2026/032: Maria — Michelle Moran

Dear Mr Hammerstein,
It may come as a surprise that I am writing to you, as it appears that the theater industry believes I am dead and can now make up whatever they wish about me... [opening line]

I read this for the prompt 'based on the top-grossing movie in the year of your birth'. Set in 1959, it's a novel about Maria von Trapp and her response to the forthcomming stage musical of 'The Sound of Music': her letter informs Hammerstein that she has 'several ideas about how the script can be fixed'. Hammerstein -- already ill with the stomach cancer that would kill him within a year -- is too busy (and possibly too nervous) to talk to her, so instead his secretary Fran has a series of conversations with Maria.

Moran has thoroughly researched Maria von Trapp's life, and especially her religious faith. Maria tells Fran about her unhappy childhood, her religious calling, her time with Georg von Trapp (not a martinet: apparently Maria was the stricter of the two) and the family's life in America after escaping (not over the mountains but on a train) from the Third Reich. Maria is at pains to right the record: meanwhile, Fran is wrestling with a romantic entanglement of her own. Can Maria's account of true love with Georg set her on the right path?

This was a quick and pleasant read, though I didn't really connect with either Fran or Maria. There were some interesting scenes of pre-war Austrian life, and I found the later story -- refugees in America, literally singing for their supper, with one of the children experiencing severe stage fright -- more interesting than the main narrative. It would probably have helped if I was a fan of (or even very familiar with) the film and the musical! Moran is a very readable writer, though, and the story was well-paced and compassionate.

2026/031: Frankenstein in Baghdad — Ahmed Saadawi (translated by Jonathan Wright)

‘I made it complete so it wouldn’t be treated as rubbish, so it would be respected like other dead people and given a proper burial.’ [p. 27]

Baghdad, 2005: after the American invasion and occupation, just as the sectarian civil war is kicking off. Antique (junk) dealer Hadi, trying to retrieve a friend's remains after a car bomb, finds that body parts at the mortuary are all jumbled together, with little effort to reconstruct each corpse. He begins to assemble a body, picking and choosing from the scraps of anatomy that are in plentiful supply on the streets of Baghdad. But it's only when a hotel guard is killed by a car bomb, and his spirit is wandering in search of a body to reunite with, that the creature -- the Whatsitsname, says Hadi -- becomes animate. And the Whatsitsname is keen on justice: he wants to avenge the owners of each of his constituent parts. This endeavour is somewhat complicated by the fact that those parts will rot and fall off if he doesn't complete his vengeance within a certain, undefined period of time.

Add to this Hadi's neighbour Elishva, who's convinced that St George has promised the return of her son Daniel (lost in the Iran-Iraq war) and who believes the Whatsisname is Daniel, somewhat changed by his experiences; ambitious young journalist Mahmoud, who hears Hadi's story, writes it up as 'Urban Legends from the Streets of Iraq' and isn't happy when his boss retitles it 'Frankenstein in Baghdad'; and Co lonel Brigadier Majid, head of the Tracking and Pursuit Department, is wondering why his squad of fortune-tellers, astrologers and magicians can't predict where the Whatsitsname will strike next. (I did like this conceit: "... the Americans, besides their arsenal of advanced military hardware, possessed a formidable army of djinn, which was able to destroy the djinn that this magician and his assistants had mobilized." [p. 144]

As in Shelley's original, the creature is the most eloquent of the narrators. (Interestingly, most of the people who recognise the story as Frankenstein are remembering the Robert de Niro film.) When the Whatsitsname records his account of his actions, we begin to understand that there are many shades of criminality and innocence in both his victims and those he's avenging. He hopes for an end to the killing, so that he can rest. 'I’m the only justice there is in this country,' he laments.

This is a rambling novel, often blackly comic, sometimes phantasmagorical: a commentary on the continuing conflict, a satire on the American 'intelligence' that fails to predict or prevent 'serious security incidents'. The Whatsitsname's story is as poignant as Shelley's original, and his sense of a balance to be restored, of vengeance to be wrought, gives him more purpose than most of the other characters.

Sometimes gory, often featuring grim scenes of bombs and executions, Frankenstein in Baghdad was an unexpectedly enjoyable read. Perhaps there were slightly too many viewpoint characters: perhaps the ending is overly open. But it's a window opening on a culture, a society and a city that is constantly in the news: and it made me think.

2026/030: White Eagles / Firebird — Elizabeth Wein

I was born in a nation at war. I grew up in the shadow of war. And, like everyone else my own age, I had been waiting all my life for "the future war". [Firebird]

Two short novels written for less-confident readers, featuring young female pilots in the Second World War: I listened to the audiobook, read clearly and evocatively by Rachael Beresford.

In White Eagles, 18-year old Kristina Tomiak is called up to join the Polish air force -- the White Eagles. Her twin brother Leopold is envious that his call-up papers haven't arrived. A damaged plane lands at the airfield, reporting an encounter with the Luftwaffe: the pilot is injured, the passenger is dead. Kristina needs to get precious information to Lvov -- and it's the end of August, 1939.

The rest of the story deals with Kristina's escape from the Nazis and flight across Europe, accompanied only an unexpected stowaway who's determined to get to England. It's an exciting and inspiring tale, told in the third person, with lots of grounding details (a pilot charging across a bed of marigolds to get to his plane; a friendly mechanic who's happy to be paid in Hannukah chocolate and apples) and all the peril, violence and terror that goes with the territory.  I enjoyed this, but loved Firebird more.

Firebird, set in 1941-42, begins with young fighter pilot Nastia (short for Anastasia: 'Naystia', not 'Nastier') defending herself to a tribunal: 'I am no traitor'. She's a loyal citizen of the Soviet Union, a true revolutionary: her father was involved in the execution of the Romanovs, and her mother was a spy. Now, as the Second World War descends on Russia, she must fight to defend the glorious Motherland. But all is not as it seems and when the battles begin, secrets are revealed and everything that Nastia once knew is challenged.

Despite having more flight experience than anyone else in her cohort, she's relegated to training pilots while the lads go off to the front line. But the Chief -- the only other woman instructor at the Leningrad Youth Aero Club, 'an abrasive, loud woman with bleached blonde hair... and a face that was always heavy with powder and lipstick' -- points out that new pilots must be trained. When they finally go to war, it's the Chief who inspires Nastia, and the Chief who Nastia follows in a desperate air battle. And when the Chief parachutes from her damaged plane, Nastia makes the decision that brings her in front of that tribunal.

The twist in this story delighted me: I've just listened to the final few chapters again. It's cleverly foreshadowed and thoroughly pleasing (and, as Wein acknowledges in her afterword, historically implausible). Nastia's first-person narrative, coloured with all the emotions of wartime, felt really immediate and compelling.

There's a third book in the 'War Birds' series, The Last Hawk, which I hope to be able to read soon. Though the novellas in this series were written for younger, less confident readers, Wein pulls no punches: there is brutality, assault and peril. And, alongside those, there is a strong sense of hope, pride and joy.

2026/029: Bread of Angels — Patti Smith

How can we leap back up? Get back on our feet, grab a cart, and start gathering the debris, both physical and emotional. Crush it into small stones, then pulverize them and as the dust settles, dance upon it. How do we do that? By returning to our child self, weathering our obstacles in good faith. For children operate in the perpetual present, they go on, rebuild their castles, lay down their casts and crutches, and walk again. [loc. 2494]

Another memoir from Patti Smith, author of Just Kids and M Train (the latter of which I have not read). Bread of Angels (the title refers to 'unpremeditated gestures of kindness') covers Smith's childhood, her years as a pioneering punk artist, and her 'walking away' from success to have a real life, marrying Fred 'Sonic' Smith and having children. That period is mostly elided: 'Our life was obscure, perhaps not so interesting to some, but for us it was a whole life' and later, 'The trials and challenges that Fred and I suffered were our own'. 

Then came a catastrophic period when she lost several of the men close to her -- Robert Mapplethorpe, Richard Sohl, Fred, and her own brother Todd. This sparked her return to music, and recording, after an absence of 15 years. Further touring, and another series of deaths, revelations and reunions: and travel, and touring. I saw her on the tour commemmorating the 50th anniversary of Horses ('bred in an innocent time and we did our best to now deliver it infused with experience') and she was marvellous -- exactly as I'd expected.

There are many, often abrupt, shifts of tone and language in Bread of Angels: from simple accounts of her childhood and family life to exuberant evocations of performance ('my whining Fender Duo-Sonic drew altruistic swords with the mournful wailings of Lenny’s Stratocaster, Richard Sohl introduced an unexpected melodic shift creating the melancholic beauty of Abyssinia'). Sometimes you can hear the voice of the woman who wrote the lyrics to 'Horses': sometimes she's talking about the boat in their back yard (I can sympathise!) or the beauties of the natural world, the 'many tongues of nature... the language of trees, and the clay of the Earth'.

A fascinating read: I'm now more inclined to read M Train, which apparently focusses more on her life with, and grief for, Fred.

2026/028: The Kite Runner — Khalid Hosseini

"There is only one sin, and that is theft... When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness.”

This novel, by an expatriate Afghani author, explores guilt, betrayal and redemption in Afghanistan. The narrator is Amir, son of a wealthy Pashtan father ('Baba'), whose mother died giving birth to him. His closest friend is Hassan, the son of Amir's father's servant Ali: his mother ran away when he was little. The Hazara (the ethnic group to which Hassan and Ali belong) are oppressed, discriminated against and mocked. Baba, to young Amir's horror, treats Hassan as well as he treats Amir himself. The boys enjoy the traditional Afghan sport of kite-fighting, and Hassan is Amir's 'kite runner', pursuing the conquered kites with preternatural accuracy.

Amir's greatest kite-fighting triumph -- when Baba will finally be proud of him -- is overshadowed by Hassan being attacked and raped by a local bully, Assef. Amir witnesses the attack but is too scared to intervene. He's unable to reconcile his guilt and their friendship, and becomes cold and cruel towards Hassan. Eventually he fakes a theft and forces his father to dismiss Ali and Hassan.

Five years later comes the Soviet invasion: Baba and Amir escape, ending up in California. And fifteen years after that, Amir -- now married, though childless, and still racked with guilt -- receives a letter from a family friend, asking him to come back to Afghanistan: 'There is a way to be good again'.

This was a fascinating insight into Afghani life, and a harrowing story. (I listened to the audiobook, very well read by the author: I think I might have stopped reading if I'd had a print/Kindle copy.) Hassan's unrequited loyalty was pitiable: Amir's cowardice -- which extends into his adult life, in some respects -- was contemptible: I sympathised with both. At the heart of it, for me, was Amir's relationship with his father, and his fragile sense of superiority when it came to Hassan. Amir is shattered when he realises that his father, who's always insisted that theft is the worst crime and that a lie is theft of the truth, turns out not to have been wholly honest with him.

The final third of the novel, set in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, is horrific. Power corrupts, and bullies don't change... There is a happy ending of sorts, but that doesn't stop The Kite Runner being tragic, distressing and harrowing. It's also an excellent insight into life as a refugee in America, though sadly things seem to have been easier for immigrants in the 1980s than they are now.

One drawback of audiobooks is that I can't keep a record of the bits I really liked. But there were some excellent descriptions of daily life and of landscape, and the various journeys out of and back to Kabul were rivetting.

2026/027: Nonesuch — Francis Spufford

...here they still were, since they were not the dead ones, under the weary yellow lighting, sharing the unspoken knowledge that, every night the bombers came, ten thousand possible exits from life opened silently, and unpredictably, and without appeal, down which anyone and anything could fall. [loc. 4817]

My initial review: rereading for this 'proper review' was sheer delight, and I am eager to read the second half of this duology.

The story begins in August 1939. Iris Hawkins lives in a Clapham boarding house, works at a City brokerage, and is fascinated by economics. One evening, she flees a disastrous date and ends up at a bohemian dance club, where she encounters the other two protagonists: Geoff Hale, a gawky engineer who works for the BBC, and Lall Cunningham, the icy recipient of Geoff's unrequited love. Iris intends her seduction of Geoff to be a one night stand, but things become more complicated when she's pursued by a monstrous, inhuman creature which turns out to have something to do with Hale Senior's role as archivist of an occult society.

Spufford's depiction of London in the first year of the Second World War is tremendously evocative, often cinematic. The beauty of silently-falling incendiaries contrasts with the squalor of piss-reeking shelters: the ironwork of Leadenhall Market (still a working market back then, stinking of blood) with the soda-water effervescence of a liberated spirit. Did I mention that this novel has strong elements of the fantastical? There are Biblically-accurate angels in the architecture, and indications that history has been changed in the past -- and could be changed again.

I loved Iris, who is competent, intelligent and sensual. Her interest in economics made it interesting to me -- even the fluctuations of the Stock Exchange index, reflecting events in the wider world, felt integral to the story. (I think Spufford's said that she was partly influenced by C S Lewis' Susan: Iris demonstrates that you can like stockings and lipsticks and boyfriends, and still be clever and resourceful.) But I also found myself warming to Lall, despite her fascist allegiance. She too is smart and quick-thinking: she too is brave and determined. Though she's technically the villain of the piece, I kept cheering for her -- for instance, when she's confronting a pair of elderly perverts in pursuit of initiation into an esoteric order. (Also, she saves the cat.) Geoff, seen through Iris' eyes and her growing appreciation, is also intriguing: I'd have liked more of his viewpoint, and his engineering work for the war effort.

But the focus is always on Iris. This is a distinctly female-oriented, and feminist, novel. I was impressed by Spufford's sex scenes, written from Iris' perspective, and the ever-present practicalities of contraception. And I also enjoyed the ways in which Iris, denied agency by the double standards of the time, claims that agency by demonstrating her intelligence, courage and wit.

There's a lot more I could write about here: economics, and John Maynard Keynes, and the homoerotic murals in artist Eleanor's Sussex farmhouse; fascism ('practical patriotism') on the streets of Chelsea; the precarious calm and magic of Midnight Mass in 1940; the demographics of the clientele of a brokerage firm that's partly Jewish-owned. But instead I urge you to read this novel, because despite the setting and the stakes it is brimful of joy.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 24th February 2026.

2026/026: Cleopatra — Saara el-Arifi

"They'll tell stories of you in years to come," Charmion continued.
Centuries. Millennia.
"I hope so."
I did not understand what it was I wished for. I hoped to become a legend, but I forgot what all stories must have: a monster.
I could not have known that monster would be me. [loc. 452]

Cleopatra narrates her own story from a perspective that remains obscure until the end of the novel. The novel begins with the death of Cleopatra's father Ptolemy XII and her own ascent to the throne of Egypt as the last Pharaoh: and it ends, of course, with her death.

Cleopatra, in this account, is a clever, learned woman, sometimes ruthless but also driven by love -- and not only romantic love, but also love for her children, her country, and even her siblings. The Egypt in which Cleopatra lives and rules is a magical land: the Ptolemies have been gifted by the gods, each having a birthmark and a magical talent bestowed by their patron deity. Cleopatra's patron is Isis, but she hasn't manifested any gift. In order to be accepted as a divinely-sanctioned ruler, she studies healing in secret.

El-Arifi's prose is sweeping and emotional, filling in the gaps in the historical accounts of Cleopatra's life. Cleopatra herself is aware of these accounts, and comments wryly that 'history is a disease, masquerading as truth'. Even in her lifetime she encounters prejudice based on the stories told by Romans and dissidents: she reminds Anthony that 'you must always know the story of the storyteller'. 

Throughout the novel, Cleopatra speaks directly to the reader, commenting on her lack of foresight or her growing ruthlessness. Her siblings have plotted against her, and her lovers haved wives to return to. There is war, famine, and civil unrest. The breaking of the 'fourth wall' is at first intrusive, but becomes easier to accept as the story progresses -- though its rationale isn't clear until the devastating finale.

I didn't find it easy to warm to Cleopatra, though her love for her children (and to a lesser extent her lovers, Caesar, Marcus Antonius, and Charmion) made her more likeable. I also found the pacing uneven: major events in the final third of the novel were skimmed over, while Cleopatra's disguised adventures among commoners became repetitive. There were also some vexing typos: 'familial' rather than 'familiar', coins 'exchanging' hands rather than 'changing' hands. And when Cleopatra and Anthony admire some flowers, they're apparently looking at bougainvillea -- an anachronism, as it's native to south America.

Overall, though, this was an interesting and engaging novel. I liked the touches of magic realism, and the mundane trickeries that helped Cleopatra convince her people that she and her children were blessed by the gods. I also liked the emphasis on Cleopatra's intelligence and her taste for learning: 'the Library of Alexandria was my haven'. And that ending!

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 26th February 2026.