Favourite Books & Albums of 2023
Time for the annual round-up!
I love end of year round-ups giving the opportunity to reflect on the writing and music that has meant the most to me over the last year. So without further ado, these are the fifteen books and albums I enjoyed most this year, from comedy crime to feminist historical fiction. I hope you’ll enjoy them all as much as I did!
15 Favourite Books
Jacqueline Crooks, Fire Rush. Hands-down one of my favourite books of the year. Set in 1970s London, Fire Rush follows Yamaye’s story from her nights clubbing in London through her transformational relationship with a man called Moose. I sometimes find it hard to enjoy fiction “about” music because it’s so easy to fall into cliché, but dub isn’t just a plot device in Fire Rush. Crooks’ writing has a musicality to it, music motivates the protagonist, and music knits together the relationships in the book. It’s about race and music and politics in 1970s Britain, but it’s also about being/becoming a woman, finding yourself, learning how to stand up for yourself — and it’s about hope. I also love that it comes with an accompanying playlist, so you can immerse yourself in the book’s sound as you read.
Kerry Andrew, Skin. I’m not usually one for coming-of-age stories, but I loved this one. Atmospheric and haunting, Skin is about a child coming to terms with their father’s disappearance. And if you’re in the mood for it, this is another book with an associated playlist. Andrew is not only a writer but also a composer and performer — parts of Skin were written at the same time as the album Keld, and both explore freshwater folklore. I definitely recommend dipping into the album alongside the book.
Rachel Yoder, Nightbitch. A wild ride of a book, in which a young mother becomes convinced that she’s turning into a dog. Over the course of the novel she slowly slips into a surreal, feral otherworld where she gives in to her most alarming urges. It’s like feminism meets Kafka’s Metamorphosis. Yoder deals truthfully and brutally with the realities of early parenthood, and there are both hilarious and excruciatingly painful moments. It’s thought-provoking, divisive, and the writing is brilliant throughout. The only thing I personally didn’t love about it was the ending, but I expect a lot of people to disagree with me! It’s also being made into a movie which will likely release next year — I’m very curious to see how they deal with the more surreal aspects of the novel.
Errollyn Wallen, Becoming A Composer. This is the only non-fiction that’s made it onto my list of favourites this year, and that’s a real testament to how beautifully this book is written. Similar to Andrew, Wallen is a composer-performer-writer, and this is her first book. Mixing memoir with poetic vignettes, programme notes, and poems, Wallen traces her journey to becoming a composer from childhood to the present day. I loved that the text always led back to Wallen’s music, and I could hear her pieces afresh in the context of the book.
Daphne Du Maurier, The House on the Strand. My favourite classic I read this year. The plot sounds completely absurd — a man is transported to fourteenth-century Cornwall by an experimental drug given to him by an ethically questionable professor — but somehow Du Maurier manages to make it a nail-biting psychological thriller saturated with gothic melodrama. She’s also one of the few thriller writers I trust to give me a good ending, and does not disappoint here.
Téa Obreht, Inland. Inland is a sprawling epic of a book, brutal and tender at the same time. It’s a modern take on the Western mainly told from the perspective of Lurie Mattie, the son of an immigrant. I loved the way a kind of surreal, paranormal otherness hangs over the whole text. The boundary between living and dead is constantly blurred, giving the book an otherworldly quality which is only exacerbated by the way Obreht evokes the torturous, unforgiving landscape her characters inhabit.
Bonnie Garmus, Lessons in Chemistry. This book was so feted I thought there was no way it could live up to the hype, but boy was I wrong. It’s about a young chemist called Elizabeth Zott making her way through academia, and it manages to be both completely devastating and very funny. Garmus’s account of the systemic challenges professional women face is astutely observed — I suspect that sadly some of the popularity of Lessons in Chemistry will be coming from women readers feeling extremely seen by this book. The characters are unforgettable; you’ll be rooting for Zott all the way through, but also for her dog Six-Thirty (who, somehow, steals the show).
Monique Roffey, The Mermaid of Black Conch. In the traditional version of siren stories, the siren is a femme fatale whose song lures men to their deaths. The Mermaid of Black Conch inverts this completely. Here, the mermaid Aycacia is tempted to a fisherman’s boat by his singing, and the two slowly start to fall in love. Aycacia becomes more human as their relationship unfolds, and Roffey sets the weirdness of her transformation against the mundane and everyday in a way that is just magical. But what made this book so special for me is how Roffey situates their relationship in the rest of the world. Their small bubble is trusting and kind, but she also manages to convey the violence of those who would sell Aycacia as a curiosity, and the suspicion of those scared by her otherness. The result is a poignantly observed portrait of a whole spectrum of humanity.
Han Kang, The Vegetarian. This is a book about a woman who stops eating — in the same way that Slaughterhouse-Five is a book about aliens. At a much deeper level The Vegetarian deals with perceptions of women and their sexuality, what it means to live a “free” life if you’re constrained by what society expects of you, the way that shame shapes our actions and beliefs, and the relationship between humans and nature. It’s so powerfully written that some passages felt physically difficult to read, but I couldn’t put it down — translator Deborah Smith deserves huge credit here. I’d recommend this to anybody who reads literary fiction, although with a big content flag for eating disorders.
Saba Sams, Send Nudes. Sams was named one of Granta’s Best Young British Writers off the back of this short story collection. The ten stories are about girlhood and womanhood, the settings shuttling between clubs and garages and music festivals. She has a very sparse, taught prose style — like the very best short stories, much of the power of this collection comes from what’s hinted at but left unsaid. I’d particularly recommend this book for lovers of Sally Rooney’s work.
Jesse Sutanto, Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers. If you like cosy crime, this is the book for you. Elderly tea-shop owner Vera Wong wakes up one day to find a murdered man in her tea shop, and she decides to find the killer herself — finding an adoptive family of suspects along the way. Is it the most sophisticated murder plot ever? Absolutely not, you’ll see who did it a mile off. But it is hilarious, and Vera is a really wonderful character. I laughed so hard reading this.
Maggie O’Farrell, The Marriage Portrait. O’Farrell is one of the best historical fiction writers out there. This time, she turns to sixteenth century Italy and Lucrezia, Duchess of Ferrara, who is convinced that her husband is trying to kill her. Very little historical record remains of the real Lucrezia, and in this gap O’Farrell sculpts a story about a young woman’s fight to survive, and to reconcile her desires with the mores of her time. It’s very revisionist, but that doesn’t diminish the power of the storytelling here. Particularly striking is the way O’Farrell deals with expectations around women’s bodies and pregnancy — and the impact this can have on a marriage. It leaves you with the feeling that perhaps we haven’t come quite so far from the sixteenth century as one might hope.
Cloé Mehdi, Nothing is Lost. Mehdi’s novel analyses the impact of racism and police violence in France. It’s told from the perspective of Mattia, an eleven year old boy, who struggles to piece together the truth about the people around him and the world he lives in — particularly how his family might have been involved with the death of a teenager during a police identity check. It is unrelentingly bleak (with a heavy content note for suicide) but is not without hope, as fleeting moments of compassion shine strongly in the hardships of Mattia’s life.
Gabrielle Zevin, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow. This is a book about love, friendship, and creativity, told through the story of childhood friends and game designers Sam and Sadie. I adored the way Zevin handles the complexity of creative partnerships that veer towards or become romantic/sexual relationships, and the frustrations and rewards of creative careers. It’s not a book that’s afraid to deal with really difficult issues, but Zevin does it all with a lightness of touch that is captivating.
Sosuke Natsukawa, The Cat Who Saved Books. After his grandfather dies, Rintaro Natsuki is about to close down the family’s second-hand bookshop — until he meets a talking cat who enlists him in a quest to save unloved books. This is a cute coming-of-age story dealing with grief and loss, and is perfect for a light, magical read.
15 Favourite Albums
Grażyna Bacewicz: Overture, Piano Concerto, Concerto for Two Pianos, Music for Strings, Trumpet & Percussion. Bacewicz’s music has a fire to it that gets lost when performers don’t give it absolutely everything — but when it’s done well, it’s truly electrifying. This is one of the best Bacewicz recordings I’ve ever heard, with Peter Jablonski and Elisabeth Brauss at the piano, and Nicholas Collon leading the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra. The interpretative range on display here is exceptional. They give the Overture the power it demands, but are also able to bring a meditative stillness to the Larghetto from the Concerto for Two Pianos. Bacewicz’s music is experiencing a real renaissance at the minute, and this disc more than shows why. If you like Shostakovich, Bartók and Stravinsky but don’t know Bacewicz yet, you’re in for a treat.
Anna Þorvaldsdóttir, ARCHORA/AIŌN. Þorvaldsdóttir seems to be capable of turning out endlessly inventive compositions. The way she uses the orchestra to create vast sonic landscapes is just glorious, and the Iceland Symphony Orchestra led by Eva Ollikainen prove themselves perfect interpreters here. AIŌN is ‘inspired by the abstract metaphor of being able to move freely in time, of being able to explore time as a space you inhabit’, while ARCHORA explores ‘the notion of a primordial energy and the idea of an omnipresent parallel realm — a world both familiar and strange’. Þorvaldsdóttir uses a palette of extraordinary timbres to bring out that sense of otherness, but the orchestra make it sound effortless, feeling like a living, breathing organism. NB — listen to this album on speakers with good bass to get the most out of it!
Profesión. I love guitarist Sean Shibe’s approach to programming — he makes connections in the most unexpected places, roving from the twelfth century to the present day, and moving between electric and acoustic guitars. For this album, he focuses on South American music for classical guitar, including works by Barrios, Villa-Lobos and Ginastera. Pentatone describe the repertoire as ‘voluminous, indulging in excess’, but Shibe still brings a sense of intimacy to these works where it’s needed. His version of Barrios’s La Catedral is like a musical meditation.
Tchaikovsky: Orchestral Works. Tchaikovsky’s music is so widely recorded that it’s difficult to make it sound fresh, but Alpesh Chauhan and the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra manage it here. It has the energy of a live recording, especially the Overture and Polonaise from Cherevichki. This is an album that showcases what a brilliant orchestrator Tchaikovsky was. The sound production is excellent, so you can hear every single line that Chauhan is bringing out, taking his time where it’s needed. This is only volume one in a series from Chauhan, so I’m very much looking forward to hearing what comes next.
Ethel Smyth: Der Wald. Der Wald was Smyth’s second opera, and despite it making her the first woman to have an opera staged at both the Metropolitan Opera in New York and Covent Garden in London, this is its world premiere recording. Thankfully, it’s a stellar rendition. John Andrews conducts the BBC Symphony Orchestra and BBC Singers, with Natalya Romaniw, Claire Barnett-Jones and Robert Murray in the lead solo roles. The passion in Smyth’s score really comes across here, as the short opera drives to its fatal conclusion. With any luck this recording will convince opera companies to take Der Wald on, because it certainly deserves to be staged.
Sola. This is the debut solo album from violist Rosalind Ventris, including works by Bacewicz, Fuchs, Feery, Beamish, Lutyens, Maconchy, Musgrave and Imogen Holst. Ventris is a really reflective, thoughtful performer, and her approach suits this repertoire perfectly. The result is a thing of real beauty. The Holst Suite was the standout for me.
Dobrinka Tabakova: Orpheus’ Comet, Earth Suite, and Concertos. There’s something about Tabakova’s writing for strings that I just adore. From the integration of humming at the opening of Cello Concerto slow movement, to the use of overtones in the third movement of the Viola Concerto, the timbres and textures she conjures up in her string works here are wonderfully rich and varied. The Viola Concerto was written for Maxim Rysanov, who does a superlative job as the soloist here, alongside the Hallé Orchestra conducted by Delyana Lazarova. The two concertos are well balanced with two larger, more propulsive orchestral works: the Earth Suite, and fiery overture Orpheus’ Comet.
Purcell: Dido and Aeneas. This is a delightfully OTT rendition of this opera from La Nuova Musica, directed by David Bates. They use a large ensemble (e.g. strings doubled with winds, and the inclusion of harp in the continuo), and get a sumptuous rich sound as a result. This is a performance full of surprises, from the instrumentations to players’ improvisational flourishes, breathing new life into this familiar score. Both chorus and soloists do a fantastic job, especially Fleur Barron as Dido; her version of ‘When I am laid in earth’ is just heartbreaking.
Transfigured. Kaleidoscope Chamber Collective seem to be able to do no wrong, at least as far as my musical taste is concerned. I’ve loved every album they’ve put out so far, covering chamber repertoire by composers from Amy Beach to Samuel Coleridge-Taylor. This time, they’ve turned their attention to early twentieth-century Vienna, with a programme of works by Zemlinsky, Alma Mahler, Webern and Schoenberg. This is the kind of historical programming I most enjoy, thoughtfully mixing well-known pieces with lesser-known repertoire. The four composers were known to one another, and you can hear the traces of mutual influence across all their works. Importantly, all of the pieces are magnificently performed. Soprano Francesca Chiejina shines in the Zemlinsky and Mahler, while the group’s rendition of Verklärte Nacht (in the original sextet version) brings out all of the work’s radiant intensity.
Samuel Coleridge-Taylor: Partsongs. Coleridge-Taylor is a composer whose historical significance is not even remotely reflected in the number of available recordings of his works. There are no fewer than seven world premiere recordings on this disc, and every single piece is a gem. The Choir of King’s College London sound superb under the direction of Joseph Fort, handling the vast mood changes the repertoire demands — they are as convincing in the luminous Isle of Beauty as they are in the much more energetic The Lee Shore. For any choral directors out there looking to expand their rep — this is the disc for you.
Schubert: String Quartet No. 14 ‘Death and the Maiden’ & Beethoven: String Quartet No. 14, Op. 131. The Sacconi Quartet have been performing since 2001, and the cohesion of sound and coherence of vision that really only comes from years of learning and growing together is what makes this disc special. They offer a refined, taut interpretation of both works. Nothing is overblown or overdone, and close attention has been paid to tone quality and sound balance. I’m sure this won’t be to all tastes — they are certainly moments where the quartet pull back where others let rip — but this is a thought-provoking addition to the vast discography of Beethoven and Schubert quartets.
Florence Price: Piano Concerto in One Movement; Symphony No. 1 in E Minor. This has been a good year for Price fans. Yannick Nézet-Séguin and the Philadelphia Orchestra have continued their symphony cycle, releasing No. 4 paired with William Dawson’s Negro Folk Symphony, and recorded both violin concertos with Randall Goosby as the soloist. The Price recording that came top for me, though, was Chineke! Orchestra’s rendition of the Symphony No. 1 and Piano Concerto. Jeneba Kanneh-Mason is a spectacular soloist, bringing all the drama, contrast, and passion the concerto needs. Under Leslie Suganandarajah’s direction, the orchestra also has its moments to shine in the concerto, particularly in the Adagio cantabile section. Roderick Cox conducts the symphony with aplomb, and the sound engineering throughout is excellent.
Sirens’ Song. You can’t really go wrong with The Sixteen, and they are on top form in this disc of works by twentieth-century British composers: Stanford, Maconchy, Vaughan Williams, Finzi, Sullivan, and Imogen Holst. The soaring lines of Maconchy’s Siren’s Song are a real highlight, providing a contrast to the more sentimental sounds of Stanford and Sullivan. The sprightly first half of Holst’s Welcome Joy and Welcome Sorrow is handled with delicacy and vigour, keeping the tone light before plunging into the depths of ‘O Sorrow’.
Ocean Floor. This wonderful album grew out of composer-performer Ayanna Witter-Johnson’s collaborations with the London Symphony Orchestra’s Percussion Ensemble. Witter-Johnson has a completely unique sound, combining influences from classical, gospel, jazz and R&B, all of which are in evidence here. The heart of the album is the titular Ocean Floor Suite, which moves between two events separated by two hundred years — the first, the first in 1781, when more than 130 enslaved people were thrown overboard the Zong slave ship; the second, a fatal drowning that Witter-Johnson witnessed as a child on a Jamaican beach.
Duello d’archi a Venezia. Concluding the list with a bang — Chouchane Siranossian performing Baroque violin concertos, with Andrea Marcon conducting the Venice Baroque Orchestra. ‘For this recording’, Siaronissian and Marcon explain, ‘we have created an imaginary “battle of the bows” between Vivaldi, Veracini, Tartini and Locatelli’. They tackle the works as if they are, indeed, playing for their lives — Siranossian holds nothing back, throwing herself wholeheartedly into the most virtuosic passages. This is a firecracker of a performance.