I haven't been reviewing books much lately in this blog, or indeed doing much of anything. The whole of last year was taken up with personal matters. The anxiety and exhaustion of round the clock nursing in the first half of the year gave way only to the pain and inertia of loss in the second half, and later to the constant, obsessive exhaustion of a new puppy, and what with all that, it's a wonder if I even read anything, let alone had anything sensible to say about it.
One book, however, stands out from the many I read, and that is A Closet Feminist, by Carla Sarett. Many of you will be familiar with Sarett's biting, sparkling little short stories. I first encountered her work in The Rabbi's Lesson, still one of my favourite stories, with that tingle down the back of the neck that one gets on first reading something by one who is to become a favourite author - you know that sensation, where your hairs prickle and you find your reading speed slowing down to a crawl so that you don't miss savouring every word.
Sarett came out with her debut novel, The Looking Glass, last October, and that's a fine novel indeed, but it is A Closet Feminist that, for me, really showcases this writer's extraordinary talent and the particular shine of her work. It's not the tawdry glare of neone or stage footlights, but rather the sparkles and gleams of the small things; the myriad coruscating points of light from frost on the grass, or the sudden shaft of sunlight piercing through dappled green. To me, it has always been the mark of greatness in a writer, when the ordinary is lifted up and made special, and this quality is present in A Closet Feminist in generous measure.
Available from Amazon
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