If you haven’t experienced Hustvedt’s work, then this is your sign. This is the story of two men (Leo and Bill) who become friends in 1970’s New York and it becomes inevitable that their wives and sons of the same age would become intertwined over the coming years. Tragedy beholds the family and the plot becomes dotted with satisfying and sensical prose in typical Hustvedt fashion; every page was memorable and finishing each chapter was like waking up from a dream still dense in intellect and ambition. The novel is told by narrator, Leo Hertzverg (a professor of art history) and as he looks back on his life in old age, his retelling is stunning. There are detailed descriptions of Bill’s art as well as consistently perceptive and intriguing studies of other pieces of art such as Goya’s ‘Black Paintings’ – grief becomes psychologically overwhelming and psychopathy and emotional deficits seem to weave in and out of this voyeuristic saga. This novel will illustrate that there is a certain catharsis about living with tragedy and experiencing it, that in some perverse way, we like- it deepens our human experiences and leads to a sort of protection of our being. A mute dialogue exists between the reader and hallucinatory reality of the narrative- this natural magic is consuming, sinister and attractive. A definite must read.
I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy
For all fans of iCarly and for those not knowing what this is, I still urge you to read this. The hype is real. McCurdy’s memoir draws on the heaviness of her childhood and her experience of being in the limelight as a child of Disney; from the trauma and irrational behaviour of a mother hellbent on exerting sexual abuse and disordered eating upon her daughter, this memoir centres on this very relationship and how this played out from the age of six. We’ve seen and heard the whispers of what it takes to be a Disney kid and I can only promise you that this memoir bears it all. A world ‘where dreams come true’ is instead a muggy sphere filled with anxiety, shame and self-loathing and unhealthy relationships. McCurdy opens the floodgates to the portraiture and predatory behaviour of Nickelodeon producer, Dan Scheneider, whom she calls ‘The Creator’, and an industry steeped in abuse, ignorance, and hush money. Honestly, it’s the sexualization and exploitation of females that is just tiring and frustrating to listen to and with each page, you would think that in a world that boasts innovation and recovery, that we would be way past this and we’re unfortunately not. The road to recovery is impactful and McCurdy’s journey is jaw-dropping. Read this if you’re an iCarly fan, intrigued about the world of child acting or wanting a book that covers grief and the joy of washing your own hair.
Notes on Heartbreak by Annie Lord
Wow, this is THE book on heartbreak, hands down. I’ve never annotated a book as much as I did with this. With every page, I was wondering why this book hadn’t surfaced whilst I was going through a breakup myself because this novel served as a bloody dark reckoning as to what went down with my ex, word for word. It’s taken me awhile to confront anything that revolves around love- from films to books on love, to even seeing couples walking along a street. I know, the slow erosion of heartbreak takes it’s toll on elements that would otherwise bring happiness to others. This is the same pain that Lord demonstrates in this novel as she charts her own experiences with references to the beautiful and the messy, the disastrous and the cringeworthy moments felt in a relationship – bouts of anxiety followed with each page, as every situation that Lord went through with her ex was way too close to home. This is a book that I would recommend to anyone going through a breakup and those suffering from one – it’s a book about the pain and what it means to nurse one. It’s hard to describe the pain or really put into words, but Lord manages to document this with such precision that it rendered me numb and refreshed. Comforted, reborn. Each page was an undoing. A heart loosening for the first time in nine years.
Goodbye, Vitamin by Rachel Khong
As Khong’s debut novel, the reviews on this speak volumes and very rarely have I come across a novel that seeks to capture the tenderness and humor and tartness of familial devotion wrapped up in grief and betrayal. Thirty-year old Ruth has just been ‘disengaged’ from her fiancé and has quit her job and moves back to her parents home to gain some sense of clarity but also to help care for her father who is suffering from Alzheimers – her mother is also, like Ruth, going through the motions of a betrayal and her younger brother is still reeling from what transpired in the past, that forgiveness towards his father seems out of reach. Over the course of a year, we are given glimpses into women scorned, quirky observations, odd facts, a blossoming romance and the realization that stagnant relationships are subjective and unpredictable. The quickness with which one can slip in and out of rationality is treated with such careful endearment and empathy that Khong pilots through the subjects of loss and love with such devastating insight and ease. Don’t expect a sugarcoated story – there are bouts of comedy, absurdity, stress and sadness but by god, I loved this savoury stew with my whole heart, down to the very last page.
Conversations on Love edited by Natasha Lunn
Love and its wayward quickening effect on the daydreamer and the realist, is a phenomenon hard to explain, but one that affects us all. In this collection, every page feels semantically distinct whilst also exposing every action you may have taken in previous and present relationships. From internalized feelings, divorce, friendship, loss and being alone, this book is a journey through it all and there were so many moments where I felt incredibly seen. Love brings with it a sense of urgency, longing, desire, comfort and maybe even survival- it may be sensible, irrational, healthy or dangerous, fleeting, or obsessive, but it will always be essential to life. As we know, love is undefinable, some forms live only in the moment and others seem to form some sort of untraceable feeling and collection of emotions that arise from desire and attraction – we’ve all had moments where such desire popped up in an instant and we reached out and grabbed it. Through this novel, I came to understand that love isn’t about idealization – we all want to be accepted and seen and forgiven and to know that we can be ourselves regardless of these sometimes-punitive visions that we find ourselves in. What’s certain, is that love is everywhere, and this novel proves that a relationship is not defined just be a significant other, but an acceptance in the concept that we all need to accept that, even if we are alone, it’s ok. Believe me when I say that this novel is cheaper than therapy.
Bliss Montage Stories by Ling Ma
From the author of Severance, comes the latest obsession from Ma. This collection of eight stories delves into the lives of the disillusioned and the fantastical; the escapist visions float along each page with meaningful agency and haunting recognition. Each dreamlike scenarios seemingly turns nightmarish, and we are immersed in the throes of globalized capitalism (even more than we already are). Bliss and misery work hand in hand to deliver on the monotony of detachment versus the sometimes-satirical reality of pleasure. From having sex with a Yeti, a housewife living in an LA mansion with her rich husband, two children and 100 ex-boyfriends, to taking a drug that makes you invisible to stalking an ex- these stories serve to startle and horrify but not only that, they underhandedly reference Ma’s Asian-American identity - take for example, one story revolving around a woman’s ex-boyfriend confiding that his mother makes racist comments about Asians to a woman wondering if her former classmate is confusing her for another Asian student. I mean, the latter, I relate to. Ma’s ability to subvert your expectations of how a story may unfold is genius and every character plays their role with a dash of emotional dampening. These isolated moments of exhaustion, boredom, feeling jaded and removed from actual feeling is intricately intertwined throughout. A round of applause to this novel.
A Book of American Matryrs by Joyce Carol Oates
Joyce Carol Oates is my ride or die and this novel ticks all the boxes year on year. It’s a hefty 736 pages that revolves around two families, the Voorhees and the Dunphys as they play out the martyrdom of pro versus anti-abortion. The result is a novel that plays on an educated abortionist’s family and the God-fearing man who kills him in the opening pages. Oates is crafty no doubt with her prose- her ability to jump back and forth from the present to the future to give us insight into the decisions that caused them is admirable. Trauma, memory, and fallibility are themes in the novel that I couldn’t overlook- these are families that are ideologically entrenched in their parent’s beliefs and the conflict that arises with human suffering and the consequences that follow from one act of violence. With each page, Oates manages to stretch the empathy of the reader – on one hand we are made to sympathise with Luther Dunphy, the anti-abortionist activist who opens the novel and on the other hand the family of the victim. From the act to the courtroom, this is a novel that explores issues that continue to divide us to this very day – religious extremism, abortion, gun violence and capital punishment. Oates has a way of uncovering the multitude of layers humanity has to offer in all it’s hope, love, misery, beauty and despair- prepare for a sprinkling of human failings and a definitive synthesis of key cultural and political issues.
Blue Ticket by Sophie Mackintosh
From the author of ‘The Water Cure’ comes a novel that will leave you wanting another Mackintosh fix. In this novel, girls are given a white ticket or a blue ticket once their periods begin- white, signifies marriage and children whilst on the other hand, blue, signifies an implant that grants them the freedom to a childless career. The toxicity and authoritarian nature of the novel is quickly made apparent and there is no doubt that with each page it becomes shrouded in tones of female physicality, motherhood, and representations in the capacity of violence. As Calla, a blue-ticket woman realizes that she wants a baby so much that she will risk everything, her journey becomes one of life and death in a world clouded in darkness and cruelty. There are moments of strength strewn throughout and the whole idea of the novel had me hooked. With patriarchy at the helm, this alternate world didn’t seem too far from the truth- various articles over the years have been written on the lasting impacts of childbirth and feelings of depersonalization felt by many mothers soon after. Mackintosh nails this. Still not over this.
Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies by Maddie Mortimer
It isn’t often that I come across a novel that hits close to home and makes my heart break with every page but this debut novel by Maddie Mortimer is a lyrical coming-of-age story commentating on one woman’s life and her kaleidoscopic journey with her body and the cancer that inhabits it. We are given three different perspectives throughout – that of Lia and her daughter Iris and the voice of the illness that coinhabits Lia’s body. Imagine a gleeful and malevolent being passing through your insides all whilst developing a voice of its own that seeks to float between shadowland and ethereal poetry. A lot of this text unfolds in a hyper-stylised way – told from the perception of the all-seeing eye, every movement, nook, and crease of the body allows for this text to waltz within a background playing with format and shapes. There are pages full of emboldened text; scattered, shaped, molded, and abstracted. The internal being is cracked open to reveal the story of Lia as a whole and everything her body encompasses- the memories, the heartbreak, the inner torturous voice seeking redemption, desire, forgiveness and the darkness that prevails in the worst of times. Through the heartbreak, this intricate novel about death seeks to abolish all thoughts about an illness being ‘all-consuming’ but rather a part of life, a lush feast full of abstractions and splintered streaks, lexical shape shifting through the haphazard conveyor of the heart and the mind.
Image and words: Rachel Soo Thow of The Lit List (@thelitlist__)
