Reading Recluse

📗 "Cosmos" by Carl Sagan

A classic non-fiction about science and humanity's journey towards being able to gather knowledge about outer space. Although plenty of new things have been added to this knowledge since its original publication, it's still a very interesting read. It doesn't feel that outdated at all.

Sagan's excitement for science is infectious. He can make any boring topic sound like a magical tale you've finally gotten the privilege of hearing about. At times this book made me feel incredibly small and dumb and insignificant, just like looking at the stars can do. But at other times I felt as big as the universe itself, because every piece of knowledge gathered and added to our collective could be groundbreaking.

I'm trying to write this after having experienced more than a week of >30°C while the temperature outside is rising to 40°C for the first time in my life. Forgive the typos of my molten brain. In this book Sagan also talks about surviving the Cold War and making it through climate change. I don't think he had high hopes for us when he wrote it, and the future sure proved him wrong by being even more depressing than he feared.

I feel sad about people wasting so much potential and destroying the earth, but I loved reading this book. I had the text-only edition, but was able to view all of the pictures and illustration on the Internet Archive afterwards. I'm looking forward to the tv show version of this. Maybe after the heat disappears a little, so my brain can handle it.

#AmReading

📗 “The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit” by Michael Finkel

Very mixed feelings about this book and its existence. It’s the story of a man who successfully lived in the woods for 27 years, as told by the journalist author. Fascinating and fun to read, but in the end it felt like a book filled with mostly unsympathetic people. The ‘hermit’, the people he burgled, the people who caught him, and most of all the author himself all did questionable things that made me go: eh...

Christopher Knight was in his early twenties when he drove to the woods and was never heard from again. His camp was located close to a lake with lots of cabins, so he survived by burgling everything he needed from those homes: food, clothes, gear, building material, entertainment. It took almost three decades of effort and modernization of equipment before he was caught. It seems overboard how far they went: alarms, cameras, highly advanced border patrol technology, people staying up in cabins with weapons in wait, police running over there in the middle of the night at the slightest peep… Just looking at that side of the situation, Knight easily becomes the underdog of the story.

From my username it’s pretty obvious that I quickly feel sympathetic towards anyone who wishes to withdraw from society. Knight’s situation is an odd one and it’s hard not to feel both judgemental and understanding towards him. He didn’t fit in anywhere and found his peace alone at his camp in the woods. Taking him out of that environment and forcing him into prison and later into a ‘normal’ living situation, it seems very cruel once you see how much he suffers. But it’s also hard to overlook his hypocrisy. He says theft is bad and claims to feel horrible about stealing, so he only takes what he needs. Then he steals alcohol, candy, magazines, videogames, a TV and endless amounts of batteries for it, and more. Nobody can convince me that Playboy is essential for survival, not even if you use it as a camp floorboard afterwards. I also feel sad for the people who had to live with a sense of fear, paranoia or unease because they kept getting burgled for years without any explanation, their sense of safety in their home lost for good.

It’s an interesting case because Knight’s family already lived very privately, they were barely known by anyone and had land for themselves. He could’ve lived in relative obscurity with little human contact legally, but he chose to disappear more inconveniently, leaving his debts to his brothers and leaving his family forever wondering where he went. He doesn’t really seem able to imagine well what suffering he can cause for others, beyond a simple paradigm of what’s right and wrong (and then ignoring that too). He has the skills to farm, forage, hunt and fish, yet he chose to live from stealing supplies. He didn’t want to live from the land, he just wanted to be left alone and found a strange way of doing that. Anyway, I didn’t read this book to judge its subject, but it sure is an interesting case study.

The most unpleasant aspect of this book arrives at the last part, although red flags were already visible earlier. Initially, Knight wanted to be left alone. However, the author keeps hounding him with letters and then keeps visiting him in prison. Knight said he felt bad about refusing to speak after the author had traveled from so far, so he spoke. After getting out of prison, he wants to be left alone again, but the author keeps sending him mail. Not just Knight, he starts to call family members, even showing up at their work places. Despite their refusal to cooperate, he keeps trying. He flies in from far away and tries to speak with anyone related to Knight and Knight himself. He doesn’t understand the word NO. You could call it a journalist’s tenacity, but it feels more like stalking and I think he definitely crossed the line. He wrote some justification on the very last pages, about how Knight said no but his behavior said yes. Ehm. Dubious consent at best. It sounds like the author wore Knight down and Knight gave up protesting. It makes me uncomfortable that this book is now out there, and I feel discouraged from ever reading another Finkel book again.

#AmReading

📗 "A Little Annihilation" by Anna Janko, translated from Polish into English by Philip Boehm

The news is making writing about books difficult at the moment. But here's an anti-war book I've been reading. I started it in early January and only finished it recently, taking frequent breaks between the heaviest chapters. Still, I doubt I'll read a better non-fiction book this year.

This book is the author collecting her mother's memories before she passes away, adding history and her own experiences with generational trauma onto it. It's more than that, but it's hard to categorize. It's mourning war and human cruelty, a reflection on how to go on knowing what atrocities people are capable of.

The author's mother was a small child in Poland during WWII. The Nazis killed everyone in her village, as was common then, by shooting and locking people in houses that were set on fire. She saw them shoot her parents. She and her two younger siblings were about to get shot, but one of soldier's pushed the gun down of the soldier who was getting ready to kill them. She fled with her two younger siblings before anyone could change their mind about letting some children live.

I think about that hand movement of the Nazi soldier a lot. Couldn't he handle seeing three children get killed in front of him? He must have seen it a lot already. He pushed the barrel down. Let's ignore these kids, let's go. That one movement, and three people lived, who went on to have lives and children of their own, who went on to live and create a book like this one. One act of disobedience, rippling outwards, making such a huge change to one family tree.

This book is really upsetting. It tells a lot about WWII in Poland and some of Eastern Europe, things that are often left out in texts written in Western Europe. The information is dire and it just is, without trying to force some meaning, lesson or positive perspective onto the reader. Instead it starts to build a road with you: how can we live, knowing what we know?

The book is also about other wars and killings that have happened since then, and that keep happening. It's part memoir, about how war lives on in the most negative of ways, scarring generations. It's about how citizens always lose in a war, becoming victims in the name of this or that while just trying to survive.

This book is constantly in the forefront of my mind, especially the last few days. I've seen people defend the attacks on Iran because they claim a regime change was necessary. What the hell are you saying, I want to ask. Citizens are dying. In their homes, on the streets, in schools, in hospitals, they suffer and die. Real people, like you and me. Full lives cut short by suffering and death. Who are you to say this or that is necessary or justifiable, sitting cozy at home with a hot drink while others are paying the price for the bombs our western governments are dropping and supporting. You need a reality check. You need to read a book like this one and come to your senses. You need to stop making excuses for war and learn to fear what people are capable of putting each other through. Fuck.

#AmReading #WomenInTranslation

📗 “Geweten: Over Israël en Palestina” by Maurits de Bruijn

I have more free time to read books right now because of all the soccer matches I’m not watching. I’m boycotting the FIFA World Cup 2026. I see no meaning in supporting an event that is being hosted by a country that is terrorizing its own citizens, facilitating genocide in Gaza, bombing schoolchildren in Iran, kidnapping the president of Venezuela, starving people in Cuba, bullying dozens of countries into austerity, sorry, I’ll stop here for now with this 100+ item list. I also see nothing good coming from supporting an organization that gave the leader of said country, a known rapist who is financially profiting from all of this caused suffering, a Peace Prize for those actions. Nor do I wish to watch a propaganda event that’s filled with exploitation, AI use and ICE activity, all while the attending rich get richer. Bread and circuses, sure, except most can barely afford bread and the circus is just a livestream of corruption. No thanks.

With that said, onto the main topic of this post: reading, this book in particular. It’s a Dutch memoir, not translated (so far), written by a Dutch-Jewish queer man about Israel and Palestine. The title, ‘geweten’, can be translated as ‘conscience’ (as in having a clear conscience or not) or as ‘known’ (as in knowing and acknowledging as opposed to wir haben es nicht gewusst).

The first half of the book is more about the author himself, about how he moved away from zionist ideas and learned about Palestine. He talks about his pro-Palestinian activism since 7 October, but more about how much negative feedback speaking up has caused. There’s a lot of outrage about how much disinformation there is and how many people desperately cling to it. But it’s also interesting to see how the author came to change, while some of his family members and former friends are still Israel-apologetic.

The second half is about the author’s trip to Israel/Palestine with an unnamed organization. They visit East Jerusalem, Hebron and attempt to get into Gaza. They visit occupied territory, stolen homes, destroyed towns. I think the author succeeded in expressing how hard it was for him, without taking away the focus from Palestinian stories. I feel despair on the pages, also from other activists he encountered. So many atrocities have been documented and shown to the outside world. How has it not been enough yet to change the situation?

Although there’s a focus on Palestinian lives and the damage done to them, the parts about the author’s stay in Tel Aviv and some other areas mostly inhabited by Jewish Israelis shocked me too. The author has no friends left in the region because they’ve all radicalized. Support for Netanyahu and Trump is common to see. Everywhere are posters with pictures of the hostages with dramatic slogans. Whole spectacles and events have been built for citizens to ‘experience’ or ‘re-enact’ hostage suffering and Israeli tragedy. Their own circus comes across as cheap, gross propaganda rather than a respectful memorial. Combined with the reported attitude that the genocidal violence against Palestinians is justified, it’s impossible not to get angry.

Because the author’s mother survived the Holocaust (and other family members of his were killed), he can deploy (for lack of a better word) his Jewish identity to criticize Israel without automatically being labelled as an antisemite (although it doesn’t spare him countless other derogatory remarks). It’s an awkward and upsetting requirement and it shouldn’t be that way, but sadly it’s often like this right now. This can’t have been a pleasant book to write, but it’s one that passes on his words, words of proof of what he has seen and experienced, words that can hopefully be used in actions for Palestinians’ rights.

PS: part of proceeds of this book go to PRCS. Nice.

#FreePalestine

📘 "Kallocaïne" by Karin Boye, translated from Swedish into Dutch by Bart Kraamer

Available in English as "Kallocain", translated by David McDuff.

Although I wish to spread the love of reading all the time, sometimes it's difficult. Especially now, when books feel simultaneously more important than ever in this fascist landscape, but also frivolous to focus on when war is waging. I've also been distracted by a new health issue that sadly requires some medical attention (I'm fine), filling my head with new questions like "will there still be gas to drive to the hospital?" and "what if the bomb drops when I'm under sedation?". Every day I feel overwhelmed, scared, angry and upset.

Instead of screaming about the US and Israel and their allies and all of the horror that they've been causing, and all the other countries who passively stare at it all (please EU, just follow Spain's lead), let me just scream about this book instead of spiraling even more. This novel that unfortunately fits so well in this terrible year.

I was surprised that I had never encountered this book before, since it's a dystopian classic that could (should!) be as well-known as 1984 and Brave New World, but sadly isn't (yet!). In it we get to read the written report of a chemist, living in a totalitarian state that is supposedly at war with a neighboring state. It's a collectivist society with long work hours and barely any opportunity for free will. The protagonist has just invented a serum that forces people to express their true inner life, effectively making thought crime something that can be acted upon.

This is obviously a sad book, but it has so many strong points. Despite its deeply developed, bleak world, there's no info dumping. As the reader you slowly learn about how the state is run throughout the novel, and every time you realize something new about its inner workings, no matter how much it's in line with everything, it's still shocking. The protagonist is just as interesting as the worldbuilding: utterly convinced of the righteousness of the state, proud to be a cog in the machine, yet ever so self-centered and hypocritical. What an interesting, complex combination of a personality.

There was one scene that I can't get over, it was so artfully done. Being vague to avoid spoilers, it's essentially a scene in which the protagonist thinks he'll gain total power over another person. But it plays out differently, in such a way that the power dynamics completely switch around, and the protagonist is the one figuratively stripped naked and vulnerable. I was just as surprised as the main character was at that point. Loved it. People could be writing 20-page essays about just that one scene.

In an odd way, I think the book is not only depressing, but also hopeful. Not in a pushy way, but... a truth serum could be a double-edged sword. What if everyone's truth in a bad regime is that they're afraid, tired and miserable? What does this knowledge do to another person, especially if you're used to a world that's so dangerous that you've never been able to know anyone's true thoughts besides your own? Food for thought (secretly, in the privacy in your own head -for now).

Kallocain was written and published in 1940, clearly inspired by the war, by Hitler and Stalin, maybe even by their divvying up of parts of Europe. Dark times, not unlike now. The author committed suicide in 1941. Reading that made me sadder than reading the book. Do you feel like this too, like we're always losing the good ones, the ones who understand and can pierce through the nonsense of this world, the ones who are needed the most?

I feel like after all that heaviness, I should conclude with something optimistic, but I can't think of anything right now. Maybe people will come to their senses. Maybe something good will come of resisting. Maybe certain people will have a deadly heart attack soon. Maybe we'll encounter the man in the high castle, and he will ask us to transport a tape, and on that tape we'll see...

A girl can dream.

#WomenInTranslation

📘 "Women Without Men" by Shahrnush Parsipur, translated from Persian into English by Faridoun Farrokh

This is a book set in Iran in which we follow a variety of women, all with different backgrounds and circumstances, but who are all suffering due to the misogyny that has deeply shaped their lives. With alternating perspectives and a wonderful tinge of magical realism, these characters start moving towards each other. It becomes a tale of women changing their lives for the better with the cards they've been dealt, within the strict confines of their society.

I think it's so skillful to be able to create a story that is serious enough to tackle topics like femicide, sexual violence, suicide and patriarchal oppression well, but that's also funny enough to almost make me snort my drink out of my nose. I loved the dialogues. And I really came to appreciate the character Munis. Her thirst for knowledge, her silent outrage at having been fooled, her frustration slowly warping into despair at some way of knowing and existing being forever out of reach... I loved being part of her transformation.

I think this is a book for people who believe that the best revenge is a life lived well. Even then, it might be hard. Not everyone is or becomes a good person. Some women don't change much. Some women pick lives not many would envy. But I still found it comforting to have seen them come together, to experience their influence on each other and to see them depart again on their own paths. Truly a great read.

#AmReading #WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026

📘 "The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran" by Shida Bazyar, translated from German into English by Ruth Martin

This book makes me scratch my head.

We follow an Iranian family through two generations, in four (well, five) different decades, going back and forth between Iran and Germany in different contexts. The premise sounds good, but peering deeply into the book, it eventually looked quite hollow.

I like it when books take me diving in the wide open sea, drag me to the bottom of the ocean with them and make it worth the perilous journey. It can be done either subtly or overtly. But here neither happens. This book is like floating in a pool, to and fro, gliding in lanes and only sometimes quickly dipping your face below the surface to observe the decorated floor in the two meter deep water.

When I started the first chapter from the perspective of a communist revolutionary, I thought maybe I was reading satire. This character is basically reading Marx in front of a Che poster while dreaming of Cuba and saying yes comrade, Lenin is cool, don't be bourgeois, thinking: religion is such opium. I thought, this is such a caricature, surely it's meant to go so far as to loop back around and actually be a good critique of everyday people getting swept up in movements they don't know much about due to their circumstances and then going along with it while actually not being that political. Surely?

The following chapters keep becoming more apathetic in tone, its characters more apolitical. Although they're different people speaking of different things, their voices sound quite similar to each other. Topics like immigration, disconnect between generations, cultural loss, orientalism, and alienation from what was once familiar pop up in unoriginal ways. Very softly, never loud. When the author worms a firm political point into the text, it sounds off because as readers we're stuck in a character's stream of consciousness and it doesn't always match the character's earlier thoughts or behavior.

You can actually see the characters change through the years, and the contrast between the generations is quite stark. But how, why, when? The story meanders around such interesting questions and developments, seeming to never want to take the bite, keeping it in the background. It never fully engages. It's almost like a cozy book edition of a literary fiction about an emotionally difficult topic. Very tame.

I've only seen rave reviews so far, and I'm starting to feel like I've read a completely different book than everyone else. Still scratching my head.

#WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026

📗 "Over leven: Moed en groei na kindermishandeling en -misbruik" by Valerie Van Peel, Meredith Van Overloop, Anna Defossez & Peter Adriaenssens

This book is only available in Dutch, but I think it's an interesting one to mention. The title means 'About life: courage and growth after child abuse' but it contains a wordplay. 'Over leven' means 'about life', but 'overleven' means 'to survive'. Saying the title out loud in Dutch, you wouldn't know which of these two was being said, and contextually it could be both.

It's a fitting title, because this is a book about surviving childhood abuse (whether it's physical, emotional, sexual abuse and/or neglect) and about what that means for your personal life as an adult. It's not a very in-depth book about certain aspects, but it still manages to tell quite a bit. Each chapter gives a very short overview of an aspect of the trauma that comes from growing up like that, and then about ten people talk about their own experience with it in a few paragraphs.

I think this title surprised me because it's progressive. Of course I think the contents of this book should be normal to admit, accept and discuss, but it's still quite taboo. There aren't many books around that, like this one, dare to say that maybe going no contact with your family is the right choice, that certain pain can last a lifetime, but also that living with severe symptoms doesn't mean your life can't be worthwhile. Healing isn't simply forgiving, forgetting and being a happy family again.

For me, this is the first book in the Dutch language that I've encountered that shows the voices of many survivors without sensationalizing them or falling into ableist pitfalls, and that adds valid critique for how other people and society in general look at (and judge) survivors. It's a low bar to set, I know, but in this world it's a start. Reading it felt quite validating.

📘 "The Perfect Circle" by Claudia Petrucci, translated from Italian into English by Anne Milano Appel

This title isn't out yet, but will be released in April 2026. I received a digital ARC for it (thanks!).

This was a fun and well-structured book. We get to to see two storylines, one set in the 1980s and one in the near future, one going up a spiral staircase and the other coming down, intertwining and neatly coming together. Finishing the book gave the satisfaction of putting in place the last stone of a beautiful home that was carefully made according to its blueprint.

The protagonist of the main storyline is a real-estate agent, working through the ever-present yellow fog of climate collapse to sell expensive buildings that will soon be taken over by nature anyway to the ultra-wealthy. Her pride in her work leads her to take on the sale of a strange home, a house that reveals its origins in the other storyline.

I really liked how climate change and threatening political developments created a realistic backdrop for this story. It's not just a good drama about connection, love and betrayal. It's also about privilege and about who's being hit earlier and harder than others due to our changing climate. It's about whether it's ethical to bring forth children in a world like this. And what kind of actions are justified to have a chance at saving yourself?

I think the opening chapter was written a bit too dramatic, which was a pity, but I quickly got sucked into the story anyway in the pages afterwards. A few conversations felt a little stilted, but it wasn't too jarring.

Overall I had a great time reading this. If you like unlikeable main characters, climate fiction, tales of revenge, and/or architecture getting woven into stories, you might like this too.

#AmReading #WomenInTranslation #ClimateFiction

📘 "The Glacier" by Jeff Wood

Another book I wouldn't have looked at twice if it weren't for a personal recommendation on the Fediverse. What a strange one it is. Somewhere between a novel and a screenplay, going forwards and backwards, an inhale and an exhale or an exhale and an inhale -linearity can get off his high horse with this one.

This experimental book is very confusing until about 1/3 of the way through and then settles into being only quite confusing after a mind-blowingly epic scene. I'm being vague on purpose, it's an experience that's best jumped into without too many preconceived notions.

I enjoyed my reading time, but I do have some mixed feelings too. There were aspects that I loved (its unique storytelling and structure, the quality of the writing, some of the characters, fourth wall breaking) and some that I wasn't that fond of (some stereotypes that were utilized, its general 'masculine vibe' for lack of a better word). Overall I'm glad I read it. It really sucked me in and putting the book down felt disorienting, like I had to get used to being in this world again.

If you have a low tolerance for vagueness and confusion, this is probably not the book for you. But if you like experimental fiction, you were a Donnie Darko-obsessed teen, and/or you sometimes feel the desire to give in to the urge to throw yourself on the forest's floor to let your body be devoured by insects to feel part of the circle of life, you might be interested in this.

#AmReading

📘 "We Are Green and Trembling" by Gabriela Cabezón Cámara, translated from Spanish into English by Robin Myers

Another IBP longlist entry. This book was okay for me. It's well-crafted and I enjoyed reading it enough to continue until the end, but I didn't feel that invested or connected to it. It happens, I'm certain this book will be others' favorite.

This is a a reimagining of Antonio de Erauso's life with magical realism. He was born a girl in 16th century Spain and was meant to become a nun, but he escaped the convent, became a fugitive and started living as a man. He traveled to South America and was honestly a menace (albeit an interesting one). The book shows us a sweeter side of his personality and changes history somewhat, although it would be a spoiler to reveal how.

The story is told in two timelines that eventually wind up together. I think that odd structure was fun to experience. I also liked the ending. It really grabbed me, which was a pity, because by then the book had already ended. Still, I think it was worth it to have read the book to reach that ending and to see the way the story evolved towards it.

I've seen quite a few complaints online that this novel is too difficult or requires too much of a reader. I don't think it's an easy book, but I also don't think it's too demanding either. Here are three tips from me that I think will help if you wish to read this title but feel intimidated:

- Read the Wikipedia page about Antonio de Erauso. It gives a lot of context for the book and the protagonist, without spoiling much of the novel. His life was wild, with dozens of twists and turns and identities and adventures and crimes. It's a good read.

- Keep in mind the structure of the book. This explanation is not 100% accurate, but portrays it most clearly I think: imagine time as starting at point A and reaching point D, the end, by going through point B and C. Narrative One moves from point C to point D. Narrative Two moves from point B to point D, so in there you get to see what happened before and caused the events of Narrative One. But what happened before Narrative Two? In Narrative One the protagonist also writes letters, these letters go from point A to point B. So while all plot is moving forward towards point D, it's also constantly giving you looks into what led up to everything. It becomes easier to understand and more cohesive the further you are into the book.

- Don't get stressed out by seeing a language you don't understand. The conversations are clear and repetitive enough that you'll pick up on the words you need to know to understand everything soon enough. Keep in mind how small children speak and are forever curious.

Overall I do think it's a good book, just one I didn't fully love the reading experience of. It's a painful look at conquering, imperialism and domination, partially through the eyes of someone who's essentially part of that threat, but who's also vulnerable in their own way. It's an interesting dynamic. I can see why it was picked for the longlist.

#WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026

📘 "The Deserters" by Mathias Énard, translated from French into English by Charlotte Mandell

From all of my IBP longlist reading, this book is my second favorite so far (right behind "The Remembered Soldier").

Its story is almost impossible to recap. There are two narratives. In one we follow a man who's trying to desert from a war, fleeing, when he meets two unexpected individuals on his journey. The point of view warps between him, his thoughts, the other, their thoughts. In the other storyline we learn about Paul Heudeber, a communist who survived the Buchenwald concentration camp, and who became a famous East-German mathematician and public supporter of socialism. All this we learn through the eyes of Paul's daughter, through letters and files she's reading, a memorial event she's thinking back on and youth memories she's recollecting.

At first this is overwhelming, like listening to music made with ten instruments all doing their own thing. But the more you listen, the more you realize it's harmonious and it all clicks, it starts making perfect sense. It's the same with this book. The chapters, the anecdotes, the moral dilemmas, they all slide into place and subtly connect. The reveal at the end surprised me, but looking back with hindsight, it was so obvious! I love it when that happens.

For a short novel I felt surprisingly involved with all characters. Paul is not some big Soviet evil or poor propaganda victim, he's a complex human. Certain but also unsure, passionate but also disillusioned. The same depth is given to all other characters in the novel. And the same goes for the research. I don't know much about the mathematics in here, but I think the integration of history and politics was done very well. I was often moved.

The deserters, plural -but in my recap I mentioned only one. I think that is a perfect conversation starter for anyone who's read the book. Who's deserting? When does something count as deserting? Can we desert from family, from beliefs, from reality itself?

Lots to chew on with this book, it'll be digesting in my mind for a while.

#AmReading #InternationalBooker2026

📘 “Talking with Boys” by Tayyba Kanwal

This is a collection of short stories, spanning a wide variety of characters and settings, all related to the Pakistani diaspora. I picked this one up not knowing much about it, but the title and cover intrigued me. I was pleasantly surprised. The stories were well-written and I never stopped reading one midway. There’s a tiny bit of overlap between them and a sliver of magical realism here and there, but they mostly read as either contemporary or historical fiction.

The stories cover the beauty and stress of familial bonds and friendships, breaking with tradition, immigration, (labor) exploitation and inequality, finding strength and security in both your surroundings and within yourself. There’s a lot about cultural and religious expectations, about their pressure and what to embrace and what to let go. About bearing the consequences of that too. What does one owe oneself, or others, and what do the circumstances allow?

Some of the stories have a personal, close-up point of view, those were definitely my favorite. A few have a more distanced view, almost like the telling of a fable. Although they weren’t bad, I think they shone less brightly standing next to some of the other great stories.

Because of the emotional intensity of the collection and how well the author could write different perspectives, I think this would suit fans of “A Song for Wildcats” by Caitlin Galway. Glad I read it.

#AmReading

📘 "She Who Remains" by Rene Karabash, translated from Bulgarian into English by Izidora Angel

IBP season continues! But unfortunately I didn't like this longlist entry.

This is about a young woman in Albania living in a patriarchal culture according to the laws of the Kanun. She becomes the patriarch of her family by committing to being a sworn virgin: women who are regarded as men after they've renounced their womanhood and pledged to remain 'pure'. With this action they gain the rights and freedom men have as well. However, for this main character, things didn't go as planned.

Sadly I thought the story remained shallow compared to what it could have been. If there was a lot of research put into it, it doesn't come across that way. The gender dynamics are the highlight of the novel, but they were mostly explored in obvious, expected ways. A lot of potential hiding in a story that was too simplistic in my eyes.

The most interesting part of the book was the experimental writing style combining prose, poetry and letters. I liked it for what it was, but still, I thought that it could have been utilized more effectively to really strengthen the story and put some different perspectives on things, but it didn't go that far.

I wasn't too happy with the book so far, but it was still a so-so experience for me. Then I entered part two, where the book really tumbled down the mountain and fell on its face. The personality change in the protagonist was jarring, the love story was superficial, the letter we got to read was full of cliches, I hated the reason given for the protagonist's stomach cramps, and the ending was so desperately Hollywood that I felt punished for finishing the book.

I looked forward to reading this title the most from all of the titles on the IBP longlist, so it was extra disappointing. I'm still very much interested in the topic itself though, and when I was looking around for other related reads I stumbled upon 'Sworn Virgin' written by Elvira Dones, which is now on my to-read list. I also came across an online article about a photographer who made pictures of some of the last sworn virgins. Very cool project, the link is here:

https://lenscratch.com/2013/09/jill-peters/

#AmReading #WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026

📘 "The Wax Child" by Olga Ravn, translated from Danish into English by Martin Aitken

Another IBP longlist entry that has a unique writing style and structure. I'm really enjoying reading all of these creative, non-conventional ways of storytelling.

This book is told from the perspective of a consciousness that has come forth from the creation of a doll of a child made out of wax. Based on true events, we indirectly get involved with some of the witch trials that happened in Denmark in the 17th century and what lead up to them.

I had a good time with the novel. I loved how the narrator could be both personal and distant, zoom in and zoom out, giving us the view of a fly on the wall or an omnipresent observer. The women, their friendships, their betrayals, the spells, all were great to see. But best of all were the moments that made me go: what the hell?!

I thought the build-up towards the ending was well done and the last paragraph was a welcome, little gut punch. After finishing the book I read a variety of online sources about Christence Kruckow, recognizing scenes from the book directly from real history, which was interesting.

If you liked this book, I'm sure you'll also enjoy Angela Slatter's books that are set in the Sourdough Universe. They have a similar dark atmosphere and a focus on witchcraft in dangerous times.

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