Review: Vox by Christina Dalcher

To coincide with International Women’s Day, the lovely people at HQ Stories made this title available to ‘Read Now’ for 24 hours on NetGalley. Having heard a bit about it, I jumped on the offer and am glad I did.

The funny/frightening thing about how I felt reading this book is that it seemed so familiar. The horrifying dystopian premise is so believable and something that is being represented, or has been, in a number of ways in fiction over the last couple of decades – and more so now with the TV adaptation of The Handmaid’s Tale sending that book to the top of the charts and Naomi Alderman’s The Power gaining widespread acclaim and awards recognition.

The subject of the silencing of women is nothing new – but it has thundered full-force into the news and everyday conversation since the sexual assault revelations of the last year – with more women than ever standing together and coming forward – and people listening for the first time (many had come forward before and not been listened to).

Vox by Christina Dalcher is due to be published in Autumn this year, and takes this silencing to very literal extremes. It’s set in an America where women are given an allowance of only 100 words a day, controlled by a counter on their wrist which shocks them if they exceed the limit. They are relegated to the home, can no longer hold jobs and are actively rewarded for speaking as few words as possible in schools.

The story is about one woman, Dr Jean McClellan and her quest to reclaim her voice – for herself, her daughter and for every woman silenced. What makes this book feel so familiar right now is how quickly the instigators rose to power and made swift changes, and began to mould the minds of children in school – so that Jean’s own son is virtually a mouthpiece for the government. Both heartbreakingly, and understandably, in this situation, Jean begins to hate her own son – resent her own husband and feel a more urgent love for her young daughter, Sonia.

The governing body are the ‘Pure Movement’, a religious group who win power. Jean recalls how her friend Jackie chastised her for not voting and not participating as they rose to power, like many, barely noticing before it was too late. It’s a reminder how we must stay engaged in politics and stay aware of changes being made, no matter how small they seem. To disengage in the current climate could be costly.

Both Jean and the author are linguists (Jean used to be a neuroscientist) so, as a reader, there’s a lot to (gladly) learn from the perspectives and science on language and the power of communication. Aside from Jean, I would actually have been curious to follow Steven’s journey and how he changes throughout the novel – a lot of it is ‘off-screen’ in a sense – but psychologically could be a really interesting narrative too.  Jean is torn between her duties to her family and her unique position as an expert and insider (she is brought on board by the government to apparently develop a cure for the President’s brother, who has suffered a stroke) who has an opportunity to fight back but risk everything – and some big losses are inevitable either way. 

Vox is angry and fast-paced, and there were times when I wished it was longer, but I enjoyed reading it and there’s no doubt it is engaging and relevant. It’s a scorching debut from Christina Dalcher, hopefully the first of many.

Vox is available to pre-order now and publishes on 23rd August 2018

*Thank you to NetGalley and HQ Stories for the chance to read and review this title

Review: Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman

There was a really solid campaign behind Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine and it’s no less than it deserves. This is a book that should be read widely because it perfects the balance of being perfectly and equally heart-breaking and heart-warming in a measured, almost everyday, way. At the same time, through Eleanor, we see an astute commentary on some of the more absurd aspects of society and human ritual. Some are hilarious and some are illuminating and troubling. It’s a meditation on loneliness and friendship and love. What I loved was that it wasn’t romantic love that was prioritised or held up as saviour – but simple human connection and every day kindness. The importance of the little loves. There is trauma and drama lurking in the background, but Honeyman writes Eleanor in a way that we could all recognise there’s a little bit of her inside of all of us, and it’s the focus on the seemingly small things that really stands out and makes this book memorable.

The driving force of the book is the friendship that forms between Eleanor and Raymond ‘from I.T.’ after helping an elderly man who collapses in the street. The bond between them, and the man and his family – after a chance occurrence and small good deed – is one that changes the course of Eleanor’s life. A life she had previously spent secluded in her flat, not talking to anyone at work, drinking vodka and being tormented by her ‘mummy’. From the moment she and Raymond intervene, she starts to witness the small benefits of human interaction.

‘I would never have suspected that small deeds could elicit such genuine, generous responses. I felt a little glow inside – not a blaze, more like a small, steady candle’

At the same time, Eleanor begins to fixate on a musician in a band – someone she imagines to be her perfect match, despite them never having exchanged words. ‘Mummy’ encourages this and pushes Eleanor into stalker-like tendencies to force the meeting and desired future relationship. With this in mind, Eleanor forces herself to conform to the standards of female beauty she sees around her – how a woman should dress for specific occasions, the right amount of make-up, the most complementary accessories, and the right haircut. Sadly, it is only when she goes through these motions, that her colleagues – people she’s worked with and been mocked by for many years – start to compliment her and pay attention.

‘I’d made my legs black, and my hair blonde, I’d lengthened and darkened my eyelashes, dusted a flush of pink onto my cheeks and painted my lips a shade of dark red which was rarely found in nature. I should, by rights, look less like a human woman than I’d ever done, and yet it seemed that this was the most acceptable, the most appropriate appearance that I’d ever made before the world. It was puzzling.’

She experiences being waxed and having her nails painted in scenes that are both hilarious and sad. The humour lends itself to how absurd each ritual can seem, as well as the financial burden of what it takes to be deemed presentable or beautiful as a woman. That pain, that cost and the awkward discomfort are things I’m sure many women will recognise.

Aside from the musician narrative, with Raymond’s help, Eleanor’s barriers begin to come down and it’s immensely rewarding watching her open herself up a little more with each successful interaction. As a reader you feel protective of her and yet recognise her vulnerability and share her fear.

In some of the darker moments, Honeyman writes mental health and trauma exquisitely. There are so many lines that stand out and make you feel for Eleanor and empathise with the enormity of what she must overcome. You feel flashes of how taxing everyday life can be for the lonely, for anyone who suffers from mental health issues or trauma, and how hard it can be to find the motivation to perform the ‘menial’ tasks – getting up, cooking, getting dressed, leaving the house. 

‘I do not light up a room when I walk into it. No one longs to see me or to hear my voice. I do not feel sorry for myself, not in the least. These are simply statements of fact. I have been waiting for death all my life. I do not mean that I actively wish to die, just that I do not really want to be alive.’

‘I took one of my hands in the other, tried to imagine what it would feel like if it was another person’s hand holding mine.’

‘And I ache, I physically ache, for human contact – I truly feel that I might tumble to the ground and pass away if someone doesn’t hold me, touch me.’

When you first start reading this book, you may think that Eleanor Oliphant is just another 'quirky' character type, but persevere because her story matters  and is ultimately, in its own way, a life-affirming reading experience. I found it really hard to put this book down and looked forward to my commute to get back into it. For me, the musician narrative was perhaps the weakest part but I can see how it was necessary to bring together the strands of who Eleanor is. I would definitely recommend this to anyone - it deserves its plaudits and challenges you to inhabit the mind of someone who perhaps, like most of the people in her life do, you would normally overlook. 

Some more favourite quotes: 

• 'Some people, weak people, fear solitude. What they fail to understand is that there’s something very liberating about I; once you realise that you don’t need anyone, you can take care of yourself. You can’t protect other people, however hard you try. You try, and you fall and your word collapses around you, burns down to ashes.'

• 'The children seemed to have multiplied; and had gravitated towards one another in order to form a merry band of mischief makers. It was clear that the adults were all occupied with the party, so they could run and whoop and chase each other with unsupervised abandon I smiled at them, envied them slightly'

• 'Grief is the price we pay for love, so they say. The price is far too high.'

• 'Tiny slivers of life – they all added up and helped to feel that you, too, could be a fragment, a little piece of humanity who usefully filled a space, however minuscule. I was pondering this as I waited for the lights to change.'

• 'I was getting to quite like my own voice, my own thoughts. I wanted more of them. They made me feel good, calm even. They made me feel like me'

*Thank you to HarperCollins and Netgalley for the chance to read and review this book.