"Yasmin Zaher’s a Palestinian journalist based in Paris. Her debut novel grew out of her time studying in the U.S. It’s set in 2016, narrated by a young, nameless Palestinian woman who’s recently relocated to New York. Although she’s taken a job in a school, her lifestyle’s largely funded by family money, an inheritance stemming from her parents� death in a car accident during her childhood. The woman lives in a state of constant vigilance, rigorously policing herself: her environment and her body. She dresses in understated but obviously high-end fashion from Stella McCartney to McQueen. Clothing that partly acts to establish an identity but also forms a kind of protective armour. Although what she’s protecting herself against is unclear. She’s queer, essentially isolated but maintains a desultory bond with wealthy developer Sasha. However, the narrator’s stated desire for detachment, to focus only on her own pleasure, is challenged by her growing affection for her pupils � all boys, mostly Black American, some immigrants, all poor or otherwise marginalised. A group on which she tests out her theories about morality, her conception of how to survive and thrive in an intrinsically corrupt society.

The narrator appears to have succumbed to contemporary capitalism’s dictates, fully invested in consumer culture, flaunting an array of positional goods. In New York her ownership of a Birkin bag marks her out as successful, enviable even. A symbol that possibly overrides her status as ‘other� in a place where she’s more conscious of the colour of her skin than ever before. It’s clear that here in New York social status resides in how you’re perceived. The Birkin’s especially significant because of its aura of exclusivity, a product deliberately made scarce: ownership not only subject to long waiting lists but to customers proving themselves worthy of the brand. A hierarchy of value that the narrator clearly comprehends: it seems telling that her encounter with a stylish, homeless man, she dubs Trenchcoat, is directly tied to her discarded Burberry raincoat � Burberry of course a brand devalued by its excessive popularity during the late 1990s, still desperate to reinstate its former cachet.

But this outward show of monied sophistication is undermined by the narrator’s private domestic routines. She resorts to increasingly-complicated cleansing rituals, moving from on-trend Korean beauty regimes to brutally scrubbing every inch of her body and her apartment. She’s obsessed with removing the filth and stench of the city, a possible rejection of its culture and values. But she also seems to view herself as defiled. A fixation which partly connects to her past. This past has invaded her body, inside, unreachable, is a coin swallowed during the accident that killed her mother and father. The coin’s a shekel � Israeli currency � yet also a British pound, simultaneously signifying internalised oppression, trauma, the legacy of racism and colonialism. But tied to capitalism too, with its emphasis on the commodification of the self. The narrator’s feeling that she’s both polluted and polluting are intensified by her gender - circulating notions of women as inherently impure. Their acceptability connected to an ability to keep a “clean� house and a “clean� body; rewarded for removing the evidence of their embodiment, their potential “animality,� shaved, plucked, and deodorised. As a woman of colour, the narrator’s growing self-disgust is intensified by living in a country where whiteness signifies virtue, and colourism runs rampant.

Zaher’s narrative’s strongly influenced by Clarice Lispector’s The Passion According to G.H. Zaher’s themes and preoccupations overlap with Lispector’s particularly her emphasis on masking, loss of authentic selfhood, experiences of displacement and exile. Although Zaher’s novel more accessible than Lispector’s, despite its ambiguities and surreal qualities it’s frequently more reminiscent of the work of writers like Mona Awad and Otessa Moshfegh. In addition, Zaher’s incorporated autobiographical elements, her narrator’s childhood memories of her grandmother replicate Zaher’s own; the narrator’s critique of American society, the shock of its contradictions, its inequalities, its insularity, echo Zaher’s impressions.

As her story unfolds, recounted to an unnamed presence, the narrator slowly unravels. A chance betrayal results in her retreat from the outside world. A retreat that resembles a kind of cathartic, personalised performance art. An attempt to revert to a state of nature, to reclaim her history and her inner self. It’s an intriguing progression but it also felt oddly conventional, contradictory � in danger of reinstating the individualistic underpinnings of the system it’s meant to counter. Like many first novels it’s undoubtedly flawed, slightly unbalanced, sagging in places, but it was frequently arresting, often relatable, and highly readable.

Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Footnote for an ARC

Rating: 3.5"

"I’ll try to make this review of Marshland sound smart. This novel rules!

Ok, it’s everything that I love in novels. It’s expansive and immersive. It’s 900 pages (almost) of great writing about a person(s) in a time and place. Atsuo Yukimori is just trying to live life as a mechanic/ex-con until he meets Wakako. There’s travel. Romance. A courtroom drama? There’s backstory to Atsuo and his time in and out of prison. The book moves rather quickly through the almost 900 pages and I promise you, it’s unputdownable. Just terrific. Well worth the wait, well worth the time I spent reading this book. Loved. "

"When I tended bar as a young man, I noticed that the "I don't have a drinking problem because I never miss a day of work" alcoholics took a definite solace from the complete rum soaked dead-end alcoholics. "I'm not so bad, look at him."

I feel that same way reading this book. I am a serious book collector who spends an inordinate amount of time in used bookstores. I have a large basement filled with books. I have not had enough room for my books since I was 13, but, "I'm not so bad, look at him."

Royle is a successful English author. This book is about his book collecting. I am a generalist with a few areas of concentration. Royle is an extreme specialist. He collects the Picador paperbacks that were issued from the 1970s to the 1990s. The classic ones had the white spines referred to in the title. Most of them were high end literary fiction and nonfiction.

Like all collectors Royle sets up rules for his collection that he frequently breaks. He has to find the books in a bookstore, buying on line is cheating, unless he really wants the book. Only the white spine Picadors should be collected, not the movie tie-in or special edition version with colored spines, until he decides to collect them also. He also quickly starts amassing multiple copies of books he is fond of.

Royle tells collecting stories. He describes his favorite stores and best hunting places. He describes the odd and often cranky people who run bokkstores. I was nostalgic. In the summer of 2019, pre-covid, I got to take a book store trip to London from my home in Massachusetts. I enjoyed hearing his descriptions of places I had visited like Scoob Books and the different Oxford Charity Bookshops, each of which has a different vibe.

From the list of his collection at the end of the book, he seems to have well over 1000 different Picador books. He is meticulous in tracking different editions, often with different covers, and he always seeks out books in the best condition possible.

He drops into the book short book-related dreams he has had over the years and little bits of his personal and professional life. This is not a memoir but it comes tantalizingly close to one.

One of the other pleasures of used book collecting is finding things left in the book. Royle appreciates each treasure. A calling card , shopping list or, even better, a personal letter triggers a attempt to create a story about the person who had the book before you.

Royle also enjoys book inscriptions. He traces some back to the source. We also get a chapter on French bookstores.

Unlike many collectors, Royle is a reader. One of the pleasures of collecting inexpensive paperbacks is that you don't worry about ruining the value of a expensive book by reading it. He gives us one sentence summaries of books and authors with longer discussions of others. His taste in literature, not surprisingly, is for literary fiction.

This is a well written, amusing book by an intelligent guy full of interesting bookish stuff.

He casually mentions that he is a somewhat compulsive collector. At one point he collected the plastic Sell-By tags that seal the top of a plastic bag of bread. He stuck them , in date order, on the inside of the cabinet door. I'm not so bad, look at him. "