At the age of thirty, Amy Liptrot finds herself washed up back home on Orkney. Standing unstable on the island, she spends her mornings swimming in the sea, her days tracking Orkney’s wildlife, and her nights searching the starry skies, as she tries to come to terms with the addiction that has swallowed the last decade of her life.
It’s hard to write about memoirs without resorting to stock phrases like “brave” or “unflinching”, but if any book truly deserves to be described in these terms it’s The Outrun. Being an account of a life dominated by alcohol addiction and mental illness, it’s naturally fraught with episodes that are hard enough to read, let alone write and send out into the wider world; yet Liptrot tackles each one with a characteristic steadiness, marking things out as they need to be like one describing a flood from the safety of higher ground. Her tone is confessional without asking for pity, detached without ever being cold – for a debut memoir, the balance to which Liptrot’s writing holds throughout is remarkable.
But as well as a stark self-portrait of addiction, The Outrun is also a great window on life amongst the far-flung shores of the British Isles. Liptrot’s nature writing (compared favourably by many to Helen Macdonald’s H is for Hawk) is often as good as, if not better than, her memoir writing – of particular note is her time spent tracking corncrakes at night for the RSPB, which includes a striking image of the nightlights of Kirkwall and sunrise over the north Orkney coast. She also writes in the details of lambing season, elements of local history and geography, the quirks of ultra-rural life – at any one time, The Outrun can be not only a memoir, but also a guide book, a farming manual and a storm survival guide, whilst maintaining at all times its own cohesive identity.
If you’re looking for any book to start 2017 on the right foot, make it this one.
You might think that after reading War and Peace back in January, I’d have already had enough of Leo Tolstoy for one year. But as his infamous opus immediately became one of my favourite novels (if not top of the list), when I started looking around for a meaty classic to get my teeth into over Christmas, I couldn’t really look anywhere other than Anna Karenina.
I must admit, I didn’t come away from Anna Karenina quite as enamoured as with its famous shelf-sibling. But that’s not to say it’s not a good book – far from it. Just like with War and Peace, Tolstoy uses the great length of this novel to really immerse you in his world, perhaps more fully than any fantasy author, not stopping simply at bringing his characters to life but drawing out every their every facet in turn until by the end you know them as well as if you had written them yourself. It’s just a shame Tolstoy is mostly remembered now for being “the Big Book Guy”, rather than for his talent in building truly human relationships between reader and character.
When it comes to mainstream female superheroes, it’s pretty damn hard to find one outside of the big-busted/ blonde/ hot pants Venn diagram. Which is why I was ecstatic when I heard Marvel Comics had finally bet against the norm, rebooting the historically white blonde Ms Marvel character as Kamala Khan, a sixteen-year-old Pakistani-American from Jersey City.
That alone would have been good enough for me – so much the better that the comic itself is brilliant too. The script is arguably Kamala’s biggest co-star, as snappy as any Gilmore Girls episode and deftly calling out the kinds of casual racism still floating around our modern world unnoticed: “Your headscarf is so pretty. But, I mean…nobody pressured you to start wearing it, right?” I also love how Kamala trying to get a handle on her new shapeshifting powers draws such a parallel with the way young LGBT teenagers often try to understand themselves at first – especially in one scene in issue three, when shortly after discovering her powers Kamala searches the Internet for anyone else who’s experienced the same transformation as her (“‘Super-powers.’ ‘Shape-shifting powers.’ ‘Woke up as a polymorph.’… I can’t be the first person this has happened to.”).
Although it can sometimes be a little heavy-handed with its messages, No Normal and the Kamala Khan series is an excellent example of a comic book doing what it’s best at – bringing a fringe character out into the spotlight. Marvel has done the “misunderstood teen loner” thing so many times before with Spider-man and the X-Men and so on, but with the new Ms Marvel they’ve dragged that angle up to date, taking a swipe at the post-9/11 ignorance and showing that life as a Muslim and life as a “normal” American teenager are in no way mutually exclusive.