Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel

From her position on stage, eight-year-old Kirsten witnesses the death of a Hollywood icon during his performance as King Lear at a Toronto theatre. That same evening a deadly flu virus arrives in the city, and within days the world as we know it has collapsed. Twenty years later, Kirsten is herself an actor, touring Shakespeare with the Travelling Symphony, crossing dangerous territory to bring theatre and music to communities of survivors.

This could easily have been written during the first lockdown of 2020 but was actually published six years earlier, and other than the virulence of the disease and the vast death toll, nothing in here feels exaggerated. The reactions of the protagonists and the world around them feel very real, even down to the bulk-buying of toilet paper in an early chapter.

But this isn’t really a book about a virus, or even about the end of the world. It’s a book about human connection, even where that connection is tangential, and about the importance of the things ‘beyond survival’ that bind us together. While the narrative arcs back and forth between characters, times and places both pre- and post-pandemic, the connections are subtly and sometimes surprisingly revealed.

It's a tribute to the quality of the storytelling here that I have continued to think about elements of the story in the weeks since reading it. This is not a happy book, but it is gently reassuring, and it repeatedly reminds us that ‘Survival is Insufficient’. Being human is not merely about existing and procreating, but also, and more importantly, it’s about memory, connection, the things we carry with us and the things we leave behind.

- Paul

Paperback, £9.99. Find it in the fiction section!

Tipping the Velvet, by Sarah Waters

Purchased from Gay's the Word; the most fantastic all-LGBTQIA+ bookshop in Bloomsbury, London. Upon standing in front of the storefront, I declared to my friend: "I am in search of historical gays!" I wanted a story of incognito queers from decades; heck, CENTURIES passed. I wanted androgyny and bravery and a total disregard for strict social codes.

Oooooh boy, did Sarah Waters come THROUGH!

Tipping the Velvet follows Nancy Astley, as she falls in love with a performer at the music halls, Kitty Butler. Kitty dresses as a man in her act, and Nancy is completely enthralled by it all. Things escalate quickly and, after moving to London with Kitty, she finds that things aren't as simple as falling in love and building a life when you're both women. Nancy finds herself tumbling all over London, trying to find herself with one foot in one world, and one in another.

Nancy sees it all: cross-dressing, prostitution, rags and riches, sex, androgyny, homophobia, ostracisation, heartbreak, familial bonds - both blood and chosen - acceptance, social change... her world is a chaotic blur of over ground and underground cultures battling it out. Not once does Nancy even consider re-joining the straight-laced (pardon the pun) life she was born into, and she is heroic in her efforts to stand proudly and independently in her resolve. I admire her courage and tenacity; though I cringe at her greed and shallowness.

She is by no means a diamond in the rough, but is as scuffed and filthy as the rest of the world. And that's how she gripped me! She didn't necessarily deserve stability, sanctuary, and security any more than any other character in this book, so I just had to know whether or not she found it!

This book has a message of forgiveness; of personal growth, and understanding when to let go. It reminds us that we can build communities around us that make us feel whole and safe. As a queer individual, this is especially powerful, and I implore anyone who identifies under the LGBT+ umbrella to read this book! But no one under 18... it's a little graphic at times!

A new firm favourite; one of the best books I've read in YEARS!

- Sian

Paperback, £8.99. Find it in the fiction section!

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, by Agatha Christie

In this Agatha Christie masterpiece, first published in 1926, the great detective Poirot has retired to King's Abbot, home of an old friend of his, the wealthy Roger Ackroyd. Despite hoping to remain anonymous, Poirot's peace is shattered when Ackroyd is murdered.

Dr Sheppard was at Ackroyd's house the night of the murder, and over the course of the investigation, he appears as Poirot's sidekick, since Hastings has married and is now living in Argentina.

The narrative is told from Dr Sheppard’s point of view as he documents the investigation, the sparks of genius from Poirot, and his famous little grey cells. As Hastings did before him, Sheppard gives insight into the workings of Poirot's analytical mind, as well as throwing light on the nuances of the suspects. Whilst Poirot sees them as pieces of the puzzle, Sheppard reveals them as people who are as flawed, as they are good.

Between the murder and the big reveal, the plot contains Agatha Christie's famous twists and turns. There are plenty of red herrings and many interpretations of the facts presented. This book is famous for its unusual and, at the time, innovative, ground-breaking ending. It is the kind of book you want to go back and read again once the killer has been revealed, to see if the clues do in fact, fit the revelation.

Christie's book are timeless, satisfying the need for a great whodunnit, as successfully as they did on first publication. Her ability to write twisting plots and multi-layered characters still captures the imagination of generation after generation.

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd was voted the best novel ever by the British Crime Writers Association in 2013. It would be a crime not to read it! It is my favourite of all the brilliant novels Agatha Christie wrote and is a treat for fans of this genre.

- Milly

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Our narrator - and only redeemable character - Nick moves into a small rented home, next door to an almost constant party. He discovers that somehow he knows the mysterious Gatsby, who hosts the parties in his mansion. 

I know this story is meant to be a renowned romance but I just can't believe Gatsby's claim of true love. I did not see any depth of feeling: merely Gatsby’s obsession with a woman he once dated. I feel the reality of it is that Gatsby was a poor man who latched on to the idea of wealth, which seems to have gotten mixed up with his feelings for Daisy, who is herself superficial and frivolous. Gatsby is so completely enamoured by their glamor and beauty, that he forgets about substance. And in order to win her he must prove himself to her. He must prove “new money” is as good; as influential as “old money”. This is the difference between Gatsby and the Bucanans.

The Bucanans and their friends seem to simply sit around drinking and using other people for their entertainment. All the characters are deplorable, which I can stand in some literature (I’m looking at you Cathy and Heathcliff!) when there is more to the love connection than admiration for looks or the way a woman carries herself. I could find no redeeming features or motives in this crowd. It ultimately shows the influence and power behind old money, and the horrible truth: people with money and social power get away with murder.

I feel like Fitzgerald was a little lazy with his conveniently connected but unconnected characters and their placements, e.g. Nick conveniently moving in next door to Gatsby, and his previous separate connections with both Daisy and Gatsby.

Generally, I love classic fiction, but I did not get on well with Fitzgerald. I found this classic hard to get into, with Fitzgerald’s writing style being a little too poetic and vague to really get my teeth into. The characters were unlovable and flimsy. I would recommend that anyone wanting to be introduced to classics choose something else.

- Anara

Paperback, £6.99. Find it in the Classics section!