Author Archives: Nadia Tariq

About Nadia Tariq

Nadia is a mother, writer and book enthusiast from London. She holds an Mlitt in Victorian Literature in one hand and a Jane Austen novel in the other. She is delighted to share her bookish views on this wonderful platform, with the Frost family.

How To Keep House While Drowning: A gentle approach to cleaning and organising, by KC Davis. Reviewed by Nadia Tariq

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With the laundry baskets overflowing, three children at home creating chaos faster than I could possibly manage – and a handful of Audible credits that needed used up – I made what turned out to be the best spontaneous book choice.

Forget your typical summer reads (I wouldn’t be making it to the beach in any case). This book is exactly what I needed. Self help isn’t my usual genre, but the title alone – How to Keep House While Drowning – spoke to me, and with a listening time of only 3 hours, I’d be stupid not to give it a go.

Indeed, the key aspect of this book for me was its accessibility – it was very easy to engage with, very easy to understand, and very easy to finish (and I do have a problem with finishing audiobooks – difficulty concentrating through constant interruption can make them seem like more of a chore than a pleasure).

Crucially, author KC Davis is a licenced therapist, as well as having active experience ‘drowning’ while keeping house herself. She shares her struggles and her techniques for keeping afloat, which are all relatable, doable, adaptable and centred around caring for the self above all else.

I did not come away from this with a rigorous new game plan for tackling my home. I did not and still do not harbour dreams of becoming a domestic goddess. Instead – which in my view is far more valuable – I came away with the ability to not feel guilty about the state of my home.

Here are a few choice lessons that have stayed with me after listening (paraphrased):

Try not to think of it as ‘housework’ or ‘chores’. These are ‘care tasks’.

Anything that is worth doing is worth doing partially.

Momentum breeds momentum.

It is not tidying. It is ‘resetting your space’.

Your space exists to serve you. You do not exist to serve your space.

For the full experience, I thoroughly recommend giving this wonderful book a read or a listen. If your home doesn’t thank you, your mental health probably will.

Reviewed by Nadia Tariq

The Unsinkable Greta James by Jennifer E Smith: reviewed by Nadia Tariq

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The Unsinkable Greta James is a deep burning, methodically written tale of family, ambitions and relationships, particularly of the child-parent kind. With such universal themes, Greta is guaranteed to strike a chord with every reader. I was particularly drawn to the  eponymous character, a successful indie musician in her mid thirties, who is at a turning point. Although she leads a life completely alien to us all, the author manages to build up the layers and then slowly peel them back to reveal a character with whom we can happily relate.

Following the recent and sudden death of her mother, Greta finds herself on a cruise ship among the stunning environs of Alaska, forced into the awkward companionship of her father – who is less than a fan of her life choices. The author handles this, and indeed all of the relationships in the novel, with a beautifully nuanced and sympathetic touch. For me, and I’ve no doubt for many, it was a hard relate. Throw in a love interest or two to keep the interest fresh, and the result is a definite hit.

The dialogue in this novel – and it is dialogue heavy – hits particularly hard. The fraught exchanges between father and daughter had me close to tears at points; and yet, despite the drama and the grief, I would not describe this as a sad story. It ends with hope.

Five stars all round for this quiet, unassuming belter of a novel.

Jennifer E Smith is a veteran author of young adult novels, and The Unsinkable Greta James is her first novel for adults, published by Quercus in the UK and out now in hardback form.

Bird Summons: Light, Lyrical Lockdown Reading

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I’m almost ashamed to say that I had never heard of the multi-award-winning author Leila Aboulela. Bird Summons – her fifth novel – can be described as both Scottish and Muslim fiction; and yet, as a Scottish Muslim who loves to read, she had not been on my radar at all.

What a treat I had in store.

Bird Summons hinges upon a simple enough premise. Three beautifully, realistically flawed Arab-Scottish women embark upon a journey – a pilgrimage, of sorts – to the remote Highlands, ostensibly to visit the grave of Lady Evelyn Cobbold: “the first British woman to perform the pilgrimage to Mecca, to educate themselves about the history of Islam in Britain, to integrate better by following the example of those who were of this soil and of their faith”.

Ostensibly is a good word. Bird Summons is so much than first presents itself. What begins as a nuanced bildungsroman of three immigrant women spanning their forties, thirties and twenties – Salma, Moni and Iman – soon becomes something much more. Into this blend Aboulela seamlessly incorporates ancient folklore stemming from the storytelling traditions of Scotland, India and the Arab world, creating something altogether more enchanting and thoroughly unique. As the threads of the three friends’ lives began to unravel, it was this new thread of allegory and parable that heightened the intrigue for me.

Be prepared: what starts as a story pleasantly grounded in realism, becomes increasingly, thoroughly and enjoyably weird. And yet it never jars. Aboulela makes it easy to embrace the fantastical.

Bird Summons also reads as a sort of love letter to Scotland, and the Highlands in particular. Aboulela’s sympathetic descriptions of the physical landscape her characters traverse certainly evoked a nostalgic, somewhat patriotic twinge for my homeland.

Special thanks to my childhood best friend for gifting me this novel and introducing me to this ‘new’ canon of work. You always promised you’d take me to Stonehaven, and I consider this a promise fulfilled. When they all converged on Dunnottar castle, I thought of you.

Bird Summons, by Leila Aboulela, was published in 2019 by Weidenfeld & Nicolson. It was a Guardian Best Book of 2019; shortlisted for the Saltire Fiction Book of the Year 2019; and longlisted for the Highland Book prize 2019.

Reviewed by Nadia Tariq

 

The Family Tree by Sairish Hussain – we all bleed the same

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I don’t usually do tear-jerkers. Life can be heartbreaking enough as it is, and whilst I don’t want my fiction sugar-coated as such, I do object to being strung up by my heartstrings for kicks. More often than not, I find, it’s just not worth the emotional payout.

And yet. Sairish Hussain’s epic debut The Family Tree had me crying on four or five separate occasions – I can’t actually remember the last novel that had me cry once – and I didn’t resent the emotional bleed one bit. What’s more, I felt sort of gratified by it.

Let me back track a bit. When I first heard of this book, at a debut author showcase at HQ publishing, it wasn’t sold as an emotional rollercoaster. Hussain gave an impassioned 60 second introduction of her novel, lamenting the stereotyped and stigmatised representation of Muslims in fiction – terrorism, forced marriage and every other trope – which ultimately informed her tale of a regular British Muslim family, facing the kind of hardships that could befall anyone, anywhere. Well, she sure succeeded. And then some.

There are no shortage of hardships that befall the Sharif family.

The Family Tree traverses 20 years, beginning in 1993, when Amjad loses his wife during childbirth, leaving him with the care of his young son Saahil and newborn daughter Zahra. Understandably, Neelam’s untimely death remains a defining marker in their lives. An emblem remains in the form of a Pakistani shawl – a gift from her own mother – worn by Neelam as she died. Interwoven in its fibres is a tree, decorated with a bird montage. A grieving Amjad comforts his baby with the fabric, anointing each bird with a name from their family. At the top, watching, her mother. Literally, a family tree.

Enough spoilers.

Hussain has crafted a tale that is alive with culture. Amjad and his family are of Pakistani extraction, speaking both Punjabi and Urdu, as well as English. I can relate. As much as I adore cultural markers in any story, as a way of bringing them to life, I’ve taken a particular pleasure in enjoying the Pakistani or desi offerings in the books I’ve been reading of late. Hussain does this particularly well, from the trials of roti training, chilling with chai and flying chicken botis. I revelled in it all.

Diversity matters, people. For children, but for adults too, a bit of positive representation goes a long way. Especially for the generations who grew up without it.

Truly, this is a great book. I am in awe that Hussain – particularly as a debut author – never once shies away from the big issues, all of which we are all guilty of sweeping under the carpet. The Family Tree grapples with bereavement, homelessness, addiction, identity, race and all manner of cultural and political issues with a directness and sensitivity that is quite masterful for one so young to the craft. And yet, at heart, it remains a personal and a familial novel. This, I think, is Hussain’s unique brand of magic in bringing about The Family Tree.

I don’t, after all, cry easily. Perhaps I have learned to harden my heart over the years. Yet Sairish Hussain carries her characters with such intelligent empathy that you cannot help but open your heart to them. Feel for them. Weep for them.

Thank you for leaving my heart a little softer and a little warmer. And my mind just that little bit more aware.

Reviewed by Nadia Tariq

The Family Tree by Sairish Hussain will be realesed on Feb 20th, by HQ

The Doll Factory: Historical Fiction for the ‘Me Too’ Era

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‘The Doll Factory’, by Elizabeth Macneal, is published by Pan Macmillan.

I’ve never really considered myself the jealous type. And yet, yesterday – having finished the altogether best book I have read in possibly years – I found myself to be unequivocally, admittedly just that. Jealous. But, also awed, inspired and (isn’t it always so with a favourite book?) almost satisfied.

Because, well, this. This is the kind of book I’d want to write. Because it’s exactly the book I wanted to read.

We follow Iris: twin, shop girl, would-be artist. Dreaming of escape from the drudgery of working-class respectability she feels imprisoned in. Enter Louis, a spirited young painter who could offer just that. But is that all she has to contend with? Silas, a taxidermist with an obsession, has developed other ideas. It is a tale of possession, power and intrigue, with just the right measure of romantic relief.

Set in the possibilities of 1850, smack bang in the time of the Great Exhibition, The Doll Factory captures all of the aspects of Victorian London that we are most familiar with. The poverty, the degradation, the prostitution. Charity, ingenuity, opportunity. The constant framework of class. And art. Lots of art. The nothingness and the excess.

Aside from personal penchant – as a long-time fan of neo-Victorian literature, this romantic thriller was bound to appeal to me – Elizabeth Macneal’s debut boasts all the ingredients of a stunning success. Compelling characterisation, clever plot lines, and the seamless blending of historical accuracy with imaginary detail. Macneal’s world comes vividly alive and the thrill is deliciously real.

And a success it is proving to be. Macneal’s novel won the 2018 Caledonia Novel Award, is a Sunday Times top ten bestseller, and the TV rights have already been sold. And it’s not even out in paperback yet.

But more than that. There is a very modern edge to this story. At its heart, it is a story of womanhood, it is a story of breaking bonds and forging new ones, and it is a story of escape. And of course, the universal themes; life, and death.

And it is perfectly on point for the post ‘Me Too’ consciousness that we are living in. One particularly poignant passage conveys the male power that Iris feels threatened by, the paradoxical standard that women are held to; one that women are pushing against even now, two centuries later:

 ‘… all her life she has been careful not to encourage men, but not to slight them either… an arm around her waist is nothing more than friendly, a whisper in her ear and a forced kiss on the cheek is flattering, something for which she should be grateful. She should appreciate the attentions of men more, but she should resist them too, subtly, in a way both to encourage and discourage, so as not lead to doubts of her purity and goodness but not to make the men feel snubbed.’

Macneal’s Doll Factory. It is romantic, it is considered, and it is thrilling. I’d go as far as to employ that feminist buzzword, ‘empowering’.

Yes. Must read.

Reviewed by Nadia Tariq