absurdist fiction + why is no one talking about this incredible sapphic novel? | Recent Reads #63

A string of recent reads leans hard into tonal weirdness and emotional precision—yet several books stumble on structure, leaving big conflicts unresolved or stakes underdeveloped. Across the lineup, the strongest through-lines are (1) character-driven tension that feels psychologically real and (2) experimental narrative forms that trade conventional plot for mood, symbolism, or voice.

Zoe Whittle’s Bottle Rocket Heart is praised for its slice-of-life focus on Montreal’s queer scene in the 1990s, especially the relationship between 19-year-old Eve and the non-monogamous older lesbian Dela. The cast feels like recognizable types from queer communities—annoying, magnetic, and infuriating in ways that land as authentic. Still, the book’s loose plot becomes a liability at the end: major developments arrive without enough setup, and the emotional conflict around non-monogamy resolves abruptly. When Eve and Dela reunite, the story doesn’t meaningfully show how the relationship reintegrates into Eve’s life, turning what should be the core problem into a quick off-handed adjustment.

Gay’s The Invisibility Cloak (translated by Kanan Morse) takes a different route: it’s a short, conversational novel about a man who designs sound systems and takes a job for a client he’s warned not to trust. The tension is less about a clear external plot than about pervasive untrustworthiness—whether the protagonist is unreliable or the world around him is. Most of the book is close, confessional narration with little “story” in the traditional sense, building unease through tone. Only in the final section do bizarre events surge forward, feeling both extreme and oddly prepared by the preceding atmosphere.

Chanel Okar’s Under the Odolatries stands out as emotionally forceful historical fiction. Set in Nigeria in the 1970s during the civil war, it follows Aoma from childhood after her father is killed, her mother’s grief-driven decision to send her away, and Aoma’s later relationship with another girl. The novel spans decades and uses a looping structure: each new section previews where it will end before rewinding to reach it. That design “desensationalizes” catastrophe, pushing readers into the grit of internal emotion. The result is writing praised for both sensory beauty and wisdom—especially in how it clarifies emotional states over time.

Other books skew toward quiet or structurally strange. Bruna Don’ttos Labato’s Blue Light Hours tracks a mother-daughter relationship across distance as the daughter studies abroad in the U.S., with Skype communication as the connective tissue. Its sparse, precise prose creates nostalgia even when nothing “happens,” though a few moments tip into overt sentimentality. Adelaide Faith’s Happiness Forever centers on Sylvie, a vet-clinic nurse who lives almost entirely in therapy and becomes intensely fixated on her therapist; the premise is compelling, but the narrative is criticized for repetition and for missing conflict or stakes that could deepen the obsession.

Maya Ishawa’s The Place of Shells (translated by Paulie Bart) is described as slippery, symbolic, and dreamlike—grounded in matter-of-fact delivery even as motifs and reality bend. Heather O’Neal’s Valentine in Montreal blends absurdist fairy-tale tone with metro-station chapter titles and a doppelganger mystery that escalates against the mafia; it’s fun and whimsical, but the plot is judged somewhat flat and occasionally disjointed, with missed opportunities for tighter constraints.

George Saunders’ Pastoralia is singled out as a standout short-story collection: the opening novella and two early stories land as “course syllabus” material, while later pieces don’t hit the same emotional or comedic peak. Vdis Horth’s Will and Testament (translated by Charlotte Barsland) tackles family trauma through a narrator who is estranged from her siblings and parents; the writing is praised for insight and effective vignettes, but the structure is criticized for repetitive rehashing until major trauma finally surfaces.

Aquake Azi’s Little Rot closes the list as a fast, dark literary thriller set over two days with five perspectives. The sex-party setting and high-stakes revelations create propulsion, but the multi-perspective structure spreads characters thin, leaving themes and character depth less fully realized—despite the book’s genuinely disturbing intensity.