Books I Read in May 2023
In May, I read 29 books. That number is a little higher than usual, and it may have been even higher if one of these books hadn’t slowed me down (see my thoughts on Girl in Pieces). Still, admittedly I did read a few very short zines; and ten of the 29 were the volumes of Samurai Executioner, a manga for which I finally made time after years of letting it gather dust on a shelf. At the beginning of the month, I read quite a few library books, but now I am hoping to focus on getting through my personal backlog. Hopefully, I’ll read some more classics, too; my first book of June was Oliver Twist.

Here are some brief thoughts on all the books I read in May.
Cell Block Five
by Fadhil al-Azzawi (translated by William M. Hutchins)
(Arabia Books, 2008)
Originally published in 1972, this book follows Aziz, a young man arrested in a Baghdad café. Despite maintaining his innocence, he is held indefinitely in a penitentiary, slowly losing hope of ever being released. Al-Azzawi, a member of the 1960s Kirkuk Group of poets, drew on his own experience of prison to write the book. Aziz at first holds the idealistic view that, eventually, the misunderstanding will be cleared up, and he will be able to leave. It becomes increasingly clear, however, that guards and officials would rather wrongly accuse him (and therefore justify his continued imprisonment) than set him free. Encountering political dissidents, victims of torture, and prisoners willing to collaborate with their jailers, Aziz attempts to remain separate from controversy and danger. He even falls in love: with Salwa, the sister of a fellow inmate. Despite glimmers of hope, there is a sense of inevitability in the book; and from the very beginning, it is clear that Aziz’s proclaimed innocence means very little to those around him.
The Sense of an Ending
by Julian Barnes
(Jonathan Cape, 2011)
Split into two sections, this literary novella explores memory and remorse. In the first half, Tony Webster recalls his youth: in particular, how the new boy at school, Adrian, shifted the dynamic of his friend group. Three boys became four, each of the original members vying for the newcomer’s attention and approval. Adrian is smarter, more thoughtful and insightful than his peers, and Tony and his friends both envy and admire him for it. In the book’s second half, Tony is in his sixties. A sudden death, a will, and a missing bequest propel him to re-evaluate his memories. Snatches of reminiscence coalesce to clearer images, and fragments of truth slot together to complete the picture. Barnes’ unreliable narrator is by turns frustrating and deeply relatable; Tony unintentionally obfuscates the truth and is often shocked when he finally remembers his own actions. It is not difficult to see how this won the 2011 Booker.
Queenpin
by Megan Abbott
(Pocket Books UK, 2009)
Queenpin is Megan Abbott’s third novel. Her non-fiction work, The Street Was Mine, explored white masculinity in Film Noir and Hardboiled fiction, and no doubt served her well in the transition to writing Pulp and Noir fiction. This 2007 novel follows an unnamed, unreliable narrator: a young woman seduced by gamblers and gangsters. Specifically, the infamous Gloria Denton grooms her, spotting criminal potential in an outwardly innocent girl. A kind of sexual tension crackles between them – the first thing (or, indeed, things) our narrator notices about Gloria is her legs – with Gloria as the predatory older woman sweeping away a deceptively innocent girl. Soon, though, the young protégée begins to challenge her mentor, driven in part by her attraction to an unlucky gambler. While the novel is not entirely successful, it is undoubtedly evocative, and Abbot’s prose is often sharp and shrewd.
Spark
by M. G. Leonard
(Walker Books Ltd, 2022)
The second book in the Twitchers series, Spark can be read as a standalone. We follow Jack, a young birdwatcher who, along with some friends, attempts to solve a dark mystery. Someone has been attacking – and, in one case, killing – cats, and Jack wants to get to the bottom of it. However, his best friend (and birdwatcher extraordinaire) Twitch is distracted by the imminent arrival of a rare vulture. When Jack discovers that the bird itself may be the next target, the Twitchers must work together to prevent a tragedy. While arguably stronger than the first book, Spark suffers in many of the ways Twitch suffered. The characters’ love for birds is infectious, and it’s clear that Leonard has a passion for the topic. Both this book and Twitch offer a welcomely nuanced look at friendship and forgiveness. Unfortunately, certain themes are shallow, and some of the messaging is unclear at best and harmful at worst. The prose is mostly serviceable, with characters reciting facts like textbooks. The book also suffers from poor copyediting. Paddy Donnelly’s cover illustration is striking, though, and for a bird- or nature-lover, this book will soar.
Nothing Ever Happens Here
by Sarah Hagger-Holt
(Usborne Publishing Ltd, 2020)
Izzy is almost painfully shy, relying on her best friend Grace to do most of the talking at school. Thankfully, nothing much ever happens in her small town, so she flies under the radar. Then one of her parents comes out as trans, and Izzy must learn to use her voice to speak up for what’s right. Hagger-Holt’s debut novel takes a look at a family adjusting to change. Izzy’s five-year-old brother, Jamie, immediately accepts the situation, while sixteen-year-old Megan reacts badly (though ends up channeling her anger into something constructive and positive). Izzy, meanwhile, wants to focus on learning her lines for the school play, while shielding her parent from any negativity. There are some noticeable issues here – such as Grace falling into some tropes as the Black best friend; and the clumsy pronouncement that there is a “right” way for a trans woman to look – which will understandably put off many readers. Put simply, this is a book written by a cis person for a cis audience. Take that how you will.
Proud of Me
by Sarah Hagger-Holt
(Usborne Publishing Ltd., 2021)
Becky and Josh are almost twins, sharing two mums and one anonymous sperm donor. For thirteen years, they have done everything together, from first days at school to Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. Then Josh decides to track down the donor, refusing to wait until he’s eighteen; and Becky starts to have feelings for the new girl at school. Suddenly – unexpectedly – each has a secret from the other, and neither Becky nor Josh understands how hard that will be. Hagger-Holt’s second novel is a marked improvement on the first. There are some great conversations about family and belonging here, with both Becky and Josh’s viewpoints and experiences fully explored and respected. The subplot about a Pride group at school is also a nice touch. It is not a perfect book, with pacing and structure suffering the most. Still, it will be a rewarding read for many.
What We Did
by Christobel Kent
(Sphere, 2019)
As a child, Bridget Webster was groomed and abused by her violin teacher, Anthony Carmichael. Decades later, married with a son, she has attained something close to contentment. Then Carmichael walks into her dress shop, accompanied by a teenage girl. Immediately, Bridget knows the girl is in danger. When Carmichael returns to the shop and corners her, Bridget reacts on instinct. Now, she has to deal with the consequences of her actions. Christobel Kent’s 2018 literary thriller offers an explicit look at not only sexual abuse itself, but also at its victims’ responses. Bridget suffered with an eating disorder as a teenager; as an adult, she can’t ever sit still. Her husband is kind and safe, but she can never tell him what happened to her. Deep down, she worries that every man will hurt her like Carmichael did. Kent plots a compelling, unflinching tale.
Bill’s New Frock
by Anne Fine
(Egmont Books, 2017)
Bill Simpson wakes up one morning to discover he is a girl. His mother puts him in a frilly pink frock, his dad kisses him goodbye, and off Bill goes to school. So begins one of the worst days of his life. Originally published in 1989, Bill’s New Frock explores everyday sexism. Bill’s work is criticised for messiness, while another boy’s even messier work is praised. The boys won’t let Bill join their football game. Bill’s frock doesn’t even have pockets. While not the intention, through a contemporary lens, the book may also serve as an introduction to gender dysphoria; Bill knows instinctively that something is wrong, and his frustration and discomfort goes mostly unnoticed. As the book goes on, though, others pick up on the change, noting how strange he seems today. Overall, the book remains insightful and entertaining over thirty years on.
Samurai Executioner
by Kazuo Koike and Goseki Kojima (translated by Dana Lewis and Marc Miyake)
(Dark Horse Manga, 2004-2006)
Yamada Asaemon, the third of that name, takes up the role of o-tameshiyaku: the shōgun’s official sword-tester. As a rōnin, he is unworthy of executing samurai, instead tasked with decapitating criminals. His fearsome reputation precedes him: Neck-Chopper Asa his unofficial title. As in their contemporary series, Lone Wolf and Cub, Koike and Kojima’s collaborative effort is a painstakingly-researched recreation of Edo-period Japan. Fictional characters and events notwithstanding, it is a powerfully evocative achievement. Unlike Lone Wolf and Cub, there is no overarching plot. Themes are consistent, but the series is episodic. Each chapter of this ten-volume series offers a short story or vignette: a fleeting moment in Asa’s life, and the last moments of the condemned. There is much philosophising on everything from government corruption to gender roles. Many readers may find it difficult to separate period-accurate misogyny from the general sexism of two men writing in the 1970s. Still, this is a rich and rewarding experience.

Helpmeet
by Naben Ruthnum
(Undertow Publications, 2022)
Louise Wilk’s husband is dying, ravaged by a terrifying illness: one that sloughs the very flesh from his bones. An expert in venereal disease has declared that the mystery ailment is not syphilis (despite Edward Wilk’s many extramarital affairs), leaving the couple alone to await the inevitable. Ruthnum’s Gothic novella oozes with tragic romance and body horror. Exquisite prose makes for a transcendent reading experience. Ruthnum aims to unsettle and disturb, rather than truly frighten, readers. Perhaps more than anything, he wishes to explore how far one person’s love will take them: how committed can one person truly be to another? Louise married Edward within weeks of meeting him – in spite of the affairs she already knew he conducted. A trained nurse, she finds herself quickly and ably attending to his medical needs, willing to do whatever it takes to care for him at the end.
Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign, vol. 26
by Takaya Kagami, Yamato Yamamoto and Daisuke Furuya (translated by Adrienne Beck)
(VIZ Media, 2023)
Years ago, vampires swarmed the Earth. Amongst the humans abducted for various nefarious reasons was a group of orphans. One of them, Yūichirō Hyakuya, witnessed a bloodsucker murder the others, before escaping the underground city. Vowing to kill all vampires, Yūichirō rose through the ranks of the Japanese Imperial Demon Army. Now, he has cultivated a new family, including Mikaela: one of the orphans presumed dead. Seraph of the End is the best kind of shōnen manga. Full of heart, and deadly serious about the power of friendship, it remains one of my favourite ongoing series.
Animals Eat Each Other
by Elle Nash
(404 Ink, 2019)
Originally published in the US by Dzanc Books, Elle Nash’s 2018 debut novel concerns an unnamed young woman’s experience in an intense liaison. Teenage parents Matt and Frances rename the narrator Lilith, and pull her into a fraught, three-way BDSM relationship. ‘Lilith’ finds herself falling for Matt, convinced she can give him something Frances never could: true submission. Nash explores despair and desire in equal measure, through the eyes of a teenager still discovering herself. ‘Lilith’ sleeps with her boss just for the experience; she fools around with another girl, not quite accepting how serious her feelings may truly be; and she fantasises about a blissful future with Matt. The fact that the BDSM might actually be closer to abuse adds another level of complexity to the piece. This is a compelling debut. Just by the by, though, it is incredibly frustrating that most of the books I have read recently contain glaring typos. I realise this may be a trivial complaint.
I Like Men
by Gil Goletski
(2020)
An autobiographical zine about a sexual awakening, I Like Men is a fabulous piece. Goletski’s memories of casual (and violent) homophobia, and secretly watching Brokeback Mountain are powerfully evocative. The discussion towards the end about identity and labels is also greatly appreciated. I highly recommend this quick, important read.
Lamp Comic
by Gil Goletski
(2019)
A very short zine featuring musings on, and illustrations and photos of, Goletski’s lamp collection; appreciations of appliances allow room for Goletski’s exploration of binary thinking. The lamps may be ‘on’ or ‘off’, but their light is dim, as opposed to that cast by harsh overheads. Goletski compares dimmer switches to transitioning, not really going from ‘on’ to ‘off’ – a constant, just now on a different setting. A lovely read.
Stif Fits
by Gil Goletski and Anna Firth
(2019)
A series of illustrations featuring queer, anthropomorphised animals. There’s something charming about a cowboy boot-wearing catperson sweating over a copy of ‘Men Kissing, vol. 5’.
Manga Diary of a Male Porn Star, vol. 1 by Kaeruno Erefante
(Seven Seas, 2021)
Divorced and unemployed, Kaeruno has nothing left to lose. He heads to Tokyo and is easily talked into starting a career in the porn industry. This autobiographical manga is undeniably compelling. While much of the narrator’s decision is driven by his desire to see (and fuck) beautiful girls, the book goes into detail about the process of making porn in both the city and the country. Most compelling is Kojima, the only female director he meets. His surprise is less driven by sexism, and more an aversion to kink – something Kojima greatly appreciates. The comedy here is derived mostly from farcical, absurd situations that are, apparently, all true. Depicting himself as a frog in a pair of briefs, Kaeruno stands out from both the bevy of buxom beauties, and the cartoonish crew members. This first volume was very enjoyable, and I look forward to the next.
Gwendy’s Final Task
by Stephen King and Richard Chizmar
(Hodder & Stoughton, 2022)
The third and final entry in the Gwendy trilogy is (barely) stronger than the second but weaker than the first. Here, 64-year-old Gwendy Peterson has been tasked with taking the magic button box somewhere no one can ever find it: space. The undeniably silly premise is bolstered by some good character work, which the previous book lacked, and a fabulous mystery surrounding Derry, Maine, and linked to the Dark Tower series. There are some weaknesses here, including clunky exposition and dialogue, plus some unsubtle villainy. Gwendy herself remains narratively unassailable, despite her (to put it mildly) morally questionable views and decisions. Still, there is a strong emotional core, and some lovely interior illustrations courtesy of Keith Minnion. And, personally speaking, a trip to Derry, Maine, is always worth taking.
The Passenger
by Lonnie Nadler, Zac Thompson and Ian MacEwan
(2023)
An unnamed man misses his stop and sets out to buy a new train ticket. Wandering away from the tracks, he discovers an old roadside exhibition and decides to investigate. This short comic hits the sweet spot of strange, cosmic horror found in old ghost stories. The simple (yet no doubt effective) story plays second fiddle to MacEwan’s art; there is some fabulous cartooning here. Our protagonist hikes over rocks and fields, reaching a level of exhaustion so complete even his hat seems to sweat. And, of course, the horror lurking at the heart of this story is superbly realised. The Passenger is far from a scary story – it is too comfortably familiar for that – but it is a very good example of a common trope, and certainly worth the mere minute it takes to read. It offers a lot in such a short trip and is definitely worth a return journey.
Girl in Pieces
by Kathleen Glasgow
(Rock the Boat, 2023)
This novel was originally published in 2016. Like Glasgow’s later work, How to Make Friends with the Dark, this book tackles the fatal flaws in the US care systems. Whereas How to Make Friends… scrutinised foster care, Girl in Pieces looks at mental health. We follow Charlie Davis, a teenage girl who wakes up in hospital. Suffering with extreme trauma and covered in self-harm scars, she struggles to connect with the other patients. Just as she feels ready to open up, she is forced to leave. What works well, here, is Glasgow’s honesty. Her author’s note reveals that she, like Charlie, has scars; the book serves then as a love letter to girls like her. The early section of the book is very strong, and the horrific revelation that, due to a change in her financial situation, Charlie must leave the hospital and return to her abusive mother, hits like a train. Sadly, the book loses its way. There are too many one-note characters (all of whom are deeply eloquent or traumatised or both), and a narrative voice that cannot sustain itself. Overall, this was something of a disappointment.
In Case of Emergency
by Poorna Bell
(Penguin Books, 2023)
After a near-death accident, Bel Kumar wakes up to find her ex-boyfriend by her hospital bed. It turns out that Bel has forgotten to change the name of her emergency contact on her HR form. Deciding to rectify this frankly embarrassing mistake forces Bel to confront the fact that she does not feel close enough to anyone in her life. As a debut novel, In Case of Emergency stumbles a little at the finish line – Bell incorporates a race-against-time climax that just about comes off – but overall works very well. It adeptly balances scenes of family drama, teenage trauma, and casual (and not so casual) racism. The hints toward the secret at the heart of Bel’s problem are sprinkled in such a way that, at first, you wonder whether it was such a big deal, or if it was just a teenage falling-out that Bel struggled to parse. The revelation, therefore, hits extremely hard. Overall, reading In Case of Emergency was great way to end May.
