Two books and a catch up 📚
I read a 650-page state-of-the-nation novel and a 200-page Instagram fever dream - plus the prettiest tree in Peckham and luxury in Courchevel...
Guys, guys, guys, I'm back on this orange app. I've not really been away, I've been lurking all the while, reading the good stuff, but I've missed penning these missives. Every weekend I've thought: I need to write a Substack! But then I don't because, Lord, full time gainful employment is actually kinda exhausting and I've needed to hibernate and do dull things like clean my bathroom and buy 6ft long planks of wood from B&Q, go to pilates and the like.
But here we are! How are you? Happy Easter! Isn't the season just enchanting? Spring is like a promise kept (I came up with that line last year and honestly I think it's the best writing of my entire career). There's a tree opposite my bus stop and she is just so utterly gorgeous, all tumbling blossoms, she's such a show-off really, and she makes me understand why people do mad things like marrying trees.
What else to fill you in on? Well, I did go on a press trip - the one last perk left in this industry! (Lord, I sound like a brat) - which really was fascinating. It was to Courchevel, the land of the 0.0001 per cent, with a group of other journalists (therefore fun people), staying in a chalet where you could ski in and ski out, I was given my own ski instructor and surely the true definition of luxury is not having to carry your own skis? (or going to a restaurant on the slopes and being presented with slippers so you don't have to wear your bulky ski boots while you eat).
Now we've caught up, I'll tell you about the two books I've read recently - they were very different, polar opposites in some ways, but I think quite useful to look at together.
The first one was Caledonian Road by Andrew O'Hagan which I decided to read after realising that I had not read a single male author last year. Even I was quite appalled by that and so, to rectify it, this was the book by a dude that I most wanted to read.
Firstly, this is a beast. It's 650 pages, a big, bombastic 'state-of-the-nation' type novel. O'Hagan is clearly a fearsomely clever author and yet it was - that awful word - readable, like an airport novel even, so focussed on plot and character that you're propelled through the action. I appreciated his writing style - it's masculine to my mind, very clean, not flowery at all, although there are sudden flashes of poetry but mainly he uses words in a way that's very serviceable and almost transparent (if that makes sense) to the point that the narrative is like a clear pane of glass through which to see the story.
I loved this line in the opening.
'He had secrets and troubles, yet out of the cab window St Paul's was shining on Ludgate Hill and the angels of London were on his side.'
Caledonian Road is actually not so much 'state of the nation' as 'state of the capital' - and, in particular, the corruption that has infected London at every level. The book centres on Campbell Flynn (he with the secrets and troubles), an art historian who has come from nothing in Glasgow to ascend the upper echelons of society. He presents culture shows on the BBC, is a lecturer at UCL and - thanks to his marriage to aristocrat Elizabeth - has access to high society and oligarchs, and, through his work, hobnobs with A-list actors and fashionistas. But he is having a mental crisis. His student Milo has inveigled himself into his life and is apparently showing him the way things really are (Milo did make me roll my eyes quite a bit).
It is clear, from the beginning, that Flynn is on course for a massive fall from grace but often, I didn't find his story the most interesting. It is the interlocking narratives, the crowd of characters that O'Hagan somehow marshals into flowing action that is the real achievement of the book. A couple of those characters didn't ring true - I didn't really believe the small-time drug dealers slash rappers who are Milo's childhood friends. But what O'Hagan is brilliant at is showing the stench of criminality at every single level of society - there's the oligarch's wastrel son who gets involved in human smuggling simply because he's bored and venal, there's the carwash owner who smuggles people into the country, steals their passports and keeps them as something akin to slaves, there's the drivers who turn a blind eye to packing their lorries full of people because the money is so good. I think the book's depiction of the reality of human smuggling is its stand-out accomplishment. It made me determined not to go to cheap nail salons because they are apparently a common front for these kinds of operations.
I really enjoyed the novel. I did find it a bit of a struggle to finish but that is most likely down to my scant attention span rather than any deficiency in the book. However, I found myself thinking: in our world of social media and online discourse, where so much of what we consume is bite-size, rapid and scatter-gun, is the 'big novel', with its intertwining narratives and host of characters, an art form that surely hit its peak in the Victorian era, the style of narrative best designed to tell a story in 2025? While reading Caledonian Road, I couldn't help but feel that this style of narrative - while comforting and fun - already came across as king of passé.
Which brings us to the very different novel, I'm A Fan by Sheena Patel. This is a svelte 200 pages, an appropriate length for someone with Instagram brain. And even more appropriate, it is told in short snappy sections - some just a paragraph long, most about a page and a half, the longest section was (I think) about six pages - a narrative form that almost mimics the experience of swiping through Instagram stories. I'm A Fan is unabashedly focussed on the blurring of the digital and real life worlds.
Here's the opening line:
'I stalk a woman on the internet who is sleeping with the same man I am. Sometimes when I am too quick to look at her stories, I block her temporarily so she doesn't know I absentmindedly refresh her page fifteen times a minute while Netflix plays in the background on my laptop, my stomach flipping sick with delight when her profile picture is ringed red.'
It's an unhinged book, narrated by a woman who is having an affair with a man (never named, dubbed 'the man I want to be with') who is not only married but with a pack of girlfriends forever on the go and, in particular, one girlfriend, an Instagram honey, a sort of aesthetic influencer, with a house in Marfa that she fills with beautiful things, the sort of internet personality who shares 'resources' on race relations for her fellow white followers, dubbed the 'woman I am obsessed with' by the narrator.
Our narrator is absolutely demented in her fixation on this man who is surely the dictionary definition of that much-bandied descriptor, 'toxic'. But he ain't the only toxic one! The narrator herself is a basketcase, foul to her boyfriend and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross her path. I cannot fault the writing - it's precise and perfect - but I didn't love the book. Caledonian Road was a far more pleasant reading experience. I didn't love being in the narrator's demented mind in I'm A Fan or seeing relationships so absent of love and instead portrayed as battles for possession, games of sex and power and obsession where everyone ends up bloodied.
I didn't like it! Funnily enough, though, a lot of my female friends loved it. There are brilliant passages dissecting all the way women lie to themselves when gripped in that awful romantic obsession with someone who quite clearly is unavailable.
'On the overground train I pick over our messages panning for the slightest glint in the water that would convince me it was worth the wait, glossing over where he says he can't commit, he is stuck, it is impossible to leave his wife, and instead I hold onto his compliments which he gives me as cheap recompense for any structural changes.’
Ouch - but who hasn't panned for gold in messages where not a glimmer of it could be found?
One (male) friend commented on my Instagram story about this book saying he had read it and he didn't like it. He explained: 'She's not sympathetic at all. So I'm a bit like: actually you're mad babe x'.... and at the end of the novel, I had to agree. Thoughts and prayers to the narrator, she's gonna need 'em!
Finally, here's a rapid fire list of Substacks I've been enjoying and you might too!
Sweet
is going to make herself some enemies with this fun list. I'm sorry, but I fear for the mental state of anyone who doesn't adore Jane Austen. And HGTTG is one of the funniest books in existence!Am I Really Going To Be On Ozempic Within A Year?
My fangirling of
continues with this piece that I found so interesting about the whole Ozempic debate. In all honesty, I get seriously tempted to microdose it (even though I am aware there is absolutely no need for me to be on this weight-loss medication) but then, guys, for other reasons (I promise!), I was scrolling on Reddit for people's experience on this medication and I came across the side effects: projectile vomiting, never-ending burps that taste of sulfur (errr, no thanks), and more...Such a great idea (and I happened to be there when the idea was first thrown around!) - it's a Substack from
which collects the best secondhand finds from Vinted, eBay, FB Marketplace and the likes. I adore these kind of round-ups and am despo for that Murano glass candlestick.Forever and always obsessed with
. That is all.Lucinda Chambers, ex-Vogue, With Her High Street faves - Just For Us
This was a fun little list of recommendations from Lucinda Chambers in what's going to be a regular spot in
’s newsletter (I love her writing). I fancy the yellow candlesticks.And there you go! Love you all! Be back soon! Enjoy the sunshine! xxx
So happy you're back in my inbox and much obliged for the shout-out—even if we do disagree on Austen 😉
Just added both books to my Goodreads TBR list for very different reasons. Also loved your substack recommendations, read them all and loved the Ozempic one.